#finding a title for this took me almost an entire hour GOOD fucking lord

[clumsyclifford]

HELLO BELLA PROMPTS?? YES!!! how about “I don’t know what that means” for cake? <3 molly

hello molly i am jumping ahead to post this before valentine's day officially ends. some vday office cake for you :) also if you're not a marvel person then i am so sorry in advance.

read here on ao3

-

It's taped to the frame of his desktop when he sits down.

To: Calum From: Your Secret Admirer I’d trust you with my heart, Valentine.

Calum blinks at it. Blinks at the picture on the card, of a circular contraption of some kind that reads ‘PROOF THAT TONY STARK HAS A HEART’. So it's a Marvel-related valentine. For Calum. From a secret admirer.

“Luke,” Calum says, pushing out his rolly chair to speak to Luke in the next cubicle over, “can you tell me what the fuck this means?”

Luke has already been here ten minutes, and he pauses mid-task to look over at Calum. “What what means?”

“Someone left this for me,” Calum says, offering the valentine. “I don’t get it.”

Luke takes the card and frowns. “What do you mean, you don’t get it? It’s Tony Stark’s heart.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Calum says. “I don’t watch those movies.”

He might as well have just punched Luke in the face. “You what?”

Calum shrugs. “I like the DC movies. Never got into Marvel.”

“Seriously? You’re the last human being on the planet who doesn’t like Marvel.”

“I know, I’m not like other girls,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “Are you telling me this metal…thing is this man’s heart?”

“You seriously don’t know?” Calum shakes his head. Luke looks appalled. “I can’t believe it. You’re going to offend whoever this secret admirer is.”

“Well, I don’t know who they are,” Calum says. “Give it back.” Luke does, and Calum folds it in half and rolls back into his cubicle.

“Probably someone in this very office,” Luke says over the wall. “Aren’t you curious?”

Calum shrugs, though he knows Luke can’t see. Honestly, Calum’s got no interest in being secretly admired. He’d much rather be openly admired, specifically by one Luke Hemmings. And there’s no way the secret admirer is Luke, because he’s pretty sure Luke’s dating that Michael guy who picks him up every day after work.

If it’s not Luke, Calum doesn’t want to know. He sets the valentine aside and responds, “If they wanted me to know who they were, they’d have signed the valentine. I respect their decision not to reveal their identity.” It probably means the valentine is a joke, anyway.

Luke hums but doesn’t say anything. Sighing, Calum logs on and pulls up yesterday’s work.

-

Samuel L. Jackson with an eyepatch smirks at him from a pink page, surrounded by hearts.

To: Calum From: Your Secret Admirer I’ve got my eye on you.

“Seriously?” Calum says, to no one. He’d been in the bathroom not even five minutes.

“What?” Luke asks. “Did your computer crash? Mine did earlier.”

“No, there’s —” Calum unsticks the valentine from his computer and leans over the cubicle wall. “Look.”

Luke takes the valentine and reads it. He grins. “How romantic.”

“Is this another Marvel thing?” He’s pretty sure it is. He’s pretty sure Samuel L. Jackson is in the Marvel movies. “It’s a bit creepy, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s great,” Luke says. “Wish someone would give me Marvel-themed valentines.”

"So tell your boyfriend to get them for you."

Luke frowns. "My boyfriend?”

Calum pauses. "The guy who always picks you up? That's not your boyfriend?"

"Who, Michael?" Luke laughs. "No, Michael is my housemate. I don't have a boyfriend."

"Oh," Calum says, like his entire universe isn't doing elaborate skateboard tricks and throwing him out of balance. No boyfriend? This six-foot-four blueprint of a man is single?

On Valentine’s Day?

"Well,” Calum says, “Uh, you can have mine. The valentines. I don't need them."

Luke shakes his head. “No way. You’ve got an admirer, Cal! You're not even appreciating the effort they're going to to let you know they care about you! That they’ve got their eye on you.” Luke waves the valentine in Calum’s face. Glancing around conspiratorially, he whispers, “I suspect Annie.”

“It’s not fucking Annie, Luke, she doesn’t swing that way.”

“What? Seriously?”

“You didn’t know Annie’s a lesbian?”

“I…” Luke squints. “Did not.”

“Well, now you know.”

“But I maintain it’s an inside job,” Luke says firmly.

“Obviously it’s an inside job,” Calum says. He holds out a hand and Luke obligingly returns the valentine. “Again: I don’t care.”

“I can’t believe you just…don’t want to know.”

“Believe it,” Calum says. “Alright, nice talking to you. Back to my cubicle of shame now.”

“I’ll miss you terribly,” Luke laments as Calum ducks back into his own space, and Calum is glad Luke can’t see the blush that rises as he smiles.

-

To: Calum From: Your Secret Admirer Are you set to Instant Kill? Because my heart stopped when I looked at you.

The new Spider-Man stares out at him with Tom Holland’s face. Calum’s forehead hits his desk.

“You good?”

“Look at this!” Calum springs to his feet and rounds the wall to Luke’s adjacent cubicle. It’s so much homier than Calum’s own one. Pictures of people Calum assumes are Luke’s family and friends decorate the inner walls, and a framed photo of him with two young men who look uncannily like him is propped up beside his computer. Luke and his brothers, Calum figures. They’re quite a handsome family, though in Calum’s opinion Luke is far and away the most attractive of his brothers.

Luke takes the printed paper out of Calum’s hands and laughs as he reads. “That’s good,” he says. “That’s a good one.”

“I don’t fucking get it!”

“Oh, the new Spider-Man’s suit has an Instant Kill mode that—”

“No I get the joke, Luke, it’s pretty self-explanatory, I meant I don’t get why I’m being targeted.”

“Targeted? You’re being courted,” Luke says. “Someone’s heart stops when they look at you and they want you to know.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” says Calum. “I think it’s a prank.”

“Oh, come on. Who in this office would be pranking you?”

That’s a fair question. Nobody here is really the pranking sort except…

Wait.

“You,” Calum says suddenly. “Alright, give it up. This is you, right? Having a laugh at my expense?”

“Seriously, you think I’d do that?” Luke looks hurt. “You think I would prank you into thinking you had a secret admirer? I’m not a monster.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone here is a monster,” Calum says, sighing. “Which means it’s probably not a prank. So someone here fancies me but doesn’t want me to know who they are. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this information?”

“I’m saying,” Luke says, “launch a fucking investigation! Full-scale Sherlock Holmes the shit out of everyone. Alibis, handwriting checks —”

“The signatures are typed, it wouldn’t matter—”

“— lie detector tests! I bet we have a polygraph somewhere in the building.”

“Lie detector test,” Calum repeats, grinning. “That’d be hilarious. Imagine we get everyone in a room just to ask if they’re my secret admirer.”

“I mean, whoever it is, I can’t say I blame them,” Luke says conversationally. “You’re the number one hottie in the office.”

Record scratch. “I’m what now?”

“When you rank everyone in the office,” Luke says. “By hotness. You’re number one.”

“No,” Calum says, then, “What?” He shakes his head. “What? Who’s ranking everyone in the office?”

“Me,” Luke says. “What, you think I sit here all day doing work?”

“Yes?”

“Then the capitalist pigs have gotten to you,” Luke says somberly.

“Okay, where are you on the list then?”

“I’m not on it,” Luke says. “It wouldn’t be fair. I can’t objectively rank myself.”

The very nature of ranking hotness is subjective, but Calum has bigger concerns at the moment. “Well that explains that. You’re the actual number one office hottie.”

“Not according to the official rankings,” Luke says.

“You’re bullshitting,” Calum says. “I don’t believe you actually did this.”

Luke narrows his eyes. “Why? You don’t think you’re the hottest in the office?”

“No I do not, but it’s also just…poor form to rank people like that.”

Luke sigh-groans. “Fine, you got me. I didn’t rank everyone.” He shrugs. “I put you at the top and the list ended there.”

“Alright,” Calum says, swatting his shoulder. “Enough of that. I’ve already got one secret admirer in the office, I don’t need another.”

“Hey, I’m not being secret about it,” Luke says, with a winning smile. Calum feels all his internal organs melt. “Let me know if you do decide to launch that investigation. I could be your John Watson. Or we could do Good Cop/Bad Cop! But if we do I call being the Good Cop, I’m absolutely awful at being intimidating.”

“Don’t think either of us are cut out for the police life,” Calum says wryly, “but I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.” He accepts the valentine when Luke returns it to him. “How soon is lunch?”

“Half an hour.”

Ugh. “Alright,” Calum says, dragging his feet until he’s back in his own seat.

The valentine — or more accurately, Tom Holland’s grave expression — stares at him. Calum stacks it on top of the others and rolls his chair in, thinking about Luke calling him the hottest in the office without a trace of insincerity.

-

Every Monday is the same routine: Calum and Luke get lunch from the Einstein Bros. Bagels in the lobby, and then bring it back upstairs to eat together in the office kitchen. Luke always insists he won’t make a mess this time, and Calum snags extra napkins for when he inevitably does. It’s truly remarkable, how Luke manages to get cream cheese on every available surface.

Lunch with Luke is Calum’s favorite part of every day, but he likes Bagel Mondays the most.

“I was thinking,” Calum says.

“Always a dangerous endeavor, but go on.”

Calum gives Luke a look. “Listen, okay. I was thinking. Not that I care or want to know or anything, but I’m starting to think Cam is behind these valentines.”

Luke hoots triumphantly. “You so wanna know! I knew you’d cave.”

“I don’t—!”

“It’s okay, Calum, there’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“I’m not ashamed, I just don’t want to know!”

“Ah, shut up, of course you do,” Luke says, waving him off. “So…Cam?” He casts a look around as if Cam will have materialized in the kitchen in the last fifteen seconds.

“Well, okay, her cubicle is close to mine, so, proximity,” Calum says, holding up a finger. This is so stupid, but whatever. “And she would be able to see when I get up to go to the bathroom and could move quickly.” Luke nods. “Second, I know she’s interested in men, which…is not true of most of this office, so the suspect pool is already pretty narrow to begin with.” Another nod. “And third, I know she’s single, which, again, many people in the existing suspect pool are not.”

Those are all circumstantial reasons,” Luke says. He rolls his eyes. “What about, you know…she likes you?”

“But how could she like me? We barely talk outside of work reasons. I barely talk to any of these guys outside of work things apart from you.” A realization strikes. “Wait a second. Wait. Your cubicle is right next to mine! You must have seen someone putting these on my computer.”

Luke blinks. “Nope,” he says. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“You know who it is,” Calum accuses him. “You’ve known this whole time!”

“Hey! That’s a big accusation.”

“I can’t believe you’ve just been lying to me,” Calum huffs. “Trying to throw me off the scent by suggesting Annie? I bet you even knew she was a lesbian.”

Luke laughs. “I promise you I did not. And I didn’t see anyone putting these on your desk, and I’m not lying. What, you don’t trust me?”

Calum stares, but Luke stares back, unflinching. Eventually Calum yields. “Alright. Fine. You’re not lying. They’re just very stealthy.”

“Maybe it is Cam,” Luke says thoughtfully. “I bet she has a crush on you, anyway. She’s always seeing what you’re doing.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“It’s because you’re the hottest! Hottest in the office, I am telling you.”

“No, stop it, and I’m pretty sure we agreed you’re the hottest in the office.”

“I would never have agreed to that.”

“Because you’re biased.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re the biased one, Calum Thomas.”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you are, Lucas Robert.”

“Name’s not Lucas.”

“Well, it should’ve been.”

“Well,” Luke says, leaning across the table, speaking in a voice that’s so low it’s almost a whisper, “your mum.”

Calum laughs over his heart making a car-crash noise. Complete with meowing cat and clattering objects of questionable origin.

“I win,” Luke says, springing to his feet. “Back to work! Will you throw this stuff out? Thanks, you're the best, see you on the floor, soldier!”

And he’s gone before Calum can even agree.

Calum gathers all the trash and tosses it in the bin as he heads out. He approaches his desk with a sense of dread. They’ve spent all of lunch stowed away in the kitchen; something tells him that will have been plenty of time for the secret admirer to make their next move.

Sure enough, taped to his computer is a valentine with a picture of what Calum is pretty sure is Thor’s hammer.

To: Calum From: Your Secret Admirer Are you Thor? Because I’m only attracted to you and Captain America.

This time he laughs. Luke pops up before Calum can even summon his presence.

“Did you get another one?”

Calum hands him the latest valentine, and Luke giggles. “That’s a good one. This one’s my favorite so far.”

Calum inclines his head. “You know what? I have to admit, they’re growing on me.” He pauses. “Okay, I’m a little curious now.”

“Oh, now you’re curious.”

“I’m going to solve this,” Calum decides. He takes the valentine back and takes his seat, examining it as if maybe the secret admirer will have left some clue in the way it’s been cut.

Luke peers down at him. “Good luck,” he says. “Let me know if you need my help. I’ve seen every episode of BBC’s Sherlock and I watched the RDJ film, so I’m basically a pro.”

Calum chuckles. “Noted, thanks. I’ll call on you if I need a second opinion.”

Luke gives him a salute and then disappears into his own cubicle, presumably to draw up a ranking list for ‘Most Likely To Be Calum’s Secret Admirer.’ Left to his own devices at last, Calum leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, and runs over all the evidence.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly the answer jumps out at him.

-

If he were a more mean-spirited person, he’d stage an exit to catch the perpetrator in the act, but he doesn’t want to publicly humiliate them, so unfortunately that’s out of the question. Instead he just quietly mulls over the epiphany, arguing and counter-arguing with himself. On the one hand, there’s no way it’s who Calum thinks it is. On the other hand, there’s no way it’s not.

Five minutes to five, Luke knocks on their shared wall.

“Yes?”

Calum spins his chair and sees Luke roll into his line of sight. “Well?” he says. “Did you figure it out?”

“Oh yes,” Calum says with a self-assured nod. “Once I set my mind to it, I figured it out very quickly. I mean, it’s fairly obvious when you consider all the evidence.”

Luke waits. When Calum doesn’t continue, he says, “And? Who is it?”

Straightening up, Calum says, “It’s Cam. I’m sure of it. I don’t see how it could be anyone else.”

Luke blinks at him. “Really? You’re sure?”

“Positive.” He glances around and then rolls his way closer to Luke. “You think I should ask her out? She’s clearly kind of shy.”

Luke looks conflicted. “Um…do you like her?”

Calum hums. “Well, see, that’s the problem. I’ve actually got my eye on someone else.” He raises an eyebrow at Luke. “Any guesses who?”

Luke crosses his arms as a grin slowly forms on his face. “Using my elite Sherlock Holmes-esque powers of deduction, I have one guess.”

“I know it’s not Cam, you idiot,” Calum says, fondly shaking his head.

“Oh thank God,” Luke says. “‘Cause no offense to her, but I am not having her taking credit for my very hard work.”

“But here’s what I don’t understand,” Calum says. “Why would you continue to give me Marvel-themed valentines after you knew I don’t watch those movies?”

Luke laughs. “Cal, I already knew you weren’t a Marvel fan. But I am.”

Pause. Gears turning. Reasoning becoming clear. “You devious little shit,” Calum says. He gets to his feet and pushes his chair back in. “You gave me valentines knowing I wouldn’t appreciate them just so I’d bring them to you?”

“I’m an evil mastermind,” Luke says, spreading his arms. “And I’m proud.”

“You did throw me off the scent, I’ll admit,” Calum says. “When you said you didn’t do it and you didn’t know who did.”

“Ah-ah-ah, I said I didn’t see anyone put them on your desk. Which was true.” Luke also stands to return his chair to its position. “And I said I wouldn’t prank you with them, which was also true. None of this was a prank.”

“I mean, it was a little bit of a prank.”

“Nope. One hundred percent genuine.”

“It had elements of a prank,” Calum says. “The deception, the scheming…”

“It wasn’t a prank!”

Calum sighs and smiles at the same time, a feat he’s mastered since meeting Luke. He takes the stack of valentines and flips through it. “So you mean all of this? I make your heart stop? You’ve got your eye on me? You’d trust me with your heart? You’re attracted to me?”

“And Steve Rogers,” Luke says, straight-faced. He nods. “But yes. All true.”

“Then I have a very important question to ask you,” Calum says, pocketing Luke’s valentines. Luke tilts his head as if to say hit me. “Will you, Lucas Robert Hemmings, be my Valentine?”

Luke beams. “Calum Thomas Hood, it would be an honor.”

It’s the first Valentine’s Day Calum hasn’t absolutely hated, but he has an optimistic feeling that it won’t be the last.

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 034

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave; They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Brave

Broken hearts are made for two

One for me and one for you

Tell me have you heard the news

We are now in love

Fall break from school is scheduled during the last three days of the last week of October. Before she can take some time off, Iris has midterm articles to write and grade. Barry is busy testing DNA samples or whatever it is CSIs do so they don’t see each other for several days after he leaves her house the morning after Wally’s party.

On the Wednesday of Fall Break, the first day off, Iris lets herself sleep in until almost 10, and then she packs up her bag, stuffing a notebook, a couple of pens, and her laptop in, before dressing comfortably in a pair of dark leggings, and a white oversized CCU hoodie she stole from her brother. Throwing on a pair of white low-top Chuck Taylors, Iris heads out to Jitters. It’s a rainy day, and other than workers who’ve no choice, not many people are out. A storm is brewing for later in the night, the sky dark and cloudy, but for the moment, it’s just a steady rain that has Iris walking carefully to her car and driving a lot slower, thanking her lucky stars that she finds a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Back in high school, especially once her dad had gotten her a used car during the beginning of senior year, Iris and Linda would come to Jitters to do homework or stare at the college boys who would come in. The coffee shop has expanded since then, buying the small antique store that had been next door and adding more seating and a bar that specializes in alcoholic coffee brews. It’s still one of Iris’s favorite places to work because now the manager is a young Black woman with wild curly hair always dyed in one bright color or another and a soft spot for mid to late 90s R & B female singers. The shop is comfortable, with couches and overstuffed chairs in mismatched browns and beiges and blues set up near the walls and windows and several tables, two- and four-tops, taking up the space in the middle. Two of the walls are exposed brick and the others are painted stark white and feature framed prints in wild colors. It’s changed since she was a child, but Iris likes to think that she’s changed with it, that as this integral part of Central City has grown and added light and color and comfort, so too has Iris.

Today, her plan is to outline at least two entire stories from interviews she’s completed over the last couple of weeks before she even thinks about leaving the coffee shop. She settles into one of her favorite spots, a soft navy armchair behind a small circular table. She sets up her laptop, her notebook with her notes, her pens, and once a waiter drops off her brown sugar latte and a chocolate muffin, she lets the sound of the rain, and the Erykah Badu playing on the speakers, get her into her work.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Iris looks up just as Barry stops beside her. She’s been at Jitters for just over three hours now, and her shoulders are cramped and she’s coffee high and hungry. The rain is still pounding down, so hard that it looks like it’s raining sideways, and Iris curses her inability to get any work done in her own home. Besides all that, she’s reeling. She’s just outlined a story of a man explaining the story of the woman he’d loved his entire life: from growing up together in a small city in North Carolina, to becoming best friends and de facto siblings when his parents died and her dad agreed to foster him; from not dating but seeming like it in high school, to falling for other people in college; from having other spouses and children to one night of passion before they found their way back to each other when she decided to leave her husband after his wife died. It was a ride from start to finish, such a roller coaster of feelings—of love and pain and joy and heartbreak—that make Iris feel a bit heavy with them, a little loopy with them.

Barry stands to the side of her, towering above her, in as simple an outfit as what she’s wearing, a pair of black joggers and a white sweatshirt. She’s startled that he's there because she figures that he should be at work, but her heart does tick up at the sight of him. That is, until she lets her eyes rake over his lean frame. He looks a little...down, like a physical manifestation of the story she’s just outlined. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes aren’t carrying their usual sparkle, in addition to the darkening bags that frame them. He’s also a little stubbly, his jaw covered in a fine layer of coarse hair, his pallor a bit ashen.

(Iris will also admit that she thinks he looks sort of, well, good, like this; but that’s neither here nor there and she feels terrible—and maybe a bit perverted—that she’s lusting after him when he’s obviously going through something.)

“Hey,” she responds softly, and she stands up to assess him further. He seems so much taller than her like this, when they’re both in sneakers. She hasn’t seen him since the morning after Wally’s party a week ago when he dropped her back off at her car after spending the night at her place. They’ve talked a bunch and FaceTimed once, but she’s missed him. She reaches up into his hair, rubbing at his scalp a little until his eyes close and he lets out a soft little moan. She keeps at it and then touches gingerly at his face, at some of the moles dotting his cheeks, at the stubble he’s grown. He reaches up to stop her, eyes still closed, and it startles her a little bit. She goes to pull her hand back, but then he holds on to her wrist to bring her hand down and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this. He’s always so open and, maybe not happy, but never so melancholy. There is always a pep to his step, as her grandma used to say, a smile on his face that always said that he feels some sort of contentment in his life. And obviously, people are allowed to have days like this. But it does something to Iris, to see him this way. She wants to lash out at whoever has made him look like this, like he’s drowning in emotions that he can’t easily pull himself out of.

“Bear, you okay?”

He nods, a little woefully, and he catches her eyes again. She bites at her lip as she stares back at him and, on impulse, she leans up to kiss him. It’s just a little more than a peck, something to tell him that she’s there with him; but he takes it a step further, kissing her harder, biting at her lip enough that there’s more pain than she’s expecting. She moans at him and he pulls back, breathing labored.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You didn’t hurt me. Well, a little, but I didn’t hate it.”

That gets a more real smile out of him, and he thumbs at her bottom lip. “Hmm, I guess my good girl is a little bad.”

Iris rolls her eyes and gives him a look, sobering for a minute. “Bear, what’s up? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he nods at her table and asks, “you get a lot of work done?”

She eyes him, wanting to ask again. But she knows how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something and so she lets it go. For the moment.

“Yeah. Or, at least, I’ve done most of what I set out to do.”

He nods, casts his eyes out of the glass, looking at the rain for a moment, watching it fall in heavy sheets. Normally, Iris likes the rain. It’s soothing and she enjoys how it makes the world take a moment to slow down. When she was a little girl, her grandma (her dad’s mother who grew up somewhere at the bottom of Georgia) used to say that when it was raining, and particularly when it was storming, that the Lord was doing His work and that it was the time to be still. They’d have to sit quietly, usually with the TV and the lights off, and just be. And while life doesn’t allow her to drop everything because it’s started raining, there is always a hushed feeling that comes over her when it rains, something tranquil, but also a little turbulent, a little uncontrollable, quite like the very rain she’s reveling in.

“Wanna come over?” he wonders, voice unsure.

She nods readily. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

He goes to return her mug and plate while she packs her bag back up. He meets her at the door, opening up a large umbrella and throwing an arm over her shoulder to lead her out into the rain. She walks with him past her own car as he takes her a short black away to where his Jeep is parked. He helps her into the Jeep first, watches as she tucks her bag under the seat, and then closes the door before walking around to the other side.

They ride to his house in silence. He lives far on the south side of town, a good twenty or so minutes from downtown if they hit the highway. Instead, he takes the streets, adding another ten minutes to their drive. Iris doesn’t mind; as she said, she likes the rain, and in this big Jeep, tires sluicing easily through the flooding roads in a way her car definitely can’t, she’s enjoying the ride. He had silently connected her phone to his car’s Bluetooth, so she took it to mean that the music choices were hers. She contemplates finding something that he might like, but she figures he likely wouldn’t even be paying much attention. So she decides on one of her slower playlists, ones with songs that dip and fade, that take listeners on a journey of highs and lows, and she lets it play. The lyrics tell too much, so i guess that i should mention; that i am in no condition; to put you in this position; i might fuck this up, although with the heavy weight on Barry’s shoulders right now, she can’t tell if she’s talking to him or vice versa.

He takes them past one of the major shopping districts in the city, past the Apple store and the Michael Kors shop and the one restaurant her dad took her to when she graduated college where pasta dishes run nearer to forty dollars. These shops, and the nicer mall and a couple business buildings that rise as tall as those downtown, lead into longer stretches of road where trees interspersed with beige or cream apartments begin to take up where businesses once stood. He turns into the familiar subdivision that she remembers; it’s a little older than some, which makes sense if his parents were able to buy and pay it off before they were gone. That also means that none of the houses are the same cookie-cutter versions that tend to make up most subdivisions these days, where houses are identical save for the color and the trim and what children’s toys litter the front yard.

He presses a button on his visor and the garage opens as he maneuvers the car so that he can back up into the driveway. He stays in the driveway, though, the music cutting out—but whatever the case, you're my favorite mistake; more than happy to make you—when he turns the ignition off. She waits for him to come around with his umbrella and he half picks her up to pull her out, holding on to her as he walks her through the garage.

She’s as quiet as he is, taking in her surroundings, trying to get a better sense of who he is by what he’s got going on in his house. There isn’t much in the garage; there are a bunch of boxes neatly stacked on one wall, a couple bicycles in another corner. There is a wall full of tools and a couple tables that have science looking tools on them, like a microscope and several bunsen burners and petri dishes, though nothing looks as if they’re currently being used.

He leads her through a door that opens up into the kitchen as he presses another button to close the garage. His house is as cute on the outside as it is on the inside, although she wonders how he might feel if she were to call it cute. The kitchen is large, done in white, gray, and green, with steel appliances, gray marble countertops, and the look of a place that doesn’t get a lot of use. They both stop to toe their shoes off right outside of the kitchen where a couple other pairs of Barry’s shoes lie. His living room is pretty big: a wide space that features a real stone fireplace as the focal point and a large screen television situated above it; a huge sectional in a slate gray with a few throw pillows; and a big square wooden coffee table. It’s masculine and clean without being gaudy or too bro and Iris wonders if he did this himself because even if she never knew her, she doubts a woman who loved flowers as much as his mother would decorate her living room this way.

The dark curtains on the windows are open wide and Iris can see the backyard but the rain coming down in sheets keep her from being able to make out much besides the patio with what looks like a grill and wicker furniture. Iris remembers being told that his dad had been a doctor and his mom some sort of university researcher and the house matches that.

Barry lets her hand go to tug his sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white t-shirt that rises up over his taut belly. She doesn’t avert her eyes, giving herself permission to track how the sweatpants hang off his slim hips and how he isn’t so much sculpted as he’s hard and tight, with just the beginnings of abs. He catches her staring and he smirks at her before dropping down in the corner of the couch, one leg spread out along the seats of the chair.

“Come here,” he tells her, and she moves toward him, sitting so that her back is pressed against that hard chest and his arms are wrapped around her. She grabs a hold of his forearm with both her hands and settles her head in the crook of his elbow. She’s surrounded by his scent, lemongrass and clean cotton, and for a while, the only sounds are his breathing and the pounding of the rain. He touches her, the hand she’s not holding on to stroking up and down her thigh. Her leggings are pretty thin and she feels his touch fully; if she concentrates enough, she can feel those beloved calluses on his hands. He rubs his hand towards the juncture of her thighs and then over her hip and then back again, and like always, his touch ignites something in her, even as she’s wondering how she might be able to help him out of whatever funk he’s found himself in.

“You ready to tell me what’s up?” she wonders a while later.

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet. Tell me about your day.”

She shifts so that she can look back at him, noting the way his eyes have darkened a touch, become grayer like the sky outside, and it’s different from the bright blue-green she remembers from the day of the festival or the wicked blue-gray they always are right before he pushes hard into her.

He blinks down at her and licks his lips slowly. It’s not an explicitly sexual act, even if her body thinks it looks that way, and Iris finds herself lost in it, in whatever he’s emanating. It’s erotic in that it’s intimate, a whirlwind of whatever hurt made him seek her out at Jitters, of whatever still lies unexplored between them, of the attraction that doesn’t ever seem to dissipate.

When she pulls herself out, she tells him, “I was working on a story today. One that made me feel a little bit like how you might be right now.”

“Yeah?”

Wanting to look at him more comfortably, she uses his pause so that she can turn around fully and seat herself on his lap, straddling him. His hands automatically go to her hips, one sliding inside the waist of her leggings so that he can touch her skin.

“Tell me about this story,” he requests. She knows that he’s asking so that he can think about something other than what’s on his mind, so she does, giving a little more than she would originally, working out how she might want to tell the story in her blog.

“It was a couple,” she starts, “that grew up together, in the country. They bonded by playing together in the lake, climbing trees, and playing pranks on each other. And then they start to grow up. Their swimming becomes fraught with tension, the bathing suits showing the same skin, but more, ya know, both of them recognizing the differences, cataloging them, thinking about them, remembering them. They don’t act on it, because they’re friends, and he doesn’t actually understand what it means, that he’s 13 and he keeps dreaming about her at night, waking up with a wet bed and a pounding heart. And then his parents die and her dad, who’s a do-gooder in the community and had been his parents’ best friend, takes him in. Now they’re siblings, but of course not. Regardless, it makes it all harder and odder because she sleeps right down the hall from him, their shared bathroom always smells like her, and he understands now, that he likes her smile and the way she speaks and the curves she seems to develop out of nowhere.”

Barry squeezes at her and she pauses as he asks, “And what about her? How does she feel about him?”

“Well he doesn’t know it, but she’s there too. At first she thinks that she’s just conflating it, confusing their friendship. Because she doesn’t laugh with anyone else like she does with him and she never has as much fun with anyone else as she does him and she never feels as comfortable with anyone else as she does him. He’s her best friend. But she sees him, one night, in his room where the door hasn’t fully closed and he’s, well, he’s masturbating, touching himself, eyes closed and moaning, and for the first time outside of the books she’s read, she feels something. And she knows it’s not just because she’s seen him naked because she’s kissed boys before, she’s felt them hard under her before, but something about this feels different for her.

“But she doesn’t act on it. And he doesn’t either, because remember, he only thinks this is one-sided. They graduate. They go to the same college. But their majors are different and their friends are different. She joins a sorority; he gets into a couple of clubs. Their paths separate, even if they still laugh and talk and be when they’re home for the holidays. Then she gets a boyfriend.”

“She never had a boyfriend before this?” Barry questions.

Iris shrugs. “Sure. But it was high school and the beginning of college. They were mostly hookups that didn’t last. This guy is serious. He’s a couple years older, got his own place, and eventually she moves in with him. Heartbroken, he gets a girlfriend too, one of her friends. That doesn’t last long because she figures out that he’s a little bit in love with the main girl, and then he moves on, to someone sweet, someone who’s been not so subtly hinting that she wants to go out with him.”

Barry seems to be engrossed now. She can’t say that the dark look he was sporting is completely gone, but she can see that he’s not as deep in it, interested in the story she’s weaving.

“They go on to marry these people, even if their hearts are not fully in it. His wife has a kid first, her baby comes next. And meanwhile, they’re still friends. Her dad is still his guardian, so to speak; they are together for whatever holidays they don’t spend with their spouses’ families. They still laugh and talk and be. They still look a little too long and want a little too much.

It comes to a head one Christmas. The gods or fate or just some movement on their parts mean that they both go home to her dad’s house with their spouses and children coming in the next day. But her dad is called in to work so they order take out and watch movies in front of a fire. And they laugh and they talk...and they hug and they kiss and they…

“Be?” Barry tries, a tiny little smile on his face.

She matches it. “Yeah. And it’s beautiful, transcendent. But they’re married. To other people. With kids. So they vow to forget it, to never bring it up again. A couple of years pass. They don’t laugh as much, don’t talk as much. She’s having troubles in her marriage. He is too. He actually consults a divorce attorney because he thinks that it’s unfair to both him and his wife, to live like this. And then the wife dies in a car accident.”

“Oh damn,” he mutters.

“Right,” she agrees. “He’s wracked with grief and more than a little guilt, because he loved her but was never in love with her and she had no idea he was going to leave her.”

“What about her? The one he loves?”

“She’s there for him. She consoles him, cares for him, takes his kid when it gets too hard. Her husband doesn’t like it though. Thinks she’s doing too much, thinks that there’s another reason she’s over at his so much. Later, he learns that this wasn’t a new accusation, that even before she and her husband got married, the husband would question their closeness, would wonder what, if anything, had ever happened between them.

“Eventually she gets tired of it. Her kid is older, in their teens now, and she leaves her husband, packing her things and her kid’s too and moving back in with her dad for a while.”

“And what happens between them?” Barry wants to know.

“He and his son come over more. They hang out more, the four of them, going to dinner and to the movies and to the arcade together. And when their kids are gone, at sleepovers or game nights with their friends, they laugh again, talk again. Fall in love again.”

The ending is implied. Iris closes her eyes when she’s done, letting Barry continue to rub at her back, his fingers so so warm on her skin.

“It's a happy ending,” he says, eventually. “But getting there was a little...depressing.”

Iris chuckles softly, lightheaded again at having gone through that again. It likely didn’t make Barry feel any better, but she’ll take the win that it took his mind away from his own problems, if only for a little while.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “But it reminds me that just because it’s not easy and just because it takes some time, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t worth it.”

He nods, slowly, thinking.

“What about things that are...easy? That come like breathing? That start as a simple dance and just, just keep going?”

She stares down at him and she knows that this is rhetorical. She can see the question in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his hands still kneading her flesh. It would be easy to retreat, to tell him that nothing is ever easy, even if the reality is that it is because they are, because they fall into each other so effortlessly, that she’s terrified. There are always hiccups, obstacles, and the fact that she can’t find any keeps her on edge, waiting, anticipating trouble she knows must be coming. She doesn’t want to believe it, wants to stand firm in them—stand firm in the lyrics she keeps hearing, if you decide to stay, know that there is no escape; there's no one here to save you—and she holds onto that as he asks,

“Don’t you think it’s worth it, Iris? Even if it’s this easy?”

She can’t speak, but his eyes are imploring her to answer. Pleading with her for a response. And however terrified Iris is, or however much Iris tells stories, she is not a liar. So she nods and whispers to him, “yes.”

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he kisses her. He squeezes at her waist and leans up to capture her mouth. She meets him with his same fervor and it’s different, this kiss. She knows the passion of his mouth when he’s high, the boldness when he’s teasing her. But this is new, this is fervor, warmth and agony and doubt and pleasure, all wrapped up together.

(Something also tells Iris that there is another word for this, that this is the part of the story where feelings would be laid on the table, where hearts would be splayed open and she’d say it, or he would, and the other would respond in kind, with declarations of adoration, of infatuation, yearning, of any other word that means what she can’t say yet.

But she feels it, what she’s wanting to say, what she thinks he is saying, in this kiss. It is slow and nasty, all tongue and mouth. Her eyes flutter closed at the feeling, at how he licks into her mouth and then sucks on her bottom lip, at how he licks against her tongue and then holds her face to bring her closer to him. She feels it, she feels it, she feels him…)

He stands, holding on to her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, tightening her arms around his neck as he carries her through the house. The kisses don’t stop, though they become shorter, more mouth now, and he takes her down a long hallway past several doors until he turns into one at the end of the hall. She makes a quick note of the light gray and burnt orange decor, the side tables holding books and knickknacks, the one window that spans nearly the entire wall, but she focuses most heavily on the king-sized bed on which he throws on her, the soft comforter half hanging off the bed.

Her clothes come off first, Barry pulling her sweatshirt over her head and yanking her pants over her hips. He comes out of his own clothes as she discards her underwear, and then he’s between her thighs again. But she wants something else first so she taps his shoulder to flip them and then she’s hovering above him.

She gives him a kiss, slow and sweet, and then she makes her way down his chest, kissing as she goes. She loves the feel of his skin against her lips, likes how his skin tastes as she presses tongue kisses on him. His belly clenches and unclenches under her ministrations, and by the time she’s looking back up at him from her position near his crotch, she can see the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing.

She reaches for him, wrapping her fingers around his dick. It’s long like the rest of him, and thicker than she would have expected just looking at him. It’s a pretty dick, the base the same color as him, the head slightly pinker. It’s a little veiny, but the skin is smooth, and already he’s starting to leak. She lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his own gaze hooded. In her peripheral, she sees his hands grip the bed sheets and she revels in how she hasn’t even done anything and his control is starting to slip.

“Tell me what you want, Bear.”

She says the words softly, but Barry doesn’t miss the cheek that lies under it, if the slight smirk he gives her is any indication.

“Your mouth,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

She shudders at the tone of his voice, at the vision of her on her knees for him. She likes it.

“I bet you have too,” he guesses.

Without a response, she licks him, holding him at the base and running her tongue up one side of him. She does it again, and then one more time, acquainting herself with the taste of him and the satiny feel of him on her tongue, and then she adjusts and covers the whole of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

She hums around him and she sucks him down, taking him until he hits her throat. Then she pulls back until just the tip remains. She licks around his head and sucks him there, letting the spit pool in her mouth, letting it mix with his own wet. She opens her mouth and lets it slide out, dripping down onto him, and her own body starts to drip at his wrecked whisper, “god, baby, look at you.”

She adds her hands, palming his testicles in one and rubbing her spit down the length of him with the other. She finds a rhythm, sucking him down, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, and then stroking his back up. Barry keeps his hand clenched in the sheets, but he cants himself into her mouth, rocking his hips lightly. She’s getting into it, loving the way he responds to her.

“Come here,” he says, suddenly, reaching for her, and she pulls back with a soft pop.

“Barry?” she furrows her eyebrows in question.

He gives her a gentle smile and grabs at her arm; Iris moves at his request, crawling up his body.

“But you didn’t finish,” she says, pouting a little.

“I know. I want to come when I’m inside you.”

She’s mollified by that, and he settles her on his lap.

“You were so good though, baby,” he says, kissing her. “My good, good girl.”

He reaches down to touch her, slipping his fingers easily into her sex. He groans into her mouth at the feel and he pulls back to ask,

“Is this all for me? Did you get wet sucking me off, good girl?”

She nods, rocking her hips against his hand, against his sex still hard beneath her. “Can, can you…?”

He tilts his head at her, fingers still caressing inside of her. “Can I?”

She huffs out a small laugh because he’s always fucking with her. “You said you wanted to come inside of me,” she reminds him.

“I did, didn’t?” He takes his time removing his fingers, eyes on her as he does. Even with the window curtains wide open, the dark sky has the room dark

(and she doesn’t dismiss the fact that the window faces the side of someone else’s house, where they could be seen if the neighbors were so inclined to watch)

and his eyes look a little like molten lead in the faint rainy light like this. He goes to reach over to his bedside table but Iris stops him.

“I want to feel you,” she says.

He licks his lips and she doesn’t mistake the twitch of his dick she feels under her. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”

He nods once and again, and then he takes her by her hips and slides her down his cock.

After, Iris decides that this time is the single most erotic experience of her life.

They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way.

She rides him, and he’s so full in her like this, so deep in her like this. His back is against his fabric headboard and she’s so close to him, her knees jutting into the headboard, her thighs holding around his hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest, nipples pebbling with each brush on those hard planes.

She holds on to him with her hands holding the back of his neck, softly scratching at the nape. But he’s touching her, always touching her, his hands caressing her spine, and then holding her waist, and then squeezing her hips. He guides her: keeps his favorite pace, smooth and languid; bring her up to the tip and fucks her back down; shows her how he wants her to roll her body when he’s full in her, so her clit is brushing the soft hairs on his pelvis, the sensation incredible.

He uses his mouth too: to kiss her throat, deep tongue kisses that’ll leave marks she knows she’ll have to cover up; to whisper against her mouth, “see how easy this is; see how good, baby; fuck, see how good this is; yes, yes, yes, my good girl.”

And Iris feels so caught up in it. She can’t stop looking at him, loving when the lightning slashes across the room and illuminates those eyes, the constellation of moles on his skin, his wet, pink mouth. Her body hums with pleasure, soaking her thighs and his, tightening around his dick as if it never, never wants to let him go. She voices her satisfaction, in soft sighs and heavy pleas, and his name on her tongue like a chant, or better, a song, “Bear, Bear, Barrryyy.” They’re so close, her skin sticking to his wherever they’re touching, chest to chest and ass to thigh. She feels full and whole and filled...with him and with desire and with, and with love, the thought of it making her shudder and close her eyes.

“No,” Barry whispers. “Don’t. Just let it, just let it...stay here with me. Can you do that for me? Be brave for me?”

She nods, head heavy as her body starts to reach its climax, as her body loosens at the same time that it tightens and she has to fight to hold on to him. “Yes,” she moans again, holding his gaze again.

He touches at her face, holding her cheek and staring back. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t know whose climax triggers the other. She just knows that at the same time that her body explodes, fluttering wildly around him, he comes too, so hard that she feels him throbbing against her walls, that she feels him filling her up with his cum.

He doesn’t let go of her right away. He just holds her, hands at her hip and her face, and then he kisses her, cementing what they’ve just done, cementing what Iris feels for him.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” he says, out of the blue. “And when I went to visit my dad earlier, I found out that he’s sick, something with his heart, and I’m-I’m reeling.”

It’s been a long while since they separated and Iris climbed off of him to pad into his bathroom and warm a hand towel under warm water to clean them both. They’ve been lying in his bed, only half under the covers as they let their bodies cool. It’s quiet now, so quiet that Iris has thought he’d fallen asleep; she’d almost fallen asleep. But when he speaks, she blinks wide and then turns her head to face him.

“14 years today,” he adds. He’s looking up at the ceiling as he talks, but Iris feels the hand that’s settled at her waist tighten, the move bringing her closer to him. She understands that he just needs the contact, so she turns so that she’s all the way curled on him, one of her legs thrown across him, her arm tossed over him too, hand settled on his heart. It’s beating slow, steady, and so she strokes his bare chest, right it.

“How’d you find out?”

“I was still at school,” he tells her. “It was a Friday and some of my friends had convinced me to go to a football game, so we were there pretty late. Games could run until 11. I was 17 so I had my own car. It was an old car; we’d bought it from a guy she worked with. By this time, my dad had been gone for a couple years, and my mom was always working late at the lab, so when I got home around 10:30 that night and the lights were out, I wasn’t surprised.”

He shifts a little and continues. “I took a shower, put some leftover pizza in the microwave, and just as I was sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. It was the police looking for her next of kin to tell them what had happened.” He sighs heavily. “I got lucky. The courts let one of my friend’s parents take me in until I graduated a few months later. I was able to get a work study job in college to pay my bills since the mortgage was already paid off.”

He says it all like he was lucky, but there is nothing lucky about losing both of your parents in that matter, even if one of them was still physically alive. Iris knows from experience that he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for his story. But she can’t help the way she wants to comfort him, and so she lets herself do that, tightening herself around him, snuggling even more into his chest.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” she asks, mumbling against his skin.

“Devastated. He looked like, like, I don’t know, like he’s giving up. I don’t get to go see him too often, every couple of months, really. And he looked so different from when I saw him last: smaller, frailer. I think there might be something he’s not telling me. Like he’s been sick longer than he says he has.”

“Is he supposed to get out soon?”

“Another couple years. But I don’t know if he wants to hold on that long.”

She feels them first, the tears. She tries to hold him even tighter, tries to crawl into his skin almost, trying to stem his pain. He doesn’t cry for long, just a few sobs, and then he’s inhaling deeply and wiping at his eyes. But it must be enough because he sounds a little hollow when he says,

“And truthfully, I’m not so much sad as I am mad, that he seems to be giving up. On getting out. On me.”

She hums, not dismissively, but because she understands. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, I hate my mom.”

He sort of jerks up at that. Not fully, he looks down at her, eyes widened in shock. However inappropriate it might be, she finds herself laughing a little at his expression. Then she explains.

“I know that addiction is not a moral failing. I know that she struggled right up til the end. I know both of those things as completely as I know anything else. But sometimes I wonder why my dad wasn’t enough, why me and Wally weren't enough. I wonder what she was trying to find in those pills that she couldn’t find in us, and I get so pissed that she let it take her away from us.”

She’s startled when he moves. He pulls himself from under her, letting her fall onto her back, and then he’s hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He falls into the spread of her thighs, his sex nuzzling comfortably against her still warm center.

“I’ve seen some of the worst effects of addiction,” he says, “when their bodies end up on a slab of metal and it’s my job to dissect the things around them, to even sometimes help detectives dissect their lives to figure out what happened. And something I’ve learned is that it’s always, always about them. Never about the people they love.”

He searches her face, brushing a piece of hair back from her forehead. “And whatever your mom was or wasn’t thinking, you are enough. You are more than enough, Iris.” He leans down and gives her a kiss, deep and dirty, and she moans in frustration as he pulls back from her. He gives her a grin, one more reminiscent of the Barry she’s used to.

“Repeat after me,” he commands. “I, Iris West…”

“Really, Barry?”

“Yes, come on. I, Iris West…

She sighs, but says it. “I, Iris West…”

“Am more than enough.”

She licks her lips then, blinks, works to not let the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corner of her eyes escape.

“Am more than enough,” she whispers, finally.

Barry’s smile turns fond. “Good girl.”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t know what else to do besides kiss him. Which she does, deeply, reaching down to grip him in her palm. She pauses, just for a moment, to tell him “you know that you are enough too, right?” and she kisses the look of awe off of his face. It’s a long while before she stops kissing him, and then it’s only to moan into his mouth, to let him whisper his dirty somethings into her ear.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

They’ve just shared a shower. Barry is throwing on another pair of sweats and a hoodie and Iris puts her own leggings back on, sans underwear, and thumbs through Barry’s closet for another sweatshirt to put on.

(There’s no reason that she can’t put hers back on, but she’s feeling particularly sentimental and she wants to take something of Barry’s with her, something that smells like him, that feels like him.)

“None, really.” She pulls out a red sweater that reads Central City University Track & Field and throws it on over her bra. “Why? You kicking me out.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Wanna get dinner? And then go with me to my tattoo appointment? It’s at 8 tonight.”

She smiles at that. “Sure.”

They take the highway back downtown. The rain is still beating steadily and there is still the occasional rumble of thunder, the sporadic flash of lightning. He parks a bit further in the arts district, in front of a restaurant specializing in wood-fire pizzas and craft beers. This time, she knows to wait for him to come around and open the door for her so that she can walk under his umbrella. Once he locks his jeep, he grabs her hand, and they walk the couple doors down and into the restaurant.

The place is brightly lit, in direct contrast to the dark sky and even the faint light that had been on at Barry’s place. The weather assures that it isn’t densely packed, just a couple booths of families and what looks like a couple, so they’re seated quickly and easily. They eat fast since they’ve only got an hour before his appointment. In the meantime, they both keep the conversation light. It’s been a day, for the both of them really, and Iris doesn’t think that she can cry twice in a day.

After he pays, she goes to the bathroom and he tells her he’ll wait at the door for her. She goes in and it’s as brightly lit as the rest of the place and she quickly does her business and washes her hands before heading back out to where he knows Barry is waiting in the little space between the outer door and the door to the restaurant.

She walks through the place and out of the restaurant door, likely too quickly and without really looking. She takes several steps, straightening out Barry’s sweatshirt again, and then she’s bumping into what feels like a solid wall, almost falling backward. A quick hand reaches out to catch her, the hand large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

“Shit,” she says, shaking her head to clear it as she looks up. “I’m sorr..Scott?”

He doesn’t move back right away and so she has to look up, up at the man holding on to her. Scott Evans is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d been her editor when she’d work at CCPN right out of college, and she’d had the biggest crush on him. Tall with dark caramel skin and a neatly trimmed beard, he’d been the one to help guide her in the ways of mass story-telling. They’d gone on one date and Iris is not actually sure why they’d never gone on another.

“Iris West.” He says her name slowly, his grin widening at the same pace. He gives her a once-over, slow and heated. “How’ve you been?”

“R-really good,” she says, stumbling a little at that grin. Even if she doesn’t actually regret never seeing him again, Iris can admit that a man this good looking makes her a little tongue-tied.

“Yeah? I’ve been catching your blog when I can. It’s some good shit, West. I can see why you left our little paper.”

“Please,” Iris rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “There’s nothing little about Picture News.”

He shrugs, humble all the way. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the truth.” He looks down at her, swiping at his lips with his tongue, and she suddenly realizes that they’re still too close. She steps back fully from him, glancing over Scott’s shoulders to see Barry watching them, his expression unreadable.

“Um,” she speaks, catching his attention. “I gotta go Scott.”

“Oh yeah; of course. We should get together soon. Maybe do dinner.” Scott looks back out of the window where rain steadily pours. “It’s still raining out. Can I walk you to your car?”

Her eyes don’t leave Barry’s and he tilts his head, waiting for her answer. “Scott, I’m not alone.”

He turns as if he’s just realizing that Barry is standing there. Barry is still quiet and only lifts his eyes to look at Scott when he mutters, “oh, hey man.”

Barry nods. “What’s up?” Then he looks at Iris. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and she throws one more glance at Scott. “It was good to see you.”

He graces her with that smile again. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Barry takes her hand and they walk back to the truck. They’re on the road again, driving to a neighborhood near her own. For a second, she thinks he’s going to take her home, but he passes the road to her apartment and goes on to a neighborhood featuring several bars and little shops that cater to the college crowd. He pulls into the parking lot of a place called Black Gold, the lights inside near as bright as those in the pizza place.

Again, she waits until he comes around and turns as if to get out. He stops her though, holding the umbrella high, standing in front of her open legs. He does his thing, his stare like he's trying, and succeeding, to get inside her mind.

“That your ex-boyfriend?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Ex-boss.”

His expression doesn’t change. “All your bosses look at you like that?”

She swallows at the sudden feel of his hand on her thigh. The rain is pounding and drops fall on them, but she’s not noticing it. Instead, she’s caught in the storm that’s returned to his eyes, in the feel of his hands inching steadily toward her center.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she says, instead of responding to him.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and the confident, bordering on cocky, Barry is looking at her now, even if that sparkle hasn’t returned quite yet.

“Nah,” he says. “Not jealous. You’re here right now. And you were with me earlier, moaning for me, coming for me.”

He slides his hand between her thighs and because she is, almost literally, always thirsty for him, wet for him, her legs spread easily. He fingers at the crotch of her leggings, and she knows that he can feel her warmth through the thin material. He thumbs at her until she gasps against him, finding her clit in a way that reminds him that he knows her body better than she knows it herself.

“He ever touch you like this?” Barry asks, voice a whisper above the rain. “Make you whimper even without getting your clothes off?”

She is whimpering, as he keeps his thumb on her clit, rubbing on her in slow circles. That’s all he’s doing: touching her with one hand, looking at her with those eyes that tell as much as they conceal, with his voice a deep rumble that rivals the thunder. He might be turned on, but he’s proving a point, naming himself as someone who, well, who owns her, even if she recognizes that no man should claim any power over her.

Heat spreads through her, a low, simmering sort of heat, but it’s enough that her folds grow slicker, start opening like the flowers of a petal waiting to be plucked. He keeps rubbing at her, staying on her clit, staring in her face, so much that she can’t hold his gaze. Because it feels better than it should, and her wet is soaking through these too thin leggings, and her breaths are coming in longer, coming in heavier.

“Tell me he hasn’t, Iris,” he says, commands, and Iris throws her head back, legs widening at their own volition, hips canting against his hand. “Tell me.”

“No,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed. “He never even touched me at all.”

“Tell me it’s just me,” he adds and she’s too far gone to note the pleading in his voice. “Tell me no one has ever touched you like this.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just you, Barry, shit, just you.”

“Good,” he groans. “Good, good girl.”

Even if touch is the word he’s using, Iris understands that it’s more. She understands that they’re both wrapped up in uncertainty, never too sure of where they lie in others’ affections, never too sure of where they lie in life at all. She understands that he’s asking her if she feels it too, if she’s there with him, if this too easy, this too natural, feeling is a first for her too.

He’s asking if she’s brave enough to tell him the truth, if she undertands is meaning-understands that I'm no walk in the park; all these scars on my heart; it’s so dark here-even as she’s wondering the same, as she’s feeling the same, wondering if the churning feelings of abandonment make her unworthy somehow. Wondering if he’ll come to see that unworthiness.

Barry leans forward, just a touch away from her mouth, eyes blazing.

“There’s only you too, Iris,” he says, unprompted. “I swear I’ve just been waiting for you.”

He closes the distance to kiss her and that’s enough to take her over. It’s not a powerful orgasm, not like usual, but it does make her shut her eyes tight, make her limbs seize up as she rocks her hips through it. She breathes out, and she can’t stop the little laugh that comes out.

“You really are a dick,” she muses, opening her eyes slowly.

“A polite one, though,” he says, as he stands straighter and holds his hand out to help her down from the car. He holds the umbrella high over her. “See how I’m making sure you don’t get wet.”

“You didn't think of that earlier.”

His grin is devastating but it doesn’t hide the plethora of emotions in his eyes: the simmering lust, the faint traces of insecurity, the grief that’s been hovering all day...the love she doesn’t think he wants to hide anymore.

She hikes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she walks beside him into the parlor, words flashing in her head like a sign, but if you’re a warrior, there’s nothing to fear; nothing to fear.

And later that night, as she cuddles up next to Barry is his large comfortable bed, she listens to his soft breathing, the sound a melody to the rain still pattering against his windows. She listens and she stares at him, taking in his features, softer than they were before, the stress of today easing away with every second he’s lost to sleep. A flash of lightning lights the room, and it catches her eyes again, the new tattoo, the purple ink bright on his skin, covering the space from a lily on his shoulder to just over his heart. It goes dark again, his room blanketed once more, but in her mind’s eyes, she can still see the vibrant ink on his skin, the pretty drooping petals of an iris.

Cause you're so brave

Stone cold crazy for loving me

Yeah, I'm amazed

I hope you make it out alive

[plasticflowering]

A Unifying Theory of Loreography (Lore + Choreography)

(2/3/21) HELLO to all new folks finding this post! It is also now a YouTube Video, and I’m pretty happy with it so if you’d rather get your lore analysis visually please check it out! 

Preface: I don’t think it’s just coincidence that we got full choreography for an intro called “Devil is in the detail”, and I’ve made it my mission since 반박불가 dropped to pull apart the threads that might link everything, lore-wise. This morning I believe I had an epiphany about it, so here are my thoughts.

If this flops I will feel my soul exiting my body so please validate me.

Notes: In forming this theory I mostly considered the events of the storyline MVs and teasers as well as the choreography, but a very important part of my epiphanies came when considering the post-MV stingers for TBONTB and 반박불가. It’s using these stingers that I feel like I can better understand the thesis statements in the choreo. 

Part One: Now then, where were we? 

At the end of TBONTB, the monarchs are approaching monumental, pitch-black gates made of skulls and desperate, reaching hands. 

I can’t not interpret this as the gates of Tartarus, considering the Greek mythology in the canon lore already. Tartarus, however, is at the lowest depths of the underworld, and so my interpretation is that, while they reclaimed their souls from the necklace, they awoke physically in a realm beyond the underworld, and now have to make their way out of this psychological nightmare to breathe free the air, as it were. Through Tartarus, through Hell, this is not because I played 80 hours of Hades in the last three months but it might have a little to do with that. Stay with me. (Though if anyone is wondering, YES Leedo would be Zagreus, but that’s not why we’re here today)

Part Two: Devil is in the Detail 

What an opening formation. The imagery is not 100% clear to me, but I feel as if this entire opening formation sequence is dual-wielding imagery of a crown (much like the killing part of TBONTB), but also the gates of Tartarus. 

Look at this transition once Hwanwoong ascends to the top of the formation, and how the hands all come out, similar to the gates above. I’ll be damned if this is supposed to invoke anything else.

Rewinding a bit, this framing of Seoho being resuscitated and borne by their hands is stunning. Seoho’s journey in the TBONTB choreography merits its own post entirely, because there are a lot of moments that seem to be telling a story for him particularly, and this is just a continuation of that. 

Ravn and Leedo being separated for the rap line part seems like an obvious utilitarian choice, and I agree that it is. However, before we prepare to dismiss all “pairings” as serving the progression of the song itself, I have another theory that ties together a lot of the inciting moments of choreo. I promise you this is going to sound like A Reach, but that’s just how my mind works and if you enjoy it I’m glad.

Leedo, Hwanwoong, and Xion are the monarchs who have absolved themselves by the events of 반박불가, and fully reclaimed their souls as well as their conscience. Seoho and Ravn, not so much. They have a lot of work to do to free their conscience - especially Seoho. Oh, lord, especially Seoho. Keonhee is an extremely interesting case, as he seems to have a foot firmly in both sides, More on that later. 

For further paranoid conspiracy theorist proof of this, please note that their outfits in the choreography videos symbolically reflect this:

Light, Light, Light/Dark, Dark, Dark/Lightish, Light

If you need more convincing, may I point out that Leedo, Hwanwoong, and Xion are the only members who got those wonderful “all clothed in white” shots in the back half of the 반박불가 MV? I tried to make a gif, and I did make a gif, but Tumblr doesn’t want to post it in this text post.

(you rn)

The most interesting moments of loreography in DiitD are the following: 

1. These lotus hands. Again, the imagery, I die!! Keonhee is coming into his own, his character is blooming, expanding his consciousness, going sicko mode with the realization that he has power in the underworld. 

2. Directly following this, Seoho offers a hand to Keonhee and literally drags him down (again, the light/dark dichotomy of Keonhee), while the two good good boys Hwanwoong and Xion are back there just trying to maintain balance so they can get through this Hell/Tartarus thing. 

3. Good ol’ ONEUS Summoning Circle, but wait this time I think it’s actually meaningful beyond the imagery. Seoho is at the center because he has the vocal line, yeah obviously, but he stays there much longer than is objectively necessary without a formation change. This isn’t common in ONEUS choreography. As much as they love their Summoning Circles, they tend to move on to other formations quickly. This one has meat on its bones, and I think what’s happening here, loreography wise, are the other monarchs banding together in an attempt to save Seoho from the darkness. But Seoho is powerfully dark, y’all, even going so far as to overpower them in the moment above. 

4. This is flame imagery. Seoho has been engulfed in flames despite everyone’s best efforts. 

5. At the last minute, he gets yeeted via backflip back into Hell/Tartarus

6. Keonhee takes the initiative in going back for him...

7. We’re back in Hell, that’s just great. Thanks, Seoho. You’re lucky we love you and your extremely disturbed conscience. 

With this in mind, you can probably get way ahead of me, here. 

Part Three: 반박불가 

Perhaps not remarkably, the title track doesn’t have nearly as many loreography beats as DiitD. However, we know it’s part of the lore, and this was made abundantly clear simply with that opening move...

This is where we left off TBONTB, but not exactly. There is a slightly different formation of dancers here, which suggests it’s not picking up exactly where TBONTB left off, but rather that this is a cue to let casual fans know, explicitly: yes, this is a continuation of the TBONTB story. 

Some moments don’t have choreography allusions, but they are loud in the MV, such as:

- “Youngjo, would you stop playing with flowers, our lead vocalist is going to Hell.” Ravn, who barely scraped out of Hell last time, ostensibly with Leedo’s help according to the rap line break in the choreography, has a rough time of it in the 반박불가 MV, but Hwanwoong isn’t going to let him fall back into toxic behaviors and lose himself to that psychological prison again. Hwanwoong drags Ravn back out of Hell, but not before Ravn successfully makes contact with Seoho. Obviously, Ravn would be the one to make contact, because Ravn’s still a little on edge about his own conscience and can easily backslide if he wants to. Who does he find down there? Seoho.

- Keonhee, who led the charge to return to Hell, is staying on task but seems to be the chief of operations to Hwanwoong’s chief of intelligence here, exercising his newfound sicko mode. Those two are certainly working hardest at keeping the servants of darkness in check down in the depths so they can make a quick break for it. 

- Leedo’s actually having a grand time fighting his own demons - or rather, smirking at them and realizing that nah, he’s good. He can use his guilt and regret to motivate him towrd good things now. 

- Xion is literally just above all of this and can move between Hell and Earth with ease, so he’s just waiting to see if he has to pull any Fallen God-Prince cards here to save his friends. 

Now, for the key loregraphy moments. It’s obvious that 1Million was choreographing for a new direction in the ONEUS style, here, so it’s nearly bereft of the usual lyricism and formations, but they’re definitely there. Unsurprisingly they almost all deal with Seoho. 

1. God, this moment whips. They’re all working to free Seoho and lock the gates behind them, with Keonhee giving Seoho one final push. That’s not a normal choreography move. That is storytelling and it sticks out like a beautiful sore thumb with an entire sonnet written on it. 

2. With Seoho on lock, now Ravn may break out. He does so rather easily, but it’s not without Hwanwoong’s help. Please notice that Keonhee and Seoho are the two BEHIND him, and what that symbolizes. 

3. This fucking bridge. It’s amazing with the loreography. First of all we have Keonhee, and the Summoning Circle is using the same imagery/texture that was formerly used to represent engulfing fire. Uh-oh.

4. Keonhee reaches out...

... but gets dragged under.

5. (excited football commentator voice) but who’s that on the outside making it to the surface, literally with the support of the other monarchs? IT’S SEOHO (cheers)!!

And Seoho finishes things out in the center, as well he should because he got us into this mess.

Part Four: What just happened to Keonhee

I’m so angry at this post-MV stinger. It took me forever to wrap my brain around what is being suggested here, because I thought “hey wait, the red lighting represents darkness/hell, doesn’t it?? DOESN’T IT?? RBW???? I thought we just GOT OUT OF HELL????

So I leave the final interpretation in everyone's individual hands, but the thought that occurred to me today was: 

What if this entire scenario was a test of resolve and camaraderie, an illusion, a trick by the Devil (or that donger Helios, whatever). What if Keonhee was the only one who saw through this, and the only one who genuinely made it to Earth at the moment he appeared to have been dragged back to Hell? Because, as we know, Keonhee is a tactical genius, a monarch among the monarchs, and all his visual imagery in the MV suggested a sort of power cabal. 

What if he realized that they weren’t all strong enough to face the challenge of breaking this cycle, so he schemed to leave them behind, but leave them safe in the illusion, while he struck out with the power of God and anime on his side.

I... I think Keonhee is about to go kill and dethrone a God, y’all. 

[wastelandcrown]

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 6: don’t lose ur head (the terrifying tales of the grimm monarchy)

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a teenager who makes bad choices EXTREME edition, Remus being Remus, Intrusive Thoughts, Minor Bad Parenting, so much swearing it’s insane (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please ask!! I love this freaking chapter SO much but I’m really scared of how it’s going to be received. All feedback is extremely welcome!! 

Pairings: Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, One-Sided Logicality, Platonic DRLAMP

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @im-actually-ok @hauntedturkeycalzonedreamer @croftersjam15 @rainbowsixth @snaketho @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @a-soul-among-the-stars @sweet-razz-tea @the-cactus-lord

Over the course of the next month Logan learns that despite their reputations, Roman and Remus are the opposite of what everyone thinks of them.

Logan is the smartest person he knows, there is no way in hell he’d ever miss Roman’s multiple attempts to sabotage his role as Hamilton. Smart, and yet so oblivious. Each time Roman had tried to mess with Logan after he began cultivating a friendship with Remus he was miraculously saved from the torment at the last second. Remus is a hundred percent certain that Logan has no idea that he’s fighting off his brother at each and every turn. He’s not certain of much, so it’s saying a lot. There is a beautiful dichotomy in Logan’s logs of the events and the stories Remus tells about his brother’s scourge against his brand new ‘enemy’. On a page labeled ‘Roman Incidents’ in Logan’s succinct handwriting documents every incident through the month when Roman attempted to sabotage him.

July 20th - Roman tripped near my things in the drama room while holding coffee. When I went to check on my things, someone had removed the contents of my bag and filled it with around six pounds of glitter. If this happens again, throw the bag away. Glitter makes anything unsalvageable. You will keep finding it everywhere. 

Remus knew Roman had been planning something. Of course he did. Though they didn’t share a room anymore, sneaking into it had never been exceptionally hard. Neither had eavesdropping, when it counted. It counted now more than ever because Remus had become unreasonably attached to Logan and when he heard Roman talking to himself and mentioning the name of his favourite little nerd badly he knew it was now or never. It took two excruciating hours of sitting still and listening to get the juicy stuff. He almost got caught by their mother twice. She’d only been home for three days and she’d checked on Roman twice in one night. If Remus told her about the amount of effort he was putting into something she might keel over dead from shock. 

What a funny sight that would be to him. His mother, dead from the shock of his hard work to do something good, thumping onto the floor. He laughs a little, quiet enough to keep Roman from hearing. His brain supplies the rational next step of Roman running out of his room and distraughtly cradling their mother’s head in his lap. Roman sobbing. Roman blaming him. Roman screaming about how it was his fault. And it would be, if she died like that. Remus doesn’t think it’s all that funny anymore, but once the train of thought starts it can’t be stopped. He decides that eavesdropping isn’t fun anymore and makes his way to the kitchen, trying to shake the idea of his brother cursing him out for killing their mother out of his mind. 

It doesn’t really work, but he tries anyway. The kitchen is full of distractions, good and bad. The knives in the block look so enticing to his self-proclaimed ‘shitty-dick-wad brain’, but the cookies he nabs from the cupboard are so easy to shove into his mouth that he figures it evens out. He sits at the kitchen island and doesn’t even bother to turn on the light. It takes six cookies in his mouth at once before he can direct his thoughts somewhere else momentarily. How in the hell is he going to combat Roman’s plan? He spits all the cookies onto the counter as his brother walks in, flicks on the light, and sighs deeply.

“You could at least do that onto a plate.”

Remus just shrugs, so Roman speaks again, “How’s your evening been?”

“Before like...five minutes ago I was really liking it.” Which was true, Roman slides into the seat next to him and picks a cookie from the box.

“What changed?”

“Shitty brain,” He replies, “Y’know how it gets.”

“I do indeed. Do you need anything?” His voice is surprisingly soft with him, to the point where Remus has to give him a confused look before deciding what to say next. He figures out how to fuck with Roman’s plan in that moment.

“I wanna go to Party City and terrorize the night staff.” 

Roman only chuckles, Remus watches his twin put away the cookies and grab his car keys from the bowl on the counter. 

“Come on then, we can buy some of those plastic babies you like so much.”

As Remus is falling asleep later that night, his chest feels warm. He attributes it to the upcoming scheme-ruining scheming. It’s easier than admitting that that was the first time Roman had willingly hung out with him alone since elementary school. He knows the next morning that Roman is most likely buttering up because he suspects Remus knows. Which is...fair. Even if it hurts a little. They get coffee on the way to the theatre and separate. They both have important things to do. The best part about their somewhat rocky-relationship is that they always know where the other is in order to avoid each other. Remus knows that Roman has gone to see Janus and probably make heart eyes and pine over him like a dumbass. Roman knows that Remus is off drooling over his arch nemesis. Today it is more imperative than ever. During practice Remus manages to steal Logan’s backpack while he’s busy. 

He swaps the contents out with the six pounds of glitter he bought the night before and shoves Logan’s things into his bag for safe keeping. Nobody would dare look into Remus’ bag for fear of gore or weird pornography, even if he only has one in his bag at the moment. He’s shoving a small notebook in when he catches a title. “Hamilton Performance Experiment”. It takes literally all of his self-control not to immediately snoop. He makes it through, eventually meeting up with Logan and even carrying his bag to ‘be nice’ so Logan doesn’t pick up on the bag glitter. When Roman walks by with his coffee and “trips”, spilling his coffee all over Logan’s bag, Remus smiles. 

“Oh! Logan I’m so sorry! What a terrible accident!” Roman cries, ever the actor. 

Logan looks downright frantic as he lunges for his bag and rips it open. Glitter goes everywhere. Logan’s hair, Roman’s shoes, the entire dressing room floor. The look of distress fades from Logan’s face momentarily, returning full force when he realizes his things are missing. 

Remus pulls them out of his bag in secret, walking to the corner of the room, walking back and exclaiming, “What a good prank Roman! You must be taking some tricks from my book!”

When he hands the things back to Logan, Logan smiles. He decides not to ask about the notebook. 

July 27th - One of the props from the prop room was moved in with my things. I suspect Roman because of the look on his face when Remus took the fall for me. 

Just because he didn’t ask about the notebook does not mean it left his memory. By the time he gets in the car alone with his brother he realizes that Roman is pissed off at him.

“Couldn’t you have left it alone? How did you even find out!?” 

“I have my ways. Now shut up about it before I tell mom about that time in 8th grade-”

“Okay! Okay! I’m shutting up!” 

And he did. However that included no longer voicing his plans out loud. Which meant Remus had to get creative. He was very very good at getting creative. 

Dinner with their mother was much more quiet that week. Both twins brooding and not speaking with each other, their mother only prompting Roman to talk. It was too familiar in the worst possible ways. Remus despised his mother, but he knew how much his brother loved her. She was...well she was beautiful, intelligent, a very influential fashion designer, extremely supportive. Roman would go on about how perfect she was for hours. Sure, Remus could concede that their mother was beautiful, intelligent, and a very influential fashion designer, but whenever Roman talks about her he never says she’s at all a good mother. Especially not to him. He watches her laugh breathily at one of Roman’s shitty anecdotes from practice and decides he’s had enough of family dinner. He gets up and dutifully cleans his plate and places it in the dishwasher. The chef gives him a smile, and he smiles back. 

“Remus, dear,” His mother begins in her shrill voice, “If you’re not going to eat with us, at least go and shower. Your smell is unbecoming.”

Then she turns back to her food like she didn’t just attempt to insult him. Jokes on her, it takes a lot more than that to hurt his feelings. He still ends up forcing himself into the shower for thirty-five minutes that night.

The rest of the week he’s more tired than usual, which the others notice. He makes an effort to not be, he really does. When his mom is in town, everything just sucks. He hangs out with Janus three times and Virgil once to get out of the house and away from his family. The other nights he spends sitting outside the convenience store with a monster or two. He ends up calling Logan one of those nights out of need for company. Logan chuckles when Remus makes up a silly reason for calling that he can’t even remember now, but he can remember Logan’s laugh. He listens to Logan talk about the book series he’s been reading and he feels a little lighter. He never ends up finding out what Roman has planned, but it’s so easy when it’s happening right in front of him. Despite his lethargy lately, he feels a fire lit in him when the missing prop is found with Logan’s bag. 

Virgil and Janus are the only two teenagers with keys to the prop room. If Logan stole the missing prop, he would have had to steal the key. No one but the twins even knew Janus had a key, and Virgil was dead set on not letting a soul into the prop room. The idea that Logan, precious little innocent fucking lamb Logan, committed theft not once but twice enrages Remus. When they find it with his things, Logan is utterly baffled. Then he realizes the implications and his face pales. Roman calls for Thomas, spouting off about how Logan stole the prop and he should face consequences, when Remus laughs as loudly as he can. 

“Hah! You guys are so funny! You think specs could ever!? Guess my prank worked out pretty damn good if you actually think Mr.Goody-Two-Shoes could commit such a heinous fucking crime!” 

Thomas sighs, tells Remus to just ask next time, and leaves. Roman stares at his brother for a solid minute with his mouth slightly ajar. Janus and Virgil are both looking at him like he’s insane because it’s so obvious to them that Roman did it. Patton is looking not at him, but at Logan, with so much concern. And Logan...Logan stares up at Remus with the look of a small and confused animal.

“Did you really do that?”

“Of course I did! I’m the resident rat bastard, I have to cause a little recreational chaos.”

He’s pretty sure Logan believes him until they’re leaving for the day and Logan whispers a ‘Thank you’ to him as he walks by. He would have melted into the floor if Janus hadn’t put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him down to whisper to him.

“Why the hell did you let Roman get away with that?” Virgil is on his other side now with a scowl.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about JJ! I committed a very heinous crime!”

“Then why did Roman ask to borrow Janus’ key earlier?” Virgil asks, and Remus drops his smile to replace it with an annoyed look. 

“He just fucking asked for it!? I can’t even believe I’m related to that half-witted twit.”

“Yeah,” Virgil scoffs, “Not really the sharpest sword in the armoury, is he?”

“Please, we’ve known that for years. What I’d like to know is what are we going to do about it?” This quieted Remus, but made Virgil smirk a little. 

Janus continued, “After the backpack incident, and now the stealing incident, I’m half-convinced we have a brand new chaos demon in the group.”

“At least Remus’ chaos is fun sometimes,” Virgil mutters, “Roman’s just an ass.”

Remus gets away with being quiet as they talk until they get into Janus’ beat up old van. He doesn’t call shotgun, doesn’t slap the car's ‘ass’ as a joke, he just climbs into the back and sits there. He’s so quiet that Janus and Virgil are a little shell shocked. 

“Remus?” Virgil asks quietly and pensively, it sounds just like that soft tone Roman used with him last week. 

He’s quiet, Janus starts the car and clicks his tongue, “I’m going to shove Roman down a flight of stairs.”

“Don’t.” He manages, and the boys in the front seats go quiet. Virgil passes him the aux cord. 

He plays “Call Them Brothers” by Regina Spektor and Janus and Virgil know that tonight will be a very quiet outing. 

They’re sitting at IHOP drawing dicks on their pancakes in syrup when Remus’ phone rings. Janus and Virgil know who’s calling the second Remus sees the caller ID and smiles. 

“Evening Logie-Bear, why do I get the pleasure of hearing your devilishly sexy voice in this IHOP tonight?” Remus says and Janus groans loudly.

“You’re at IHOP?” Is the first thing Logan says, which makes Remus smile even brighter.

“Yes, sir! I’m with Virge and Janny too, you wanna say hi?” 

Logan sounds a bit contemplative when he mutters, “I was hoping you’d be alone...”

Eavesdropping Janus and Virgil make surprised faces, Remus smacks Janus in the arm, “Oh you were, were you? Why? Phone sex?”

“I wanted to ask for an opinion on a predicament.” Virgil smirks and Janus nabs his phone to speak for Remus.

“Remus would love to-Remus let me talk-You should come have some pancakes with us-Ow, watch the face!-and tell us all about how your science is going.” Janus can hear Logan hiding his laughter through the phone as Remus wrestles with him in the booth. 

“It’s more of a philosophical predicament.”

Janus nearly sees red, eyes widening and making Remus cackle,“Why in the world would you ask Remus Grimm about phi-”

It’s silent for a few moments then Logan hears a familiar voice. “It’s Virgil, we’re at the IHOP on 81st and Green.”

Logan laughs brightly, “I’ll be there. Order something for me.”

They spend the evening with breakfast for dinner, and the four get into a fairly heated friendly debate about moral ethics. Janus isn’t sure he’s ever had more fun in his life. When he’s driving away from Virgil to drop Remus off at home, he can’t help but smile at Remus’ improved demeanor. 

“Remus,” He starts after they’re alone, “I thought you and Roman were doing better, did something happen?”

“He tried to sabotage Logan twice for entirely selfish reasons, I wouldn’t care if he dies!” Remus dramatically cries.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

They’re quiet the rest of the ride, and Janus gets out to give Remus a hug before he goes in. Remus ignores Roman’s questions about his whereabouts and locks himself in his room to try and keep his mood up. It doesn’t work, but he tries. He does. 

August 3rd - Roman gave me a “peace offering” in the form of lunch. I am led to believe he was attempting to give me food poisoning, as Remus ate the lunch and has now come down with food poisoning.

His mother leaves for her office in Paris on August 1st. Roman cries and hugs her, says he’ll miss her, goes on and on about how it’s so terrible how she’s never home. He does this every time their mother and father leave, he has since they were young. Remus couldn’t give less of a shit. His plan now was finding out what Roman’s next move was. Which was hard because they were back to avoiding each other like the plague. They’d spent a few months getting better at being brothers, then one of their parents shows up and ruins it. This time it was great, Remus would never admit it, but it was. Roman made an effort when their parents weren’t around, a few months ago he started doing things like making dinner for them both and bringing it to him, offering to do a load of laundry for him while he was doing it, being mindful of his volume when practicing his singing and acting, all these little things. 

He’d even started initiating physical contact again, which Remus couldn’t get enough of. Literally. An occasional pat on the back, a grab of his hand to pull him somewhere, a light slap to his knee or arm when he said something distasteful. Giving physical affection to Remus was something that seemed to be unique to Roman. It had always been like that when they were younger, and Remus didn’t think he wanted it to stop. Any time he thinks about it he always drifts back to his head against Roman’s knee a few weeks ago when Roman had carded a hand through his hair and then a few minutes later practically tackled him to douse him in perfume The shit smelled awful, but afterwards Roman had slung an arm over his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. That and the closeness with Logan kept him buzzing for the next two days. 

Now there was nothing again. It was like Roman could turn off his affection for Remus and pretend he didn’t exist. Remus tried not to be angry about it, he really did, but he couldn’t stop the fire that he felt when the other people on stage got his praises and affection. Both of them were incredibly clingy, but Roman was so much worse at hiding it and it made Remus nearly scream. He piled all of his affectionate behavior onto Logan, and Logan never really minded. He’d place his head on Logan’s shoulder, hold his hand on stage, sit pressed up against him offstage. He loved it, he did. He loved protecting Logan, talking to Logan, existing in the same space as the dork was exhilarating. He hated having to protect Logan from his brother. There was no way in hell that Remus would let anything terrible happen to Logan, but there was no way he would ever let his brother’s stupid selfish decisions fall back on him. He knows he shouldn’t give a single shit, but he does. 

His tiredness fades with his mother, but he’s still exhausted because Roman keeps trying to fuck with Logan when he knows damn well Remus won’t let him. The selfish ass. This time, Roman has the gall to pull his entire scheme in front of Remus. 

“Logan,” He starts, his affected air is slightly dim today and his hands are hidden, “To apologize for my unkind actions, I have brought a peace offering.” 

Roman hands Logan a little bag from a restaurant Remus swears he recognizes. 

“Oh, thank you.” Logan says quietly, opening the bag and pulling out a wrapped burger. 

Logan takes it out and inspects it as Remus wracks his brain trying to remember where he knows the packaging. It hits him right before Logan takes a bite. This burger is from the restaurant that gave Roman food poisoning a few months ago. It looks like the same burger too. At this point, Remus is half-convinced Roman is taunting him. He’s in a bit of a panic and doesn’t think before he snatches the burger and shoves it in his mouth.

“Remus!” Both call out, the wrapper is still on the end of the burger so he pulls it out then chews and swallows the thing whole. 

He coughs and sputters for almost two minutes after, then shoots Roman an awful glare. 

“What just happened?” Logan asks, extremely puzzled. 

Roman is gawking at Remus again, “Why did you eat that!?” 

“Fuck you that’s why, you horsefucking shiteating egomaniac bastard.”

Roman walks off in a huff, Remus lays on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” Logan questions, handing him a water bottle.

Maneuvering onto his side, Remus takes a sip and his throat feels miles better, “I just straight up ate a burger whole like a fucking snake, how do you think I am dipshit?”

“Hm,” He pauses to think, “Bad.” 

Both boys laugh, and Logan joins Remus on the ground.

“I am beginning to believe your brother has a vendetta against me.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Logan pauses, looking at Remus who is still occasionally wheezing.

“Are you alright...emotionally?” Remus wheezes and laughs at the same time, sounding something similar to a goose. 

“‘Thought you didn’t know much about those, poindexter.”

“I do not. However, as your friend I feel like it’s important to ask.”

Remus just sighs, closes his eyes, and blows a raspberry at the ceiling.

“Me and Roman are complicated.”

“I can tell.” Remus laughs, Logan really is something else. 

It’s quiet when Remus asks, “Do you hate him?”

“No,” Logan’s response is measured and confident like he’s asked himself this question a hundred times, “I don’t hate him. I think he’s got some things to work out, and is taking out his frustration on me as of late.”

He keeps talking, Remus covers his closed eyes with his arm, “More importantly, do you hate him?”

He almost rockets to his feet when Logan says curiously, “Or, more interestingly, do you love him?”

It takes him nearly two and a half minutes sat up and sipping water, watching Logan pack his things, to muster up the will to tell the truth. 

“Of course I love him. Nobody else is gonna fucking do it.” 

He could barely comprehend Logan’s response to his admission so he shoved it out of his mind with all the force he could muster, then waved a goodbye to him when he parted and left Remus with his mind. 

He ends up going home early because his awful decision ended up actually giving him food poisoning. He takes a sick day the next day, and spends most of the time feeling like shit physically and emotionally. His brain has kept tabs on all the shitty feelings and thoughts he’s had and is now playing out a full length shitty horror movie about his life and his dumb brother and his shitty summer crush. Then there’s that conversation with Logan. The last sentence is running through him over and over again. He keeps coming back to it, though he’s sure Logan didn’t even mean anything by it. Seventeen words and his world was sent spinning. 

“Ah, I understand, it’s hard to love somebody when they don’t act like they love you back.” 

Logan doesn’t even know the half of it. 

August 20th - Roman asked me directly to leave the production. Though I admire the effort, all it achieved was a quite awful night, and an angry lecture(?) of sorts from Janus. I do not believe Roman will be trying this tactic ever again.

Roman tries to apologize multiple times, but something angry and petty in Remus doesn’t accept any of them. They’re both getting more and more frustrated by the minute. By the time the thirteenth of August rolls around they aren’t on speaking terms again and everyone can tell that it’s taking its toll on them both. Remus acts out more than usual against people he doesn’t usually target. He scared an ensemble girl one too many times, to the point where she ended up slapping him. He deserved it, but it still stung. Roman poured himself into his role more than ever, but it only ended up stressing him out even more than usual. When his voice so much as wavered on stage it shattered his confidence. 

It affected their friends as well. Roman spent more time with Patton and Emile, avoiding Remus and Janus as much as he could possibly manage. Janus rolled his eyes but just resigned himself to the tech booth with Virgil, Remus, and Logan. The only good thing that was happening lately was Janus’ newfound attachment to Logan. The pair's insane intelligence and love of debate meant one was nearly guaranteed every other time they were in the same room. It was exhilarating to watch, and probably exhilarating to take part in. Remus didn’t much care for debates, but watching Janus and Logan go at each other with an occasional snarky comment or new suggestion from Virgil was making him grow a fondness for them. At this point there was barely anybody in the theatre who didn’t adore Logan.

The staff, the cast, the tech. Everyone adored him. He was smart, diligent, and hard-working. He asked questions, didn’t undermine others, and respected the entire cast's talent at what they did. It was magical to watch everyone in the auditorium drift under Logan’s thumb. Remus was included. They were saving Say No To This until near last because of the lack of dancing involved, but it didn’t even matter. Say No To This was not needed in Remus’ seduction plan because Logan seemed to gravitate towards him with ease. He is a damn good friend and Remus is determined to make that boy his bride. 

Despite his growing lack of sleep and reliance on caffeine, Remus is skating by just fine without anything bad happening. Until his brother decides to fuck with his life again. He’s on the thin line between being shitty in secret and full-on breakdown, Roman really isn’t helping his case. Remus is lounging on the floor while Logan reads in a chair next to the makeup mirrors. He hears someone enter, but isn’t bothered enough to move. 

Ever the polite, Logan greets the newcomer “Ah, Hello Roman, how are you?”

“I need to ask you something.” His brother asks, and Remus turns his head away from the noise. 

“Alright, what is it?” Logan sounds so measured and calm.

There is a long pause, “What is it going to take for you to realize you should quit?”

The calmness in Logan’s voice wavers, and Remus can hear it wobble, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I mean, it’s obvious I've been trying to get you to leave, so what’s been keeping you!?” Roman raises his voice near instantly, that same childish selfishness burns from his tongue. 

“It is none of your business.” There’s a dignified fire raging under his voice now, it’s like he’s been practicing for this. 

“You’re not even a good actor! From what I can tell, you’re entirely uninteresting and way too intellectual to be here!” Roman continues, Remus feels the urge to get up but he can’t find the will to move. 

“Roman, please think before you say something you regret.” Remus knows what Roman is going to say before it happens.

“No!” His brother is so typical, “You have no idea what this role means to me, why can’t you just leave!?”

That’s typical too, Remus opens his eyes and looks at the pair. Logan looks pissed off, Roman looks pissed off, and Janus is watching from the doorway. 

“I try very hard to give you the benefit of the doubt in regards to your debilitating egomania, but it is beginning to appear as if your whole sense of stability and purpose is built upon some false reality where you need to be the star at every possible moment. Go to therapy about it, and leave me alone.” Logan spits this in Roman’s face, then turns back to his book. 

Clenching his fists and staring at the ground, Roman looks almost defeated until he catches Remus staring and his face morphs into something so bitter he has to force himself to look away. 

“No. I will not leave you alone until I get this part. None of you have any idea how much I need it.” 

“Roman-” Janus speaks up daringly from his spot by the door, his tone is enough to warn him to stand down. 

Roman’s eyes are squeezed shut, his fists are clenched, “I know we have the same face, but I’m not a failure like my brother.”

That sends Remus to his feet and out the door before anyone can say a word. As he passes Janus on the way out Janus tries to stop him but he pushes past him, past everyone, and out the front door of the theatre. 

Janus turns on Roman in an instant, walking slowly into the room and shutting the door with purpose. Roman’s eyes are sewed shut and all the guilt he tries to push down floods him when he makes eye contact with his pissed off friend. 

“Roman, we need to have a talk.” 

[roseskiesandbutterflies]

Le Démon Déchu - Chapter 2: Réponses Et Plus De Questions

Summary: The summary is kind of long so please check a previous part or my masterlist if you want to read it.

Warning(s): threat, swearing

Word Count: 6.8k+

Inspiration: Do You Know What Eternity Is? by Elderly_Worm on AO3, Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise on AO3, Pray For Us, Icarus series by Atalan on AO3, Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm on AO3, wasteland, baby by john1513 on AO3, Not of Us by ShesAKillerQueen98 on AO3, How to Win a Lifetime Achievement Award for Services to Television (and how not to) by GaryOldman on AO3, Doctor Who (don’t ask) and, of course, Good Omens itself

A/N: Okay I took a bit of a hiatus from writing literally anything for about five months so sorry about that but I’m back now!! That’s the main thing. Also, I’ve left high school now which is very exciting! That does mean I’ll have so much more time to write and I’m definitely going to try and use this summer to establish some kind of routine for writing so that when I start college, I won’t get too overwhelmed with both my studies and with updating my fics. That’s the plan anyway so don’t hold me to that lmao. With any luck, now I’ve actually said that it’ll have to happen. (I wrote that part of this note back in May when it was the start of the summer. It is currently September and I’m just about to finally publish this chapter and I assure you, I am cringing at my own optimism.) Sorry this took so long to post. This chapter has been in the works since May (yes, I know I’m terrible) but I actually got a lot more writing done in that time that what you just see in this chapter. All will be revealed soon. I just promise that I have been productive. Once you’ve read this chapter, you have my blessing to translate the title of this fic. Hopefully it will make sense.

I just wanted to point out something about the playlist I linked in the previous chapter. I am well aware that there are some rather problematic people in it, namely Sia. I want you all to know that I don’t support her in any way (I don’t like her at all I think she’s a complete ableist twat). Her songs are only on there because of how well they fit with the story (a lot of this will become clearer as the story goes on).

I also wanted to point out that I know that if angels do exist, then their true forms probably wouldn’t look anything like humans. I’m well aware of that, I’m not an idiot, I don’t know if any of you remember when people started googling ‘angel true form’ and some people got scared lmao. The point is, we’ve all seen the pictures. But for the purpose of this story, and honestly just to make it easier for me to describe what the characters are doing, we’re going to have to pretend that they did look like humans. Can I claim creative license with this one? Maybe it got lost in translation because there is probably no way someone could describe how an angel truly looks in any human language? I don’t know, just roll with it.I know that this chapter had so much exposition and explanation in it but I can promise you two things. One, there is still much to be revealed. Two, I promise this isn’t just bad writing on my part. Just trust that I needed to put this all in this early on.

And how is everyone doing after the season 2 announcement? I mean, at the time of writing this specific part of my notes, it only got announced about an hour ago lmao. I’m very fucking excited, oh my god. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I found out I can’t lie. Catch me trying to finish this before it comes out in case things occur which means I have to change things in this story. I can’t be arsed for that. Oh well. Hopefully it’ll read like those Sherlock fics that people wrote in between series 2 and series 3 if that doesn’t happen.

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Hermit (upright) + Five of Wands (upright)

Conflict. Reflection. Resurfacing memories.

************

Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other.

We know who our enemies are. We know.

– Richard Siken (Detail of the Fire)

************

“Fuck.”

The angel and demon exchanged glances of what could only be described as thinly veiled panic, while the woman in front of them just looked annoyed at the most.

“They couldn’t wait five minutes, could they?” she muttered, pinching at the bridge of her nose in frustration before standing up again, “Look, just stay down here, I’m gonna go sort this out. With any luck they won’t have actually realised you’re here too.”

“Wait, how do you know they’re here for you?” Crowley asked, suddenly curious as to what business Eloise might have with Heaven.

“Just a gut feeling,” she said before making her way to the spiral staircase behind them, muttering to herself, “If they were here for you, I feel like they would have at least used the front door.”

The other two waited until she’d run upstairs before exchanging a quick glance, an unspoken word, and following her up.

Meanwhile, Eloise was hovering outside a room at the end of the corridor which she could only assume was the bedroom. She was strangely hesitant, not out of fear of them, simply out of fear of the unknown. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in that room for millennia, and something told her that this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat. She took a deep breath, even though she technically didn’t need it, letting a wave of faux confidence wash over her, and stepped inside. Don’t crumble now. You’ve come too far to crumble now.

“Ah, Mariel, long time no see,” Gabriel smiled coldly, brushing the dust off his white suit. Flanked by two other angels, he stood in the wreckage of the bedroom without even acknowledging the damage they must have caused when they crashed in. Beside him were Beelzebub and Hastur, who both looked as though they had been dragged kicking and screaming to come here. Beelzebub in particular kept shooting metaphorical daggers at Gabriel, who remained perfectly oblivious. The entire ceiling had caved in from the impact of their crash, the setting sun painting the doorway where Eloise stood in a pale gold and casting a dark shadow over the others.

She’d grimaced at the use of her old name; it was too unfamiliar, too ancient. Mariel was the name of a long-dead version of herself. Once upon a time, she’d embraced it, but that was once upon a time. Once upon a time long gone.

“Almost like I’ve been avoiding you on purpose,” she muttered, leaning against the doorway as she stared intrusively at each person in the room, observing, assessing. She silently revelled in the blatant discomfort in each of their faces.

“No need to be so rude,” Gabriel said, doing anything to avoid her eyes, his previous confident façade now shattered.

Eloise stared at him in disbelief, “What exactly were you expecting? A fucking welcome party? I haven’t seen any of you in over six thousand years and you just crash through the roof of my house, unannounced and uninvited, so yeah, forgive me for being a little irritated.” She couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. She’d barely been in Aziraphale’s bookshop for fifteen minutes and she was already pretending she owned it.

She watched smugly as he squirmed under her gaze, desperately looking to the others to say something in response. A moment or two passed before Beelzebub’s head suddenly snapped up in confusion, “Are you alone?”

Shit. She’d hoped that they wouldn’t have noticed the presence of the two who were definitely not downstairs like she’d asked. She swallowed, trying not to let any kind of emotion show on her face, trying not to give the game up that quickly, “Yeah, I live on my own.” She watched the whole group of them squint in concentration, trying to sense any other beings in the house. She sighed, changing the subject before they could comment on it any further, “Look, what do you want? I don’t have all day so if you could make it quick then that would be much appreciated.”

Gabriel looked back at her, his suave exterior unfortunately making a return, “Hey, we just wanted to check up on you, see how you’re doing-”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she snapped. She pushed herself off from the doorway, stalking towards the others, “You have had six thousand years to ‘check up on me’, don’t pretend you’ve only started to care now.”

She was met with only silence as Gabriel and Beelzebub glanced at each other awkwardly, looking very much like chastised children. Suddenly the latter groaned and cried, “You can’t just leave Hell!”

“Oh, here we go,” Eloise muttered, rolling her eyes, bored already.

“You can’t! You Fell from Heaven, so you go to Hell, there isn’t a third option!”

“Well, apparently there is,” she shrugged.

“No there isn’t!” they argued, face screwed up like a petulant child.

“Then what do you call this then?” she asked, unfolding her wings for the second time that day. She studied their reactions closely, scrutinising coal-black eyes piercing through their very souls. She was searching for any hint of shock, of recognition, of anything that could clue her in as to what was going on in their heads at that moment. All she could find, however, was pure, unadulterated confusion. Which was annoying when her wings were supposed to be an answer to their unasked questions.

Gabriel stumbled over his words, “Good Lord, how did you even-”

Eloise cut him off curtly, no longer having the patience to listen to his incoherent mumbles. She instead turned to Beelzebub who at least had the decency to look a little more composed, “That would be what you could sense then. I’ve got both Heaven and Hell in me, that’s a lot of energy to pick up on.” She stared right through them, daring them to say anything else.

“Must be,” they replied slowly, though they didn’t look at all convinced.

Gabriel held up a hand, his eyes darting about as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing, “No hold on, how did you even manage that?”

“I left Hell,” Eloise said simply, “Why should I have black wings? I’m not some demon who ran away from everything. I left. Permanently. I looked Hell in the eye and walked away. You know what? Fuck it, I looked Satan in the eyes and walked away.”

“You what?” he stuttered.

“Yeah, you heard me. You have a problem with me leaving Hell then go on! Take that up with the bloody devil,” she said, staring them down, daring them to retaliate. She smirked when she was met with pure, uncomfortable silence, “Except you won’t, will you? Because you don’t actually give two fucks about me. Just like I said, if you did then you would have chased me up a long time ago. Quite frankly, I think you must have been glad to have me out of your hair,” she sighed, half sad, half amused when they couldn’t even meet her eye. She paused for a moment, wondering how far she could push this, before asking, “You know what I think is really going on here? I think the pair of you are feeling a bit bruised after the absolute shitshow that was Armageddon last year, which, by the way, fucking hilarious. I think your egos are feeling a little sore after a literal child stopped you from ending the world, so you’re thinking ‘hmm, what would be an easy win so that we don’t feel like total shit? Oh yeah, what about that demon who ran away all that time ago? That should be easy to sort out.’. Well, love to disappoint, but you’re not getting me that easily, especially when not a single one of us actually wants me back, and Sandalphon, take one more step further I swear I will dropkick you back to Heaven,” she snapped, glaring at the angel who had been menacingly inching closer while she had been talking. He reluctantly stepped back alongside Gabriel, looking a little more than miffed that his plan hadn’t worked out. “You really want me back? Get your bosses to talk to me because I don’t actually see why it’s any of your business. No middle men. Just God, Satan and me. I’ll see what they have to say about all this. Questions?” she asked, tone snapping from one extreme to another, almost as if she had just been possessed.

Gabriel stared at her, mouth gaping like a fish, “You can’t just boss us around like that.”

“What? Like how you bossed us around all those years?” she replied without missing a beat, real rage, real danger seeping into her voice now, “I think we’re done here.”

“But-”

“I said, I think we’re done here,” she said, leaving no room for arguments. She gestured to the sorry excuse for a room around them, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind cleaning this up.”

“Why can’t you do it? You can miracle things too,” Gabriel said, desperate for any kind of leverage over Eloise.

“You’re right, I could, but I didn’t make this mess, and I personally believe that you should face the consequences of your actions, Gabriel,” she said pointedly, watching as he visibly gulped. In a matter of seconds, the room was restored to its original state and Eloise was left alone in the room, no indicators that she was ever with any other people remaining.

She sighed and all but collapsed into a chair that may or may not have existed a few moments ago, confident façade shattered completely. She breathed heavily in exhaustion, as if she’d just run a marathon; she supposed she had just run a mental one. Her emotions were bugging her to no end. It was strange. She wasn’t scared, per se. There was very little that Gabriel or Beelzebub could do to her that would frighten her anymore. She tried her best to compose herself, writing off the tsunami inside her mind as just plain old adrenaline, before calling out, “You can come in now. I know you guys are outside, it’s okay, you can come in.”

Crowley and Aziraphale walked into the room, one looking considerably more sheepish than the other. Aziraphale perched awkwardly on the freshly reconstructed bed, “We’re sorry–”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, we’re not.”

Eloise and Crowley exchanged a glance, amused looks on both of their faces while Aziraphale simply looked distressed. Eloise turned back to him and smiled sympathetically, “I told you, it’s fine. I would have done the same,” she admitted, looking away before collecting herself once again, “So, I’m guessing you have a lot of questions–”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Crowley muttered as he took a seat beside Aziraphale, although it was a very loose definition of ‘taking a seat’.

Aziraphale glared at him while Eloise just sighed and reluctantly said, “I think it might be better if I just show you.”

Crowley cocked his head in confusion, “Show us what?”

She brought her chair closer to the edge of the bed and put out her hands, “Take my hands. Brace yourselves.”

Mariel was standing before a crowd of angels, dozens upon dozens of disgusted faces staring right at her. She couldn’t quite remember getting there. She had been in the pitch-dark holding cell and the next thing she knew, she was here. Blinding white light surrounded them, harshly illuminating her vulnerabilities before all of Heaven. She tried her best to keep her chin up even though she absolutely hated the fact that they could see the bruises from when she had been arrested that were now blooming on her face. She frowned as she noticed the lack of measures preventing her from escaping. All that was keeping her there was Gabriel’s presence at her side, cold violet eyes pointedly ignoring her. He really was an arrogant bastard for assuming that she wouldn’t even try to make a run for it. Just because he was right this one time, it didn’t mean that he shouldn’t have come prepared. Mariel sighed and looked up at the angels staring down at her. Michael was sat higher than everyone in the centre of the crowd, face void of all emotion as she said, “The Principality Mariel. You’re on trial today for betraying the will of the Almighty, rebelling against all that is good and light in the universe...”

Mariel blocked the rest of her pretentious speech out as she droned on about all the awful things she’d supposedly done to deserve this. It was all lies anyway. She knew the real reason she was here. There were a few things that stood out to her despite it all, things that nearly made her laugh. She’d known that they’d needed to conjure up some reasons for condemning her, but this was just ridiculous. Gabriel really had gone to extraordinary yet desperate lengths to slander her in her final moments in this Someone-forsaken place. She was surprised that the angels gathered to watch her downfall believed a word of this. She tried her best not to resent them, though. It wasn’t like they had anything better to believe in. Especially considering the amused smirk that had crept its way onto her face.

She returns to reality just in time to hear Michael ask, “What do you have to say to defend yourself?”

“I’ve done nothing I need to defend,” she said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“Don’t make this worse for yourself than it already is,” Gabriel muttered dangerously from where he stood beside her.

Mariel turned to look at him in disbelief. “How the fuck could this get any worse, Gabriel?” she hissed, fury flaring up in her eyes.

He just looked back at her condescendingly, “Do you really need me to answer that?”

She pointedly refused to reply, turning back to face Michael, determined to ignore him.

The next part goes past in a blur for Mariel. Michael speaks again, though she doesn’t listen. Then suddenly there are shouts of anger, screams of rage, coming from the gathered crowd. They spit with venom as they hurl insults at her. She doesn’t hear a word. It’s as though her head is under water, completely submerged in the stone cold anger that seeps through her body, and suddenly Mariel is drowning in the realisation that this is really happening, oh God this is really happening.

Why? Why is this happening to me? You listening, God? Look me in the eye and tell me why this is happening.

She doesn’t get an answer, and though she wasn’t expecting one, it still hurts. Because she knows that she’ll never get an answer from Her again now.

Eventually she feels a tug on her arm from where Gabriel has been standing, dragging her away from the crowd and out her of current state of mind. She could feel her senses coming back to her as she stumbled backwards, but everything was crashing down on her too quickly, too harshly. She did her best to shove the rising panic as deep down insider her as she could. There was no way she would let anyone here see her in that state. She couldn’t let them think they’d won.

She didn’t even realise she had reached the edge of the ground she was standing on, the edge of Heaven itself, Gabriel no longer grabbing her arm. She nearly found herself peering over the edge, but stopped herself before she could lean too far. It may have helped her in the past but now was not the time to give in to her curiosity. And she didn’t trust Gabriel to not push her the moment he had the chance. She turned her head to glare fiercely at him, piercing holes in his very soul. She could slowly feel her anxiety being replaced by cool rage as she found herself saying, “Any institution that tries to silence anyone who opposes them is inherently corrupt.” She stared knowingly at his discomfort as he forced himself to face her. He knew what she meant by that. He knew.

He took a second to compose himself before practically scoffing in her face, “Don’t preach at me.”

Mariel cocked her head as she studied him. She watched as his eyes subconsciously flicked back to the crowd, to the other Archangels. He blatantly wanted nothing more than to re-join his fellow angels, the only beings who understood why he was doing what he was doing, or were at least supposed to understand anyway. Somehow she doubted they were all as cold-hearted and self-absorbed as the angel in front of her. She considered him for a moment before saying simply, “Your quest for power will kill you in the end.”

He furrowed his brows in somewhat amused confusion, “Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s the truth,” she blinked at him before leaning in and murmuring in his ear, “It will be your downfall.”

“The only one who’s going to Fall around here is you,” he said dangerously. Mariel leaned back and watched the lethal glimmer in his eye wither and die under the intensity of her gaze.

She just smiled. “We’ll see.” She let herself look at him for a moment longer before blinking away the tears and cautiously taking a small step backwards. She could feel where the ground ended beneath her feet and was sure not to step any further. She took one last look of the place she once called home, embracing how it felt for the last time though she knew she wouldn’t miss it.

She closed her eyes for a moment and fell back.

Mariel was Falling. That bit she knew, but much more than that? Everything was happening too fast for her to notice. And yet, it was as if she was existing in slow-motion. She worried for a moment that this was, in fact, her fate; doomed to remain in a perpetual state of limbo, of Falling, for all eternity. The only thing telling her otherwise was the view of Heaven above her, which she realised only too late was slowly shrinking into nothing. Mariel found herself reaching her own arms out, grasping for Heaven. They were opposite ends of a magnet being roughly pulled away from each other by an invisible force.

You hear that God? Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? And don’t you dare tell me it’s all part of your plan because right now, the only thing I want is to be back where I should be and I can’t even have that.

She pulled herself out of her mind and back into reality; she’d have plenty of time in Hell to yell at a God who’d never listen, let alone answer. She only just started to register her surroundings, the fact that she was actually Falling, who knows how far and for how long, tumbling through the air at an unimaginable speed, plummeting towards a place that could be anything from seconds to hours away. The deafening wind that screamed in her ears, drowning out the screams which may have been coming from her mouth or her mind, who was she to say? Air whipped around her body, icier and more painful than any words that could ever be uttered by the angels above her. It wasn’t until she could no longer see any hint of Heaven on the horizon that she started to feel the tears finally fall, trickling down her face and floating slightly due to the force of the Fall.

Then suddenly it came. She felt it in the very tips of her wings first, a strange tingling sensation, as though hundreds and then thousands of pins were skirting the edges of her corporeal being. It spread over the rest of her wings, and then her body, at a faster pace than she could keep track of until her whole being felt as though it was burning. The pain grew, and it grew, and it grew, and she didn’t think she could physically take any more pain when she looked up in horror at her own freshly blackened wings. Her beautiful, holy wings which had once been the softest, purest white, were now stained with evil and ash. For the first time since she started Falling, however long ago that might have been, she let out a choked sob that racked through her whole body and through the ever-changing air around her. Nobody heard her cries. Nobody heard her screams as the searing pain in her chest grew stronger. She couldn’t even begin to work out whether it was physical or emotional but it was there and it burned a hole, a gaping wound, through her soul, leaving a scar fated to never heal and to forever haunt her-

Eloise was crying. She’d tried so hard to prevent the steady streams that were now running down her cheeks, but that was a memory that she’d never wanted to relive. She looked upwards for a moment, trying to regain control of her emotions and her breathing, before peeling her hands away from the two sat in front of her. She roughly wiped the tears from her face, and suddenly the only thing telling you she had been crying were the bloodshot eyes that Crowley tried to ignore as he said bluntly, “I’m still confused.”

“Crowley, give her a minute,” Aziraphale chastised him, furrowing his brows at the demon before he turned back to Eloise with kind eyes and a kinder heart, “Are you alright, my dear?”

She nodded without much hesitation, “I’m fine, it’s okay.” She certainly wasn’t fine, nor was it okay, but the last thing she wanted was to have to deal with her feelings in front of two people she was trying her best not to scare off. She looked back at Crowley, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

He looked at her in understanding, for if anyone knew her thought process in that moment, it was him. “Right, so you Fell and became a demon. Then what?”

“Well, you know what Hell’s like,” she started, looking pointedly at Crowley. She waited for him to nod before continuing, “Not my scene at all. I just point-blank refused to do anything they asked of me. Naturally they didn’t like that much. Eventually I was called in to see Satan about it. I remember thinking, ‘well, that’s that then. Terrible knowing you all.’, because I didn’t think I was going to survive that. Turns out he was just annoyed that I was being a bloody nuisance to everyone else, but he was too amused to really do anything about it, so he basically just told me to piss off. Leave Hell, don’t come back, and I won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone or that you’re even alive. Not exactly a deal I could refuse, so I left, came to Earth, been here ever since. I think everyone just assumed he’d killed me,” she shrugged as if she hadn’t just destroyed the whole idea of eternal damnation with just a few sentences. She smiled to herself as they gaped at her for a moment, though she doubted they realised they were doing it.

Crowley somehow managed to gather his senses quick enough to hold up a hand and say, “Wait, but when you were talking to Gabriel and Beelzebub and that lot, you said they had six thousand years to check up on you. Why would you say that if they thought you were dead?” He narrowed his eyes at her. He wasn’t altogether quite sure why he seemed to be so keen on finding any gaps in her story, but he needed to be able to trust that she was telling the truth. Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Yes, and they didn’t exactly seem surprised to see you alive.”

Eloise grinned. You two are gonna be fun, I can tell. “You’re both very observant, I have to give you credit for that.” She paused in thought for a second before starting carefully, “You see, the trouble with me is that I’m not really one for keeping a low profile. I’m too noisy, so to speak, and I don’t even realise it most of the time. This demon I hadn’t exactly been the nicest to back in Hell saw me in Babylon, gosh, it must have been eighteen thirty something BC? Anyways, he ratted me out to Beelzebub who must have told Gabriel all about it. I had about a decade of this bloody demon trying to discorporate me just to see if it would force me to go back to Hell, then one day he just stopped, and I never saw him again. Beelzebub probably told him to piss off.”

They were both quiet again for a little while. Eloise didn’t even think to say anything. It might be a rare occasion, but she did know when to keep her mouth shut when it mattered. She could see the cogs turning in their heads as if it was projected in the air above them. Eventually Crowley murmured, “I didn’t even know you could do that, you know, leave.”

She shook her head with a strange kind of sympathy that came from recognising an experience you had far too long ago, “Neither did I. It stills shocks me sometimes if I think about it too much.”

A few seconds passed before Crowley cleared his throat abruptly and said, “They called you Mariel. I thought you said your name was Eloise.”

She hesitated before answering. She knew exactly what he was doing, she’d been doing it for the whole of their conversation thus far, but just because she tended to bury her emotions, it didn’t mean that she liked it when others did it. She decided to ignore the hypocrisy of that thought, how ironic, she thought to herself, and instead explained, “It is. Mariel was my angel name. You know how it is,” she looked pointedly at Crowley again, hoping that Aziraphale would be able to put the pieces together. She didn’t actually know how much he knew about what it was like to Fall and become a demon.

“Oh, so is Eloise your demon name?” Aziraphale asked politely.

“No,” she said curtly, instantly feeling guilty when she saw the hurt that flashed over Aziraphale’s face. She grimaced and explained in a gentler tone, “I chose it for myself when I came to Earth. Hell tried to change my name after I Fell but I just refused.” She studied him for a second, watching his eyes dart about, before saying, “You want to ask something, I can tell. What is it?”

He looked a little startled at being caught out, momentarily glancing at Crowley for support, probably subconsciously, Eloise noted with a smile. “I, well, I couldn’t help but notice that you mentioned Armageddon. Back when you were speaking with, um, well, you know. H-how did you know about that?”

“I might have been there.” The words rushed out of her mouth in a much less casual manner than what she’d been aiming for, coming out in a sort of jumbled heap that took Crowley and Aziraphale a moment to decipher.

Crowley, the poor sod, could only think to lean forward and ask a simple, “You what?”

She jumped to defend herself, wanting to avoid the onslaught of questions if she could, “Not actually at the airbase, but I was in the area. I was living in Tadfield at the time.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, although the hint of a smirk on his face told her it was more in amusement than suspicion, “How did you know it was at the airbase?”

Eloise couldn’t help but chuckle to herself because of course, they’d notice her choice of words, “I knew Adam and his mates. I ran an ice cream shop, would you believe it. He came and told me all about it the day after,” she smiled fondly before suddenly coming alive with excitement, “That’s actually how I found out about you two. That’s why I’m here. Because I thought I was the only one trying to stop the world ending, but apparently I wasn’t. I had to see for myself.”

A moment passed before Aziraphale asked quietly, “You were trying to stop it?”

Eloise, not noticing the newly subdued atmosphere, launched herself into a painfully over-enthusiastic explanation, “Yeah, it was quite clever really, if I do say so myself. I made sure Adam was swapped with the American baby in the hopes that he would have a human enough upbringing to perhaps change things. Seems to have worked,” she shrugged, before finally taking in the two shocked faces that were staring back at her. Her brows furrowed and her face fell as she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You switched the babies?” Crowley asked blankly, although it came out as more of a statement than a question.

Her face screwed up as she tried to work out how best to explain herself. “Well, I say switched, it was more of a ‘made sure the demon dropping the antichrist off went to the wrong delivery room’ kind of thing. Feel sorry for the poor sod who had to deal with that but needs must.”

Crowley blinked at her and said bluntly, “I was the poor sod who had to deal with that.”

Eloise looked at him for a moment as about five different jigsaw pieces finally clicked in her head, before she threw her head back in realisation, “Oh shit, so you were. I knew your name sounded familiar.”

“You bastard, we spent six years raising the wrong child because of you!” he exclaimed, wagging his finger at her and jumping off of the bed at one point before Aziraphale tugged him back down. Eloise didn’t know whether to laugh or run for her life, for the menace in his words was betrayed by the disbelieving laugh in his voice.

“I’m sorry, you did what now?” she asked, only just processing what he���d just said, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips at his dramatic antics. She knew not to push it when Aziraphale just lifted a finger and pursed his lips with the look of someone who’d rather never bring up said event again.

“Oh bloody heaven, I can’t believe this,” Crowley shook his head, chuckling to himself. Although part of him resented it, he couldn’t help but look at Eloise differently now as they laughed like little kids together. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed so much more like them now, so much more human. Or maybe it was the fact that she had been trying to stop the apocalypse and all the implications that came with the fact. Suddenly he just wanted to know more about her, but he quickly silenced that thought. One thing at a time.

She raised her shoulders with a confused look on her face, giggling as she said, “Sorry? Well, I didn’t know, did I?”

They locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter again at the sheer absurdity of it all, leaving Aziraphale slightly bewildered and more than slightly exasperated at the pair. It took them a few moments to finally calm down but once they did, Crowley sobered his tone of voice as he asked, “Right, back to what happened before we came in. Anything we need to keep an eye out for?”

Though he didn’t say it, Eloise could see the unasked question in his eyes. Are we safe? She smiled softly, “Nah, you two’ll be fine. Basically I told them if they want to talk to me, then they need to get their bosses involved, and somehow I highly doubt God and Satan are gonna pop down for a friendly chat any time soon. Even then, you two should be fine. I don’t think any of that lot clocked on that you were here.”

Crowley nodded in understanding, and it didn’t escape Eloise’s attention how the remaining dregs of tension visibly dissipated from both of their bodies. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other for a moment, the relief palpable from the pair of them. Eloise averted her eyes, giving them the privacy that they didn’t necessarily need but probably did want. She allowed herself a moment to ponder their relationship. They were very in tune with each other, very in sync, that much was obvious. Are they in love? The question sounded ridiculous the moment she thought it. Of course they are, look at them. She’d seen that look time and time again over the millennia. Although when she thought about the way they looked at each other further, that lead to another question. Do they know? The hint of yearning in their eyes was subtle but it was there. No, absolutely not. They’re too comfortable with each other. They’re a unit, that much she could tell. A unit that might not want to be disturbed.

Oh dear.

She looked back up at them hesitantly, unsure of what to say for the first time that evening. Eventually she said, “I’d better go. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome.”

Crowley frowned. Hadn’t she said she’d been travelling for a while? “You got somewhere to stay?”

Eloise paused. She’d definitely not been expecting that response. “Not yet. There is a flat I was going to rent but the people haven’t moved out yet because of the lockdown and it seems rude to miracle them away. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

“Stay here,” Crowley said almost instantly, then pulled a face of confusion at how quickly he replied, “I mean, only if you want to.”

Eloise blinked at that. Surely, they wouldn’t want her there? What reason could they possibly have to want her there? “Wait, are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Crowley just shrugged, “It’s not a problem. What are your options anyway? No hotels are open, and you can’t stay with anyone.”

“Only if you’re sure,” she murmured, still wary for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She glanced at Aziraphale for confirmation; it was his bookshop after all.

He nodded firmly, “Of course. I’ve been told the sofa is remarkably comfy,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, to which she grinned broadly.

A short while and a few miracles later, the sofa downstairs had become a makeshift bed that was significantly larger and softer than it had remembered it being. Eloise was currently settled on it; all it had taken was ten minutes for her to completely crash out. Aziraphale and Crowley had left her in peace with a chuckle, heading up to the bedroom they shared (that wasn’t out of choice, mind you. Simply because there was only one bedroom in the bookshop. No other reason.) One slightly confused item of furniture aside, all seemed to be well in the bookshop.

Upstairs in the bedroom, an angel and a demon were sitting in the same bed. Neither of them had thought to turn off the lights, so they were sat in thick silence in the bedroom. Aziraphale didn’t usually come up to bed, not as used to sleeping as Crowley was, instead opting to read the night away downstairs. However this seemed impolite considering their new guest, so he’d come up with Crowley. And while Crowley was mulling this over he finally stumbled upon why he felt so uneasy.

Aziraphale hadn’t brought a book up with him.

As bizarre a concern as that may seem, Crowley could always trust Aziraphale to bring a book up to bed with him on the rare occasion he came up at night. That was one of the things he lo- liked about him. Liked. He looked at Aziraphale curiously, noting the slight frown on his face as he stared into space. How deep in his head must he have been to forget a book? “You alright, angel?” he asked as softly as he could so as to not startle him.

He looked at Crowley with wide eyes that darted away almost instantly as he started to play with his hands in his lap, “Yes, my dear, I’m fine. I just realised something, is all.”

Crowley cocked his head in interest, “Oh really? What was it?”

He was silent for a little while before saying in a voice no louder than a whisper, “I think I was there when she Fell.”

Crowley felt his eyebrows raise in shock, looking away for a second to try and compose himself. “Right. Well, that’s a thing.”

“Quite.”

He furrowed his brows as he tried to make sense of what this meant now, “And was she telling the truth? Did all that actually happen?”

“Yes. I remember it perfectly well. Clear as day,” he managed to choke out with a forced smile before going back to his routine fidgeting.

Crowley laid a gentle hand on top of Aziraphale’s, stopping what he was doing and getting him to actually look him in the eye for longer than a second. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am quite well. Don’t fret,” he said, and despite Crowley’s concern, he couldn’t pretend that the smile on Aziraphale’s face wasn’t genuine, however small it may have been.

He reluctantly let it go, changing the subject quickly, “You alright with her staying here? I know it just sort of happened.”

The smile on his face only grew, much to Crowley’s surprise, “It’s alright. After all, wasn’t it you who said we’re on our own side now? I think she’s the first person we’ve met who might understand what that means.”

Crowley tried not to think too much about the fact that Aziraphale had actually listened to him when he’d said that, let alone remembered it, instead opting for a casual, “Yeah, I suppose so. Right, I’m gonna get some sleep. I, um, yeah,” he stammered out awkwardly, cursing his brain for not thinking of literally any other decent response.

Aziraphale simply smiled fondly at him, “Indeed. Goodnight, my dear.”

*************

Hello my love,

At the time of writing this, I do not know what the future holds. For me it’s an uncertain, unstoppable force, and it’s not one I think I can fend off for much longer. I’ve tried, please believe that I’ve tried. I’ve tried for your sake to prevent the inevitable. But it’s coming. I can feel it. It won’t be long now, I don’t think.

If you’re reading this, it means I was right, and I have Fallen. I know you’re probably confused and scared and that there is a biting anger bubbling inside you. I wish I could tell you why this is happening. I wish I could tell you that this is all a huge misunderstanding that will be resolved soon.

I wish I could tell you I love you one more time.

But I can’t. There are many things I can’t do now, and it’ll do me no good to dwell on this any longer than I have to. To survive we must focus on what we can do, and that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.

If I know myself as well as I think I do, there are many things I would have liked to have said to you upon our final farewell, but didn’t because I wanted to make sure you were alright. Don’t feel guilty about this, my love. Think of it as my last debt to you being repaid.

I have a plan. Well, it’s more of an idea, and it might not work. And it’s because of this that I shan’t tell you exactly what it is. It seems cruel to allow you to hope for something that might never come into fruition. But please put your faith in me, and in our love, for we will prevail. One way or another.

I hope that you didn’t wait to read this letter because you were scared of its contents, though I’m sure this isn’t the case. You were always brave. It was always something I loved about you. Your quiet, beautiful, roaring courage in the face of such turmoil and anguish. You always had the courage to be kind and to love with all your being, even when everything was against you. No one would have blamed you if you had turned cold and bitter, and yet you chose not to. I admire you for it every day. My idea, should it work, will require us both to be incredibly brave. But more on that another day. It’s that bravery and that strength that you will need to rely on now. That, and the thought of me. Though I may not physically be with you, but I hope that my love’s own soul is enough.

I won’t sign off this letter, because this is not where our story ends. There is much left to be written. And I need you to remember that each day we are parted. Until the next time, my love.

[tisfan]

Title: Genus and Species  Collaborator Name: @27dragons & @tisfan Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030251 Square Filled:   Tony Stark Flash Bingo (Aug) - Thanos (both)   Starkbucks Bingo - I3: “I got nothing” (27dragons), O4: Time Travel (to the Future) (tisfan) Ship/Main Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: G Major Tags & Triggers: None Other Tags: Time Travel, Established Relationship, Dinosaurs, Robots Summary: Tangling with Thanos has landed Bucky and Tony somewhere -- or somewhen -- they don’t know. No, Tony, you can’t bring the dinosaur home and keep it as a pet. Word Count: 1703

For @tonystarkbingo and @starkbucksbingo

When Bucky opened his eyes, all he could see was green in all directions. At first he thought that was just the remainder of the Time Stone’s power. Thanos had done… something. No one quite knew what because the battle had been so confusing; the Power Stone blasting purple rays everywhere, the Space Stone moving people out of position, lord only knew what was happening with the Reality Stone. And then there had been a great, green wave of energy--

“Ug,” said someone nearby. It took Bucky a moment to clear his thoughts enough to identify it: Tony. “I feel like a Pride parade just swallowed me whole and then puked me out.” A pause. “Why are we in a jungle?”

“I got nothing,” Bucky said, rolling over to look at Tony. The Iron Man suit was pretty banged up, souvenirs of the battle. “I think-- I’m not sure. Strange was yelling something about a time vortex. It’s hard to understand him under normal circumstances.” Thanos had zapped Bucky with the Mind Stone at least three times, somehow sensing the Winter Soldier would be easier to control. 

Bucky did not appreciate it.

Tony made some kind of noise that was hard to interpret through the suit’s speakers, and then retracted the helmet to look around. “Okay, well, those are deciduous trees, so we haven’t been thrown back more than three hundred million years or so.”

“There are jungles all over the world,” Bucky said, grumbling and getting to his feet. He might only look about thirty-five or so, but there were days he felt all one hundred of his years. Knees. Knees were a thing. Also, poor design. “Any signal?”

Tony made a face and then reformed the helmet. “...Some,” he said. “Nothing I can hook into right away, but there’s something out there.”

“Right, Mulder,” Bucky snarked. “All right, we do this the old fashioned way.” He dug out a set of binoculars and hung them around his neck. “You stay down here, you’re too colorful. Any sniper in the area might want to take a stab at you.” He didn’t necessarily disinclude himself on that list, but the sort of stabbing he had in mind was generally not for polite company. He looked around for a good, tall tree and scrambled up, swinging himself from branch to branch. When he got high enough, he paused, waiting for the wind, so it wouldn’t just be one tree shaking like crazy.

Finally, he breached the canopy and could get a look around.

Jungle.

More freaking bush than he’d seen since Cambodia.

Trees, and trees, and more trees. In the distance, he made out a mountain (also covered in trees) and a break in the trees that was either a road or a river. 

Something was moving.

Bucky turned the binocs in that direction. Something big was moving. Trees swayed and crunched. Something really damn big. Bucky could feel the vibrations of its footsteps in the tree he was clinging to. 

“Clear,” he yelled, and then just let go. He could handle drops up to fifty feet without too much trouble, and the ground here was soft and springy.

He’d just reached Tony’s side when the something fucking roared. Like a tiger crossed with an elephant and the size of a blue whale.

“That’s a dinosaur,” Bucky said with forced calm. “We should get the heck to shelter, like, yesterday.”

“What kind of dinosaur?” Tony wondered. “Might be an herbivore. That would be cool, actually.”

“May I remind you that the current contenders for biggest, meanest land animals are moose and hippos, and they’re both herbivores,” Bucky said. “Can we do something productive, like finding a cave, or an overhang, before it sees us, and decides we’re lunch?”

“Oh, fine.” Tony tossed a couple of microcameras up onto the trees where they clung like particularly bright insects, then turned in a slow circle. “Infrared suggests some hollow rock in that direction,” he said, pointing. “If there’s not a natural entrance, we can make one.”

Bucky nodded, then took point. It bothered him a little that there wasn’t someone taking up the rear between Tony and whatever was out there, and reminded himself that Tony was an experienced fighter, and he had a suit of armor, which was pretty damn tough. 

The whatever it was sped up, moving at them-- Bucky tipped his head to one side while he ran the math. Nearly thirty miles per hour. Bucky picked up the pace a little bit. On flat ground, Bucky could run almost sixty miles per hour, but this was not flat. Nor was it a good plan for him to expend that much energy before they had any idea what they were up against, or if there was much in the way of food in the nearby vicinity.

“Got your cave, ten o’clock,” Bucky said. There was a bit of a clearing and then they could squeeze in, one at a time. “How far back does it--”

Bucky stopped as the -- freaking hell -- dinosaur came crashing out of the jungle, about six meters high and full of teeth.

“That,” he said, firmly, “is a dinosaur. I don’t care what you just said about the deciduous thingies.”

“There were deciduous trees long before there were dinosaurs,” Tony said distractedly. He was looking up at the dinosaur, his head cocked. “It’s not a dinosaur, though.”

“Okay, you go out and tell it that it don’t exist,” Bucky snapped. “If it’s going to eat us, does species really matter?”

“The species doesn’t matter,” Tony said. “What matters is that it’s a robot. I don’t think we’ve gone back in time at all. I think we went forward.”

Bucky stared at him. “I fail to see how this is an improvement in any way.” Probably worse, honestly. Dinosaurs were at least skin and bone and nerve endings. And most living things were afraid of fire.

“Dinosaurs are your department, sweetheart,” Tony said. “Robots are mine. Get in the cave and stay out of its sight.” Without waiting for a response, he launched into the air, a wide, spiraling path that would take him around the dinosaur-robot-thing a few times before he reached the level of its head.

Bucky slid into the shadows where he could still watch, sighing. “If you bring back a giant dino-shaped robot from the future as a pet and say ‘can we keep it’ I promise you, Steve is gonna kill you.”

“Not if my pet dino-robot eats him first,” Tony said cheerfully, even as he swerved to avoid the thing’s lunging bite. He dipped and spun and wound up clinging to the dino-robot’s back.

The dino-robot was extremely unamused by the sudden disappearance of its prey. It whirled and snapped, clipping several branches as big around as Bucky’s arm with all the ease of a hedge-trimmer.

Tony was muttering under his breath, technical terms that made no sense even when Bucky knew what they meant, because they weren’t connected to each other, just little fragments of sentences and thoughts, punctuated with occasional grunts as the dinosaur made various attempts to dislodge him.

“You got an EMP grenade?” he called down after what seemed like hours and was probably no more than a minute or two.

Bucky stuffed his left hand into his satchel, the sensor array in his fingertips cataloging his equipment neatly. “Two. You want me to throw it, or lend it to ya?” EMP grenades were pretty good against Doombots, their occasional throw downs with raging maniacs like Doc Ock, and more than a few times against the US military who had a perpetual boner for shooting at the Hulk.

“Toss it up here,” Tony said. “This thing runs on a-- oof! --slightly different frequency than the ones we’re used to, I need to do a mod.”

“I don’t know about you, smart-guy,” Bucky said. He dashed across the clearing, rolling when he got to the far side, “but I am not used to giant robo-dinosaurs.” He threw the grenade with such precision that Tony only had to hold out his hand to be able to catch it.

“Perfect, good throw,” Tony said, because he was consistently amazed at Bucky’s aim. (And Clint’s, if Bucky had to be honest.) He let go of the dinosaur’s back and shot up higher into the sky, just out of its reach, hovering in the air as he retracted one gauntlet and started fiddling with the grenade.

After snapping uselessly at Tony a few times, the dino seemed to realize there was something else under its feet. A large snout bent down to snort at Bucky, who promptly punched it in the nose with his left arm. “Bad dino-bot, no biting,” Bucky scolded. The snout didn’t even seem damaged. Crap, that was probably bad.

The dino-bot did not smell like a robot. It smelled like rotting meat, probably the result of whatever it had caught in its teeth.

“Almost done!” Tony called. “Hang in there!”

“Whatever you’re doing, do it faster!”

The dino-bot made another lunge for Bucky that he was barely able to dodge by diving behind a large tree. And then he had to roll out of the way again when the dino’s attack knocked the tree over.

The dino roared again. Why did a robot have to roar? That seemed entirely unnecessary.

But as it did, Tony swooped down and chucked the EMP into its mouth, then dropped the rest of the way to the ground to get between it and Bucky. “--two, one.”

“You make a pretty good shield,” Bucky muttered, putting his shoulder to Tony’s spine. They’d discovered a few times, the hard way, that the arm wasn’t always too great at dealing with EMPs either, but the suit made for a good Faraday cage.

The dino-robot closed its mouth, made an entirely biological hiccup sound, and then--

WHUMP!

The mouth dropped open.

Very slowly, the dino-bots legs folded--

And it fell over, crushing more trees and wrecking the landscape.

“Well, that’s that, then,” Tony said. “Unless, of course, there are more of them out there. We should probably work on finding a way home so we can kick Thanos’ butt.” 

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 269: LAID HIM OUT LIKE A BROCHURE

Previously on BnHA: Endeavor, Mic, and Aizawa finally caught up with Crust and Miruko after 19 years to help deal with the High End Noumus. Aizawa used his quirk on them, but Girl Noumu was able to get away and shoot acid at them all, and that one bone-tentacle-y Noumu was also able to attack Mirko with his quirk. Speaking of Mirko, she spent most of the chapter kicking away at Tomura’s Noumutank like those guys with the battering ram in Beauty and the Beast. Or maybe just kicking it one time very, very slowly while we cut back and forth from the scene. It was hard to tell. But either way, she didn’t quite manage to shatter it and instead just left it all cracked and leaking. Anyway so everyone keeps saying that if Tomura escapes that would be Very Bad, and I’m inclined to agree, especially since Aizawa and Mic are looking all serious and vengeful, and I’m really going to need them to not die, ever.

Today on BnHA: Endeavor helpfully and terrifyingly cauterizes Mirko’s wounds while Aizawa holds off the Noumu with his quirk and buys time for Mic to go after Ujiko and Tomura. Mic and our new optician friend Exress race down the corridor and Mic immediately uses his quirk to shatter Noumuraki’s tank, which is the fastest and most efficient action we have seen in this entire arc so far. Mic then CORDIALLY INTRODUCES UJIKO’S FACE TO HIS FIST, which caused me to have an awakening, but unfortunately the same can’t be said for Tomura, who’s now lying on the ground very much not awake and seemingly dead. So I guess that’s it, guys. Looks like Dabi is the main villain now. Good for you Dabi, those are some pretty big britches to fill. No that wasn’t a crack about your height. God you’re sensitive. And so now we get to wait another two weeks! You know what, let’s just focus on the part where Ujiko got flattened like a paper bag.

so this is the chapter that was originally scheduled to be released on Kacchan’s birthday, but what are the odds he’s not even in it. how do you all think the traffic light trio is doing. this has been the world’s longest evacuation. or do you think they already finished a long time ago and are just hanging out now and being all “can’t wait to hear back from everyone else, I’m sure they’re all fine and dandy.” which would be funny, you see, because everyone else actually isn’t fine and dandy at all! do you get it. ahaha jokes

anyway so this chapter is titled “the three of us”, so I’m guessing there’s more Aizawa/Mic/Shirakumo angst on the horizon! so you’re just going to keep on assaulting my battered heart then, Horikoshi. cool. coolcoolcoolcoolcool

HEY NOW

HORIKOSHI WE TALKED ABOUT THIS. I WILL LAUNCH YOU INTO SPACE

fffff -- okay well whatever!! it’s a manga!! she’ll be fine! they have manga science! Recovery Girl can heal her legs and her side and everything else, and get her a nice new robot arm, and she’ll have a cool scar on her ear. happy thoughts happy thoughts

FFDFSF

IS HE TALKING TO ME OR HER. I FEEL LIKE HE’S TALKING TO ME. don’t worry Endeavor I will look away for this part

lol excuse me what now

5 minutes?? by whose reckoning, exactly?? jesus christ. I bet if he turned his flames off we’d learn that he has grown a whole new actual beard. Endeavor. civilizations have risen and fallen. okay you know what, new theory, Ujiko’s basement lair is somehow running on Narnia time

OH MY FEELS HE SAYS HE OWES HER A DEBT AFTER KYUSHU. referring of course to when she showed up out of the blue to save his ass from Dabi. anyways though how nice of him to express his gratitude by setting all of her wounds on fire

I guess we can stand down from red alert now though since Mirko is clearly going to be just fine

somehow she has more calm while getting her horrific injuries cauterized than I do when trying to decide whether or not to sell electronic turnips in a video game

wuh oh

WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HE’S A BARREL OF LAUGHS. actually no that’s a lie, you definitely would have had and did have more fun while fighting Mirko

also, this angle of Endeavor’s face, though

AWAKE! AVAST!! HOLD TIGHT YOUR BUNS! IF BUNS YOU DO HOLD DEAR

god damn it as per usual I have no idea what is going on in action panels even when I stare at them intensely for a full minute or more

I don’t even remember how many Noumus are left at this point now. who’s that sunfish-looking one on the right near Mic?? is he a new one?? is that Crust jumping around in the middle, or is he the one standing near the sunfish Noumu? who is it that’s firing that laser or whatnot in the middle?? did this big Noumu in the foreground on the left just get decapitated??

honestly it seems like they almost have things under control at long last. Aizawa and Mic should just head after Ujiko is already and leave the rest of them to it

so Mirko is now giving them all the details about Tomura and how he’s currently chilling out floating in his sensory deprivation tank

and she’s all DON’T LET SHIGARAKI WAKE UP as if she wasn’t the one trying to smash the capsule open in the previous chapter?? or did she assume he would just sleep through all that lol

also the High Ends have apparently still not completely woken up themselves yet. guess we should be grateful

WELL HELLO

if Aizawa Shouta ever cuts his hair I will declare a national day of mourning

anyways though, reinforcements! about fucking time

did anyone else immediately blink right after reading that last sentence, and then feel a profound gratitude for being able to blink freely at will. holy shit. blinking is so great

what happens if he has to sneeze?? oh my god. and what the fuck why is this a one-man show anyway, where the hell is your husband

okay there he is

“I’m here, too,” says Vision Hero: Exress. and so he is. so what kind of quirk do you have, then, x-ray vision? really hope not, no offense. just don’t see how that would exactly be useful right now. or maybe it’s laser vision, in which case yeah okay we can work with that. you heard the man, go on ahead then

this motherfucker is still alive?!

I really cannot express enough just how steep of a cliff Endeavor has fallen off of in this arc. he has not done a single useful thing aside from the cauterizing. so now it’s up to Eyeballs Hero: Sees Real Good to hopefully somehow oneshot this guy whom the number one hero barely managed to scratch

OH MY GOD AN ACTUAL PLOT TWIST

CRUST ACTUALLY DID SOMETHING. took me a minute to realize he was shouting “go” in that speech bubble, as opposed to randomly screeching out his age, 60

Mic and Aizawa are so hot but I’m feeling such impending doom right now

-- oh no. oh fuck. I just realized -- why are they splitting them up?? sir that’s his emotional support hero

ffff for reals though I feel like Mic doesn’t have the same plot protection as Shouta. and I also feel like this is a very stupid decision in general, and that the guy who can cancel out quirks should be included in the group of people rushing in to capture the scary big bad whose quirk is an insta-kill. but what do I know, I’m just a regular person who didn’t go to hero school and get their hero MBA so MAYBE I’M WRONG. but am I

oh shit oh shit oh shit

not really clear on what Mic is doing here since he should in theory just be running like a normal person, but I can’t complain much about the dynamic pose. and meanwhile Ujiko has finally snapped to the fact that he should have woken Tomura up a good half hour ago!

and on top of all that, it sounds like they didn’t destroy all of their supervillain research data either, so if he does manage to escape we could be right back to square one before long. good thing they definitely positively won’t let him escape!!

OH MY GOD THIS SHIT IS FINALLY HAPPENING AHHHHHH

MIC’S VOICE IS SO POWERFUL IT INSTANTLY SHATTERED THE GLASS WHICH EVEN MIRKO’S NOUMU-DECAPITATING RABBIT LEGS COULD NOT BREAK, OH MY BISCUITS, WE STAN AN ICON AND A LEGEND

DID HE MANAGE TO STOP HIM BEFORE HE ACTIVATED THE WAKEUP SEQUENCE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK? IF YES WHAT IS EVEN GOING TO HAPPEN NOW, WILL TOMURA JUST CURL UP IN A LITTLE BALL AND CONTINUE TO SLUMBER PEACEFULLY WITH HIS HAIR ALL WET. HE’LL CATCH A COLD

BUT FOR REAL THOUGH OBVIOUSLY HE IS GOING TO WAKE UP AHHHHHHHH

nghhh everything’s shattering all dramatically and in slow motion

swear to god if this chapter ends with Tomura opening his eyes while we cut to another two week break, I will... ... ...well I guess I’m about to find out though because that’s exactly what’s going to happen isn’t it

(ETA: if you can sleep through Present Mic’s attack you can really sleep through anything huh.)

lol but first

sploosh. down he goes. timber. still a sleepy boi. I take a nap right here

LORD, MIC IS ABOUT TO RIP UJIKO A NEW ONE AND I’VE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE?!

CUE HORIKOSHI CUTTING TO SOME MORE FLASHBACKS OF OBORO TO MAKE US ALL SAD. THAT’S RIGHT, I KNOW ALL OF YOUR TRICKS! BRING IT

1) the fuck is he doing, 2) is this the first time we’ve seen Aizawa call Mic by his name??, and 3) WHAT DID I TELL YOU THOUGH

MY HEART IS A STONE! I FEEL NOTHING! YOU CAN’T HURT ME SO GIVE IT UP. please give it up sob

OH NO

UNDONE BY AIZAWA’S SOFT EXPRESSION AND WISTFUL EYES NOOOO I lied I am not a stone at all I am a big squishy marshmallow of feels oh fuck

OH WOW

DON’T EVER LOOK BACK. ON THE WORLD CLOSING IN!! BE ON THE ATTACK. WITH YOUR WIIIIINGS ON THE WIIIND

he straight up ENDED HIS LIFE. holy shit. 4/24/2020. the day I was sexually attracted to Present Mic

anyways now back to your regularly scheduled sad feelings at the reminder of the fact that yep, Ujiko and all of his fucked up experimenting absolutely did make Aizawa cry. not that I’m saying that’s a crime of even greater magnitude than all his other crimes of kidnapping and torture and research using human children. I absolutely am not saying that. just implying it. in a joking manner. semi-joking. partially. kind of

(ETA: also, belated shout out to the fact that his excuse for doing it was so he could verify that it wasn’t another clone. and since it’s Present Mic, there’s a 74% chance he screamed out “CLONE CHECK!” in English too, which, bless.)

I know there’s a particular side of fandom that largely thinks that all heroes are Garbage Scum, but I mean, look at this scene though of Gazerbeam crouching down to gingerly check Tomura’s vitals. idk, I thought this was surprisingly gentle

I should probably be more concerned about that statement, but truth be told, I’m much more anxious about Gazerbeam going the way of his namesake shortly henceforth. please be careful please I know he looks all floppy and wounded and surprisingly vulnerable --

-- okay, very surprisingly vulnerable --

I really do have a thing for the hair covering the eyes huh. I’m learning things about myself!

but still! he could basically just blink at you at this point and you would turn to dust, Gazerbeam. DUST. ASHES. DEBRIS SCATTERED TO THE WINDS

wow apparently that space tube was doing a lot more than I thought

mhmm. sure. Horikoshi. dude, I can see you sitting there shaking with barely suppressed laughter. did you really think this would get us to let our guards down. are we a joke to you. did you think we would just be all “oh gosh I guess he really is dead then, wow, what a twist”

oh!! the reinforcements!!

did you hear that guys. it’s done. the heroes won and Tomura is dead and it’s really over just like that. what a positive ending for everyone. except Tomura I guess

I’ve said before that U.A. needs to add a course about tempting fate to their curriculum, and I stand by that. this is absurd. it’s like y’all want to die

oh look at that Endeavor finally killed one

was that really so hard. could you not have done that earlier

-- GODDAMN IT ARE YOU REALLY DOING THIS AGAIN

“what if... I dragged it out so much that the dragging-out was the cliffhanger?” that’s some galaxy brain you got there dude. let’s just end the chapter on that WHY NOT

anyway. so there you have it guys. just look how dead he is. that’s the smile of someone who is absolutely, certainly, one hundred percent dead. look at him, all at peace. definitely not gonna finally wake up two weeks from now and properly introduce himself to our new friend Gazerbeam and my new we’re-just-trying-something-out-and-taking-it-slow-and-we’ll-see-where-it-goes boyfriend Present Mic!

lol I can’t lie, these last couple chapters have tested my patience a bit! fortunately this chapter had many saving graces in the form of Mirko, Aizawa, Mic, and for reals though Gazerbeam whom I genuinely did grow attached to almost immediately for reasons beyond my grasping. but I’m starting to get an inkling that Horikoshi is just incapable of pacing himself well whenever the story moves to a basement. or maybe I’m just cranky on account of being holed up in lockdown since time immemorial and only getting my new BnHA fix every other week! maybe, that could be it. maybe. ah well. at least Present Mic punched Ujiko in the fucking face

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 86

Hey everyone! Hope you’re all keeping safe and healthy, as much as you can.

This week, I decided to let everyone see how exactly Sophia and Arthur interact.  You know, since they are theoretically friends from Before and all that (they really, really are friends, I swear).  Thank you to @baelpenrose for helping me with this chapter, which you did immensely.

After a decadently scathing review of an ancient fairy tale and some quick thinking to keep Nixe from lighting the book on fire out of principle, I found myself actually regretting that I needed to return to work. This time escorted by Alistair, who was ostensibly returning anyway from a meeting with the current Head Archivist, we set a brisk pace while quietly discussing my schedule for the next week.  By the time we arrived back at our shared office, my head was spinning with the thought of all the Council meetings I had in my future.

Having worked up an appetite and refusing to make important decisions on an empty stomach, I queued up two bowls of etouffee, along with a heaping plate of cornbread and butter. While my assistant provided more and more details around each of my peers’ agendas in regards to testing various ecological building methods - how could there be agendas behind something like that - the door hissed open and a familiar brunette man strolled to my rescue.

Before I could even greet him, Arthur sat down and snagged my yet-untouched meal. "I gave Charly a treat. No reason. But she seemed very enamored of the glittery pens." Unfazed by my attempts to recover my food, he took a bite before giving the bowl a critical look. “This is really good, Sophie. You should try some.”

Scowling, I stepped back over to the food console. “Why did you give her a treat?”

He paused to swallow another mouthful of my lunch. "Phenomenal self control in the face of rage"

"You heard?" I winced before returning to the table with my second attempt to eat.

"Who didn’t? And I'm not saying I condone violence, but her aim was superb, I must say."

"Arthur, she bit him." 

"Very clever use of weapons at hand, I agree." Still nonchalant, he slathered butter on a slice of cornbread.

“That’s real butter - “ I tried to warn.

He just waved me off with a spoon. “No whey, I already tested it. Besides, Miys was able to do something about that, just to make my life easier.”

Shaking my head, I finally got to try some of my food. "You gave her caffeine, didn't you?" I asked hesitantly, returning to the topic of Charly.

"I will neither confirm nor deny" 

"That's a yes." 

"You can't prove that."

"Is it... is it on the pens? Is that a thing?" 

"Pffft,” he scoffed. “How lazy.”  I stared at him intently until he rolled his eyes and groaned. “The ink in the pens disappears after an hour, glitter and all. She'll love them."

I couldn’t really argue with that, so instead I shifted topics slightly. “So. The guys mentioned asking you to be part of my escort detail?”

He nodded. “I couldn’t make it today, but I moved some stuff around.  Should be good to go.”

Something fell into place in my mind. “Wait. Did you send Nixe?”

“Is that her name? The mermaid?” I nodded, so he continued. “I mean, yeah.”

I sputtered, fortunate I didn’t have food in my mouth. “You don’t even know her name and you sent her to fill in?”

“Well, I know it now.” When I didn’t let the glare stop, he set his ill-gotten spoon down firmly. “Sophia. Sophie. That woman is almost as tall as one of your boyfriends, taller than the other, and has endurance enough to probably win a fight while holding her breath.  She has an enormous soft-spot for kind people - which you are - and every inch of her screams don’t fuck with me.”

“Because people think she’s crazy,” I scowled in accusation.  “She’s actually really sweet.”

“Well, that too. She’s also strong as fuck, and truly believes she is an exiled queen of a race of warriors to boot.  I’m willing to bet, if she punched that wannabe warlord? She’d put her fist through him.” He picked up his spoon and smiled. “So, yeah.  I asked her to walk you to the archive. She wanted to head down anyway, so….” He shrugged before finishing off the etouffee. “Besides, she was also the person I figured was least likely to need to resort to violence.”

That got a smirk out of me. "Since when don't you condone violence, oh peaceful reformed warlord?"

"Stop putting your words in my mouth, Sophie. I absolutely condone justified violence."

"Excuse me? Weren't you just praising Charly for -"

"I also said justified violence, to be fair."

Before I could have an aneurysm, Alistair stepped in. "Mr. Farro, sir, Councillor Kalloe asked me to pass on this declination of access to your personal sword?"

“You asked for your sword back? Arthur…”

He scowled at my assistant, shaking his head before muttering. “You absolutely did that on purpose, you traitorous, limey dick.”

“Arthur!”

“You should not have been such a cad to have stolen Miss Sophia’s lunch,” Alistair sniffed, unimpressed.

All I could do was rub my temples and focus on deep breaths. They don’t actually hate each other, I reminded myself firmly. “Arthur. Sword. Why?”

“I’m sure I don’t have to explain the anatomy behind why it’s a lot harder to intimidate someone when you’re… oh, about a head shorter?”

“Arthur….” I was feeling like a broken record, especially when he smirked at me and I realized he was probably counting how many different inflections I could use on that.

“Besides, it’s time someone showed that Game of Thrones, Mad Max reject what a real warlord can do,” he added airily, staring at the ceiling.

I choked on my last bite of cornbread, pounding the table and gasping for air before I could respond. “Wait, you mean to tell me your professionalism is offended? Are you serious!?”

“Yeah, I’m serious.” He didn’t even bother looking down at me. “I earned the title, protecting my students, and he’s just some bullying, conspiracy-peddling amateur who wouldn’t even rate a decent Fallout villain.” Finally, he glanced back at me. “Besides, if he’s the guy he thinks he is, he’ll understand that threatening another leader’s people is met with violence.”

“Oh, another leader now?” I asked skeptically.

“Oh hell no. Not me.” He shook his head violently before gesturing with his spoon again. “You. Xiomara. Grey. Your people.”

“You know I don’t believe violence is the answer,” I said softly.

“I know. But right now, it’s the question. The answer may end up being yes, no matter how much you don’t want it to be.” He gave me a meaningful look before his expression hardened. “If it comes to that, and I think you, or Charly, or anyone else I care about is in danger? That Viking-wannabe is going to find himself on the wrong side of the airlock.  You won’t have to make the hard decision, fight all that empathy you have floating around in there.” He tapped his temple. “I’ll make the call, me and Xiomara.” Like a switch flipping, his features relaxed again. “I just need her to give me back my damned sword.”

Alistair cleared his throat politely, arching an eyebrow at the man across from me. “Dare I even ask why you have a sword?”

Arthur pointed at himself and enunciated slowly. “War. Lord.”

Nonplussed, my assistant waved the response away. “Yes, yes, I understand all that. You’ve certainly said it frequently enough. How did you come by it, I mean? You are both from the Colonies, after all.”

I snickered at the back-handed insult, waiting for Arthur to clarify.  To be honest, I was mildly curious about it, myself, but was certain enough that I didn’t want to know the answer that I had never asked.

Arthur straightened himself, and in the worst faux-Italian accent, explained “My sword has been serving the warrior sons of the Farro family since the days of the Medici.” Dropping the accent, he clarified. “I was a history teacher, Before. I used to show the sword to some of my classes, and even took a few lessons in the style the sword was used in.  Then, when the End happened… it saw battle again.” He paused for a moment before scowling. “Which is why it better not be rusted when I get it back. It’s a five-hundred year old weapon.”

“Is that how the two of you know each other?” Alistair continued, pretending to be entirely unimpressed by the provenance of an antique sword - I wasn’t fooled, he was an archivist.

Arthur, however, looked completely baffled. “The sword? No? What in the -”

“Teaching….” Alistair clarified wearily.

I snorted hard enough that my sinuses burned. “Oh gods no. I don’t think we ever even lived in the same state. And I only taught for…. Two years? A year and a half? Not counting the whole - “ I waved a hand around my head vaguely “-Interpersonal communication fiasco. And he was still in high school at the time, I think.” I glanced over, but Arthur just shrugged.  “Anyway, we actually met in an online group, almost a decade after I quit teaching, one dedicated to writing.” Pausing, I glanced around at my office. “I don’t think we ever imagined anything like this, though.”

“When did you first meet in person?” Alistair asked, still curious.

I felt my face flush scarlet, while Arthur just tipped his head back and roared with laughter. After several minutes, he managed to get himself under control enough to point an accusing finger at me. “We met, face to face, the day she marched her self-righteous ass into my office and railed at me over Charly Harper’s grades.  I’ve been chewed out by every form of indignant parent ever, but that was a new one on me. She was about to pick a fight with me on behalf of every student ever taught by anyone.  And Xiomara was standing there, just letting her!”

“I’m not sure she knew who she was supposed to restrain,” I clarified.  “Even once we calmed down, it probably took a good fifteen minutes to realize who we were looking at.”

“Wait, so you met in person on the Ark?” Alistair sputtered in disbelief. “Mr. Farro, I have heard you, on more than one occasion, refer to Miss Sophia as being like a sister to you, yet you only met less than a year ago?”

It was my turn to scoff. “In person, maybe. But we met over twenty years ago, and two lifetimes away.”

Arthur nodded. “Italian families work differently than British ones. Even those who moved to ‘the colonies’,” he deadpanned. “And I’m sure everyone on the Ark and probably on Earth is aware of her annoying ass tendency to adopt strays.”

“Yeah, hokay, stray number one,” I mocked gently.

He just made a ticking gesture at me. “Thus, our initial clash. There was a miscommunication that affected a member of her ‘family’, and she was shooting to verbally kill at a hundred paces.” Clucking at me, he admonished, “Tyche was much more threatening, just for reference.”

“Carrying seven knives will do that.”

“Ten, actually, six for throwing.”

I shrugged nonchalantly as Alistair’s eyes tried valiantly to escape his head. “She’s not going to give up a ranged advantage.”

“Tell me the truth, is she actually any good with those?” Arthur asked, leaning in.

“They were actually for me.”

“They’re kind of an impractical weapon, but I wouldn’t put it past the Reid sisters to get good with them.”

Alistair, on the other hand, was still sputtering. “Miss Reid,” he scolded. “You mean to tell me you can throw knives?!”

“I can also kill a squirrel at thirty feet with a sling and a stone,” I shrugged. “Girl’s gotta eat.”

My assistant looked queasy, Arthur just looked mildly impressed. “Why was Tyche carrying them, if they were for you?”

“Because I was angry enough to do something stupid,” I admitted. “It was more so I wouldn’t use them.”

“So… on the off chance I need to know what your phenomenal sister will use in the event she is the angry one, what should I be watching for?” He leaned forward on his folded hands like an eager student.

All I could do was scrunch my face in confusion. “Pain? Blood? Think what Charly did to Jokull, plus rabies, no sense of self preservation, and absolutely no concept of ‘fair’. I mean, she can throw, for sure, but she isn’t above just becoming full-on possessed if she feels the need to attack.”

“Did she really almost beat herself unconscious on a bulkhead?”

“Yep.” I popped the ‘p’. “Although, that person almost killed me, so it’s probably better they got the sentence they did than ten minutes with my sister.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. “Probably more merciful, yeah.”

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[implodingcacti]

Hi, I worked graveyard at a hotel for 2 years.

Tonight’s my last night. I want to share some stories with you, because this job has been fucking wild.

When I interviewed for the job, my future GM asked if I was a good person (I said yes), complained about the American healthcare system for 30 minutes, and then hired me on the spot. That was my entire interview. He said he trusted me fully because my friend recommended me for the job.

This is the same friend who tried to get me to buy her cigarettes with a school ID because she had left hers at home. Our school IDs were printed on cardstock and laminated by the secretary. I told her it would not work because it looked like a shitty fake ID.

It did not work.

This surprised her.

Also the same friend who had a tan minivan, drove us to Starbucks during an off period in high school, almost crashed because she was smoking, and hit two people’s cars in the parking lot.

Love her.

The first employee I met got into an argument in front of me with her boyfriend. They fought loudly. Afterwards, she asked if I wanted a lollipop.

She got fired like a month afterwards because she took the money from the drawer. This was not the first time she had been fired for this.

I worked with a guy who I’m going to call S. S was a bald white guy who looked like a attorney who couldn’t leave his job. Or a depressed bank manager who’s wife divorced him. He was a very nice man.

I told him this one day on shift change. He thought this was fucking hilarious.

S also used to be a drug dealer. He got busted for selling drugs at this hotel years ago, went to prison, all that shit. My manager hired him after he got out. He thought this story was very funny.

We had a permanent resident named Joe. He was the nicest fucking guy. I chatted with him in the mornings when I set up breakfast. I miss him so much.

He doesn’t live at the hotel any more. This is depressing.

A man threatened to beat me up for flirting with his wife, because he saw us laughing in the lobby. I tried to tell him that I was not interested in his wife, who was 30 years older than me and also not my type. He was still angry.

I texted my manager this. He told me that if the man tried anything, we have, and I quote, “a big ass wrench” next to the safe. He gave me permission to hit the guy with it.

The wrench is, in fact, really fucking big.

A sexline operator called me once, while I was working. This was uncomfortable for me, a very ace then-19 year old. We got into an argument because she claimed I had called her.

Actually just... lots of people liked treating me like phonesex operators. Apparently people’s kinks are listening to room rates. Please do not do this to the people working front desk.

While we’re here, I got invited to a threesome once. The people who invited me? They watched me clock in to do shift change. They asked literal minutes after I clocked in. There is only one person at front desk. They asked after the other guy left.

I declined. For obvious reasons.

The other guy was S, who laughed about it when I told him the next day.

That time that they fired someone and another person left and we were short staffed for a month, so there were two days a week I’d come in at midnight, leave at 6AM, and then come in at noon for another 6 hour shift.

I hated that. Never again.

There was a raid on a hotel across the street. I watched it happen with Joe. He told me shit was wild. I agreed.

My GM would just... text me. At random times of day. To ask how many we had in house.

It was never when I was working.

He was always disappointed that I couldn’t tell him because I wasn’t working.

The time I had to crawl partially under a bed in a smoking room to help a guy get his cat. She was a good cat.

A lady told me a man was outside with a chainsaw and she’d seen him murder someone. Understandably, I was concerned, because she was shaken up and my hearing is godawful. I called the cops, who took things very seriously until she said the chainsaw man had no head in her physical description.

apparently she was on a very bad drugs trip. I learned this the next time I had to call the non-emergency number, because one of the cops from that incident showed up and told me.

A guy died in a room. Normally, you’d think this would be relayed with more urgency. I found about it when I was doing shift change with S. He told me this, and then proceeded to complain about an unrelated room and called them assholes.

The guy’s car was here for 8 months. The company he worked for wanted us to ship the car out to them. We told them they’d have to cover the shipping charge. They refused, and then S got the title to the car.

A guy once threatened to call the cops on me because I told him he couldn’t check into his room 10 hours early without paying an early check in fee. He wanted to call the cops because Expedia said it was 24 hour check in, and it was false advertisement.

He made the mistake of doing this right before I had to head out for a camp. I laughed at him, told him I’d willingly call the cops for him, and that I would love to have them come down.

A scam call once got angry with me because I wouldn’t authorize a purchase.

They pretended to call my manager. I laughed when they did it, because I could hear the phonecall.

My manager had a very particular way of speaking. He was very slow when talking. They did not take this into account.

I told him about this the next shift, of course, and he did not believe me. It was during shift change, luckily, so I did a faux phone call with another coworker, who had worked there for years. Both of them thought it was funny that I had his timing and general tone down.

The scam artists told me I was fired because my manager was, quote, “extremely disappointed in me”. I told them I was glad, because it meant I could go home early.

(My manager told me I wasn’t fired when I told him he had apparently fired me. I asked if he was still disappointed. He laughed.)

When we changed the clock-in system and I had to text our hotel manager whenever I clocked in and out.

A guy tried to tell me that I wasn’t qualified to check him into a room because women are all stupid. I asked him if he wanted to talk to the manager. He said yes, and the manager called him an idiot.

The other time someone told me I wasn’t qualified to check them in because I took too long, and I offered to let her come in and check herself in. Our servers were updating. She declined, because she didn’t work here. I told her she was just going to have to be patient.

Kicked someone out of the hotel once. He came back 30 minutes later to try and re-rent his room. I told him no. He thought I was just joking about him being kicked out.

My GM tried for like 8 months to get me to date another coworker. He made jokes about giving him a raise so he could take me out to dinner.

I do not think my GM knew I was very gay.

The coworker did not take me out to dinner.

The one drunk college student from Germany who I made friends with in the breakfast room, and his significantly less drunk friend.

they both said trans rights, i’m still crying

Drunk men are assholes. Drunk women are godsends.

One night, a lady told me my eyes were pretty, and when I had to help her to the door, she called me gorgeous and said I smelled nice.

her friends were so embarrassed

i forgot how to speak

That same night, a drunk guy said he hated his wife and that he hated me too after calling me an asshole. His wife came in after he said this. I felt bad for her.

Occasionally people would stop at the front desk on their way back from the gas station, and would come bearing gifts of usually drinks. It was always nice.

one time a guy offered me weed brownies

i declined because i was worried about

The guy who stopped at the front desk to ask where the nearest Starbucks was, because his girlfriend wanted a frappuccino, and he was gonna get her one so she could have it in bed.

He came back as I was clocking out.

His girlfriend had dumped him on his way back.

I felt really bad, because this man had peak “dumb of ass but chugs respecting women juice” energy.

Incidentally, I got a free Starbucks frap.

Someone was convinced I was colorblind because I told him that I thought his blue cup was neat.

It was a purple cup.

i did not know how to tell him i was not colorblind, i am just an idiot

Our GM moved to Texas and we didn’t see him for like a year. He was the GM of 2 other hotels. Apparently, he said he was living at all three.

Some dude came into the hotel once night. I tried talking to him. He started signing. I do not know sign, and apologized, and then grabbed a paper to write back and forth with him.

The man made me learn fingerspelling and we instead did this back and forth.

I thought nothing of this, and he came by a few times to chat with me, albeit incredibly slowly.

During shift change, he came in again. I explained to my relief that he only signed. He nodded, and then told me that he had been “healed by a grace act of God, and could now hear and talk.”

He then tried to tell me to come to church to celebrate this miracle.

He told me he was actually fine. He was just choosing to learn ASL and wanted me to participate for the “immersion of it all”, so that I might “find the lord and accept him once more into my heart”.

yes, this was in fact, some white person bullshit

Also in line with white people bullshit, the guy who said he could tell I had a strained relationship with my half-sister but a good relationship with my youngest sister, that my father would recover from the divorce, and that my engagement would be fine. He said it was because I was a Leo cusp, and then said that Kimberly was a good name for me and that I chose well.

i am not a leo. i was born in december

i have no sisters

i have never been engaged

my parents are (somehow) still married

i was wearing a nametag. angeles does not sound or look anything like kimberly

They sold the hotel last year to new owners. Nobody knew until an email got sent out that said we “probably would still have our jobs”.

I argued with my new manager about a raise. He didn’t want to give it to me. I told him he had to, because I was working minimum wage, and the minimum wage had gone up.

the AAA guy who was a real big dick when I asked him to repeat himself and joked about women being bad at jobs.

He asked me if there were any discounts. I refused to give him any, because we had none for him.

He asked if I knew if there was any discount that would make him stop asking me stupid questions. I sighed and said “No, but god I fucking wish there was.”

Tonight, a lady asked me what our beta fish’s name is. I don’t know. She decided to name him Benny, and then asked me to come up with a name. I panicked and said Soap. This was apparently the right answer, because she nodded sagely and said I chose wisely.

[kensboytoy]

Barbie’s Hair Salon

Title: Barbie’s Hair Salon Fandom: Beetlejuice The Musical Pairings: Beetlejuice/Reader (Gender Neutral) Ratings: General

“And he was like ‘No way you can shove this baby Sandworm up your nose’, so I was like ‘Uh yeah, I totally can!’ And then I-”

“Beetlejuice,” you whined softly as his fingers ran along your scalp to get the hair dye to stick to your roots.

The demon had practically begged you to dye your hair something bold after you had mentioned liking his mood ring colours and how they suited him. While he couldn’t give you the same effect, he was desperate to make you look just as crazy as him. Which wasn’t a big vote of confidence considering how his own colour clung to his dirty, shaggy mound of fluff. It was cute in a trash sort of way but on you? Well, you had some doubts.

“You don’t have to help, you know. I told you I was just gonna go to the salon to get this done-”

He gasped, feigning shock with one hand over where his heart should be.

“A salon? I didn’t know that I was talking to high society!” The demon decided to mock you in that annoying voice he loved to do when belittling your ‘breather’ opinions. “Oh, I’m sorry Your Highness, I didn’t know you wanted to blow three hundred smackaroos when your b-f-f-f could do this for free.”

[Continue Reading or Read on AO3!]

You shrunk in your seat, feeling a little bit guilty. That kind of money to blow on something so frivolous? You felt bad for even suggesting it.

“I just meant that you didn’t have to be the one to do it, y’know. Didn’t wanna bug you with it,” you admitted sheepishly.

“Oh, honey, I used to dye my hair back in the day with fuckin’ Kool-Aid,” he snorted. “Now I just go to Hot Topic and pocket this shit for free. Waaaay better. Doesn’t make me wanna eat my goddamn hair now.”

“Beetlejuice!”

“What?” The man pouted at you, jutting out one hip to give you that level of sass you came to know and love. “Oh, stealing from a big corporation! Such a bad man I am! C’mon, babes, I’m a fucking demon. We’re not exactly kosher with trying to score brownie points, alright?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in irritation. One day you’d go to that store and ‘accidentally’ leave them a wad of cash in Beetlejuice’s wake so the idiot didn’t get those poor kids fired.

“‘Sides, we’re so close to a whole new you! You’ll get more personality from my craftsmanship than some prissy know-it-all.”

Sighing, you let him continue so he would stop his pouting. You wanted to tease him about just how personal he was taking this but you kind of didn’t want him to fry your hair in revenge for making a stink. He’d do it too, the asshole. You’d be coming out looking like a fried Doc Brown if you weren’t careful. It wasn’t really the look you were going for this season.

Beetlejuice mumbled nonsense to himself as he circled around you while you sat idly. Maybe doing this in a kitchen was a dumb idea but he had insisted on washing your hair out in the sink. But you hadn’t noticed that he had let the dirty dishes stack up, Beej trying to use this as an excuse to get his one chore done while pretending he was being thoughtful. You’d yell at him upon finding out that your bowls were dyed the same colour as your hair.

Whenever you fidgeted, he swatted at you like an irritated mother scolding a kid for getting into the cookie jar. It was your turn to pout up at him but he seemed too preoccupied to care. You huffed and tried not to feel how sore your ass was from sitting in the same spot for what felt like hours now. It had taken ages for that bleach to soak in but at least this was the final step.

You actually didn’t know what colour Beetlejuice had chosen for you - he had insisted it remain a surprise until he blow dried your hair himself.

“No peeeeeking,” he crooned as you tried to sneak a glance in the reflection of your fridge. “It’s almost done, babes! C’mon, you have more patience than me don’tcha?”

“I dunno, Juice. You’re being such a tease about what colour you chose that it almost seems suspicious.”

“Suspicious? Me?” He chuckled and set your hair up under a showercap to allow you to move freely without worrying if dye would get all over the floor. “I told you I’d pick the colour that suits you the most! You don’t have trust in me?”

You rolled your eyes and strolled into the living room. He was right behind you, moving you out of the way so he’d get first dibs on a seat. You didn’t mind because you promptly sat down on your side and stretched out all over him. He gave a groan of protest but soon hooked an arm around you to cuddle as you lazily flipped through the streaming channels you had to watch something.

It didn’t take very long for you to nod off, remote slipping out of your hand and clattering onto the floor. Beetlejuice had watched you, more intrigued by you than whatever trash you had settled to watch. He smiled at how sweet you looked curled up against him. It made him feel so protective of you. You were his little breather.

Once enough time had passed, you were jostled awake by the impatient being.

“Baaaabes. Baaaaaabes! Wake up!”

You jolted upwards, snapping out of it instantly. A groan left your lips as you rubbed the side of your face that had unfortunately been pressed right to his suspenders. The red mark left in its wake made your flesh a funny new pattern that would wear off soon enough. You rubbed at it before blinking wearily up at him.

“C’mon, babes. Enough beauty sleep! We gotta wash that shit out and doll you up nice an’ purdy,” he finished in a southern twang.

You already felt like a doll the moment he picked you up by the shoulders and hauled you back into the kitchen. Trying to rub the sleep from your eyes, you let out a yawn only to be met with the stinging cold of the water shooting out of the faucet attachment. You let out a yelp of protest before Beetlejuice held your head firmly into place.

“Stop squirmin’ or you’re getting waterboarded instead.”

Annoyed, you shut your eyes tight and held your breath in case he wanted to make true on that threat.

His hands massaging your scalp felt like heaven in your dazed state. You leaned into his touch and were quickly rewarded with his nails scratching you gently. Beetlejuice knew what made you tick by now and head scratches were definitely in the cards. A happy sigh as the water grew a bit warmer - lukewarm to make sure the colour wouldn’t wash out so easily the first go around. You were surprised that the demon actually knew how to maintain, well, anything. He didn’t exactly seem the patient type.

The demon watched you curiously as he washed out the dye. He wanted to have a bit of fun to lord over your head. Your hair tangled in his talented digits and he gently tugged the curls. You let out a groan at the feeling, liking all the fussing he was doing. Chuckling, he splashed your face with water before pushing you up so he could drain your hair of extra moisture.

As tenderly as he was able to, he toweled you off. You felt like a cloud was encasing your entire head.

“... did you warm this up?” you asked, a bit surprised at the tender gesture.

“Well, you wanted a salon treatment, babes. Thought I might give you somethin’ you’d miss out on.”

He winked at you and you felt your heart flutter. The bastard knew how to be charming when he wanted to be.

Beetlejuice hauled your chair across the room, ruining the moment by making the most godawful sound as the legs of the chair scraped the floor. You put your hands over your ears before you heard the loud whirring of a blow dryer. Heat graced the back of your neck, sending goosebumps along your arms and a shudder down your spine.

You were lost basking in the warm glow, taking in the breeze as a welcome change from the gross splashes of sink water. Even when he blew it in your eyes to make you flinch, it still felt good enough that you wouldn’t knee him straight in the nards.

Once your hair was properly dried, you felt his fingers running through your hair, coated with some sort of gel. You wanted to oppose the idea of any product before you saw it but your curiosity was definitely piqued. Finally, you were ready. All of it was ready to be unveiled so you sat in your chair, wiggling around like their were ants in your pants - or perhaps a centipede or two that had escaped from Beetlejuice’s pocket.

Pleased with his work, he finally retrieved your hand mirror and showed you the final product.

“Taaaadaaaaa!” he sang out, a third arm slipping from his torso to do jazz hands with the one not holding the mirror.

What you saw left you speechless.

And not in a good way.

“Green?!” you barked, almost falling back in your seat at the sight. “Beetlejuice! That’s your colour! You said you were doing something special for me!”

He looked almost offended and quickly rolled his head around to mimic your whininess.

“I did do somethin’ special! Hey, not everyone can pull off the look.” Beetlejuice smoothed his own hair back and grinned a toothy grin. “And besides, babes, we know that green already looks so good on ya.”

Before you could continue your staunch protest of his choice, he had managed to catch your lips in a surprise kiss. Your complaints were muffled and your cheeks burned a deep red.

“See? The colour brings attention to just how sweet that face of yours gets when you’re all embarrassed.” He laughed loudly and took your face in his hands, planting another kiss right on your lips. “I gotta admit, I thought I was the only one who could pull that look off. But it looks so damn good to see a little bit of me in - uh, on you.”

There was a saucy wink before he moved behind you to cuddle from behind, his stupid face looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. You sighed. There was no way you could stay mad at that face too long. He could get away with murder and you wouldn’t bat an eye. You knew what you were signing up for when you turned him loose.

“Fine,” you replied with a huff. “But I get to style it a different way. I don’t want to do that gross couple thing of matching.”

The demon didn’t refute the request and instead made a row of fine hair care products dance in front of you midair. You chose the right gel and took a pair of scissors, demanding that he hold the goddamn mirror straight for one second - to which he replied: “Babes, me? Straight? I pity the thought! And the fool.”

You shushed him and began your work. He watched on with eager eyes lighting up as he began to get the idea. Without any word, he grabbed the scissors and an electric razor and finished the job for you. When you were done, you admired the well trimmed faux-hawk he left in his wake. You gave a little whistle before he leaned in.

“So, like it now?” he inquired, raising one eyebrow and biting his lower lip like a beaver.

Pulling him down by his tie, you planted a kiss right on his cheek and nuzzled against his scruff. It was his turn to change a different colour, his green tinted more pink now. He let out a girlish giggle and scooped you up into his arms bridal style. As much as he could get on your nerves, you knew you loved the infectious smile and happiness this idiot demon brought along with his wild schemes.

[mcrninqstar]

Christmas Mass

SUMMARY: Lucifer attends Christmas Mass with some friendly and not so friendly faces. TRIGGERS: Lucifer’s daddy issues, Zatanna’s questionable taste in men, Petty Wenches WRITTEN WITH: @ofhxllblazer, @ofwarriors, @zztophat, @hcllprnce, @divinecreaturc, @ofallenangel, @dxtective

John: He wasn't much for Christmas. Never really had a reason to celebrate and never really liked the holiday. The past few years, he's been politely forced to attend the Zatara-Graves holiday get together mostly. Some years he's come terribly close to being spelled into a painting, but he's made it through alright. Today, he found himself loitering outside the church, mug of spiked cocoa in hand, listening to the carolers sing. "Well, aren't they just angelic," he teased.

Jesse: was hardly shocked to see the trench coated male standing outside his church while the chorus sang more traditional christmas songs. The man for some odd reason had taken to dropping by alot unannounced either to talk or join him for a drink and smoke. "Oh now dont tell me you have a scrooge spirit about the holidays?" he smirked before moving to look at the male " No ba humbugs here John, only good tidings to you and you home"

Chloe wasn’t sure what she was doing there, at the church. She wasn’t particularly religious, in fact? Churches kinda made her uneasy. The older they were, the creepier they were. But here she was anyway, barely remembering making the decision to come. She stepped into the building, glancing around. It wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, dipping her toe in the water by standing just barely past the threshold. Voices from outside distracted her, pulling her attention back out there to see what was happening. “Excuse me” she asked the men nearby, one looking like he might work there. “Do either of you happen to know when mass starts?” She couldn’t believe the words she just spoke. Out loud. To other people.

John: John chuckled as the priest approached him. "Merry tidings to you too," he teased sarcastically. "Hey, its safer here than Zatara's right now so I'll take it." His almost in-laws being in town was always a pain in the ass. Also, Zatanna had a habit of volunteering him for odd end jobs during these events which he was trying to avoid. No matter how much she tried, the man wasnt a people person. His head turned as a female voice asked about mass. "He'd be the man to ask," replied John as he gestured to Jesse. The girl looked entirely uncomfortable in this kind of setting. "This your first christmas mass?" He asked.

Jesse: "Should I take that as our first meeting left such a lasting impression, that you wish to somewhat spend the holidays with me?" He chuckled teasing the other man, in truth he hadn't really expected to see him especially during this time of year, he was plenty sure the man would be hanging out with Zatanna and her family then attempting to nose around the church. Of course the women's voice cut off his thoughts as he chuckled " yes I happen to be the new priest here" he replied before taking noticing of how uneasy she seemed to be here "The mass will start in about a half hour, I wanted to give the kids enough time to shine" he replied before holding out his hand "first time or not we'd love to have you join, everyone just calls me Jesse or Father Custer If your feeling spiritual"

Chloe was a little taken aback at how transparent she apparently was. “I uhh...” she had no idea how to respond to the disgruntled man in the trench coat. He looked to be about as much of a misfit as she was, being there. Plus? She was pretty certain she caught a whiff of something other than chocolate in that cup he was holding. She may be law enforcement, but this experience was far too awkward already to make a scene over something so trivial. “Detective Chloe Decker.” She reaches her hand out to shake that of the preacher. “I’m kinda new to all this.”

John: He snorted as the preacher teased him. "More like avoiding getting assigned to the British station at Zatanna's workshop, Father. Women's got a cruel sense of humor," he deflected. Truth was he liked being around the preacher. He was easy to talk to and not nearly as judgmental as John expected. He looks at the woman who identified herself as a detective. Well, fuck. John and the law had a long and complicated history. "What brings you here, detective? You find god?"

Jesse: he smirked a bit at the other before chuckling "Shame, I wouldn't mind taking a turn around Britain so long as I had a good guide, but I understand how women can tease you in especially cruel ways" He replied smiling before looking at the women he hadn't really excepted a detective to show up to his mass but it had been very open to the public. Though the fact that John was most definitely holding a spiked drink would do best to possibly keep the man off her radar as best as possible. "That's completely fine everyone's had a first time with religion. Some learned from their families and friends while others gained some sort of experience which turns them to hope for something higher than them. Nothing wrong with a little Faith"

Chloe was a little surprised at the question from the man who’s libation she was ignoring. “Not yet. You havnt...seen him anywhere, have you?” She stifled a laugh, wondering what had brought him here. Maybe she wasn’t such an oddball after all. “Nice go meet you....Fath- err, Jesse.” She felt a lively awkward fumbling over titles and names. “Singing among isn’t mandatory, is it?”

Adriel was excited to see a church nearby such a festive event. Although they were constructed for humans, he sometimes liked to visit them. This was a good a time as any to check in with The Almighty, especially after all that had happened as of late. He walked through the snow, seeing the group of people sitting just outside. "Oh, I suppose I've come a bit early, haven't I?" he rubbed his hands together, looking around. "Sorry, apologies, my name is Adriel..." he paused. "Adriel Fell. Are you all waiting on service to begin?"

John: He smirked as Jesse mentioned taking a turn in Britain. "Nothing stopping ya, mate. Her shop is decked out for this whole event. I think she's competing with the Lux. If you've got the time, I can show you around after the service," he offered. John looked down at his drink and then up at the detective. Double Fuck. He grinned sheepishly at her. "I haven't found Jesus, but I did find an angel," he replied as he vaguely gestured to Adriel. "I wouldn't say singing is mandatory at these events, but if you find yourself in the spirit don't let us hold you back."

Jesse: "I'm sure I could carve out enough time after the service, I made it short so everyone could be with their families since I don't have anything like that, I guess I'll leach off you" He replied shaking his head as the detective took notice of John's drink, anyone with a nose could've smelled it but lucky for them he was quite a functioning drinker. "I saw Jesus and God once, it was an experience to say the least." he turned to look at the male he'd pointed out "He's an angel really?" He asked before turning his attention back to Chloe. Nice to meet you as well Detective Chloe, My Friend here is John Constantine" He chuckled softly before shaking his head "No signing is never mandatory, and you may leave my mass anytime you wish, I never force someone to listen to my sermons especially if you find its not for you" He paused before eye the 'angel' again "Mass is set to start soon, but it seems we are growing a bit of a party here"(edited)

LUCIFER: For reasons known to literally everyone, the devil doesn't spend a lot of time in church. No amount of prayer could wash away his sins, but he sure liked to see someone try. He was on his way to the Lux when he spotted the detective with none other than John Constantine and the angel Adriel. What on earth was she doing? He didn't know, but he simply had to find out now. "Detective!" he called out, waving playfully to her as he walked up to the crowd. "Well, isn't this a sight to see. Have I missed the mass? That would be a shame. Christmas sermons are my favorite," he teased.

“An...angel...” She repeated John’s words- doubly surprised when the preacher seemed to take him seriously. “I don’t follow” was she just a walking magnet for the delusional? It’s almost as if they’d been hanging out with- “ Detective! “ She heard him before she saw him, but she didn’t need to. There was no mistaking it. Chloe shut her eyes a moment, letting out a long sigh. Of all the places for Lucifer to stumble upon her, it just had to be church. “Lucifer, do you...know these people?” It would explain a lot, honestly.

Adriel: The Angel paused, not prepared to be...spotted so easily. After all, he had been on Earth for thousands of years, and he never had someone just...say it. he cleared his throat, "I believe you're mistaken, I--" he paused, interrupted as more people began to speak. If he couldn't sense evil, he wouldn't have even noticed Lucifer coming up behind him. "Oh Good Lord--" he backed away a bit, looking at the man. He wasn't sure what to say. Demons? He could handle demons. But Lucifer? He swallowed, his heart pounding.

Gadreel: Had no idea what possessed Luci to leave his nice club but once he saw the women he immediately rolled his eyes before they landed on his beautiful angel. If it was one thing he learned was Adriel never enjoyed being in the spotlight or had he ever met Lucifer in person. Moving quickly to his side he smiled softly taking his hand "You are an angel, Mine remember" he winked at the other holding him close. "I don't think you've ever had the chance to meet Lucy, well Lucifer as he prefers to be called., Lucifer this is Adriel the one I've told you about"

Beel sensed his brother was near, frowning at the fact that the only place full of people was the church. He shrugged and made his way to the holy place, quickly sensing his favorite pair of demon and angel were there too. “You just scared the poor angel.” Said when he spotted Adriel, staying close to the principal altar and eventually sitting on the table, his hands carefully touched the gold objects he could find. “I’m hurt. None of you invited me to the reunion.”

LUCIFER: He smiles as he looks at the rage tag team before him. It’s the beginning of a terrible joke, really. An angel, a preacher, a detective, two princes of hell, and....John Constantine. Honestly, he could tolerate them all save for maybe Constantine. “I do happen to know some of these individuals, yes,” he responds to Chloe’s question. “Some more begrudgingly than others,” he says as he gives Constantine a pointed look. “Honestly, detective, this is the last place I expected to see you stalking over the holiday season. Don’t tell me there was a murder in the church and you didn’t call me?” he asks, feigning offense. His attention turns momentarily to Adriel who appears dreadfully frightened. “I seem to have that affect on people, don’t I, brother,” he grins at Beel before turning his attention back to the angel. “Any friend of Gadreel’s is a friend of mine,” he assures. “Although, he does have some questionable tastes in friends every now and again,” he sighs, again giving a pointed look over at Constantine before turning to address his brother. “To be fair, I think my invitation got lost in the mail too,” he smirks. “And you know how I just adore a good church sermon.”

John: “Bloody hell,” he muttered as he watched Lucifer and then Beelzebub approach. This church was becoming more and more crowded by the minute. There were one too many demons around and neither the detective nor the preacher really knew the extent of what they’d just gotten themselves into. He could sense that Lucifer had a soft spot for the detective, but he carried disdain for John which put just about everyone in John’s sphere in a bit of a nasty spot. “Good to see you too, Luci, Beel" he teased. "And here I thought you'd both be too busy for church sermons. Isn't there a party you should be preparing for? Or have you already decided to bow out to Zatanna?" he ribbed. He turned to Jesse, it was best to get him and the detective as far away from this as possible. "You need any help setting up in there, Father?" he asked.

Chloe: A man who hangs out at church, drinking booze. Of course Lucifer knows him. Not to mention the other characters here who seem to believe themselves to be biblical archetypes. Was this all some kind of elaborate prank? She certainly wasn’t about to put it past him. “A murder? uhhhh...no I’m here because...” she had no idea how to explain her presence at the church. “Trixie has been asking about Church lately.” i wonder what could have sparked here interest there. “ I thought I’d scope the place out and see if it’s someplace I could bring her for...whatever it is that happens here.”

Jesse: hadn't expect this much of a turn out when he'd advertised opening up the church during the Christmas Festival but either way he was quite glad at the turn out. Yet he could feel a somewhat growing tension between many of the people now surrounding them. "I somehow doubt anyone can beat Zatanna, her entire store is over the top amazing," He mused before chuckling softly at John's attempt to lead him away from the group, in truth he really did need to get ready as the Mass was quickly approaching, He moved to take the cup out of John's hand before replying "Sure I'd love the help but why you do I'm going to hang on to this Constantine" He smirked  at the male before nodding his goodbyes to everyone and making his way into Church knowing the other would follow.

Gadreel: wasn't about to let Beel insult Adriel any longer as he glared at the male pulling the angel close. "He is none of your concern Beel, nor were we talking to you" He replied before turning to look at  Lucifer before ensuring the other demons kept their distance from his angel. The man wasn't about to let them tease him like he would've so long ago. "To be fair the last time any of us were at a Church, seems to escape me, and its hardly my fault I know both Adriel and John, they are stuck here on Earth which you put into my domain"

Beel smirked at Gadreel’s words. The whole situation just kept getting funnier and more entertaining. He wondered what would  all of these weak creatures do in the presence of any other of the princes. Lucifer and him, they were different. “It’s cute when you think I care about you two, little demon.” The prince held one of the cups and filled it with wine in a second, a priest’s belonging always added a better taste. “It’s a shame that you’re leaving, we could’ve had a good time together.” Beel left that cup aside and extended his hand to the blonde woman, noticing his brother’s leaning towards her. A human that could have that effect in a being like them, should be one of a kind. “We haven’t had the pleasure to meet. My name is Beel, one of Lucifer’s brothers.”

Adriel let out a sigh of relief at the Demon's presence, a blush following immediately afterwards. "Gadreel, my dear. Let's be polite." he felt himself being pulled closer into his space, and gave a small smile. "Here, I'm alright." he looked at Lucifer when he was addressed, "I'm afraid, given the circumstances, I cannot completely believe you." He watched as Beel danced over the church, and pursed his lips. It definitely bothered him, but decided to say nothing of it. "So, what is it you both are doing up here anyways? Is there a new program where the princes of hell have family reunions? Isn't the reason you send demons to Earth is so you don't have to come here yourselves?"(edited)

Gadreel: felt himself calm at Adriel's presence and voice, Beel always knew just what to upset him and he wasn't going to let it not when he'd finally gotten the okay to be with the angel after his talk with Lucifer. "I'll try but its rather had with this  particular prince" He replied nodding his head keeping close to his angel while the conversation continued.  "I'm sure its just all the fun they'd be missing if they didn't come to New York, after all Lucifer came from Las Vegas"

LUCIFER: “Trixie’s asking about church, huh? I’m glad you’re doing your research. They say religion is a slippery slope,” he teases. “before you know it you’ll be knocking on doors asking people if they’ve heard the good words of the lord.” He frowns at Constantine and the priest. “Yes, I have seen Zatanna’s shop. A bit tacky if you ask me,” he shrugs. “If you’re looking for something a bit more fun I’d say swing by the Lux tonight, but you’ll have to come alone, Father. I’m afraid John won’t make it through the door,” he smirks as he watches them head toward the church. “Surely we can behave ourselves for one night,” he chuckles as he glances at Gadreel and then at Beel. “We wouldn’t want to get arrested,” he teases, giving Chloe a cheeky wink. “I think I’ve used up all of my friends and family discounts at the jailhouse.” He only has a vague notion of what’s set off a feud between the two and he knows it centers around the angel Adriel. “Given the circumstances that’s understandable, Adriel, but I assure you I’m not the brother you need to worry about. Your dearest Zatanna has rope Michael into this. I need not tell you what he’s like. I’m just here expanding the business I started in Los Angeles. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I really don’t think.....”’Chloe shook her head at Lucifer’s joke about her knocking on doors, but was grateful that he’d dropped it to prod at some of the others who were gathered near them. For someone who usually had nary a kind word to say about his “Father” aka the big guy upstairs, Lucifer certainly seemed to be in good spirits today. She definitely had a lot of questions about how all these people knew each other, and how they all seemed to be on the same deranged wavelength. Her attention quickly snapped to Adriel “Sorry, did you just say princes... of hell?” She couldn’t even believe all this. “Are they serving more than tiny little cups of wine at this church?” She wasn’t hyper aware of religious customs, but if she didn’t know better she’d think they’d all been microdosing. or macro “Oh come on, Lucifer. Where’s your Holiday spirit?” She could tell this John guy got under his skin for some reason, and she wanted to find out why. “I’m sure you can make an exception on Christmas Eve?” She smirked a little at John before raising her brows at Lucifer.

John: He smirked seeing the affect the detective had on Lucifer. It appeared even the devil had a soft spot. "I think it's only fair to make an exception for Christmas. I've been on my best behavior this year," he winked at Luci. "Save me a seat, would you, Detective?" he smirked before brushing past everyone to head into the church and help Jesse. This was about to be one hell of a sermon. "So, minor complication," he replied as he caught up to the priest. "Tall, dark, and handsome over there," he said, eyeing Beelzebub. "Happens to be the embodiment of lust. He also happens to be dating my almost, sort of, once upon a time, could have been brother-in-law. And the arsehole with the whole Lucifer Morningstar schtick? He's not joking. He's the actual thing. And unfortunately, it appears they're sticking around for service tonight."

Jesse: He was quite surprised by all the people who decided to come to his little church it was nothing if not amazing of course it was quite obvious that some of them needed to talk to one another. As he walked back towards the Church most of the kids had cleared out with parents and children alike thanked him before John caught up with him. "I suppose that would be quite the Complication, that two demons wish to attend my sermon" He replied chuckling softly looking at the two male from the doorway before entering in "So you? the hot ticket demon slayer allowed your somewhat not brother in law to date a demon? and that man who had more swag then God could ever give a man is truly the devil himself?" He chuckled moving to set up his books.

John: He leaned against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. "Yeah, all this party is missing is an archangel but I think he's occupied at the moment," he chuckled. Where was the sword of God when you needed him? "I didn't allow anything. Blayze is an adult. Unfortunately, he took more after me than he did Zatanna in the department of terrible decision making. Although," he looked back over his shoulder at Beel before turning to look at Jesse again. "I can't say I blame the kid. Lust is an easy sin to give into."

Jesse: Watched the other do absolutely nothing to help him like he said he would "You mean Michael? You know he was always my favorite, Not as much as an ass his Father is" He replied moving to finish up the setup before smiling softly at the male, he cared a lot for this Blayze person even he could tell. "You three sound like quite the cute little family what ever happened there?" He questioned knowing he wouldn't get an answer back, after all the man if anything seemed pretty tight lipped about personal things. "You should know, the stories Father Marcus told me was enough to make a Nun blush, so I'm surprise he isn't feeding off you Johnny Boy" Jesse smirked looking at him

John: "To you, maybe," he laughed. "I'm sure he would have portaled me to hell by now if he didn't have to answer to a certain mage." Of course Jesse enjoyed the blond warrior. It would appear only John and the demons were annoyed by the archangel at this point. He cleared his throat and looked down at the ground. "What happened is I got  Zatanna's father killed," he replied candidly. He was sure Father Marcus told the new priest a whole hell of a lot, but the man deserved to know exactly what he was getting himself into here. "Would have been her if the old man hadn't taken her place instead. Really ruins the romance when people around you keep dying because of your own stupid mistakes."

Jesse: "To be completely fair he was quite the ass to me too but I'm rather used to such behavior" He replied softly chuckling before turning to look at the male, he hadn't expected the man to come right out and tell him by any means. Outside of what Father Marcus told him it hadn't been anything to damning really when he thought about it. He moved to come down from the podium to stand next to John. "Yet it still rips you apart, even I can tell that. as far as stupid mistakes I've made plenty in fact....it was because of me my parents got killed, " He replied not wanting the other to feel like he bared his soul for nothing. "I'm not even going to try and say God has a plan because he doesn't....he is a cruel father who takes pleasure in abandoning his children, and You still are close to Zatanna, she came to see me soon after you did...felt like a bit of a check up"

John: "That sounds like Michael's default mode," he chuckled. "If you ask me they're all a bunch of wankers." That wasn't necessarily true. John knew Michael had the ability to turn earth into a battleground for the next holy war, but the angel cared enough for God's creations to not start a war that would destroy them all. "I'm sorry to hear about your parents," he replied. "It would appear all souls worth saving have a bit of blood on their hands and guilt in their conscience." There was no saving John. While Zatara's death was a stain on his soul, Astra's damnation was a finale nail in his coffin. He could stop the Apocalypse and still the pearly gates of heaven wouldn't open their doors for him. "Please tell me you aren't about to go on that pulpit and preach god is a cruel father to a demon, an angel, two princes of hell, a very confused detective, and your entire congregation" he chuckled. "I'm afraid the Vatican frowns upon that." And it would be quite a shame to have the priest recalled over blasphemous sermons egged on by one erroneous petty dabbler. "I'm not surprised Zee stopped by," he laughed as he shook his head. "We're in a bit of trouble right now," he admitted. "Two princes of hell in one city's caused quite an uptick in the number of possessions. Lucifer's entire club is manned by a bunch of demons and the number keeps growing. We could really use a priest with the voice of God on our side."

Jesse:  Listened to the other he was sure plenty of people thought Michael was more abrasive then he should've been but Jesse had been prepare, mostly because of others he'd met.  He nodded his head at the endearment but of course it'd been years since he thought of his parents, and how much their blood had been on his hands before chuckling softly "But the better question., is why would we want to be saved, too much trouble to keep up, plus all the best people end up in hell so I hear" He teased before chuckling at the male "Of course not, that was your own personal sermon, I think a thank you would be appreciated, I don't preach for free to everyone" He joked before shrugging what didn't the Vatican frown upon, not that he truly cared, he could dodge anything they threw at him. "Well, I hardly mind offering my help to you or Her much like Marcus did, but I'll let you know I'm nothing like a traditional Priest, I actually have a background in Voodoo magic thanks to my grandma....But that's probably little use to you outside of my voice" He chuckled softly.

John: “Believe it or not being tortured by every monster I’ve ever exorcised or damned doesn’t exactly sound like a picture perfect afterlife,” he shrugged. With his luck, the demon assigned to torture him in hell would be Astra. Life (and Death) were funny like that. Cosmic retribution, he supposed. “I’m sure I’ll be in good company though,” he smirked as he gave the priest a sidelong look. “Thanks for the pep talk. The voodoo will come in useful. Demons aren’t the only thing that plagues this city.” John knew a bit of Voodoo himself going up against Papa Midnite and his crowd, but he was sure it was nowhere near as extensive as Jesse’s knowledge of the art. He got up to head back out of the church. He didn’t want to leave the detective alone with three demons and an angel. “Well, speak of the devil...” he chuckled as he saw the form of Michael in the distance. “Great.” 

Michael: Being the patron Saint of the Church, Michael was comfortable under the gothic arches of the structure. He hadn’t intended to attend mass tonight, but Zatanna hadn’t scheduled him so he had more free time than he’d expected. He was surprised to see Lucifer and Beelzebub in the throng of people gathering for mass. “Well, I wouldn’t say this is exactly your scene,” he replied as he approached the brothers. “Are you looking for God or are you here just for a laugh?”

ZATANNA: The shop is in good hands for the night. She’d hired people from all over the world for this week of fun and excitement to make the environment feel authentic. So, she’s given herself a day off to experience the fun for herself. Churches aren’t exactly her style, but she figures she’d come to support the new priest. They desperately needed allies and he seemed kind. Zatanna smiles as she spots Michael in the crowd. The towering Hercules is hard to miss. Her smile quickly fades as she watches him approach Lucifer and Beelzebub. What the hell are they doing here? The mage makes her way over to the crowd and her concern grows ten times more as she makes out the figures of Adriel and Gadreel beside them. She looks up toward the church and hopes that the priest is prepared to handle a crowd like this. “Adriel, Michael,” she smiles as she embraced the angels. “Not surprised to see you two here, but I am surprised to see these three,” she said as she eyed Lucifer, Beel, and Gadreel. 

LUCIFER: “Oh, Father bless us,” he curses under his breathe as he watches Michael and then Zatanna approach. “If they are serving little cups of wine I’m going to need about twenty,” he sighs as he looks over at the detective. He frowns deeply as she defends Constantine's right to drink at the Lux. "I think he's had enough already, don't you?" he asks. "Honestly, if you arrest him tonight I'd consider that a very Merry Christmas, indeed," he winks. Nothing would bring him more joy at this point than watching the detective escort Constantine into the back of her squad car. He turns to look at his brother and the mage, rolling his eyes as she hugs the angels. "Why not both, brother?" he grins. "Who doesn't like to start the new year off with a bit of blasphemy?"

Beel could easily ignore whatever happened in front of him, whenever he wanted. Not that he cared about Michael being his normal uptight self or a priest trying to save his soul by spitting the word of ‘god’. Though seeing one Zatanna Zatara there, made him come back to the present. He loved her presence. “I’m so glad you join us, Zatara. I was bored with all this hypocrisy.” He half smiled and walked towards the banks, wanting to be in the front for the mass. “I miss my beloved dad. It’s been a while since our last face to face time, I would like to apologize for such inconvenience back then.” A successful war the he started after his fall. It was so long ago, he deserved a damn award for minding his own business for so long. “I know he holds no grudges, no space for such pettiness in heaven. So, I guess Lucifer and I are welcomed to stay. Aren’t we, Mike?”

Jesse: "Maybe not, but than again you shouldn't act like your the only one who has that waiting for them when they get down there, I've got plenty in my past they could used to break me down hour after hour" He replied softly, all this talk of Hell and uncertainly reminded him of his Grandmother's deal, what if the devil did come to collect when he passed? "I'm glad I could be made useful, I think I shall enjoy teaching you John" He felt himself smile at the fact that not only did Michael show up but Zatanna did as well. The women and male were quite the pair when they arrived when all the demons seemed to have choose this to be their hang out  Honestly the priest felt like he hardly deserved such a turn out as he watched John leave his side he moved back up to the pulpit to start preparing for a bigger mass then he thought.

John: “I’m not here to throw myself a pity party, Jess,” he replied. “I did what I did and I’ll pay the price. The goal for now is to just avoid an early death. No sense in paying the price tonight if I don’t have to,” he chuckled. He’d already avoided an early grave once and it left him on Lucifer’s bad side. “You think teaching me will be fun?” he smirked. “Those are words you’ll likely regret. What do you need me to do to help you set up?” he asked. “Better to get this over with before Zee and Michael start a war on your doorstep.”

Michael: A look of worry crossed his face as Zatanna appeared from the crowd. He hadn’t expected to see the magician tonight. His arms wrapped around her small frame as she greeted him and Adriel. “Zatanna,” he chuckled before letting her go. Her greeting toward the demons was not nearly as welcoming. “Surely there are better ways for you to start off the new year than at church, Lucifer?” he asked as he eyed the princes.”I’ll be sure to pass your apologies up to heaven, Beelzebub. It might be accepted more easily if you sent a fruit cake with it,” he teased. “But you’re more than welcome here tonight. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

ZATANNA: Her brows furrow as Beel greets her. He’s in rather jovial spirits given the company he’s surrounded by, then again she knows the demon thrives around chaos and mischief. “Hmm, I wish I could say the same, Beelzebub. I figured you’d be with Blayze tonight. And you, Lucifer,” she looks the devil in the eye. “I’m looking forward to this party at the Lux later. I certainly hope it’s everything that you’ve been hyping it up to be. Would hate to disappoint another plane of existence,” she smiles sweetly before glancing back up at Michael. She knows it’ll take more than a sarcastic apology and a fruit cake to save his fallen brothers. “I recall an old phrase in show business that goes something like you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you’re right. They might learn a thing or two if they stick around. I’m sure Jesse would love the support.” 

LUCIFER: “Honestly, I can’t think of a better way to spend tonight than with family. That’s what this holiday is about, isn’t it, brother?” he asks the archangel before turning to address the annoying mage. “Oh, are you now, darling? I’m glad you got the invitation. Here I thought your biggest fear was having a good time,” he teases. He turns to look at Beel, grinning as he spoke, “Have you invited Blayze? I dare say he’d enjoy himself. Might help Ms. Zatara here unbunch her tights a bit,” he smirks before looking at his elder brother. “Then again, I’m sure a menage a tois with an archangel can assist in that too,” he winks. Clearly both the mage and his brother needed to get laid. Lucifer was only doing his brotherly duty in assisting matters here. “You’d be surprised what kind of tricks this old dog can learn,” he replies, clasping Michael on the shoulder.

Chloe tried to hide her amusement at Lucifer’s ruffled attitude towards Constantine. “Had enough? What ever do you mean?” She feigned ignorance, obvious enough to notice easily.

“ Lucifer! “ She barked under her breath when he mentioned the lovely dark haired woman’s tights. “I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Detective Chloe Decker. Lucifer’s my....” She was going to say “partner” but after that comment she wasn’t as quick to claim him. “We work together.” She offered her hand to Zatanna.

Jesse: "never said your were just stating the fact that there are plenty people going to hell who may not 100% deserve it " he replied moving to open his bible before nodding his head "I agree completely with that statement, lines get blurred more offten then not, but I'll do my best to ensure they dont take you tonight after all your my guest" he teased before laughing " I'll likely regret it huh? There is plenty in my life that I regret I doubt you'll ever been one of them, as for help I'm afraid I'm going to send you into the lion's den, will you be a darling little alter boy and tell everyone mass is starting?" He smirked winking at John before moving to hand sheet music to the organist. "And john dont antagonized them, can't very well kickass then preach about love and understanding"

John: "Believe me when I say I deserve it," he chuckled humorlessly. "Feel bad for the bastards who don't. They deserve our thoughts and prayers just a bit more, I'd say. Not that God's listening anyway." John laughed when the good preacher said he'd keep him safe tonight. "Oh it's not me you gotta worry about causing a storm in these parts. I won't make your job harder than it already is. Can't make the same promise for my ex and the archangel though," he shrugged. He long ago learned that there are unmovable forces out there and Zatanna and Michael happened to be those types of forces. "You're really sending me out there?" He asked as her jerked his thumb toward the crowd. "And here I thought we were friends." He got up nevertheless and made his way to the door. "Well, if I dont make it back it's been good knowing you," he teased dramatically. 

Michael: "Actually, I believe this one is meant to celebrate the birth of Christ, but sure family works too," he replied wearily. He knew what Lucifer was trying to do. It was the same thing his brother was always trying to do. Antagonize. Michael was used to being the center focus of Lucifer's misplaced anger but he hadn't expected his brother to turn on the mage with such ferocity. "Thank you for that advice, Brother," he replied, eyes flaring momentarily as he removed Lucifer's hand from his shoulder. He could feel Zatanna seething beside him. "It would be wise for you to leave Ms. Zatara's tights alone. I'm afraid they probably cost more than that suit of yours," he teased. "Besides you wouldn't want to embarrass your friend here any further," he replied before extending his hand to the pretty blonde who seemed to have the misfortune of dealing with Lucifer on a more daily basis. "I'm Michael. Another brother of Lucifer's."

ZATANNA: Her eyes narrow into slits as Lucifer insinuates that Michael should unbunch her tights. She feels her fingers tingle as magic builds up in her palms and makes its way down to the tips of her hands. She's only a millimeter away from unleashing chaos when Michael chimes in that her tights are probably more expensive than his suit. Zatanna snorts loudly and releases the tension in her shoulders, allowing the magic to fizzle out. "You're right that would be wise. If he can't afford to have me perform at his club, he certainly can't afford my fishnets," she teases before turning her attention to the detective. "It's good to meet you, Detective Decker," she replies as she shakes the woman's hand. Anyone who has the strength to deal with Lucifer daily is worth knowing. "I'm Zatanna," she grins, mischief in her eyes as she looks at Lucifer then back at the detective. "He works with you?" she asks, a bit surprised. She fully expected that if NYPD was ever involved with Lucifer it would be to escort him to lock up for a few days, not to work with him. "I'm sure that's got to be interesting."

LUCIFER: He smirks knowing he's hit one of the magician's buttons. He can feel the electric woosh of magic filling the air and for a second he sees her finger tips light up. Beel was right. It was fun to wind her up a bit. He opens his mouth to poke the bear just a little more when his brother comments that her tights are worth more than his suit. "Doubt it," Lucifer replies incredulously. "She's allowed Constantine to unbunch them. How expensive can they possibly be in that case?" he teases. The fact that she enjoys the company of that charlatan, but can't stand Lucifer or Beel baffles the devil himself. Why anyone would enjoy the company of John Constantine baffles Lucifer, to be honest. "And speak of the devil," he grins as he sees Constantine emerging through the door of the church. "You and I both know the offer I made you was a generous one, Zatanna," he smiles coldly at her when she says he can't afford to have her perform at his club. He'd asked the mage when the club first opened, figuring it would be an olive branch of sorts. Even offered to bring forth her father as a gesture of kindness, but she'd refused him on principle alone and summoned Michael to help her maintain the balance or whatever they were telling themselves these days. He frowns as he watches Michael and Zatanna introduce themselves to Chloe, getting chummy with her on purpose to peeve him. "No, I can't say it's ever dull. I don't think I'll be leaving New York anytime soon. I quite like it here."

Jesse: Looked at the male, hiding pain with humor it was something Cassidy did a lot too. "I don't think prayers and thoughts will do much for the poor sods, but I promise to keep you in prayers regardless what you say" He replied smiling softly rolling his eyes "You know if a storm starts i full expect to see that dark arts to come out and protect little old me" He smirked before nodding his head "You wanted to help and since you didn't actually help you get the crap job" He chuckled as the organist started playing he shook his head "Always a pleasure John"

Chloe hasn’t noticed Zatanna’s magic forming, but even if she had- the whole “professional magician” thing would have explained it just fine. She had a knack for rationalizing everything, hence why she still believed the whole “Devil” schtick was just a metaphor for whatever family drama had created...this whole mess between Lucifer and his siblings. “He’s actually pretty useful.” She smiled at Lucifer, but continued, turning back to Zatanna- “When he’s not....distracted.” She refrained from going into detail about what those distractions usually were, but had a feeling present company knew all about it. “Definitely never a dull moment. Aren’t you the magician from the billboards around town?”

John: "As Michael would say, you're wasting breath praying for a hopeless old cause like me," he chuckled. The angel was a right prick when the mood struck him. "Something tells me if the storm breaks out you're more than capable of protecting yourself and these people. Let's not test that theory tonight though," he replied as he readied himself to go out there and corral the crowd. "Hey, I helped. I gave you fair warning about the crowd tonight. Could've just let you go in there blind to that knowledge," he teased, but nevertheless he opened the doors to the church. "Time will tell which one of us got the crap job tonight. Good luck, Father," he winked before exiting the church. He could see Lucifer and Zatanna in the distance exchanging heated glares. For a moment, he saw her fingertips fill with magic before they dimmed once more at Michael's touch. "Alright then, love," he called out to her. "Mass is about to start. Santa's watching you lot. Let's not disappoint him," he replied as he motioned them to move into the church with the rest of the crowd.

Michael: Michael felt the distinct electric buzz of magic in the air as Zatanna fumed beside him. The angel lightly took the mages hand and absorbed some of the magic within himself. In time, she would learn to brush off Lucifer's antagonistic attempts to rile her up, but in the moment he could see they were having an affect on her.  He looked up toward the church as Lucifer pointed out John in the crowd. "If we want to talk bad relationships, why not talk about Eve?" he asked his brother. "How is your ex these days?" he wondered out loud, twisting the knife just a little bit more. He knew about the deal which the devil had presented to the magician and he knew how hard it had been for her to turn it down, but she'd made the right call. "I'm glad you're staying in the city for more than just mass, brother. It's been too long since we last spoke," he smiled jovially before making a sweeping gesture for Zatanna and the detective to go on in front of him to the doors of the church.

ZATANNA: Leave it to the devil to lay some low blows. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before and yet it still gets to her. Why does the devil think he’s better than the con artist anyway? “Trust me when I say loving John was anything but cheap,” she fires back. She feels Michael’s hand cup hers and take in some of her storm. She can’t help the chuckle that escapes her lips when he brings up the devil’s ex. It’s clear he’s well versed in knocking Lucifer down a peg or two. “Eve? Now, there’s a story I’d like to hear. I’m sure the bible left out a thing or two worth mentioning,” she laughs before turning to the detective. “How you manage to keep him on task is beyond me. You might be a little magic yourself,” she grins. “The billboards are mine and so is the show. If you’re staying in town, I’d love to see you in the audience. The New Years Eve show is one of my favorites,” she replies as she manifests a pair of VIP tickets out of thin air to give to the detective. “And the after party isn’t too bad either.” Hopefully they hadn’t scared the poor girl away after this display of bravado between the brothers. She lets go of the angel and takes a step toward the church. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint Santa now. Let’s find some decent seats.”

LUCIFER: He sees his brother take the mage’s hand to calm her. Michael might be an unmovable mountain, but it’s clear Zatanna is not nearly the solid force she pretends to be. Had she been alone he’s sure his teasing would have caused sparks to fly. Lucifer’s smile drops as his brother brings up Eve. Low blows for someone so high and mighty. “The bible leaves out quite a lot of details. That’s unfortunately a story for another time,” he replies coolly. He watches Zatanna manifest tickets to her show out of thin air. Magicians, he rolls his eyes. Gaudy and showy as usual. “The detective will be busy that day,” he replies as he takes the tickets from Zatanna. “The lux is having its own party. More than disco balls will be dropping that night, I assure you,” he grin mischievously. If there’s one thing he knows it’s how to plan a party. “After you, Detective,” he grins as he motions for her to head toward the church. “Let’s see if we can get saved tonight.”

[dialux]

made weak by time and fate, but strong in will, v

Hello y’all! Hope you like this chapter- it’s the last one for made weak by time and fate, but strong in will (link is to ao3, where you can find the full story). To everyone who liked, commented, recced, kudo’d: thank you! You make the world keep going, you’re my inspo, love you loads.

Now. Some housekeeping notes, just to, ah, remind some readers because it’s been... a while:

If something isn’t mentioned in the books, it’s fair game. Which is to say Pottermore details are not canon as far as I’m concerned, particularly birth dates.

Yes. This matters. I promise.

James has used Thor’s axe twice before: once to destroy the ring horcrux and once to fly from Azkaban.

Lily’s death in canon and her subsequent protection of Harry is dependent on two things: one, Voldemort giving her the chance to step aside; two, Lily’s willingness to die for Harry. But she doesn’t need to die for her protection to hold. Just fyi.

There are four goblin clans in this story, and each has a different “area of interest” and any disdain can be assumed to be a character bias rather than anything else.

Chapter titles put together are the poem: “In the dark times will there be singing? Yes, there will be singing about the dark times.”

“Justice, not vengeance,” is Simon Wiesenthal’s book that is... vv good, everyone go read it as soon as you finish this chapter!

Hope y’all enjoy it!

Chapter 5: about the dark times

The thing is-

The thing is, that James would indulge Sirius in almost any other scenario. But they’ve had two days of rest and planning, and they don’t have anymore time to spend for Sirius’ groaning or moaning. And they have to leave today, because that’s their scheduled meet-up.

“Stay safe,” whispers Lily, hands tight around James’ neck.

Her eyes are green-gold, shining in the sunlight, and James thinks he’d die with that vision than any other. Her face is so fucking lovely. He leans in, breathes deep, and pulls away only when she does.

“We will,” he says.

Lily nods, and turns to Remus. “Stay safe,” she repeats.

“’Course,” says Remus, but he looks oddly shaken.

Sirius grunts something from the cup of cocoa he’s chosen to hide behind. Lily shoves his chair, and he flails wildly before landing hard enough for the wooden legs to crunch. He sends Lily a dirty look; she ignores him. Then he heaves a sigh and looks at Remus.

“If you don’t come back,” he says pleasantly, “I’ll fucking gut you, and then I’ll gut the goblin, and then I’ll gut half the wizards and witches in Britain because it’ll take at least that amount of time for Lily to catch up to my motorcycle.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “So if you want to save the Wizarding world, you’ll come back.”

James grins at her, and leans down to kiss her- once, a press of lips to lips, skin to skin. He can’t quite resist the desire to keep doing it, but then Lily steps away from him, and she looks like a star has swallowed her whole. She looks like she’s glowing.

“Come back to me, Jimmy,” she murmurs, and how could James refuse that? 

He nods.

Steps around, and clasps Sirius’ elbow. Lays his own white, winding scar over Sirius’; all the vows they’ve taken, all the things they’ve put up as they’re losses. 

“Just Gringotts, love,” he says. “Then we’ll get Hogwarts out of the way. I know the plan, don’t worry.”

He disapparates, Remus at his side, before his resolve fails. They land in a tiny alleyway. Give themselves a minute to catch their breaths. Then they slip inside of Gringotts, and get ready to liberate a horcrux from Voldemort’s own vault.

...

“Narcissa,” says Andromeda, calm as a glacier. 

Narcissa stiffens. Her star-white hair shines. Her robes, dark blue with silver lining, looks a mix between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. It’s her eyes that warn Lily to duck a heartbeat before she gets cursed, and her reflexes are the only things that keep her from getting a drawers-worth of china shards to the spine.

“You betrayed me!” she flings at Andromeda, wand-tip glowing a preternatural blue.

Andromeda has her hands up, wandless, but Lily’s willing to bet that doesn’t mean anything. One gesture can arrest them all, particularly in this hall. Andromeda’s certainly spent enough time to construct some runic wards over the past couple of days. Lily’s still crouching behind her own shield, unwilling to let Narcissa at her again without any guarantee of peace. 

“Not betrayed,” says Andromeda. “I want to talk to you. But so does Lily. And-” she hesitates for the briefest moment, brief enough that it wouldn’t be audible to anyone who hadn’t been paying complete attention, “-so does Sirius.”

She steps forwards, and her hands really are wandless, Lily realizes with the shock of sudden, unpleasant realization. Andromeda is helpless, on the other side of Lily’s shield, feet away from a known Death Eater-

“Do you remember when I told you that you need to choose a side?” she asks, holding out both hands like two fluttering doves. “It’s time, Narcissa.”

Narcissa wavers. Her face dissolves like candlewick melting under the onslaught of fire. She looks so desperately torn that it catches on some old thorns on Lily’s heart. 

(Petunia, her cruelties, her hatreds, her kindnesses. Harry in Petunia’s grasp. Lily loves her sister so wholly. She looks at these two, and they look so different, and still they are so much the same.

What do you call a sister you leave behind?

What do you call a sister you still love?)

“It’s time,” whispers Andromeda.

And slowly, face white as bone, Narcissa slides her own long-fingered palm into her sister’s hands.

...

Brakshal used to work in one of the deepest mines, but after Voldemort killed so many in the Third clan... they needed more goblins involved in directing the those in the mines than in digging them. So Brakshal volunteered for the relocation and took it with the grim face of a patriot.

Patriot.

That is what he is.

The Second clan will deny that if ever they find out that he gave his portkey to humans, but Brakshal’s grandfather fought in the Second Wizarding War nearly two centuries previous and taught him how turning your head or biting your tongue will only make wizards push for more concessions. Two hundred years ago, the humans had wanted to bind goblins the same way they bound elves, and it took enough blood to drown entire mineshafts to tell them the goblins wouldn’t acquiesce. 

So if the Second clan wants to accept Voldemort’s yoke and prostrate themselves in front of him, Brakshal will not let them. Not when he knows that it will take just a few sweeps of his wand to bring down the entirety of Gringotts.

In the overseer’s office, he’s shuffling some papers when a bright purple light glows through the air. Brakshal’s overseer, a goblin who hates light even more than Brakshal himself, growls loudly before he realizes what the light is.

“Unauthorized portkey use,” he says and turns to Brakshal, eyes narrowing. “Close to the vaults.”

“You can-” Brakshal swallows. Forces his voice down, and calm. “You can tell that?”

“It’s sector-specific, lad. The moonstone sector’s violet.”

“That’s still a big sector,” says Brakshal carefully.

The overseer nods and rings a bell. Glares at the goblins who appear. 

“Get a team,” he says. “Moonstone sector. Close to the vaults. See who’s using portkeys there.”

Brakshal waits for them to leave before he makes his way out of the office unobtrusively. He’s so glad for the corridor he chose; the search parties won’t ever go to that place first, which gives him enough time to make a meandering way over to it.

...

James and Remus land in the same corridor as last time. Remus can smell the blood. He sniffs against it, and then he remembers Lily’s desperation right after that Vow- her fear, her rage. The weight of the stone in his pocket.

“James?”

“Wait a minute,” he mutters back.

They do. For almost a quarter-hour, they’re just loitering there, waiting to be picked off by either a waking dragon or any goblin that comes across them. Briefly, viciously, Remus wonders if this kind of danger was what Lily had been referring to when she told him to be careful. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just tightens his grip on his wand. Just keeps his muscles loose, ready to react. 

“Lord Potter,” says a voice, scraping and harsh.

James turns casually, but Remus can see the knuckled-grip he has on his wand. “Brakshal,” he returns.

“You kept your Vow.”

“I did.”

“Follow me,” he says.

Remus grits his teeth against the prickle of wariness from his wolf, and follows Brakshal into the darkness.

...

They hadn’t thought Narcissa would be easy, exactly, but Lily wouldn’t have named her stubborn either. But there she sits, unbendable as a stone statue. 

“I want neutrality,” she says calmly. “I told you before. I will not die for your cause.”

“Narcissa,” says Sirius. “Come on, you know we won’t be safe otherwise! If he’s still alive he’ll come after you sooner or later.”

“And because of that I should risk my life now? I think not.”

“Don’t you want him defeated?”

“I want him not to hurt me or my husband or my son.”

“’Cissy-”

Sirius groans low in his throat and leaves the room. Lily, after a hesitant glance towards Andromeda- who’s still trying to convince Narcissa and completely ignoring Sirius’ departure- follows him.

He’s resting his forehead on his arm, pressed up against the wall. Lily reaches for him. Rests her fingers on the hinge of his elbow, light and warm. Sirius shudders.

“Sirius,” she says softly.

“If You-Know-Who didn’t pose a threat to her son,” says Sirius, “do you think she’d even fucking care?”

Lily turns so she has her back against the wall, one leg propping her up and the other resting flat on the wall. “No,” she says. “But she isn’t willing to become a killer, and doesn’t want her son to become a killer, and that... means something, doesn’t it?”

Sirius laughs, low and humorless. “Does it?”

“If we’re only going to save people who are doing the right things for the right reasons, we might as well give up now.”

“She’s a coward.”

“Yes, well.” Lily pushes herself off the wall. “Someone once told me that coward isn’t the worst insult in the world.”

“Lily.”

“Sirius.”

“How can you sit in there?” he asks disbelievingly. “She’s- she won’t look at you, or talk to you, or treat you like- like you’re a fucking witch. Like you’re a fucking human.”

“If I had Draco Malfoy in my arms, she’d treat me like I was fucking Morgana come again,” Lily tells him flatly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in Hogwarts, it’s that people will look down on me no matter if I’m successful or not. I could kill You-Know-Who myself and they’d say it was Harry who did it!” She takes in the stricken look on Sirius’ face and softens. “I don’t need Narcissa Malfoy to change her views for me to save her and her son, Sirius. I need her to give me the diary that is hiding in her home.”

...

They enter Bellatrix’s vault, and it takes only a few further moments for James to use Lily’s rune-based detection spell to identify the Cup. He can feel the malevolence from it; he takes it with a gloved hand and Remus drops it into a magic-damping pouch at his side. 

“That seemed easier than it should’ve been,” mutters James.

On cue, there are shouts down the corridor, and Brakshal shafts a glare into his direction with Remus. They both look so similar that James can’t help grinning at them.

“Run!” cries Brakshal.

...

“A house in Portugal,” says Sirius. “Warded as best we can. Legally staying there also means the government will stop You-Know-Who from retaliating you if he doesn’t want to attack the country, too. If you give us that diary-”

“No,” says Narcissa.

...

"Why can’t we use the portkey!”

“Anti-exit wards,” snarls Brakshal. “They don’t want you escaping before they can catch you. They have it over the entire sector.”

Remus hisses under his breath. So fucking close-

“Potter,” says Brakshal, hurtling to a stop at a corridor. He looks wild; eyes wide and clothes disheveled. “It’s a straight corridor from here. No turns. Take it and you’ll get to an exit.”

“And what are you going to do?” asks Remus suspiciously.

“Slow them down,” says Brakshal grimly. “You’ll need the time.”

He doesn’t wait for them to agree. Just turns back and starts running towards the bloodthirsty mob after them.

James is white-faced. He isn’t moving. Remus looks at him, and he knows why, somewhere down deeper than blood and bone.

“One goblin,” he says.

“One friend,” counters James. Then, his trump card, “I have a plan anyways.”

“A good one?”

“A better one than hoping we’ll find an exit.” The wicked gleam in his eye; the angle of James’ wrist. Remus’ heart thumps in his chest. “We’re close to where we entered, yeah?”

Remus tilts his head. Smells. The dragon isn’t too far away, which means that corridor isn’t either. The pieces click together, and Remus feels elation and awe and fierce, flame-hot adrenaline lick at his veins.

(Lily gave him that portkey, but fucking hell: Remus is a Gryffindor too, and he can be stupidly damnably courageous when the mood takes him.)

“Let’s go.”

...

“Granddaughter.”

Narcissa goes rigid. She rises and curtsies almost immediately- the perfect, sharp-boned movements of a woman to her Head of House. “Grandfather,” she says quietly.

“Come, Narcissa,” says Arcturus warmly. “I believe we have much to talk about.”

...

Brakshal is cursing them. James is saving his breath for running faster; he’s not quite got either Brakshal’s or Remus night-vision and he can’t afford to give any ground to the goblin mob behind them. 

Not that he can’t blame them for being so bloodthirsty. If he had to keep silent while more than half his nation was slaughtered for no reason- he’d take his anger out on the nearest people he could do so without an repercussions too.

But that doesn’t mean James isn’t going to avoid their sharp weaponry as best he can. 

And just because he’s been quiet for the past couple of months doesn’t mean he’s going to be that forever. He really hopes Lily’s got the diary; he’s moving their plans up with this little stunt. 

Leap up a stone just left in the middle of the corridor. Twist around a corridor, ignoring the bruise on his shoulder from slamming into the opposite wall. Emerge, finally, into the cavern housing a giant, blind dragon.

“Potter,” says Brakshal, voice low and suddenly quavering. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do something mad. They-”

“You’re the mad one if you think I’ll let them tear you apart after you helped me,” says James calmly. “Plus, I’ve got a vow to fulfill, don’t I? Now. Don’t distract me.”

The dragon shifts its head to track James’ voice, and Brakshal makes an indistinct sound low in his throat.

James grins and raises his wand. Points. “Relashio,” he says, and one set of the chains clink to the floor. There’s just enough stiffness to the other chains that he dances up them to sit on the dragon, right behind the neck. Remus is behind him; Brakshal gets Leviosa’d to sit between them, and as Remus shatters the chains, as the other goblins skid into the room with their clankers, as the dragon roars in sudden rage and fear-

-James calls lightning down.

The dragon, screaming, howling, feels wind on its back for the first time in years, and rises to meet it. Lightning flashes down again, makes the hole from the very first level of Gringotts bigger. The dragon spirals upwards. Rain lashes down James’ back; James grins into it. The first thieves of Gringotts have done very, very well indeed.

...

“No,” says Narcissa. “I’m sorry.” She stands. “I cannot.”

“Narcissa-”

Lily steps forwards and hands Narcissa her cloak, ignoring Arcturus as completely as he’s ignoring her.

“Fine, then,” she says. “Leave, if that’s what you’re going to do.”

“Lily-”

“You’ll understand later,” Lily tells her quietly. “And you will be very sorry for your cowardice then.”

Narcissa flushes bright red, but she leaves to the garden- so she can apparate away- without saying anything.

Lily turns to Sirius, staring at her. “Trust me,” she tells him.

...

“A dragon, Potter?” screams Brakshal, but James isn’t listening to him, is he? 

James is in the air again, and there is nothing else in the entire damn world that matters.

...

Narcissa lands in her home and goes to strip herself of her cloak, only to feel a weight in a pocket that hadn’t been there before. Slowly, she reaches it and feels it out- it feels crisp, hard edges, like parchment folded and stiffened.

She glances around her bedroom to make sure there’s nobody around.

Lucius will likely come soon for their dinner party tonight, but Narcissa should have enough time to read the letter and do her make-up before he arrives. And if she ignores it, her concentration will definitely be shot to hell during the dinner, which will be more dangerous rather than less.

Slowly, she unfolds it.

Writing, black and blocky, spreads over the surface.

Dear Mrs. Malfoy, she reads.

Dear Mrs. Malfoy,

I know how afraid you are feeling. My son is the same age as yours, and if I had a chance to escape without any strings, I would take them before I could blink. But that is not something that has been offered to me, and it will never be offered to me, and I have accepted that.

So I will defeat your husband’s master, sooner or later.

I have already killed people in this war. You will know her, I think: Bellatrix Lestrange. My husband has not; Sirius has not; Andromeda has not. If there have been any deaths on your side, they have been accidents, for we’ve never aimed to do anything other than injure.

That was a mistake. 

I have learned that now.

So let me be clear, Mrs. Malfoy, from one mother to another: there are two things that will happen. Either I will get that diary from you, kill Voldemort, and then testify to the Wizengamot that you are innocent, or I will kill Voldemort, testify to the Wizengamot that you are guilty and ought to pay reparations, and then destroy that diary. Make no mistake that if the second happens I will ensure you go to Azkaban, as you certainly deserve.

Andromeda wants to save you because you are her sister. Sirius wants to save you because he loves Andromeda. Both of them are purebloods, who have not suffered the fears that I have- for every hour of every day that I have held a wand, the most powerful wizard in Britain has wanted me dead. My husband and the others who know I am alive might forgive you, but I will not. I want you to know that. I am not a forgiving witch. 

And I keep my promises.

Let me be clear: your options are to gather your courage and give me that diary, or to go to Azkaban and surrender all your possessions with it. If you think that easy, remind yourself that your son remains a minor and needs you, and there is no court in the entire country that would not grant me custody of Draco if I applied. Think on that: your son, growing up with a muggleborn as a mother, going to the muggle world, thinking any non-magical person his equal. I would not keep your name from him, but I would ensure he knows you to be a villain and a coward both.

I have escaped your husband’s master four times, and lived to tell the tale all four. I have killed your sister. I am prepared to do far, far worse for peace, because this world will not get better unless we make it better.

Get me that diary, Narcissa.

- Lily Potter

“Narcissa?” Narcissa jerks, dropping the paper, and Lucius frowns at her. “What is that?”

“Some paper in my coat.” She glances at it, and it’s pristinely blank again. “I believe an elf was remiss in cleaning, yet again.”

“You aren’t ready yet?”

Narcissa returns the admonition with a serene smile. “I was in the conservatory again, love. I, ah, lost track of time.”

“We’ll be late.”

“Did you speak to Draco yet?” She waves her wand and her hair goes up in a proper coif, woven with glittering strands of diamonds. Another and her earrings are properly shining, and a last affixes the necklace. “He started levitating a toy I kept on the other side of the room.”

The irritation in Lucius’ gaze is abruptly replaced with pride. Narcissa smiles at him through the mirror and watches him do the same, almost stupid with the joy, and she feels resolve harden her heart. There’s nobody else in all the world who knows how well Lucius loves her and Draco. Nobody else who has seen that particular fierce, brilliant joy in his face.

Oh, the temerity of the mudblood is galling, to say the least, but she isn’t wrong. Nobody had known how Bellatrix was killed, and Narcissa had resigned herself to never knowing, until she got the confession. It’s just a pity that she’ll never suffer for that.

But the Dark Lord will ruin her family. He will turn Draco into a killer. He will kill Lucius. He will kill Narcissa, as he’s done to half her family. For the peace of her world back, Narcissa will risk- everything.

Even if that means being stupidly brave.

...

They fly for what feels like a long time, but Remus doesn’t know how long it is, exactly; the adrenaline messes with his internal clock. He can feel Brakshal wilting in front of him. The air is definitely colder, though, and they are-

Spiraling downwards.

“James!” Remus hollers. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Last part of the plan,” James shouts back. “We need to- oh, fuck- we need to land soon, Moony-”

The cloud cover breaks, and Remus sees the castle in front of them, turrets shining, towers gleaming, glass windows glittering. Brakshal swears, loudly. Remus wants to kill James. 

“There’s children in Hogwarts, you daft bugger,” he says, loud enough for his throat to hurt, but they’re moving too fast now for the words to be heard by Remus, let alone anyone else. Then a more immediate problem presents itself. “Prongs! We’re going too fast!”

Way, way, way too fast.

“Yeah,” shouts James. “Remember when we tried to fly out of the tower in second year?”

“We’re going to break our legs!” 

“We’re better with our wands now!”

“Merlin, I fucking hate you,” snarls Remus. 

But they’re getting closer, and he doesn’t see how he has a choice. James’ plan is, somehow, ridiculously, their best chance of surviving this. And Remus trusts in James’ calculations more than he does his own; James has always been the best flyer Remus has ever known. He hisses out and then loops his arms around Brakshal and grips his wand tighter. He’ll need to be so damn lucky-

“On my count, Moony!”

Remus adjusts his sitting. Slings one leg over so he’s sitting sidesaddle, and then prods Brakshal into the same movement. Waits for the call, but James doesn’t say anything. Remus leans back, peering worriedly at James, only for him to flinch upright.

“James-”

“Onetwothree NOW!” screams James, and Remus’ brain whites out with panic.

But at least his body knows what to do. Even scared out of his mind, Remus’ knees bunch against the tough dragonhide and shove him off. For a long, terrifying moment, he’s tumbling through the air, and Brakshal is howling in his ear, and Remus cannot breathe for the wind stealing the air from his lungs, and-

And then the world stills.

Thank fuck, thinks Remus, and then twists in the bounds of the Levitation charm as best he can to see James. 

He’s falling, too, and he’s much lower than Remus would be comfortable with, particularly when his movements are confined by James’ charm, and distance makes such things weaker, and oh Merlin they’re going to die very very very-

A jet of light erupts from his wand and, through some miracle, Remus’ wingardium leviosa hits James. 

Almost as immediately, the charm on Remus fades and they plummet again. Brakshal screams, so loudly Remus flinches, but they slow down as soon as they’re at James’ height.

“I,” says Remus, as soon as he sees James’ eyes, “am going to kill you, Potter.”

James grins at him. “We survived a dragon ride, Moony. Don’t tell me you aren’t proud of us.”

“Twin levitation charms?” Remus hisses. “We shouldn’t be alive, you moronic-”

Brakshal twists around, positively spitting. “You are mad,” he says, and it doesn’t sound half so angry as horrified. “You both are-”

“I’d listen to that lecture, I really would, but I think you should hold off,” says James earnestly. “Looks like there’s some- er- professors who we need to explain ourselves to.”

“Yeah,” growls Remus. “Professors who think you’re dead.”

James stares at him. “I’d forgotten that.”

“How much have you been doing?” asks Brakshal incredulously.

“We’ll need reinforcements, I think.”

“Patronus?”

Remus glances down, into the lake below them. “I can do it silently,” he says. “If we can keep from, you know. Dying on impact.”

“I think I’ve got enough control to manage that.”

“Prongs,” sighs Remus.

“Ready?”

“No!” shouts Brakshal.

“You should be,” says Remus. Then, as reassuringly as he can manage, “I’ll keep you from drowning, I promise.”

“Wait-”

“Now!” snaps Remus, and James obeys him just as quickly as Remus had done a few moments earlier.

They plummet, and then stop, and then plummet, and then stop, until he’s fairly certain that they won’t break their legs when they fall into the lake. Nods to James, grips Brakshal, and falls.

Even as he does, even as the water closes over his head, Remus is casting.

Expecto Patronum, Remus screams mentally, remembering that moment in his flat when James had proven to be alive- that rush of relief, that overwhelming flush of life where death had stolen in. His wolf pads out and Remus focuses wholly on the message he needs to send. 

The patronus nods at him, and winks out of existence. 

Remus then focuses on paddling up. Brakshal is swimming- he’s paddling on the surface- and James is doing his classic wildly splashing swim that looks both hilarious, incompetent and draws everyone’s attention. 

Draws everyone’s attention for just enough time for Remus to catch his breath and appear at the surface. His nudge to James’ shoulder makes him calm, slightly, and then they’re in shallow water. Remus gets his feet under him. Grips Brakshal’s shoulder, and makes his way out of it into the freezing December wind.

McGonagall sees James and goes white. 

“Hi, Professor,” he says sheepishly. “Long time no see, innit?”

...

“I’d like to speak to you for some time,” says Arcturus. He pauses. “Soon.”

Sirius glances over his shoulder. Lily and Andromeda are talking in low voices; they have time. And he owes his grandfather for coming to try and convince Narcissa, if nothing else. He didn’t have any obligation.

“Okay,” says Sirius, waving him into the library.

Arcturus seats himself on the plushy sofa that Lily’d changed the library sofa into after she got tired of the pointy, uncomfortable furniture his parents favored. Sirius can see the regard on Arcturus’ face: he isn’t happy, exactly, but Sirius suspects there’s unwilling admiration for the sheer scope of the changes buried underneath the layers of mockery anyhow.

Arcturus places something onto the table that clinks, and rolls before coming to a halt at the edge.

A ring, Sirius sees. Gold and heavy and shining.

“Your father’s,” says Arcturus quietly. “The Heredis’ ring.”

“Ah,” says Sirius weakly. He can’t quite bring himself to reach out for it. “You’ve been holding onto it?”

“Yes. It is your birthright- take it. Keep it safe.” Arcturus pauses, then tacks on deliberately: “Make your ancestors proud.”

“Right.”

“One other thing, Sirius.”

Sirius frowns at him. At the strained quality to his voice. Arcturus Black has never been anything but sure of his actions, of the path he’s treading. Now he looks... different. Oddly different.

It doesn’t sit rightly with Sirius.

“The prophecy you told me doesn’t speak of birth.”

“What?”

“Approaches,” says Arcturus. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Not will be born. To those who have thrice defied him, and as the seventh month dies, with a power he does not know. That does not preclude others. That does not imply that a child will defeat the Dark Lord, though I know why He would take it to mean so.”

“Dumbledore believed it meant a child as well,” says Sirius cautiously.

“The blood of prophecy runs strong in some lines.” Arcturus tilts his head, eyes shining. “The ability to twist prophecy to their own means runs strong in other lines.”

“We’re not lawyers.”

“We are leaders,” says Arcturus softly. “We Blacks have always been that. And often, being a leader means knowing when to turn away from the wind, and when to face the teeth of the storm. No prophecy is ever so simple as first thought. This world belongs to us, do you understand? To those with courage and cunning enough to call themselves worthy of prophecy and history.”

“I don’t understand. What does-”

“Sirius!” Lily bursts into the library, eyes wide. Sirius cuts himself off sharply, looking at her. “Patronus. From Remus. They’re at Hogwarts.” Sirius curses, low and fluent. Lily nods at him. “Timeline’s been moved up,” she says. “We have to go. They need back-up.”

Sirius pauses, glancing back to his grandfather. “I have to go,” he says regretfully. He’s surprised to find that he actually means it, too. “They’ll need us.”

“Then you must go,” says Arcturus.

Sirius is almost out of the door when Arcturus calls after him. 

“Remember, Sirius, that sometimes acts of defiance need not be of their own volition. Your father’s death... your mother’s current home... it all matters. Any prophecy is only ever what we make of it. Don’t forget that.” Sirius turns back, and Arcturus smiles at him. “Good luck. May you achieve your highest dreams.”

An old blessing. Usually given when children head to Hogwarts. Sirius hadn’t gotten that blessing then, because he’d set fire to Narcissa’s hair the night before he was supposed to leave. It’s not warmth that its use sparks inside of him now, but it isn’t too far off either; just some old hurt, some old injustice, smoothing away now, years later.

But not too late.

“Thank you,” says Sirius, and is surprised at how much he means those words.

...

Minerva has James tied up besides Remus and the goblin they’re calling a friend, on the banks of the lake. She can feel her outrage: how dare the Death Eaters try to emulate one of her Gryffindors, let along one who they killed so mercilessly! She can also feel the fondness and the grief at the memory of James; what Minerva would give to have him and Lily alive, hale, cannot be put properly into words.

James- the man who bears James’ face- tries to convince Minerva to put a Warming Charm over them for a good period of time, until he sees Severus making his way over to them, face so dark it looks like a cloud’s hovering over him. 

He’s almost joined them when a woman calls from the forest behind Minerva:

“I’d appreciate it if you’d let my husband go, Professor McGonagall.”

Minerva sees Severus’ face go slack. She whirls around and sees a woman who looks too much like Lily Potter approaching her. A woman accompanied by Sirius Black. Both of whom have their wands drawn.

“Step away,” says Minerva sharply. “Drop your wands. We-”

“We survived, Professor,” says Lily sincerely, but she doesn’t let go of her wand. “I know it’s hard to understand, but we did. I got James out, and then- well. We’ve been working on defeating You-Know-Who for the past few months.”

“I don’t believe you,” says Minerva. 

“You should,” says Sirius.

“What?” demands Minerva. “Trust in a Death Eater who broke out of Azkaban? In the shades of people well and truly dead? In a werewolf and a goblin?” She raises her wand higher. “Step back, both of you, or drop your wands and let me bind you. The wards are not kind to Death Eaters.”

Sirius’ lifts an eyebrow. “You have one right next to you, though,” he comments almost casually. 

Severus makes a strangled noise. 

Minerva doesn’t look behind her. “He is here on the Headmaster’s sufferance. You are-”

Lily steps forwards, through the wards that ought to have killed her. Minerva chokes. The wards had kept Death Eaters out, particularly after the Ministry fell, when nearly a score of them had their blood boiled within their veins. She turns a look on Minerva, so scathing and cutting and familiar that Minerva knows, suddenly, that it’s her Lily, the girl she’d fostered and watched grow into such a beautiful woman. 

The girl who’d been dead until just a few moments ago.

“-I am Lily Potter,” says Lily fiercely. “I saved my husband. I saved my son. I am here, and I’ve never been gone. That I swear to you.” She lowers her wand, just a little. “Please, Professor. I’m sure Dumbledore will want to meet with us.”

Minerva nods to her, heart swelling, but she cannot forget the other boy she’d had her heart torn apart by, so she turns to Sirius, who’s still outside the wards. He’s very pale. He looks- well, not nervous, because Sirius Black has never known how to look like that- but he does look distinctly unhappy about taking a risk on the wards. 

Then he steps through, and the wards accept him without so much as a flicker.

“Yes,” says Minerva faintly. “That is starting to look like a good idea.”

...

“I’d not thought to see this in my life,” says Dumbledore. 

He looks aged in these short months that Lily’s not seen him; aged and exhausted. Lily’s terse explanation of how they came to be like this hadn’t impressed him, she thinks, but it has relieved him of some grief. Not all of it, perhaps, but then the war has burst from the shadows into broad daylight. He has become a general, and not just the leader of a resistance movement. There’s something to grieve in that.

Lily forgets, so often, that the Ministry cannot be relied upon.

Not in truth, of course; but it’d been some sort of a beacon of hope. Some knowledge that their world wouldn’t completely accept madmen and bigots into their government.

And now that Ministry has fallen, and the last hope of all Britain is Hogwarts. Hogwarts, where children wait to die. Hogwarts, where Lily learned to make her world safe, because god only knew that nobody else could be relied upon.

Hogwarts, where Dumbledore is Headmaster.

“I’d not hoped to see it,” Dumbledore corrects himself. “Both of you, alive and well… it was beyond my wildest hopes.”

“I couldn’t come here,” says Lily. She doesn’t want to sound like a child, but also: “I couldn’t know whom to trust. After Peter did that to us- I couldn’t have done anything differently.” She swallows and looks a Dumbledore. “That’s not on you. I want you to know that.”

“Thank you, my dear,” says Dumbledore, very gravely. He raises his eyebrows at Sirius and Remus. “And my apologies to the both of you. I let my grief swallow my reason, and both of you shouldn’t have had to bear that burden.”

“‘M not saying Azkaban was fun,” says Sirius, “but how did Moony get screwed over?”

“I was in the middle of a werewolf camp,” says Remus levelly. “And I was in mourning. Deep mourning. If Greyback had caught me mourning someone not of his pack, it wouldn’t have been- good.” Sirius, leaning against a wall, blanches. Lily frowns, but Remus isn’t looking at any of them; he’s staring at the Headmaster. “But I thought you knew all along, sir.”

Dumbledore blinks. “That James and Lily were alive, and Sirius innocent, and you in Britain instead of eastern Europe? My boy, my imagination is certainly not so capable as all that.”

Professor McGonagall snorts. Remus ignores it all- he leans forward instead, as if straining to grasp something. “But the letter- I thought it was Sirius, but then he didn’t know until we both saw James in my flat, so it wasn’t him, so- who else could’ve sent it?”

“What letter?”

“It said- you’re alive. To come home. I don’t know anyone else who’d know where I was, apart from you, sir, and…” Remus cuts himself off, suddenly, as if somebody had cast silencio on him.

Sirius reaches out and brushes Remus’ arm. “Moony,” he says quietly, worried.

“Mr. Lup- Remus!” exclaims Professor McGonagall. “What in the-”

“Peter,” says Remus, so softly that Lily’s blood runs cold. “He sent that letter. He’s the only one who knew- who could’ve- oh, Merlin.”

He sits down, hard. Lily kind of wants to do the same. Peter, saving Remus’ life? But then, Remus hadn’t discussed how much danger he’d been in in the camps. He’d never liked to talk about it. He had accepted Lily’s and James’ survival better than Sirius, which she’d chalked down to Remus’ calmer disposition rather than any advanced warning.

“Take a lemon drop, Remus,” says Dumbledore, handing him the sweet before settling down. “Well. That is an interesting development indeed, if it’s true. Perhaps Mr. Pettigrew can be convinced to-”

“We aren’t convincing him of anything,” Sirius says harshly. “He’s a moron. And a coward. Probably got tortured and became frightened of what he’d chosen. We aren’t-”

“-if he’s trying to help, then we shouldn’t make that out to be any lesser than what we’re trying to do,” says Lily. She holds up her hand at Sirius’ protests. “Doesn’t mean we trust him. But we can… accept that he’s not entirely evil, yes?”

“No,” says Sirius mutinously, but Lily ignores him in favor of sweeping her gaze over McGonagall and the others. 

When she sees no disagreement, Lily continues briskly: “And anyhow, we’ve more important information. You-Know-Who shall be here soon, particularly when he finds out that we’ve got- what we got. And that means we have to move fast.”

Professor McGonagall lifts an eyebrow. “It might help us move faster still if you told us what you have.”

James- who’s been very silent; who’s been suspiciously silent- stretches, like a big cat rising to a hunt. “They’re called horcruxes,” he says grimly. “They’re pieces of his soul.”

For a long moment, nobody speaks. Then Dumbledore stretches out a hand.

“I would be very interested in how you came by such an object.”

“Chance and luck, sir,” says Lily. “Nothing more and nothing less. But we’ve developed a method of both detection and destruction, and that points to one in Hogwarts- which is why we had to come here.” She can’t quite help the sidelong look towards James, who’s staring back at her with his large, lovely eyes, nor the heat that flushes right under her skin, pleasantly itchy. “We weren’t planning to do this so quickly, but... well, needs must, I suppose.”

“Which is your way of telling me I was an idiot,” says James, amused.

“Flying the dragon out of Gringotts was an impressive way of getting You-Know-Who’s attention,” Lily replies archly, before turning back to Dumbledore, levity fading. “I’m still the best person at detecting the horcruxes. James is the only person who can destroy them, so I’ll leave him to working on that.”

“It’s going to take some time,” James cautions. “I’m not at my best right now.”

Meaning he’s probably running damn low, and the idiot doesn’t plan to rest on it either. Lily takes a look at his face and feels, again, the warning twinge under her breastbone. There’s something wrong here. Something that Lily can almost grip, something Lily knows but cannot quite remember.

But she doesn’t quite have the energy or moral ground enough to tell him to stop, so she doesn’t.

“With your leave, I’ll start searching.” Lily glances at Sirius, who’s practically vibrating with the need to do something. Well, it isn’t as if she doesn’t understand. “I think you should start preparing. He’ll be here- soon, I think.”

“This is a school,” says Minerva.

“It was a school,” says Sirius flatly. “It’s a battleground now, Professor. Lily’s right. We’re going to have to fight soon. You should ask your seventh years if they’re willing to bear arms. And-”

“-and they’re children,” says McGonagall, just as sharp. “We have let enough of you slip into war over these years.”

“Then,” says Remus, pressing his fingers to Sirius’ hand, still on his shoulder, “we must evacuate them. Quickly.”

“While the rest of us works on getting the defenses up,” says James. “That’s going to be very important.” He claps his hands. “So. Get the children out. Get the aurors and the rest of the Order up to speed. Get the defenses up. Defeat You-Know-Who.” He smiles wickedly. “I’m sure there’s going to be a lot of people who’ll be happy to see us.”

“If you will go and find it, then you will be traveling about the school, I presume?” asks Dumbledore.

Lily blinks. “Yes.”

“You’ll need a professor to accompany you, then. For safety’s sake.”

“Sir, that isn’t-”

“And if the rest of them are so busy raising the defenses, you shall need to take someone who cannot be seen working for us,” Dumbledore goes on, inexorably. “It will not be easy for you, I’m afraid, but necessary.”

“Professor, it really isn’t-”

“It is,” says Dumbledore. “The defenses, you know, that are there already are... rather unpleasant for those unaccompanied. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Lily does. She doesn’t want to agree. She could go her whole life without ever meeting him, without ever talking to him, and be happy. But she also knows the value of protesting to an Albus Dumbledore whose eyes are twinkling that particular shade of electric blue.

“Yes, Professor,” says Lily, nails cutting into her palms. 

“I’ll come with you,” says James, getting up. “I’ll have to find a place to do the lightning anyways; I can take Brakshal while I’m at it.”

Lily accedes with little grace, and she lets James precede her out of the door. Then she pauses. “Don’t put up an owl ward until the end.”

“You’re expecting mail?” asks McGonagall disbelievingly.

“A package, I think.” Lily glances at the sky. It’s dark; the dark of well past sundown. “You can do it at midnight. Not before.” She turns to Dumbledore. “People do deserve a chance to prove their loyalties.”

“I don’t disagree,” says Dumbledore. 

Lily nods briskly and strides out the door, only to be caught by James’ hand tight on her wrist. He uses it to yank her backwards, out of view of the door as it closes. Lily almost yelps in surprise, but then she feels James’ faint, shivery trembles. 

“Jimmy?”

“I’d forgotten,” he says lowly, “how it feels, to rely on other people.” James bends forwards and noses against her neck blindly, more for comfort than anything else. “Did you hear McGonagall?”

“When?”

“At the lake.”

“About what?”

“Werewolf and goblin,” says James wearily. “That was all that Remus became to her, so quickly. Werewolf. Merlin. I think I might have burned a bit of grass, it was that fucking- infuriating.”

Lily runs her hands up his arms, light enough that there’s no pressure. “We’re only going to get a chance to change things if we defeat him, James. Not otherwise.”

“Lils. You don’t-”

“So they’re wrong,” says Lily. “So they’re stupid. So they’re bigoted. They aren’t bad people, they’re just- wrong. Here. Now. And we’ll fix that, we’ll teach them, but we can’t if we aren’t alive.”

James sighs. “It’s not going to end with defeating You-Know-Who, is it?”

Lily forgets that James isn’t her, so often; she thinks he sees the world the same way she does right up until he says shit like this. Of course it’s not going to end with defeating Voldemort. Of course it’s going to be difficult and sore and aching, but Lily has magic, and she won’t let anyone strip it from her. Not for all the bigots and dark wizards in the entire world.

“No,” she says. “It isn’t. But it’s a damn good start, I think.”

And, hand in hand, they descend from the Headmaster’s office.

...

It’s almost unbearably awkward once James and the goblin- Brakshal, James had said- leave for the Quidditch pitch, which James thinks is probably the best place for him to call the lightning to destroy the horcruxes, and it’s just Lily and Severus walking up stairs silently.

For some time, she manages to keep her attention on the crystal that’s focusing the power from the rune carved into her forearm- it’s a fiddly piece of work- but that can only last for so long.

“Oh, fine” says Lily, once she realizes that Severus won’t speak first. She’s so fucking tired. “Just spit it out, would you?”

“Spit what out?” asks Severus delicately.

“I’m not in the mood for your games,” warns Lily.

He doesn’t answer immediately, but then he says, quietly, “It was my worst nightmare, you know. Hearing about your death.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for that?”

“I turned my back on him because of you!”

Lily whirls on him. “Do you expect me to forgive you?” she asks. “This- this madness, these people who want me dead for my blood. Who want my son dead because of a fucking prophecy. You think I can forgive you for liking them? For thinking anything they did was good?” Severus sways backward as if she’s slapped him, and Lily narrows her eyes. “You think I can congratulate you for finding basic morals, Severus?”

“No,” says Severus heavily. He pauses on the stairs. “Did you ever love me?” Lily closes her eyes and leaves him behind. She’s almost up the stairs when he calls after her: “I need help, actually.” Lily turns to glare at him, and he lifts his hands. “Trick step.”

“Fucking hell,” mutters Lily, stomping down and yanking him up.

As soon as he’s free, Lily turns back and keeps walking. She doesn’t bother to wait for him, to see if he’ll follow; she’s certain that he will. Severus has always been good at that. She focuses on the crystal to drown out the rage singing through the rest of her.

It leads her up some stairs, to the seventh floor. To a blank wall, but Lily can feel the magic buzzing behind the wall through the rune on her forearm. She presses her fingers against it, trying to decipher what it needs to be unlocked.

It’s simple enough, in the end: magic pulsed three times, with Lily’s fingers light against the stone; but Lily pauses before she can open the door.

“Where’s the fucking justice?” she asks. Severus blinks at the non-sequitur. Lily waves a hand. “You made a mistake, yes, but there are consequences to it. Just because you became a spy you don’t deserve Azkaban anymore? Just because you’re more useful to the war out of prison, you won’t be imprisoned?”

“No choice is made in a vacuum.” Severus looks away from her. “But I never forgot about you. You should know that. I told the Dark Lord not to hurt a woman named Lily Evans. That was- of utmost importance to me.”

“I am not,” says Lily, “an Evans any longer.”

She opens the door, and plunges into the Room of Hidden Things.

...

The Quidditch Pitch is open and grassy, and one end of it is very close to the wardline. James tilts his head up. Closes his eyes. Breathes.

The promise of rain sits, heavy and damp, on his skin.

James smiles.

...

“Sirius Black tried to kill me,” says Severus. “You’ve clearly forgiven him for that, so what makes this so different?”

“You really don’t see any difference between attempted murder in the heat of the moment and a calculated strategy of murder and violence and disenfranchisement and genocide?” 

“How can you trust someone who gets so angry he loses all sight of his ethics?”

Lily laughs, sharp like a mirror’s cutting edge. “You’re talking to me about ethics?”

“Don’t deflect.”

“Fine.” Lily turns to him, eyes glittering like cold emeralds. “I can trust him because I know he’ll die before he betrays me and mine. No matter how angry he gets. I cannot trust you because you’ll kill my son and my husband just because it makes you happy, and I won’t ever forget that.”

At that, Severus falls silent, and Lily picks her way around some more book stacks, trying to find that blasted horcrux. 

“You’re saying you never regretted choosing something?” asks Severus softly. 

Lily sighs. “I have. But then, I’ve never made a mistake as badly as you did, either.”

“I love you,” he says. 

“I know,” says Lily wearily. “I’m not blind, Severus.”

He doesn’t look hurt; he just looks like he expected it, the blow straight to the sternum. Severus smiles, odd and bent at the corners like a beaten metal sheet.

“Do you remember the stones?” he asks. “Those- those stones, from Belfast.”

“From vacation?” asks Lily, surprised. “Yes.”

They’d had such fun. It’d been one of very few vacations her parents had let her bring Severus on, and they’d whiled their time away dancing around stone circles for hours while her parents did whatever adults did on holiday. They’d each taken one stone with them when they left, and Lily’d chosen one with a hole through the middle that she’d poked a string through and tied around her neck like some pagan necklace. 

“And that plaque, near the bench-”

“-of CS Lewis,” says Lily, quieter. “Yes, I remember that.”

“You handed me that stone and-” Severus looks away, then back, and there’s something painful in the dark twist of his eyes. “-and d’you know what you said, Lily?”

“No,” she whispers.

“Your favorite lines in the books.”

“Courage, dear heart,” she says, in tune with him, and isn’t surprised when Severus barks a laugh that’s utterly mirthless. 

“I should’ve known you’d be a Gryffindor when you said that,” he says. “Should’ve known that you’d never become mine in that moment. But- you were the only good thing I knew. How could I just let you go?”

Lily turns away instead of answering. How can she answer? What can she answer? 

The crystal breaks into fractals of light, and Lily looks around her, and she sees: a jewelled diadem, gleaming like something out of a star.

...

Moments before they put up the owl ward, there is one owl that sneaks through; a long-winged, elegant Tawny that flies directly to the tower that Sirius is in. It bears a package, small and delicate, and it lands on Sirius’ arm with sharp claws.

“What is it?”

“A letter from...” Sirius pauses. “Narcissa.”

Remus blinks.

“She says: TELL LADY POTTER THAT IT’S LADY MALFOY, NOT MRS. MALFOY.” Sirius reaches out and undoes the package’s strings, and the paper falls away to reveal a slender, leather-bound diary. “I suppose Lily got through to her, then.”

“That sounds- improbable.”

“No,” says Sirius, and he grins at Remus. “That sounds just like Lily, I think.”

...

“The Dark Lord’s calling for me,” says Severus suddenly. His grip on his arm is white-knuckled. 

Lily blinks at him. “So quickly,” she says. 

“He’s a suspicious bastard,” agrees Severus. “I’ll have to-” he cuts himself off, takes a few steps away, then swivels back to look at Lily. “After all of this is over, promise me you won’t go after vengeance.” Severus inhales sharply. “Justice, not vengeance. For everyone you’ve captured. Be better than them. Promise me that. They don’t deserve it, but-”

“-it isn’t about deserving.” Lily takes a deep breath. “Alright.” 

Then she flicks her wand and before Severus can leave, there’s a stone sitting in her palm- white, with a hole through the middle and a string wrapped around it. She holds it out to Severus. 

He takes it, fingers cold and dry when they brush her palm. 

“Courage, dear heart,” says Lily softly. “After all of this is over, Severus, come to me. We’ll talk. I’ll promise you that.”

Eyes shining, Severus bows to her: as deep as a knight might, to a queen. Lily flushes a deep red. Then he disappears, in a swirl of black cloak and white skin.

...

Remus meets Lily in the middle of a corridor, and pales at the look on her face. “We got the diary from Malfoy Manor.”

“Good,” says Lily briskly. “I have the last one- it’s Ravenclaw’s diadem.”

“Wait- the...”

“The lost one, yes.”

“The bastard couldn’t find anything else to ruin, of course,” mutters Remus, and Lily rolls her eyes.

“Take them to James, would you?” she asks, handing hers over to him.

“Where’re you going?”

“The library. I need to check something out.”

“Lily-”

“It’s important,” she insists. “Take it to James. I’ll be there soon, I promise.”

...

“Ah, Ssssseveruss.”

“My Lord.” Snape bows deeply.

Peter, hiding in the shadows behind the Dark Lord’s throne, tries not to squeak. 

“Do you have newssssss for me?”

“I do.”

“Well?” Snape would do well to heed the dangerous edge to their Lord’s sharp voice; he isn’t in a mood to be trifled with. 

“The Potters are alive, my Lord,” says Snape, head still bowed. 

Peter’s heart stops beating. So. Not a bad dream. Peter’s actions might well have borne some fruit. Perhaps...

The Dark Lord rises from his seat like a slithering snake. “What?”

“They are alive, and in Hogwarts.” Snape looks up at the throne. “I spoke to them both.”

“Ssseverussss,” hisses their Lord. “How did you not know of this until now?”

“None knew,” says Snape. “They have been afraid of betrayal ever since their Fidelius failed. Even Dumbledore and McGonagall knew nothing.”

“And what has made them emerge now?”

“The Potter fool did something they couldn’t hush up,” says Snape flatly. “It was he and the werewolf that flew the dragon out of Gringotts.”

“They were fools to push the goblins further into my arms,” murmurs their Lord. “But still... were they so desperate for money?”

“No, my Lord.” And here, at last, Snape hesitates. Peter presses himself harder against the stone of the throne, hoping he isn’t ever going to be remembered. “They were hunting for some object they said was of importance to you.”

The Dark Lord freezes. “What object?”

“A cup, I believe.”

“How could they know what was my-”

“Lily Potter has apparently developed a method of detection.”

For a long moment, the Dark Lord doesn’t respond. He just flows forward, stopping right behind Snape, and bends over him. “Lily Potter?” he asks silkily. “Tell me, how long have you pined after the mudblood?”

Snape stills. His head bows, just a little, but when he lifts his gaze to the throne he does not look anything other than fierce. Unwillingly, unbearably, Peter feels a twinge of pride. A twinge of grief. Here, at the end of all things, a modicum of respect for his oldest enemy.

The Dark Lord strikes, yanking Snape’s head up and straining him back so he doesn’t have a chance to balance himself. “Tell me!” he snarls.

“I never stopped,” says Snape almost soundlessly.

He collapses when the Dark Lord releases him. His voice is quivering with rage as he asks: “How many horcruxes do they have, Sssssseverusssss?”

“All of yours,” says Snape quietly. “And a method of destruction as well.”

There is no response, but then the Dark Lord lashes out. The wave of magic that passes through Severus is actually visible- it splashes over the stone throne, cracking it in half. Peter squeaks loudly, huddling closer to it, until his Lord speaks.

“Ready his body, Wormtail,” he bites out. “We are going to Hogwarts. I’ve tolerated its defiance for too long.”

Peter transforms back to human and tries, desperately, hopelessly, to breathe. “My Lord?” he asks, high-pitched.

“Let them see what has become of their much-vaunted spy,” he hisses. 

Quickly, Peter scurries down to Snape’s corpse. There’s no fear on his face; just some old, quiet sort of peace. Peter turns him over so he can make it easier for the apparition, only to freeze when he sees the white stone in the hollow of his wrist. 

He’s seen that before.

Lily.

Fingers trembling, Peter reaches for the bracelet, only to feel, impossibly: a pulse. That magic shouldn’t have been survivable. It cracked stone in half. But Snape... 

“Immobulus,” whispers Peter. 

That should keep him in stasis for long enough, long enough to- 

To what? 

Doesn’t matter. Do what needs to be done. One step in front of another, and not a one otherwise. Survive. He unwinds that bracelet and ties it around his own wrist: something to hold him down. Something to give him a hold on sanity. 

Then Peter grips Snape’s cold, unresisting hand, and apparates to Hogwarts.

...

Lily knows where she can find it, knows the book is somewhere here-

She’s so fucking close-

...

Voldemort’s people apparate in, right on the edge of the wardline. Sirius paces it on the Hogwarts side, baring his teeth. The rest of the Order and the remnants of the Ministry are waiting, wands drawn and bunching with outrage. The children have been ferried out, according to McGonagall; Dumbledore is standing behind Sirius but close enough to the wardline to be easily visible.

And James is standing on the Quidditch Pitch, waiting for them to be ready.

Then Voldemort appears, and Sirius flinches at the full-body feeling of dark magic that suffuses the air.

But he holds something in his hands- something black, floppy, and big, but not too big. Sirius growls low in his throat when he realizes what it is. Who it is.

“Your spy, Dumbledore!” cries Voldemort, voice high and cold. He tosses Snape to the ground; Snape lands, flops on the ground, dead- and Sirius snarls louder. He might have hated the man, but nobody deserves to die at Voldemort’s wand. “See what has become of him! He wasn’t quite good enough to keep your secrets. And now...”

He raises his wand, and points it at the wards, and starts trying to bring them down.

Sirius paces. He doesn’t like being kept silent or not doing things, but there’s a plan that Dumbledore trusts, and James is following, so Sirius won’t be the one that ruins things. So they let Voldemort try to bring the best wards Hogwarts has to offer down, and after a few moments it’s quite clear: he’s getting frustrated. 

He can’t.

Good, thinks Sirius, hand so tight on his wand the wood is creaking. Get him angry, get him worked up, make him make mistakes.

“NOW!” bellows Dumbledore, immensely loudly, and James lifts his axe high, high, to the sky.

For the fourth time in James’ hands, lightning splits the sky open.

...

Lily’s on the last book. She has so little time; she can see it, she can feel the electric tang of a storm rising. She flips through it, quickly, quickly, she doesn’t have the time to waste.

Then. 

Then.

Then.

In the Ancient Runes supplementary textbook, hidden amongst twenty pages of the meaning of runes:

Deathlight, Thor’s axe. Bringer of life and death. One of the first runes ever identified. Means violent change; revolution.

There is an old rhyme of those who the axe has deigned to choose: “once to destroy, once to fly; once to threaten, once to die.” Four times can they use the axe before the bearers of Thor’s axe inevitably die. Most often, the cause of death is-

“Magical exhaustion,” breathes Lily. 

The only person to survive four uses has been Ignatius Peverell, who cleaved all of himself from the Deathlight, including the entirety of his magic. Regrettably, the method by which he accomplished this has been forgotten.

“He’ll die,” she says, and stands. 

How can she remain sitting? There are lines she cannot allow to be crossed, and lines she will not allow to be crossed, and James dying constitutes- all of them. 

But Lily has a plan, and she’ll need to be fast, and that means...

She looks out the window near her. The library overlooks the Quidditch pitch. And James had cast matching hovering charms with Remus, to survive the fall, hadn’t he?

Well. Time to see if self-cast hovering charms will work.

Her wand twists in the swish and flick of Wingardium leviosa, and Lily feels the glass shatter as she throws herself out the window.

She lands halfway between the mass of the Order and the Ministry members and James, and Remus is yet further, flanking Sirius at the wardline. She looks up, and James is standing, axe high, and the lightning isn’t stopping.

Quickly, she commands herself, wand flicking out in a blur. Now or never!

And with all of her, she commands: “Accio!”

...

Remus yelps when his wand and the portkey in his pocket is yanked out, so violently he’s left spinning. He turns to track it, and sees Lily, halfway between James’ lightning and the rest of their army, wand aloft.

“What in the world-” Remus steps forwards, ready to ask, when Lily catches his wand.

“Moony?” says Sirius lowly.

“I don’t know,” says Remus. “I’ve got no idea what she’s doing!”

Two-handed casting isn’t possible. But Lily aims with her wand and casts a summoning charm- it hits James’ axe- and in the exact same breath, with Remus’ wand, she banishes the portkey directly towards James. It shouldn’t be possible. Remus is staring; he can hear Sirius breathing curses besides him. Even Dumbledore- even everyone, including Voldemort- is staring at a feat that hasn’t been accomplished, ever, before.

The portkey grabs onto James and falls to the ground, glowing an eerie blue, but Lily’s focused on something else. 

“Let go!” she shouts. “James, please, please- let go-”

The axe. She’s pulling on it. Trying to summon it from his grasp. Trying, and failing. Oh, Merlin, Remus realizes that this is exactly what Lily’d tried to get him to do, only he’d been so caught up in the war preparations, and...

The portkey is still glowing.

It’s glowing brighter, and brighter still, until it hurts to look at it. Lily is screaming louder than even the lightning, and James is shouting now, too, but beneath it all Remus can hear something cracking.

Suddenly, Dumbledore catches his shoulder. “The wards,” he says, face pale. “Whatever Lily has done- it is destroying them.”

“We have to keep them up,” says Remus flatly. “It’s going to be a bloodbath otherwise. With the numbers he has-”

“No,” says Sirius. He, too, is pale; but he looks like he’s realized something. He looks faintly sick with it, but. Resolved, too. Determined. And a determined Sirius is not something Remus has ever learned to stop. “Let them in.”

“That’s going to be-”

“For a moment. Just long enough to trap him.” Sirius turns to Dumbledore. “You’re going to have to. Sacrifice the rest of the integrity of the wards. Focus in one region. You can put up physical wards if you do that, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then tie them into that. To an ending. Single combat, to the death. Shouldn’t be too difficult, not with a little bit of Headmastery-magic.”

“You will not survive single combat with him,” says Dumbledore, unsmiling.

“Maybe,” says Sirius. “But you have the chance, don’t you, sir?”

Dumbledore doesn’t say anything. Remus doesn’t know how either of them can think over the din of Lily and James, screaming together, like the world is ending for both of them. 

Then Dumbledore says, quietly, “There is no other choice.”

And the wards start to fall apart, in great cracking pieces of glittering blue.

James disappears instantly.

Thor’s ancient axe slams towards Lily without anyone to hold it back, and she drops the spell before it can slice her in half. It falls beside her, an innocent piece of wood and metal. She collapses to her knees, silent; her last movement is a banishing charm, sending his wand skidding straight back to Remus.

“Sir,” whispers Remus. “The wards-”

“-are falling,” says Dumbledore. His eyes are closed, wand twitching in minute movements in his hand. “When the first spell is thrown, they will be reactivated. Sirius, watch the wardline. Remus, watch the Death Eaters. Don’t let yourselves be taken off guard. Whatever happens, do not go peacefully.”

He doesn’t wait for their responses. Instead, slowly, creakingly, he steps forwards, and faces Voldemort. “Tom,” he says quietly.

“Dumbledore,” hisses Voldemort. 

“Sirius,” says Remus, suddenly aware with that sixth sense that comes from knowing him for so long that he’s going to do something reckless and stupid- “whatever you’re planning to do-”

“Watch the Death Eaters, Moony,” says Sirius lowly. 

He shifts away, edging closer to the physical wardline that’s going to emerge when the first spell is thrown, and he lifts his wand, just a little. 

“Your horcruxes are gone,” Dumbledore is telling Voldemort. “Your soul... you must show some remorse, Tom, before it is too late for you. Try, try-”

“I do not need your prattling on matters you don’t understand!”

But Sirius isn’t aiming at Voldemort.

“Tom-”

“Avada-”

“Depulso!” cries Sirius, and he slides into the physical ward circle that Dumbledore’s crafted in the same instant that Dumbledore is blasted out of it. 

The ward circle that has been constructed with the express purpose of ensuring that they will fall only when one dueller dead. 

“And who is thissssss?” hisses Voldemort.

“Sirius Black,” says Sirius. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but it really isn’t.”

Remus looks around helplessly. Dumbledore is still not getting to his feet, though a few brave Ministry members have rushed to try to heal him, and there’s nothing inside of the ward circle that can help Sirius apart from Snape’s body. 

“You cannot hope to defeat me,” says Voldemort, a terrible smile cracking his face open. “Little boy. Ssssstand asssside.”

“There’s things you should know, first,” says Sirius easily. He spins his wand, and ignores the sparks flying across it. “Y’see, I was born in July. Hottest month in decades, according to my mother.”

“Your delaysss are not-”

“What delays?” asks Sirius innocently. “We can’t leave this place without killing each other. And you’re curious, I know you are. So. My mother was a terrible person, blah blah blah- but then you asked my father for a book that you should never have asked for, and my father refused you, and when you took it anyways, he died when he stole it back from you, because of the curses you placed on it.

“Do you understand yet?” Sirius’ face still looks amused, but there’s rage there, underneath it, banked but smoldering. “That’s two. And my mother- you told her to stay in Grimmauld Place. But my grandfather stole her away, because he thought being locked up there would ruin what was little left of her mind.”

“I stopped Dumbledore’s prattling, and I will stop-”

“-mine? But this isn’t prattling.” Sirius smiles, cold as liquid nitrogen. “That’s three defiances. Twice by my father. Once by my mother. Born as the seventh month dies... that’s me.”

“You,” says Voldemort, “are not my equal.”

“I am,” says Sirius. “You killed my brother. As the Heredis of House Black, a mark on one of them is a mark on me, and you went after my brother with vengeance enough to cause a blood feud. And, of course, there’s the fact that my grandfather told me to take an oath to try to kill you. By thinking I could bear that responsibility...”

“No.”

“...he labelled me your equal.”

“You are too old for it!”

“Approaches, not born,” quotes Sirius. “My parents hadn’t defied you until last summer. I didn’t care about my family until you went after Harry and threw me in Azkaban. You created me, Voldemort. A Black Heredis, and if there is one thing a Black is good at-” he smiles again, nastily, “-it’s making things all about themselves.

“So. Let the duel begin.”

Sirius fires off a red-colored spell that splashes against a hastily-converted shield from Voldemort, and then they’re dueling, actually, really dueling, and Remus cannot breathe for the sheer rage and hope and fear that is sinking deep, deep into his bones.

...

Sirius is faster than Voldemort, for all that he’s nowhere near Voldemort’s power; but that won’t do him any good in such a limited area. No. The real advantage that Sirius has is how he knows Voldemort’s duelling style: the flashy use of power, meant to humiliate as much as defeat. The over-reliance on transfiguration over charms. And, of course, how Voldemort hates being lesser than anyone else.

They’ve made him angry. 

Time to see if it’s going to pay off.

Sirius dodges, gets on his case; throws a few conjured knives straight at Voldemort’s neck that don’t get anywhere apart from become transfigured into birds that peck at his arms before Sirius is whirling around, around, tripping over Snape’s cloak, driven backwards, dizzy-

He trips and scrambles, finger catching on something, on nothing. His wand has disappeared into the grass. Sirius turns, searching for it, and he sees Voldemort surge forwards, green light spilling from his wand-

-and something leaps up through the air, dark and small, and even as Sirius is hiccuping with abrupt fear there is something exploding before his face, stone turned to dust. He shouts in pain and recoils, only to see:

Peter. 

Cowardly Peter, large once more, and not dead because Voldemort’s avada hit some stone thing he was wearing and shattered that instead of his soul. The sudden rage in Sirius’ body isn’t tempered at all by Wormtail’s show of courage; he growls, low in his throat, and forces himself upright.

“Wormtail,” Voldemort bites out. He sounds too surprised to say anything. But Sirius is staring at the blood dripping out of Peter’s wrist: the avada not only shattered the stone, but in doing so cut off his entire hand. “Move.”

Sirius waits to die. Waits to be sacrificed. Waits, breathless, for Peter’s cowardice to manifest yet again. A coward will always join the biggest bully in the yard, and there’s no bigger bully than Voldemort. There’s nothing to be gained by protecting Sirius, wandless and still blinking the afterimages of that explosion out of his eyes, still prone on the ground.

“No,” whispers Wormtail. 

Sirius feels his jaw go slack.

...

Not too late to seek a newer world, thinks Peter, legs shaking so hard he doesn’t know how he’s standing. Ten years spent together, and a lifetime more. Though much is taken, much abides.

That which we are, we are.

God damn James, and Lily, and Sirius, and Remus. What a time to find a backbone.

His hand is gone. His reputation; his friends. Everything he ever was and ever would be. And still he stands in front of the Dark Lord, and he cannot move away from Sirius. 

The Dark Lord- Voldemort, Voldemort- Peter has defied him enough to have earned the right to call him by his name, at least- looks more nonplussed than angry, though Peter can sense the rage gathering like stormclouds in the distance.

“Move, you idiotic boy,” he says again, lifting his wand high.

And Peter knows he isn’t going to be quick enough. He never is. He never will be. But-

(For seven long, long years; for seven happy, happy years: Peter was the front for James and Sirius. The boy too pathetic to be bullied, who’d snivel and grovel while the others planned their actual vengeance. The boy who’d cry, and even as he cried, steal James’ wand from the Slytherin’s pocket and drop it back into James’ waiting hand for a jinx.

Oh. Seven years. A lifetime’s training.

Everything he’s ever done in all his life: for this one moment.)

-Peter knows who is.

His wand drops from nerveless fingers angled just an inch backwards and he throws himself towards Voldemort, fingers transforming into claws, rat features taking over. And Voldemort howls. He twists, then, and bats Peter out of the air- Peter hits the side of the ward circle and falls into the grass, ribs aching.

He can only hope, can only hope, but no: Sirius still looks dazed. The wand is in the grass, almost in his palm but not quite. 

Merlin, no, thinks Peter, horrified. 

“Say goodbye, Sirius Black,” hisses Voldemort. He slashes down, and green light spurts out of his wand like some terrible fountain, and Sirius keels over.

No no nonononononono-

“Come out, Wormtail,” Voldemort sings out, turning unerringly to where Peter is cowering. “Come out I said!”

His spell grabs Peter and drags him out of the grass. He whimpers, high in his throat, and gasp-screams at the pain in his wrist when he’s forced into his human form.

“Look at me, you pathetic excuse of a rat,” says Voldemort. “I will kill you. Slowly. You think- you think you can betray me, you think you can get away with trying to betray me, when I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted, you foul, loathsome, magicless little worm? I will whittle you apart. I will use your bones to feed my pets and then I’ll make you grow some more so you can feel that pain, and just when you get used to it I’ll kill you so slowly you’ll-”

“-die?” asks a voice that Peter was certain he’d never hear again. 

He blinks. He cannot see anything other than Voldemort, but-

But then he can, because Voldemort shifts away, eyes wide and shocked, and Sirius is standing, Peter’s wand tight in his grip.

There’s blood streaming from his nose and he looks terrible, but he’s alive, and he shouldn’t be, because- because Peter saw, didn’t he? He saw Sirius die. He saw the avada hit him. 

“You,” hisses Voldemort. “You should be dead.”

His wand slashes up: a streak of red, something that makes Peter flinch with remembered memory; Sirius doesn’t even get the chance to shield against it before it hits him- and nothing happens. 

Sirius smiles, teeth shining red. “Probably. But I’m not.”

Voldemort keeps sending more spells towards Sirius, each more vicious than the last. But Sirius keeps stepping forwards, ignoring Voldemort’s spells as if they’re just color-change charms. And then he’s close to Voldemort, and his wand- Peter’s wand- is high in his hand, and he says, voice too low for anyone but Peter to hear: “Avada kedavra!” 

The green light shatters on Voldemort’s chest and he topples over. 

Peter collapses back onto the ward, waiting to feel it, only to thump onto grass instead. Of course: the ward, holding only for long enough for one of them to die. Peter should’ve known Sirius wasn’t dead when the ward circle didn’t fall apart; Voldemort hadn’t noticed either, but then he’d been so angry at Peter by the end, he probably wouldn’t have noticed anything at all.

“You did it,” Peter wheezes to Sirius, when he comes over to see him, clambering over Voldemort’s corpse. “You- Merlin, Sirius, you killed him.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t like you didn’t help,” says Sirius roughly. “This is going to hurt.”

Peter frowns, struggles limply, but then the spell blazes to life in his wrist, so hot he cannot keep silent for the pain of it. Sirius holds him through it, touch not so much gentle as there, which is more than Peter’d ever hoped for again.

“Cauterization charm,” he says by way of explanation, and loops Peter’s arm around his neck before hauling him upright. “Come on. We’re getting you to a healer if it kills me.”

“Don’t joke about that!” says Peter sharply.

Sirius snorts, and keeps them walking. Peter thinks vaguely that there are things he should be aware of: there’s some loud noise, and Sirius is stumbling over things, weaving around others; he thinks there are bright flashes of colors that ought to be more scary to him than they are.

But he feels so cold and tired, and just moving as much as he is leaves him dizzy. Then he remembers what he’d been holding onto for so long: “Snape’s alive!”

“What,” says Sirius.

Before Peter can elaborate, Sirius stumbles a little and jams against Peter’s wrist, and the pain bolts straight up his hand to his skull. It’s all too much, abruptly: the pain, the fear, the depths of emotions that Peter’s plumbed over the past hour.

The darkness of unconsciousness wraps around him like a shroud, like a blanket, and Peter welcomes it.

...

There’s an immense amount of work to be done. Lily comes back to herself while she’s sitting on a small pallet, tucked away in Pomfrey’s office. She’s not entirely sure of how she got there, but she can hear the screams and smell the unique tang of too much magic concentrated in too little a space. 

The battle is ongoing. She doesn’t understand why, exactly, but it is, and that means she has work to do.

Then she remembers James.

Her thoughts feel like they’re swaddled in cotton. Too slow; muffled from reality. Lily can’t just throw herself into battle. She has to... find James. She has to save him. 

Cleave everything, she thinks, burying her fingers in her hair. 

That’s how the portkey had done it- because it was stone, and stone is the element that is the separator. Water and air and fire are fluids, but stone is solid, and she’d harnessed it, and in the doing wrecked Hogwarts’ wards. But Lily knows the freedom that can come from letting everything go: her last name, her history, her family. James must leave it all behind.

And there’s one thing she can help him with while she’s still in Hogwarts.

...

“Brakshal,” calls Lily.

She’s just returning from the battlefield, though it’s quickly becoming more like a field of bodies. Most are just unconscious, and even more are Death Eaters, the entire event coordinated and maintained by Remus- who looks both fierce and comforting, in some strange quirk of fate. The sun is still rising, and Lily’s got her magic pressed thin with over-use, but she holds.

When people see what she’s carrying behind her, they all give way.

“Lily,” says Dumbledore, trying to step in front of her- but Lily doesn’t look at him. “Lily, please, think of-”

“Brakshal!” says Lily again, loudly.

Out of the crowd, pushing and shoving, Brakshal spills out. He eyes her closely, then the corpse behind her, and blanches. 

Lily directs Voldemort’s body over to him. She doesn’t look any different when she drops the Hover Charm, but that’s because she hadn’t let herself hunch her shoulders on the walk back into Hogwarts, no matter how it felt like she was scraping the very bottoms of her magical reserves.

“My husband’s vow,” says Lily. “It is done and finished.”

“Yes,” says Brakshal slowly. “It is. By deed and word and spirit, it has been upheld.”

Lily does sag this time, feeling limp with the sudden rush of relief. “Thank you,” she says, pressing the back of her palm against her eyes. Then, thoughtfully, “If you’d like to get a portkey to Gringotts, speak to Headmaster Dumbledore. He’ll get you one.”

It’s presumptuous and irritating and rude, and Lily cannot care. She pauses, instead, and takes stock of her world: Sirius is in the infirmary, with Peter and Severus- all three alive through some miracle- but they’re going to be safe there; Remus is overseeing the binding and control of the Death Eaters captured and loyal to Voldemort and likely needs assistance, but Lily’d likely be more of a liability than an asset with her head as fucked as it is; Harry’s still in Surrey with Petunia, and she’ll go to pick him up tomorrow; everyone else is...

Fine.

Lily’s brought down the wards around Hogwarts because she’s afraid for James. Lily’s cleaved James of everything. All that’s left is to go to him. To hold him, and remind herself that for all her terror, he’s alive. She’s so tired, and so fucking tired of being tired, and she knows of only one place where she’ll feel okay.

She apparates away, to the little cottage James’ family had made in south Cornwall. The sky is still dark there, and James is asleep in the bed she’d assigned the portkey to, and she forces herself to make her way over to it, to sit beside him and curl over his arm, still marred with that terrible, terrifying rune.

Lily cries. She cries until she runs out of tears, then she eats some food, then she washes her face and returns to James, and she can’t quite bear seeing him like a still, frozen corpse any longer. She curls over on the bed instead, wrapping herself in his body. 

What has Lily left in this world?

Who will bear the burdens without James beside her? How can she continue without him, so warm, so tall, so fierce and steady and proud and good? How can she even imagine that? 

Still crying, shaking with the tears, she sinks into his embrace.

It is sleep that claims her, so fast she doesn’t even know to name it. 

...

James wakes up to an ache in every bone of his body. There’s hair spread across his face; there’s an itch on his elbow; he can feel the tingles of something heavy across his arm.

He turns- it hurts, but he has to know- and sees Lily, collapsed on his chest, fast asleep.

“Lils,” murmurs James. Lifts his hand and drops it over her hair. Cards through the thick, soft strands. He feels like butter left too long in the sun, or tea on the edge between hot and lukewarm. Perfect, wobbly, quivering. Stupidly, infuriatingly, entirely in love. “Oh, Lily.”

...

She wakes to a weight on her head, breath warm on her cheek, and Lily smiles, smiles, smiles, before sleeping once more.

...

The next time he wakes up, Lily’s awake too. She’s staring at the ceiling. The room is painted golden; the windows face east, so it’s sunrise. 

“The second dawn,” says Lily quietly. She wraps her arm around James and guides him up, resting on her weight. “After Voldemort’s death.”

“We did it,” says James, surprised. 

He hadn’t known. He’d suspected, but not known, and that makes more of a difference than he’d thought it would. 

“Well,” says Lily, sending him that look again, all lashes and glitter-green. “Not us, exactly. Sirius. And Peter.” She bites her lip. “Sirius, with Peter’s wand.”

“No shit.”

Lily snuggles up to him, and she’s smiling helplessly, widely, brilliantly. 

“What happened to the prophecy?” asks James, slumping back with a laugh. “Got chucked up, did it?”

“Nobody’s as self-centered as a Black,” says Lily, shrugging, still not looking away from him. “He thought he’d make the prophecy about himself, and he twisted it up until he did, and then he managed to finish it. Merlin, it was fucking terrifying. Voldemort tried to kill him- did hit him with avada- but Sirius just got back up. It was. Amazing. Horrifying. But amazing.”

“And me?”

“I had to,” says Lily, quieter. “You have to believe that. I had to. The axe was killing you. It wouldn’t stop until it used up all of your magic. I wasn’t sure that I wasn’t too late, not until you woke up now.”

“So you... did what?”

“There was a portkey I used. One of the horcruxes. That first one- the ring- had a stone on it. It had power even after you blasted it out, because you blasted it out, and I used that to... well. Build a portkey that couldn’t be stopped. By any ward.”

“And that stopped the axe’s magic?”

“Yes.” Lily exhales slowly. “It also broke Hogwarts’ wards down, to get you out.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

She looks worried. Afraid. Tired. And this is the morning after Voldemort’s death, James isn’t going to let Lily look like that any longer. Not when they’ve got everything they’ve ever wanted.

“How much am I going to have to pay for that?” he asks, reaching out to press the tips of his fingers against her eyebrows.

Lily looks at him, startled, before smiling again: shyly, smaller, truer. “Not as much as you’ll have to pay Gringotts.”

“Ah.” James snorts. “Brakshal?”

“Taken care of.”

“Harry?” 

“I’ll pick him up tomorrow.” Lily stretches over him, and pulls him closer, wraps herself around him. She presses her words against his neck. “I- there was a battle after Voldemort died. The Death Eaters fighting back, I suppose. I couldn’t do it, though, not with you gone. Not without you. I just sat there, and- and then people got me out of the way, but I couldn’t fight.”

“Lils,” says James, very quietly. 

“Not without you,” says Lily.

“I can’t imagine what I’d do if I had to do that,” says James. He’s not telling anything more or less than the truth. “I’m so sorry- oh, love, I know, it must’ve been-”

“Terrible!”

“I know,” says James soothingly, pressing his hand against whatever skin he can get. “I know. I should’ve seen it. That axe wasn’t- great.”

Lily leans backwards, spreads herself over the bed. “That,” she says, “is the understatement of the fucking century.”

“I’m okay now, though?”

“It got closer to killing you than Voldemort did,” says Lily flatly.

“Well. In that case...”

“Merlin, I married a- a- I don’t even know what to call you-” Lily cries it into her pillow, pressing it over her face, only for James to flop over it so he’s properly suffocating her and muffling the outraged cry from her end. 

When she peeks over it to him, James grins down at her. 

“Nah, Lils,” he says. “Just me.”

Her face softens, and she reaches up to trace a finger over his features. 

“I know,” says Lily. “And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

...

In one world, James dies, brave, young, stalwart and true. Father and friend; Marauder and auror; Order member and pureblood. Lily dies in front of her son, terrified, quivering, screaming. Sirius hunts and is captured; Remus is left friendless; Peter spends twelve years drowning in self-loathing.

In another world, James dies old and loved, son’s hand warm in his and Lily’s tight in the other. 

...

In one world, James dies wandless and terrified. 

In another, he lives.

...

Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has

[queen-of-regrets]

Title: Take What the Water Gave Me

Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)

Wordcount: 2k

Summary: Yet another take on “instead of Crowley running into the burning bookshop, Aziraphale rushes to Crowley’s flat and finds nothing but a puddle of holy water and the melted remains of a demon”

===

Getting rid of Sergeant Shadwell was more of an annoyance if anything. After miracling his mind clean of the conversation he’d witnessed, Aziraphale gave Shadwell his advance payment and quickly shooed him out of the shop.

He’d wasted enough time as it were trying to appeal to Heaven about stopping Armageddon. Crowley was right after all. Heaven didn’t give a damn. It truly was them against the rest of the world - or rather the forces of Heaven and Hell combined.

Really it was high time he let Crowley know he knew who the Antichrist was and where to find him. Plus, he owed the demon an apology. And since Crowley didn’t seem inclined to talk to him over the phone he’d just have to go over to his flat himself.

There wasn’t much he could do about the summoning circle, so he left it as is. Although he made sure to lock and double bolt the door to his bookshop. Didn’t want someone walking in and accidentally blasting themselves to smithereens after all.

Normally he’d have walked or taken a cab to Crowley’s flat. He quite enjoyed the journey and all. But there was simply no time. Besides, it wasn’t like Heaven was keeping track of how many frivolous miracles he was performing, what with Armageddon underway.

With a quick miracle he found himself at the end of the hallway leading to Crowley’s flat. It was quiet, as was typical. And yet … it was too quiet. None of muffled sounds of Crowley shouting at his plants, nor the usual ruckus made by the little old woman on the floor below. Just, silence.

Ignoring the sense that something was off, Aziraphale set off at a brisk pace towards Crowley’s door situated closer to the other end of the hall. Only to be met with another peculiar sight.

The door was ajar. Aziraphale paused. That was odd. Crowley never left the door open. It was always locked.

Aziraphale swallowed back his growing apprehension. “Crowley?” He gingerly pushed the door, dimly noting that the lock was broken. “Are you in there?”

Before he could even cross the threshold, the foul stench of something burnt wafted over him. A strange mix of plastic, oil, and flesh with a sulfuric tinge to it.

Alarmed, Aziaphale stepped into the empty foyer. “Crowley? What the devil have you been - ” his words instantly fell flat at the sight before him.

The door to the office at the end of the hall was thrown wide open. Just beyond the entrance a glistening dark sludge streaked the floor. It was hard to miss in the near spotless apartment.

“No,” he breathed, drifting closer, hardly daring to believe -

The sludge was clearly demonic. A burnt and blackened circular patch on the floor surrounded the sticky remains. It was drenched in a liquid that held a certain sheen that was only discernible to the ethereal and which could only be one thing.

Holy water.

On the desk was the old-fashioned tartan thermos flask he’d given Crowley over fifty years ago. The top was unscrewed with the cap carefully set next to it.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he backed away from the office, out over the threshold until his back hit the wall of the outer hallway. The world was tilting, out of focus, the cold stone wall the only thing keeping him upright.

He never thought he’d actually - he wouldn’t, he’d promised -

No, he reflected with mounting horror, Crowley never promised anything. The ice cold of the stone wall was seeping through his skin and spreading through his core. Aziraphale had just hoped, that after everything they’ve been through, together, Crowley would never resort to such a horrid fate.

But he’d left Crowley on his own hadn’t he? He’d ignored Crowley’s pleas to flee, holding on the foolish belief that heaven would want to stop the war. He’d abandoned him and Crowley had taken him own life and now Aziraphale was truly alone -

“Oh Crowley, my dear Crowley,” he moaned, “This is all my fault. I should’ve - I should’ve - ” he couldn’t finish. The ice had encapsulated his throat rendering his words useless.

And the worst part was Crowley wasn’t human. He wasn’t going to heaven or hell after his death. He was gone - he was well and truly gone.

He’d never should have withheld the information about the Antichrist from him. He should’ve listened to him, he should’ve left with him, he should’ve -

He could still see the sludge from his vantage point outside. He blinked and the door slammed shut.

He couldn’t stay here. He had to leave.

Aziraphale’s legs seemed to move of their own accord as they carried the angel away from the door and down the hall. The ice had completely taken over leaving him hollow and empty.

Aziraphale had lost Crowley and the world was ending in a few hours. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was only dimly that he realized he had nowhere to go.

For the first time, in a very, very long time, Aziraphale felt incredibly lost.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

At this point, the storm clouds gathering in the sky were so dark it might as well have been night. The wind was howling, the rain lashing, and a 1926 black Bentley was zipping through central London at over a hundred miles per hour. It’s occupant, the demon Crowley, was rather distressed but trying as hard as he could to play it cool. He was failing.

The Bentley rode up onto the pavement outside Aziraphale’s bookshop and came to a screeching halt. Crowley was out of the car and up the stairs in the blink of an eye. The doors opened automatically as he approached them, “Aziraphale?” he called, snapping his fingers to close the doors to the storm brewing outside.

They were running out of time.

“Aziraphale?” he called again desperately into the relative quiet of the shop, “Where in the heavens did you -” He broke off suddenly, panic seizing his chest. It was so faint he’d almost missed it. But there, just beyond Aziraphale’s many stacks of books, was an unmistakable blue glow emanating from the floorboards.

“Shit.” He rushed forward, careful not to step in the cabalistic circle filled with intricate symbols. The ethereal light filling the circle was more muted than its typical blinding nature. And now that he was paying attention he could vaguely hear the lingerings of a weird musical humming noise.

It was still charged. Crowley sighed in relief. Heaven hadn’t taken him away - not yet at least.

But then where was - ?

The chime of the bell above the door interrupted his thoughts. Crowley whipped around to find Aziraphale standing at the entrance looking very windswept in every sense of the word.

“Angel! There you are!” He moved toward Aziraphale, glancing wearily back at the open portal to Heaven. He’d prefer to put as much distance between him and Aziraphale, and that damn thing as possible. “Look, we really don’t have much time here. You said you found the Antichrist, right? Well? Where is he? We need to get - We need -” he faltered. He was just now registering the extremely odd look on Aziraphale’s face, “What? What’s wrong?”

It was as if something had snapped inside Aziraphale, “You absolute bastard!”

Crowley blinked, “I beg your pardon?”

“What the hell, Crowley?” Aziraphale advanced, the emotions on his face now suddenly abundantly clear - anger and grief and pain, such overwhelming pain, “I thought you were dead! I thought you were fucking dead! Damn you, you insufferable demon!”

Aziraphale had never cursed this openly in nearly six thousand years. Had the situation been different, Crowley would’ve been impressed. But as it were, it was rather unnerving. And only added further to Crowley’s mounting confusion, “Aziraphale, what in God’s name are you talk-” he was cut off by Aziraphale quite literally launching himself at Crowley. His arms wrapped tightly around the demon, his face buried in the crook of his neck.

Needless to say, Crowley was at an utter loss. Sobs racked Aziraphale’s entire being as he clutched desperately at Crowley’s jacket. It was all very un-Aziraphale-like of him and it was freaking Crowley out.

“Angel?” he asked tentatively, his hands hovering over Aziraphale. He didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t know how to react. His angel was in shambles and he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Gone,” the angel croaked, “You were gone, and I thought - I thought I lost you.”

Crowley’s mind was racing. Lost him? Why would Aziraphale ever come to that conclusion?

Then it occurred to him. He’d left the melted remains of Ligur on the floor. He hadn’t thought twice about it. He’d been too concerned about getting to Aziraphale. But Aziraphale had come to find him first. And he’d come to his flat. He’d seen the remains and he’d had thought - oh dear Lord.

“Oh, angel.” His arms enveloped Aziraphale, burying a hand in his feather-soft hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He leaned his head against Aziraphale’s.

He couldn’t even begin to fathom the true extent of Aziraphale’s anguish.

But then, for the briefest moment, his imagination took hold - Aziraphale perishing in an inferno of hellfire and being far too late to stop it.

His grip on Aziraphale tightened. Somewhere in another dimension indiscernible to the human-eye a pair of well-groomed black wings wrapped protectively around the angel with the ruffled white wings in the demon’s arms.

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes.

Eventually, Aziraphale emerged with a final sniffle, revealing his tear streaked face. The sight of it broke Crowley’s heart.

“Ah,” Aziraphale’s fingers ghosted over the tear-stains he’d left on Crowley’s jacket, “I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t mean to - I know how much you care about - ”

“Don’t worry about it.” Crowley reassured him, looking over Aziraphale’s face with careful scrutiny. He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t just ask, ‘Are you alright?’. That was a stupid question - of course he wasn’t.

As if reading Crowley’s thoughts, Aziraphale gave him a tight-lipped smile, his eyes still watering slightly, “Oh I’ll be alright.” He brought his hand up to scrub away at the tear stains on his cheeks and laughed weakly, “I must look a terrible frightful sight.”

Crowley caught Aziraphale’s wrist in his hand. Aziraphale looked up at him inquisitively. Without thinking, he brought up his other hand to cup the angel’s cheek. He gently wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. “You’re an angel. I don’t think you can look anything but beautiful.”

The angel’s eyes widened, “Well I - really Crowley - I - uh,” he sputtered, then the ghost of a smirk fluttered over his lips, “Are you implying that all the other angels are beautiful as well?”

Crowley’s nose scrunched up in disgust, “Definitely not. All the others are complete wankers. You’re the one exception.”

Aziraphale laughed, a bright smile adorning his features, and ducked his head against Crowley’s chest.

Crowley rested his chin atop Aziraphale’s head and sighed in content. He lazily let his gaze drift toward windows lining the shop. The rain from the storm outside was pouring so heavily that it completely obscured the window-pane.

The storm.

Armageddon.

Shit.

He’d been so caught up in Aziraphale’s breakdown that he’d completely forgotten that the world was about to end.

“Angel, I hate to break this up, truly,” he gently pushed Aziraphale back so that he could properly look at him, “But Armageddon’s still on the way and we still need to find the Antichrist.”

Aziraphale nodded, stepping slightly out of Crowley’s embrace much to the demon’s displeasure, “Right, right,” his eyes suddenly lit up, “I know where he is! The Antichrist! He’s in Tadfield! There’s still time! We could make it!” He gripped Crowley’s shoulders, shaking him slightly in excitement. The grin on his face was so blindingly bright and hopeful.

Crowley couldn’t help but smile back.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

The storm was operating at full force now. The apocalypse was just on the brink of unfolding. Thunder rumbled, somewhere fish were falling from the sky, and an angel and a demon were speeding towards the end of the world.

[the--blackdahlia]

Natural Born Killers Chapter 12 (Sam x Dean)

Title: Natural Born Killers Chapter 12

Summary:  It started as an accident. That’s what it was. But things escalated from there and now the law wants Dean Winchester, one way or another.

Warnings: Language, some hurt!sam and some hurt!dean

Present

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird just staring at him?” Diana asked as she stood by Victor. “Have you even asked him if he needs to use the bathroom?”

“An hour ago. He declined.” Victor said. “And I just want to observe for a little bit. Watch the way he ticks.”

“Man, if you were someone else I’d say you have a crush on him.” Diana laughed. Victor glared at her. “I mean, you stare at him any longer and I’m going to start expecting you to go watch a documentary about Ted Bundy and call him hot.” Victor rolled his eyes. “Okay, well you stand here and watch him like a creep. Call me if you need anything.”

****

2006

“Sam?” Dean said, getting Sam to open his eyes after a vision had tore through him. It was getting a little better each time. Sam didn’t pass out the way he had. Usually he just had to close his eyes for a second to calm down.

“‘M okay.” Sam said, leaning back against the passenger seat.

“What did you see?” Dean asked.

“Headlights.” Sam said. “And twisted metal. That’s about it.”

“Why couldn’t your freaky visions be a little more specific?” Dean asked. Dean took a glance over at Sam. “Sorry. I know you can’t control what you see.”

“It’s okay. I agree. I wish that it was more than just some flashes here and there.” Sam rubbed his eyes. They had been doing hunts on and off, since speaking with Missouri. They had even found one of the other kids that was born psychic, only for him to turn a gun on himself with his own powers.

Then there was Meg. She was a girl Sam had met when him and Dean had had a huge fight. Dean ended up almost getting eaten by a demigod Scarecrow, and Sam had gotten a stalker in the name of Meg Masters. She was determined to kill Dean and get Sam all for herself, and had made a pact with some shadow monsters called Daeva. She started to kill people using them, and would’ve gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for Bobby rushing in and Sam flipping her alter, causing the Daeva to throw her from the window.

Sam had had visions about most of it, but not all. He didn’t see the scarecrow, just Dean in the orchard. He didn’t see Meg, just the Daeva. If only it had told him more. What was the point of having these damn things if it was just going to tell him part of the story?

“Where are we headed?” Sam asked, looking out the window.

“Bobby’s.” Dean said. “After everything that happened with Meg and the Daeva, he thought it would do us some good to relax there.”

“Good idea.” Sam said. But the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to stand on end. He looked around. Something about the scenery seemed familiar.

“Sam?” Dean asked. “You okay?” He glanced over at Sam. Through the darkness, two bright headlights seemed to be the first thing Sam saw.

“NO!” Sam screamed. And that’s when the truck hit them. Screeching tires, flying glass. Sam felt like a rag doll as he was thrown around. The truck stopped though and so did Baby. Dean and Sam’s bodies came to rest in the front seat of the crushed up car. Sam groaned and looked around, trying to figure everything out.

“Shit!” He heard a voice say. They hadn’t been far from Bobby’s, and the sound of the crash had echoed in the empty area. Bobby was there. “Sam, son, can you hear me?” Sam wasn’t sure if he responded or not, but Bobby was calling for help. “Sam, help is on the way.” Sam nodded but closed his eyes to rest for a bit.

The next thing he knew, him and Dean were being loaded into an ambulance.

“De.” Sam said, reaching out for him. “De!”

“Sir, you need to calm down.” The EMT said gently. “You both have been in a serious car accident. We’re taking you to Sioux Fall General. You and your husband are just going to be just fine.”

“What?” Sam asked, unsure if he had just heard right.

“Your husband’s dad told us.” The EMT told Sam. “Don’t worry Sam, we’re going to take care of you.” His eyes were black just as Sam shut his eyes.

****

“Your injuries weren’t that bad.” The doctor told Sam hours later. He hadn’t been able to see Dean the entire time, and he was just itching to be discharged. “I recommend staying for observation though.”

“I’ll be in the hospital, but I’m fine.” Sam said. “I need to get to Dean.”

“His dad is with him right now. You need to rest.” The doctor said, but Sam shook his head. The doctor sighed. “Fine. I’ll get your papers.” He sighed and left to get a nurse to bring Sam his discharge papers. She brought them in later, Sam signed them, and then made his way to where they told him Dean was.

He stood outside the window, watching Dean. Fuck, he looked back. His body looked so broken and Sam wasn’t even sure if he had woken up since he had been brought to the hospital. He didn’t see anyone in Dean’s room, and he wasn’t sure who the dad was they had been talking about. It had to be Bobby. That’s all he could think of.

“It’s okay.” A nurse said, placing her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You just have to have faith.” She walked away from him, a smirk on his face.

That’s when pain erupted behind Sam’s eyes. He probably had a concussion, and mixing that with this vision was painful. His vision blurred and he braced himself against the wall, holding himself up.

He saw Dean, laying on the bed. Doctors and nurses were surrounding him. Someone was opening his shirt and placing those paddles on his chest. The monitor he was hooked up to showed a straight line. They tried and tried to get his heart started, but nothing worked.

Sam came back to before they called it. Tears were streaming down his face at what he had just seen. Everything else had come true so far. So why wouldn’t this? He looked into Dean’s room one more time. He wanted to go in there, to hold his hand until the end, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he went wandering, finding himself in the chapel.

“I don’t know if anyone is listening,” Sam began as he set in a pew, head bowed. “But Dean means the world to me. I just...don’t take him. Please don’t take him.” He felt someone sit next to him.

“Do you need to talk about it?” A man’s voice said.

“No.” Sam said, not really wanting to open up to a stranger.

“Come on Sam, you can tell me anything.” The man said with a bit of a chuckle. Sam turned to look at him.

And was greeted with yellow eyes.

“You!” Sam yelled, jumping up.

“Lower your voice Sam. We are in the house of the lord after all.” He smiled at Sam. “I believe my son told you my name.”

“Azazel.” Sam said. He nodded.

“You are a smart one Sam.” He said. “And I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time.”

“Just go away.” Sam said, trying to walk away from the demon. But something he said made Sam stop in his tracks.

“I can save him.” Azazel said. Sam stopped and looked at him. “Dean. I can save him. Your vision doesn’t have to come true.”

“And what do you want from me?” Sam asked, his mind starting to consider everything.

“All you have to do is come with me.” Azazel said. “No soul exchanging, no first born children. Just come with me and Dean won’t die.” Sam didn’t even have to think it through. Given his option, it was a no brainer.

“Okay. Now save him.”

****

Dean’s eyes opened slowly. God, his body was sore and his head hurt. And his mouth was dry. He blinked a few times to clear his blurry vision before he took a glance around the room. He didn’t see Sam looming over him, but he did see Bobby. And that’s when his panic started to set in. If Sam wasn’t in here, was he…

“Dean?” Bobby asked.

“B-Bobby.” Dean coughed a little.

“Boy, you got so lucky.” He laughed. “Truck mainly hit the back of the Impala. Barely missed you. Oh, and I’m your dad. It’s the only way they’d let me in to see you.” There was a water bottle on the table by Dean’s bed. Bobby helped him drink some to help his sore throat.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked. “You said we weren’t that bad.”

“I don’t know. I’ll go see what I can find out.” Bobby stopped before he headed out. “Oh, you might want this back. They took it off in case your fingers swelled.” He set the black wedding band on the table and walked out. Dean stared at it for a second. He knew Bobby had to have seen the matching one on Sam’s finger. And he wasn’t really ready to lose the only family that cared for them.

Bobby came back a moment later, his face ashen.

“Bobby? What is it?” Dean asked.

“Sam, uh, he’s not here.” Bobby said. “He was discharged awhile ago and he’s gone.”

“What? How?” Dean asked. Bobby brought a piece of paper over to Dean.

“Smell this.” He said. Dean raised an eyebrow and sniffed the paper, cringing back a little. It smelled like…

“Sulfur.” Dean whispered. Bobby nodded. “Oh god, Sammy. What did you do?”

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @we-ride-with-the-tide @dekahg @marvel-af @nanie5 @gemini0410 @imboredsueme @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @strab0 @sandlee44 @screechingartosamcashbailiff 

Supernatural Tags: @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @supernaturalwincestsblog @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish @theas-bedtime-stories 

Natural Born Killers Tags: @mysteriousharmony @webcraft4eveh @mereka18 @writinginthesecrettrees

[jujywrites]

WIP Challenge

I got tagged by @kikithedeceiver to do this!

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Here’s the thing. I don’t have many separate WIP files; most of them are in one huge doc. and most of the separate wip files are... pretty dead? but ok whatevs. under a read more since it’s long...... and my ego won’t let me skip snippets hjkhkhk thanks for the idea Kiki

From my main miscellaneous folder:

50 Grades of Steele. 1 and a half chaps of a role-flipped 50 Shades of Grey rewrite (i haven’t read the books so I extra don’t care about the characters lol). why do i still have it i’ve lost interest.... *side eyes her entire wip ecosystem* ...Then I see my interview subject, seated at her desk.

"Mr. Grey. I'm pleased to meet you."

And I stop breathing. [end CH1]

[open CH2) I forgot to mention something: I exaggerate occasionally. But I'm not now. I literally stop breathing for a few seconds. A thousand thoughts are racing through my mind, which doesn't help my chest stop seizing, but the main problem here is that Anastasia Steele is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

Fanfic idea masterlist. my most active file and where I keep most of my WIPS, unless they get too “large”. Organized by fandom. lotta stuff i keep passing by & may as well be dead but don’t wanna delete. here’s a zero-draft snippet of probably the next chapter of my G-rated yukyoru fic collection

He grabbed a pillow and placed it to his chest, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to him, praying his idea would work.

Seconds passed and he didn't transform. He put his arms around her gingerly. Should he try to immobilize her or would that make it worse?

She made the decision for him. "Mom," she sobbed, clutching him with an iron grip. "N-Need to help...!"

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Thudding footsteps announced Yuki's arrival. "What's wrong?! Honda-san--"

He didn't say "What did you do?" The thought raced by and Kyo said, "Grab a pillow and help me!"

As Yuki positioned the pillow and himself without having to ask, Kyo said, "She won't wake up. I don't know what to do!"

"Night terror," Yuki said tightly. He was too close but it almost didn't matter. "Not much you can do besides wait."

MayxWard BDSM fic agents of SHIELD. mix of notes and actual writing. kind of a half AU. Melinda climbed into the driver's side and buckled in, then started up the car. "If you've not ridden on the left before you might have motion sickness. It's normal. Just close your eyes until—" She paused as she looked at him; his hands shook so much he couldn't manage the seatbelt. "Here, let me."

"Thanks," he muttered with a sigh, looking rueful.

Modern AU Zelink. What it says on the tin~ Teenage-ish Zelink, with a mash of supporting characters from other games. another mix of notes and fic. Link wasn't sleeping tonight. Tonight was the night he'd been planning for and awaiting for weeks. He was going on a quest: the quest to meet Princess Zelda. 

She wasn't really a princess, of course. That was just her nickname. Zelda Nohansen was Hyrule's sweetheart, the most sought-after young actress in the movie business. And Link had fallen in love with her the first time he'd seen her, two years ago in a tiny theater in Kakariko.

PMMMfic homumado. Madoka Magica. AU, been around since about an hour after I finished the series (5 years yikes, still gotta watch Rebellion). Homura's time power still somewhat involved, but Mami's an adult, everyone's at a boarding school (I think?) where ~things aren't as they first seem~ and Madoka has mysterious powers and night terrors. just notes at the moment.

SoubixHitomi.  Loveless. 3 unfinished/dead first-person Shinonome-senseixSoubi snippets, all of ‘em spicy.

yvy abo. Yuri On Ice. Yuri (Katsuki!!)/Victor/Yuko(!!?!), my attempt at. well. omegaverse(!!!!!!!). orignally started as part of a “bad YOI fic” bigbang and now I’m taking it seriously dgdgfg. Alpha Yuko. “Please, please stop,” she whispered, like saying it aloud would make any difference. But the pressure in her head kept building. Her limbs had begun to itch restlessly.

And Victor wouldn’t let go of her hand.

With the last scrap of her control, she straddled him quickly and kissed him awake.

Even in half-sleep he arched to meet her, and when he opened his eyes sapphire blue had already turned stormy with lust.

yvy canonfuturefic. Yuko-focused following of canon, or: how canon can I keep YOI while still rareship OT3ing it. She and Yuri fall in and out of love, in between falling for Victor. Victuri is still my life I swear   

“You have got to watch this,” she tells Yuri. She watches Yuri’s face instead of the video, having seen it at least forty times by now.

Yuri’s eyes transform into beacons of awe, and Yuko swallows around her rapid heartbeat, breaths coming too short. She sees everything she’s feeling and more on his face. She remembers that she loves him, that he’s real and here and more important than the beautiful boy on her phone who’s trying to pull her under to a scary new world.

ZnT ot3 bdsm AU. Zankyou no Terror, 9/12/Lisa. mix of notes and fic, not just PWP. in heavy need of editing bc a lot was inspired by a non-spicy book.

“But it’s not just me. It’s everyone. You need everyone because you have no idea how to need yourself. Or even how to be yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” The force and volume of her voice shocked her and pushed her onward. “You and Touji. I don’t need anyone except you and Touji! Because you both taught me how to be myself-- no, how to find that on my own. I know exactly who I am, and that me isn’t complete without both of you!” She could feel the tears streaming down her face, yet somehow her voice didn’t waver. She felt so full of conviction she could burst into flames. “Don’t you understand, Arata? We’re all meant to be together.”

From my SnK folder:

Cave of the Crystal Maiden (working title). Aruani. Modern AU. MMORPG shenanigans with a dollop of magical realism/supernatural. Just notes. @portraitofa-girl suggested “meeting online” and it’s been there literally for years oh lord im sorry. no fic yet, just notes.

Falling Anthem (working title) Modern AU Levihan, art student Hange and young professor Levi. just notes. fic one in a planned series. also has been years ;_;

Raindrops and Soft Steps. Jearmin. unsurprisingly, modern AU. One morning, when Jean looks out of his bedroom window, he sees a boy dancing across the street. In the street, to be exact. There wouldn't be anything unusual about that, Jean supposes, except it's raining cats and dogs outside.

In my IAMXfic folder (fff i almost skipped this):

2ndPOVCalberto (DO NOT CORRUPT WITH HET) ChrisxAlberto? not much to say?? yes i know they’re real people??? which applies to everything after this oh my god *crawls under desk* Of course she knows; she is annoyingly perceptive when it comes to romance. The only thing preventing you from asking her (like a fucking lovestruck teenager) if Alberto likes you back is emptying that beer bottle. By then the only thing on your mind is ordering another.

CalbertImmi. i can’t even keep my poly shit outta RPF ahaha omhg Imogen has a conversation with her lover's lover. (AlbertImmi, sequel to...) Imogen finds herself in an unenviable position. (emerging CalbertImmi)

Alternate summaries (CC POV, first fic?): Chris loves two people. He doesn't want to choose. Chris has fallen in love a few times in his life. But he's never fallen for two people at once. (Chris also isn't good at choosing.)

ChrisxJ. several self-insert fics bc CC is just that powerful, apparently. haven’t looked at the file in a long time,,,,,

He started calling people to the stage with him, and one by one, my row emptied.

"Come on, yeah, come on," he was saying, waving his hand in an inviting gesture and grinning like a little kid. "Hey, you want to?" I did a double take.

"Me?" I mouthed, pointing at myself just to be sure. He nodded, smiling wider.

So it was that I walked unsteadily down the ramp and waited in line, feeling like I didn’t belong there. Soon I was next in line. What would I say? What would I do? I was sure if I opened my mouth I’d either burst into tears or faint.

Genderswapped IAMX sci-fi. The sci-fi was inspired by a word prompt, genderswapping by my own brain. (play spot the Immi lmao) Across the aisle, Sam rolled his eyes. “Leave Chris alone; she’s nervous.”

“And put on your own seatbelt, Johann,” shouted Jess, two seats back and in Sam’s aisle.

Patrick turned  to look at Chris. “Subspace travel is a bitch,” he said simply, and turned back to his book.

“Oh, I feel much less nervous now,” Chris said with a sardonic grin. “How do you know that, anyway?”

"I'm not exactly what I seem to be." He didn’t look up.

Chriimmi (While I Was Gone inspired). Chris/Imogen, inspired by scenes from Sue Miller’s While I Was Gone.

"You really ought not to do that, you know," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

My eyes slid from his face. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

"Mm." I glanced back at him; he wore a lopsided smile. "Not that I minded." The tension was so strong the air nearly vibrated with it, yet I held my tongue, terrified that I was the only one feeling it. He took a breath, deep, nearly rising on his toes. "No. I didn't mind at all." He took my hand, circled his thumb over the back. My breath caught as I felt it, as I watched him looking down at our hands.

Chriimmi bathtub dream. dream inspired Chris/Immi smut.

Chriimmi twitter. twitfic plus some, inspired from an actual tweet iamx made that i’m still not over. 

@ imogenheap Come sing your lovely lyrics with us in London. @ IAMX misses you. CCx

ChrisxImmi main. grab bag of Chriimmi I was too lazy to put into separate docs.

“What do you think?” She grinned, twirling.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I-Imogen, what are you wearing?”

“Well, I didn’t want to clash with your theme…  Janine helped me. Does it work?”

Scandalously short skirt, midriff-baring top, knee-high boots.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Her grin only widened, even though a blush had started.

Fic edit chriimmi ver. yeah. editing someone else’s original fic to be chrimmi. either never posting or editing the frick out of. ~_~

He kissed her neck, whispered into it, “I love you.”

Imogen laughed. “Bollocks,” she said lazily.

”I do!” Chris protested. She looked down at him, nestled on her shoulder. He looked back, open, a little adoring. “I fell in love with you halfway through the show; I sang every note just for you.”

”Oh, please. You couldn’t have seen me.”

”No,” he said. “But I knew you were out there… I knew it had been you the minute I saw you backstage.”

Hospital Chriimmi. In which my guilty feeling over RPF are even worse bc of the inspiration ^_^U “Ms. Heap. What a pleasant surprise.” It’s surprising, how well she remembers his voice.

“Mr. Corner, what have you got yourself into?”

“Oh, just a bit of lingering insomnia. You know how it is.”

She takes a seat in the chair near his bed, crossing her legs. “Well, I’ve certainly had a sleepless night here and there, but I’ve never ended up in hospital from it. So no, I don’t suppose I do know.” Her tone is light, but her smile has begun to crack.

ImmixChris genderbend smut. the my secret friend video is... fertile material. have not actually written the smut yet.

...he saw us as characters– we put on those clothes and become separate from ourselves, removed. Whereas I simply felt like myself in men’s clothes, and instead of feeling what He felt for Her, I just kept right on feeling what I felt for Chris, amplified to a distracting level.

ReluctantdommeImmixSubCC. ...shrug emoji? notes and uh. visualizing.

Vampire Chriimmi. based on a dream. smutty. inspired by True Blood so wow that’s old.

From my Markipairings folder:

demon dream. markiplier self insert...... ughhhhhhhh o///o

"You can have me," I tell the creature. "But this one," I jerk my head toward Mark, "comes with me. He's mine, you see." A bold proclamation to make, but in the moment I know that the truth in those words surpasses everything I've ever said. He is mine, and saying the thought out loud fills me with courage. He squeezes my hand, two short and a long one so strong I think he might break it.

I know we’ll win.

DommeJujY. same as above, same as the next four. smutty.

Fight team AU. i forget where i got this one from. vaguely inspired by loveless i guess.  The first clear thought I had was, He shouldn't have gone ahead of me. The second one was, I should have been able to protect him. But these came later, after the rage went away, after I hugged him and apologized, after I bandaged him…

Gaming meetcute. i win some contest or whatever to secretly tagteam w/ Mark. stuff happens and yeah......

The adrenaline surges through my veins as I take in the scene. Mark's avatar is flailing around, backed into a corner by some Eldritch Abomination and holy shit, the graphics in this game are amazing.

"This is not good, I can't move, I can't move…"

There's a voice in the back of my head screaming to shut the game down, to get that horrible thing off the screen. I ignore it.

Markinpanties. .......smut.

shifter-slight sci-fi AU. shrug emoji.

I looked up from the ground and saw I was heading straight for a brick wall. There was no time to slow down. I braced for impact...

It didn't happen. I opened my eyes and found myself in a café.

What.

Looking behind me, I saw a door. On impulse I walked over and opened it; the tree-lined street I could see through the glass was indeed there. No brick wall to smack my face into. Bewildered, I turned around and looked for a seat, choosing one near a window.

Gouldiplier~. master doc of ficbits of my cracky mccrackship, MarkiplierxEllie Goulding.

I check my phone during break time again. My selfie has been liked and retweeted thousands of times, and I shake my head in disbelief; I don't think that will ever stop surprising me, deep down. To make things even better, Mark's liked it! I'm in the middle of a happy jig when I realize there's a text from him and a squeak of joy slips from me.

hellooo gorgeous

looks like you're having fun. Hope the shoot's going great! <3

I quickly send a reply. it has been. Be glad when it's done tho. Missin u lots xo

Markipicbunnies. fanart of Mark for Gouldiplier insipration. photographer au. 

"Ms. Goulding, I'm really not sure about this…"

"I produce pictures that are intimate because I'm an intimate being, Mark." Ellie looked at him directly, a hint of a smile shaping her lips. "Deep down, I think you are too. We just need to draw you out a bit."

showersexgouldiplier. WELP. IT’S SMUT.

Also I have folders for my 2010/11 nanowrimo novel that are kinda still WIPs but also kinda not

i’m gonna tag.... @kippielovesyou @kiridork and @mistergrass and anyone else who wants to do this can too :3