#there’s teddy that talks to me about the horrors of the divine as if it’s the weather

[m1d-45]

this has been haunting me and i need to get these thoughts out of my brain so i’m dumping them here like an exorcism! anyways shining nikki and sagau. there is something to be done there. (shining nikki gets to be pink bc pink is nikki’s color and i love her.)

ALSO idk if anyone cares but this will have spoilers for shining nikki so proceed with caution ig!!

anyways so basically quick shining nikki summary: you and nikki, the main character and love of my life, are sent to a world called miraland to prevent its apocalypse by using styling power aka fashion magic! in part two (this is the spoiler part) the player gets revealed as the deity of styling which essentially also makes them the god of miraland! it is sagau but real basically. almost there’s no cult though. well there is a cult but that has nothing to do with the player it’s a whole other thing.

and now here is my thought: so like, reader is the deity of styling, they didn’t create miraland, and they’re not the oldest god either, just one of the strongest thanks to their connection to styling power. and with how strong styling power is, maybe reader goes off and decides to try creating their own world? a world that uses elemental power instead of styling, just as an experiment to see what the limit of their styling power is. the answer? strong enough to create teyvat, apparently!

so reader goes between teyvat and miraland through the ocean of memories (it’s. an ocean of memories. also Shit happens there sometimes) until mumble mumble some events leave them stranded on earth with no memories oh no!!! normal shit happens and then the plot of shining nikki where you like merge consciousness with nikki and essentially experience the world thru her etc. etc. we go through the first part of the story normal until we hit part 2 and get to the whole “deity of styling” revelation. i could be more specific and explain the details but god there’s so many details. i will save that for later if there’s ever a later.

now, reader is only aware that they’re the deity of styling, they still haven’t regained their memories, meaning that they don’t remember making teyvat. BUT. there is a chapter that takes place in an underground shrine that all of the characters fall into….. said shrine is connected to the ocean of memories, which can be used to travel through worlds as we’ve established, and muscle memory is a pretty strong thing… it would be very easy for reader to panic at the sight of their friends falling and call upon the ocean of memories to bring them somewhere safe.. they end up in teyvat. yeag. it makes perfect sense in my head but i am having trouble wording it so you just have to trust me on this one.

so reader’s in teyvat with nikki (main character of shining nikki, love of my life and best girl Ever) and momo (he’s a cat in denial about being a cat and also he gets to be orange bc he’s yellow but there’s no yellow text option sad) with no memories of what this place is or why they were able to bring everyone there! it could be imposter au or not honestly the stakes are already pretty high with the whole “oh no miraland is going to be destroyed AGAIN if we don’t get back!!!”

anyways. those are my thoughts. they have now been exorcised out of my brain. do with that as you will i guess??? - teddy anon

warning i don’t know jack shit about shining nikki other than this ask and that it’s a dress up game. with this in mind:

what.

there’s. there’s so much to unpack here it’s. unreal.

how do you save a nation with the power of good taste? what cult? why doesn’t it involve the player? what shit happens at the oCEAN OF MEMORIES??? HELLO? W- why and how does such a thing operate i’m so- is it like just?? a buffet??? you go “oh i want a memory of brutal slaughter today :)” an-??? is it like an exchange system??? what’s the worldbuilding of shining nikki i both need to know and loathe to find out

“reader is only aware they’re the deity of styling, they still haven’t regained their memories” so either. either they just didn’t go to the literal OCEAN of memories (keep in mind idk any of the lore btw) or they? just? accepted that they’re a god w/o any memory of this??? shit ok—

“which can be used to travel between worlds as we’ve established” im so- the memory ocean is an interdimensional portal now? i- fuck it man we ball-

“he’s a cat in denial about being a cat” what the fuck kind of dress up games are they selling to kids where a cat has a crisis over his species despite every sign pointing to him being a fuckin cat i’m?-

and why?? is miraland going to be destroyed again????? im-? i’m so?-??

brother i am doing something with this information but only god knows what

.

[rewritingcanon]

( hi is the person who sent you those next gen hcs. Sorry if this bothers you but I decided to make a part 2, hopefully better formated of more hcs or just expanding on the past ones. My interpretation of them!)

About the teddy lupin hc with his teeth- yes! He would most likely mess up his teeth worse then they already were so Andromeda had to get him braces despite his protests and begging. After being straped to the chair and wearing them for like 2 years his tooth gap was still there SO HE DID ALL THAT FOR NOTHING. (biggest L he's ever taken)

Lilly wears lots of colorful and wacky earrings just like aunt luna. They probably trade pairs or something.

James sirius is really into cinema especially horror. He loves being scared and most of the time he just laughs at the jumpscares. I also feel like he has written entire analysis in his head on the things he's fixated on but doesn't have the energy to write them down so he just rants about his favorite stuff to his family.

Victoire was the one making moves on teddy not the other way around. This made bills distaste for teddy even worse cause he wasn't even the one doing anything 🙄

Albus's room is filled with action figures, stuffed animals, posters ect of all the stuff he enjoys. Like people always talk about how much of a loser scorpius is but not so much albus. Trust me though he goes to bed reading fanfiction and was most definitely "the weird kid" at school. Probably grew up watching markiplier and jacksepticeye.

Teddy gives me those vibes where every time something happens teddy just goes "don't worry, I know a guy" and proceeds to fix the problem.

Victoire is really close to her maternal grandpa because everyone on the weasley family had lost stuff to the war including her parents so her grandfather was 1 of the only people in her family that didn't have any tragedy on her birthday so he was one of the few people who celebrated it without any sadness about the day. Then later teddy did as well.

Albus likes to draw and several pages of his sketch book is dedicated to just scorpius.

So when it comes to scorpius's appearance I kinda wrestled with it because on one hand there's no way he's not attractive because his mother is Astoria. Not even draco too just Astoria is enough to make that kid divine looking but if he was super pretty then there's no way he wouldn't be asked out even if it was just for shallow reasons. So in my head he is pretty but looks like a corpse. He has eye bags, beauty marks all over his body he's pale and skinny too so he doesn't look human. Albus of course thinks he looks like a sculpture but others think he looks uncanny.

Teddy loved being in the woods/forest cause he loved running around and getting all that energy out. Probably met a old man named Charles who taught him how to fish and scavenge or something. Nobody knew teddy was being fr when he talked about Charles because Charles was probably some urban legend. He was being real though.

(Anyway hope you don't mind me sending you these! if I wrote a fanfic I would include all this stuff but unfortunately I don't have the dedication or skill to do that)

aw ted babe noooo (little does he know a beautiful person without a tooth gap is like an angel without their wings so in truth he was saved).

i agree with all of these lmfao. i feel like luna makes lily earrings for her birthday every year like a tradition. i also heavily fw assertive victoire— i like to think teddy had always been the flirty, confident one in his other relationships and victoire had been shyer in her other relationships but the roles are just reversed when they actually get together. and james being a horror movie freak is soooo real to me, he laughs at all the western films and only genuinely gets kicks out of asian horror movies. victoire with her maternal grandpa is so cute man, its canon to me now. and i have ALWAYS said this about teddy but he is the definition of “i know a guy.” he could get you any job, get you out of any situation ever, “everybody’s got a cousin who can hook you up with something” type. and charles bro 💀💀 yeah you’re so right nobody believed teddy when he said he mastered muay thai until he whipped out martial moves, or when he learnt tagalog when rooming with this old lady in the phillipines until he started rapping a song in it 😭 the only person who would believe him immediately with no questions asked is andromeda. hes so freaky, now he could tell people he was the first one to set foot on mars and everyone will be obligated to believe him.

“not even draco too just astoria is enough to make that kid divine looking” this is the truest yeah 😭😭 ok ok you’re actually so right about this, scorpius would be attractive but unconventional-looking. i feel like his uncanny years is only in school though, no one saw the vision but albus and it paid off sooooo well in the end.

[chaoticpuff17]

When the Chips are Down

part 10

masterlist

Warnings: arguing, smut, pregnant smut, lactation kink (if you squint) 

hello my darlings, so I did a thing, a thing I did not know that I was going to be doing, but enjoy!--- chaotic puff 

She’d had some time with the other ladies after her appointment was over before Miss In ushered everyone out claiming that Y/N needed rest. Rest was well and good, but she would have preferred having company. She detested bed rest, but it was made better by the presence of a certain orange bundle of hate that had driven her regular fluffy white companion away. 

Hoseok had come to get Iyla, and he’d brought with him Chester. He shoved the cat into her arms muttering something about taking her demon cat back, but she couldn’t bring herself to care as she held the grumbly little cat. She couldn’t blame Hoseok for wanting him gone. Chester liked very few people. He liked her best and then Iyla. Jackson had been tolerated, but Chester was her little grump, a little grump who had set up shop half sprawled across her belly and refused to move, meowing unhappily anytime someone got to close. This was how Namjoon found her later that night. 

She was content as she could be given the situation, curled up a bundle of yarn and a crochet hook when Namjoon walked in.

“I’m sorry I was away so long.” he sent her a tired smile, crossing the room to kiss her forehead only to jump back as her little orange protector hissed at him. “What is that doing back here?” he asked, taking another step back to put a little more distance between himself and Chester. The cat might not have been in the estate for long, but everyone knew that he was a bad tempered little demon. 

“Hoseok brought him over when he came to get Iyla.” she hummed, gently scratching under Chester’s chin earning herself a contented purr from the cat. 

Namjoon sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can’t Hoseok take it back?” 

“No.” she huffed, sending him a dark look. 

“You have Moni.” 

“I also have Chester.” 

“Chester is a living horror.” Namjoon huffed, staring at the cat with distaste. “I  can get you a new cat, a better cat.” 

“I like Chester. Picked him up from the streets. He was a skinny little thing then.” she mused fondly, pausing the repetitive motion of her fingers so she could give the cat a little scratch around the ears. 

“No. No street cats. He could have diseases.” 

She scoffed, picking up the crochet hook again. “I’ve had Chester for years. He doesn’t have any diseases.” 

“I’ll get you a puppy.” he offered, practically begging her to send the nightmare of a cat back to Hoseok. 

“I already have a dog.” 

“A dog who is terrified of that thing.” Carefully, Namjoon approached the bed again, wary of the cat. “It’s a street cat. I can find you something better, something nicer.” 

Her hands stilled, her shoulders suddenly pulled back in a rigid posture that matched the incredulous look in her eye and the flash of ire in their depths. “So that means I’m free to go.” 

“What? Of course not...”

“I lived on the streets, so did Iyla. Who knows what kind of diseases we could be carrying? You can find something better.” 

He was silent, letting her words sink in, very quickly realizing the error of his words. “That’s not… I’m sorry, jagi. That’s not what I meant.”  She huffed, refusing to answer him as she kept her jaw set in irritation, picking up her project again, aggressively working through the next couple of stitches. “Jagi…”  He took a step closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed reaching for her only to draw his hand back as the cat took a swipe at him with an angry yowl. 

“Careful. He’ll get you.” she scoffed. “And you never know what sort of diseases we could be carrying.” 

“Jagi, I never meant…” 

“Then what did you mean?” she looked up, quirking a brow. “I think you were quite clear on your feelings about it.” 

“I would never… I didn’t mean.” he sighed trying to collect himself. “I could never find anyone better than you.” 

“Go to the bad part of town and you’ll find a dozen girls just like me, just like I was all those years ago.” 

“But they’re not you.” he urged sitting on the bed despite Chester taking another swipe at him. Joon had other ideas though. Quickly and carefully as he could, he removed the cat from her belly, earning himself some scratches in the process as the cat tried to take a bite out of him. 

“What are you doing?” she cried setting down her project again. 

“I’d like to talk to my wife without your little orange demon keeping me at arm’s length.” he huffed practically tossing the cat off the bed. As soon as the cat was out of the way, he took her hands in his, urging her to look at him. “I never meant to insult you or your past. I know how hard it was for you, for Iyla. If I could have taken you away from that, I would have. Marcus never would have laid a hand on you.” he reached up a hand to cup her cheek even though she turned away from  his touch. 

“You can’t change the past, and who even says I would have wanted you?” 

“I love you, jagi.” he promised, turning her face back to his. “If you would just let me…” 

“You’d what?” she asked, voice harsh and brows scrunched together. “You’d give up your business? You’d let Iyla leave? You’d let me have my freedom? What would you do?” 

“I would give you the world.” 

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want the world. I never did. I just wanted my family to be safe.” 

“I can keep you safe. I will protect you and our family.” he urged. “Nothing will ever hurt you while I’m here.” 

“Except for you?” 

He tensed but forced himself to relax. “I don’t want to hurt you, jagi. I want you safe and happy, you and the baby.” 

“We were happy in Italy.” 

“Happy with me.” he amended, slightly annoyed by her mention of Italy. He was still silently fuming about having to release Mark, and he didn’t want any reminders of her time away from him,  not when they were so close to having their perfect little family. “I could make you so happy, jagi.” 

She rolled her eyes again, turning her attention back to the project at hand, taking her other hand away from Namjoon so she could get back to work.

“What are you working on?” 

“If all goes well? It should be a teddy bear.” 

“For the baby?” she hummed her assent. “How did the appointment go?” he asked, settling himself on the bed beside her. 

“Baby’s fine. I’m fine.” 

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side as she continued with her stitches. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. I have to get things in order for the birth, so I can be here with you and the baby. Did you get a picture?” he asked hopefully. 

“It’s over on the table.” she nodded. “Healthy baby. The doctor said that she should be here in about five weeks.” 

“Five?” He asked, turning his attention away from the ultrasound photo. “I thought you were due in six.” His eyes darted between her face and the belly, before he froze his eyes, wide as saucers, slowly settling on her face. “She?” he asked, voice barely above an awed whisper. “It’s a girl?” 

A bright smile spread across her features as she nodded. She couldn’t be mad when she was talking about her baby, her little girl, and she couldn’t deny his awe was endearing. 

“A girl.” he whispered, eyes drifting down to her belly in awe, hands settling on it as he bent down so that he was eye level with her bump. “Hi, princess. Your mom and I are so excited to meet you, but you need to stay safe in there for a few more weeks okay? You have to stop giving your mom and I such scares. You’re giving me gray hair.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her belly. “You can do that for me. Okay, princess?” 

Y/N suppressed a laugh, and Namjoon looked up at her with a big grin. He was different now than when she left. He was less soft, more chiseled. His features had become sharper, and she could definitely see the muscles straining under his suit jacket. She had to admit, he looked good, a little tired, but good. Their time apart had changed both of them apparently. 

 “We’re having a girl.” 

“We are.” she nodded with a grin of her own, only to be caught off guard as Namjoon darted up and caught her in a deep kiss,  entangling his hands in her short hair. 

“We’re having a girl.” he murmured again once he pulled away before diving in for another kiss. “I love you, jagi.” he went in for another kiss, only to be shocked by the moan that Y/N released. He pulled away slightly looking down at her, the cogs in his head turning. 

Slowly, he slid a hand down to rest against her breast giving it a tentative squeeze and was rewarded by a gasp from his wife. “So sensitive.” he praised, feeling the weight of her breast in his hands. They were definitely bigger now.

“Namjoon…” she warbled, bringing a shaky hand up to his shoulder in a weak attempt to push him away. She would have been lying if she said she wasn’t horny. All the hormones rushing through her body had left her a little more than frustrated for a lot of her pregnancy, but Mark had taken care of some of that. Mark wasn’t here now though. Namjoon was. 

“Shh, jagi.” he purred, trailing kisses down her neck, nipping at her pulse. “Let me make you feel good.” 

“Namjoon… the baby!” she gasped, fingers clutching the material of his suit as he bit down on her collarbone

“The baby’s fine. The doctor tells me things too.” he pulled away to look up at her with a mischievous grin. “You’re leaking, jagi.” he chuckled, rolling her nipple through the thin material of her nightgown. 

“Namjoon!” she scolded, pushing against his shoulder again. 

“It’s good.” he grinned. “You’re getting ready for our baby.”  

“It’s embarrassing.” she hissed. 

“It’s natural.” he pulled down her nightgown to expose her breasts. 

“They’re sore.” she warned, trying to steer him away from her chest. 

“I can help with that.” he grinned, leaning down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, rolling the bud around with his tongue. 

“Namjoon!” she cried, her hands flying up to his hair. 

“You taste divine, jagi.”  he purred looking up from her breast. 

“Stop.” she gasped as he leaned down to pay attention to her other breast. “We should stop.” 

He paused, looking up at her with that same mischievous look on his face. “Why?” he asked. “You’re my wife, and I want to make love to my beautiful,” a kiss was placed on her neck. “Pregnant,”  Another kiss. “Wife.” by this point he had worked his way up to her face again, placing the final kiss on her lips. “Will you let me do that?” he whispered, forehead pressed against hers. 

“Okay.” she whispered.

She could regret it in the morning, blame it on the hormones or the rush of endorphins or just the general horniness she’d been feeling for months, but for now she was going to let a very attractive man make love to her and pretend like this was normal. She was going to pretend that she was happy and in love and celebrating her baby girl with the love of her life even if she wasn’t. She could regret it in the morning. 

Namjoon didn’t hesitate once he had her permission, getting to work relieving them both of their clothes, cursing himself for the three piece suit he’d chosen that morning. It had too many layers, too many buttons. This was the first time in months he was going to be able to touch her, to make love to her, and he was the idiot wearing a three piece suit. 

He’d noticed during their bath the changes to her body, but it was fascinating to see them up close, to be able to worship them as he should have been able to do from the beginning. There were stretch marks on her hips, extending up her belly, and he made sure to press a kiss to each one. Her hips were fuller, and her belly, god her belly, it was glorious, round and soft and all because of him. That was his child, his daughter, in there, the perfect little angel that he and Y/N had made. He still couldn’t believe it. A daughter, he was going to have a daughter. He could practically see her now. She’d have her mother’s eyes and his dimples, and she’d be quick as a wip. She was going to be beautiful, just like her mother. 

“I love you.” He murmured against her belly as he practically ripped her underwear from her. 

It had been a long eight months without her. Yes, there had been other women, but they couldn’t compare to her. No one could ever compare to her.

“Namjoon.” she mewled a tone of neediness in her voice that he had never heard before, and he swore under his breath catching sight of what waited for him between her legs. 

“You’re dripping for me, jagi.” he growled, rubbing two fingers over her slit. “Soaked just for me.” she whimpered, her hips bucking up a little in search of something more than the light touches he was giving her, and Namjoon was more than happy to give that to her. 

She was wet enough that he had no problem plunging two fingers directly into her heat eliciting the most enticing moan from her. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her right there and then, but he knew she needed to be prepped before he could do that. He didn’t want to hurt her, not again. The last time they’d been together had been traumatizing for her, and he didn’t want anything to hurt her during their first time together again. 

His thumb rubbed circles around her clit as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of her watching closely as she came closer and closer to coming undone. Just before she was about to fall over the edge, he pulled away, and Y/N cried out in protest.

“I want you to come around my cock, jagi.” He growled, flipping her over gently, helping her onto her hands and knees so that there would be no strain on her belly.  “Can you do that for me?” 

“Please, Namjoon.” she begged, resting on her forearms forehead pressed down onto the pillow as she stuck her ass out. 

“Anything for you.” he promised, pressing a kiss to the small of her back before lining himself up with her entrance. 

They both groaned as he sunk into her. “Shit, jagi. You’re still so tight.” he groaned, forcing himself to keep still as she adjusted to his size. “So tight for me.” 

He was careful as he began to move. He went slow, each thrust deliberate, enjoying the feel of her around him, enjoying the sounds she made. Slowly he began to pick up speed, one hand kept still on her hip while the other reached between them to play with her clit building her back up to the orgasm that he’d denied her before. He was reaching his own high embarrassingly quickly, but it had been so long since he’d had the privilege of being with her like this. 

He could feel her shaking, her walls spasming around him as she trembled on the edge of her high. “Cum for me.” He growled, his thrusts picking up speed. “Cum with me, jagi.” 

It wasn’t long before they were both crying out in pleasure as their orgasms ripped through them. Namjoon kept thrusting lazily into her, dragging out her pleasure as she shook like a leaf beneath him. 

Once they had both caught their breath, Namjoon eased out of her, carefully helping her back onto her side, wedging a pillow under her belly to help ease the weight of it. 

“I’ll be right back, jagi.” he promised as she whined reaching back towards him. “I need to get you cleaned up.” 

He was quick, washing himself up as swiftly as possible, and returning to her with fresh pajamas for both of them, and a wet washcloth to clean up the mess he’d left between her legs. 

“Joon.” she whined, flinching as he cleaned her up, and he whispered apologies knowing she had to be sensitive. 

Once they were both cleaned up and dressed, Namjoon settled them both down under the covers, pressing her back to his chest so that he could wrap his arms around her, so that he could keep both her and their daughter close. 

“I love you so much, jagi.” he whispered into her neck as she hummed sleepily. “So, so much.” 

part 11

[unohanadaydreams]

Okay I’m mentally prepared to ramble about the Hell Arc. No panels, just words.

The first blurb is definitely Ukitake speaking and I’d like to think it’s hiding some bitterness and regret, since he’s in hell, but you know I’m not gonna hold on to hope that it’s anything deep.

Orihime being resigned to laundry as well as just NOT knowing where her son is??? I’m sorry the same Orihime that can sense Ichigo like it’s her fucking job? But y’know uwu it’s okay to be a housewife and this is definitely Kubo showing off his depth of feminist theory and not shoving Orihime in the background bc wife clean and cook and nothing else ooga booga.

Kon as a babysitter is horrifying. The implication that they’ve kept him as a teddy bear for all these years is even more so. Like damn you can’t ask Urahara for ONE gigai after you saved the world, Ichigo? Hope youre paying him a living wage for helping you navigate the terrible twos. Tbh I think it would’ve been better to have a new sidekick and for Kon to be working for Urahara now.

Okay I do think the kid sending souls to Hell on accident is pretty funny. But also it’s definitely Kubo forgetting that Orihime is in the picture and Kazui is not Ichigo. He has more than Isshin; he has Orihime as his mom. He has someone who cares very much that he’s still in his bed and is someone he would talk to about uuuuh sending ppl through a portal. I know women are a different species and are incredibly hard to grasp because of that so it’s okay Kubo.

Ichika being taught by Ikkaku and to a lesser extent Yumichika is very good. Love that enough to gloss over my disappointment at Rukia not teaching her. I just know Byakuya is probably a lil bitter about it too. Rukongai rats 1 Noble clan 0

Booooo Kubo, get off the stage. Pointing out Orihime is at home doing laundry does not fix that she’s there. If she’s not gonna stop Kazui from doing whatever the fuck she might as well be eating bad ramen too.

MAYURI MY BELOVED. You’re so right, king, Urahara is a tasteless capitalist unlike you, who fully commits to the too-organic technological horrors the Seireitei deserves.

Did Kubo forget how to draw Rangiku? Why the fuck is her face so moe. Some of the women look pretty off in the face over all but with Rangiku it’s jarring. I know her face got more moe somewhere in tybw arc but jfc it’s worse here.

I find it hard to believe that Shunsui would stick to a tradition that demands all lieutenants be away and in the human world all at once but maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about anything nowadays. Depression is leading the Gotei 13 now.

It’s not a Bleach surprise attack unless a woman is grievously injured right off the bat.

That being said, I do enjoy the two new lieutenants. The hakama shorts are a Choice but they work somehow. Also a zanpakuto being on nails is fun.

Kira and Akon ❤️ I’m glad Kubo retconned the novels so Kira could make his entrance in a hoodie and black tabi. Hope he gets more depressing and bitter moments tho. Also Akon having so much panel space…..I’ll never recover.

Hell Szayel is so fucking horny which is astounding considering like everything he did was a sex joke in Hueco Mundo arc. His sex appeal has aged like fine wine. Also pure comedy that Ichigo can only ask who he is. If only Uryu were there 😔

So did they have ceremonies for Gin and Kaname because if not then???? Like I understand it’s impossible to make this gel 100% bc its not based on anything other than wanting characters to come back as cool demons and is actively working against previous canon but c’mon. They would’ve noticed before this when no ceremony for Gin and Kaname was held and their reishi haunted everyone via molasses rain drops.

That being said, I love love love the concept of characters coming up from Hell with not holes within them but outside them. They do not need to consume others to feel completion, they are consumed to the point of wanting to fill others. Don’t you recognize me? Don’t you see what you’ve done? Don’t you long to fill that hole inside of you, too? All it takes is dying to reach that nirvana of knowing who you are and what you feel in swirling completion. Even fallen, the fruit of knowledge is divine.

I want Ukitake to say he’s glad Shunsui lived to his face while looking so heartbroken that he didn’t get to live too. I want these two to cry across from one another with a flashback to their idyllic youth. I want it *grabby hands*

Sosuke Aizen has disappeared as in dead? Or are they counting ‘out of Seireitei’ as disappeared. Honestly 50/50 whether he’ll have a form of cameo. On one hand he’s incredibly popular, on the other hand Kubo was floundering with him during tybw so I can’t imagine he gives a shit to bring him back.

As far as new lore for hell butterflies goes, I guess we’ll see how interesting it gets but I highly doubt it’s going to get a lot of thought.

With the way Kazui is smiling, it makes me wonder if someone taught him about the shrine and sending souls to hell. Does he recognize the door? Is Kubo implying that Ukitake has had contact with Kazui? I mean, it would make a LOT of sense considering the fish he was riding, the ritual he knows. It would also make sense why the soul reaper badge was highlighted; Ukitake has been around in some capacity before officially being stomped to hell???

Definitely me thinking too much about it but also there’s no way Kazui just knows this shit without someone from Hell telling him about it even covertly.

This entire arc set up definitely seems like it’ll bring some worthwhile angst and maybe some moments for the more unexplored characters if characters like Akon getting screen time is any education.

Overall not hoping for anything other than good Hell designs and seeing characters do things.

If I don’t see Kenpachi with his beefy titties out I will be disappointed. That’s my bare minimum.

[aj-writes-here]

Hello :3 Could you write a scenario or hc about levi's s/o being pregnant and he doesn't react too well? I mean, it's a world with titans, he already have lost so much people in his life,that it makes me think that he would be scared by the news because now he would have even more to lose, besides the fear of not being a good father

Hi! I started with this one two or three hours ago(?) But here’s the finished product! I tried my best, hope you like it😅

Our Best 

Doubts were gone, after a week of feeling somewhat sick, and after noticing that her period was more than late, y/n decided to ask for some help and who was better than Hanji. The four-eyed woman had confirmed y/n thoughts through some analysis, once the results were done, they could confirm it. It was real and it was happening. y/n was pregnant. And it was of course Levi's child. The scientist's reaction had been nothing but bure excitement, as if she had established a fluid conversation with a titan but when she noticed that y/n had pressed the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb she decided to hold her horses.

It was not on her plans, definitely no. Bring a kid to that world? Where titans were roaming the earth and God knows how many other enemies were out there was not the best place to raise a life. And it was sure not on Levi's plans either, but it had happened. y/n didn't know how much time she spent talking with the scientist but it felt like ages. Out of all the things that they spoke, just one line was stuck on her head. 'You have to tell him' Of course, she couldn't hide something like that, eventually, it was going to become obvious.

When the cup of tea was empty, y/n went back to her room while Hanji, giving her an empathic smile, went to finish her experiments. The hallways seemed endless, and each of the walls were screaming at her different possibilities, what the hell was going to happen next? She had no idea, and not knowing was far much worse than know how things were going to be.

Closing the door of her room behind her, she thanked any divine being it was empty, probably Levi was at some meeting with Erwin or training the cadets, whatever he was doing y/n wished it took him time to go back to their room. Crossing her legs, she drifted her eyes to the window. It seemed nice outside, a charming summer day but all of her thoughts didn't let her enjoy it. y/n was trying to think about anything else, but it was impossible, she looked down at her stomach and laid a hand over it. Was it real? Yes, it. y/n thought to herself, but all of her thoughts were erased when she heard the door opening. Damn it, out of all days he had to be there earlier than the usual.

—What is wrong with your face, you look fucking constipated—Levi said while walking to the place he had a pot, grabbing it so he could pour some tea in his cup. She swallowed hard and she stood up. She had to do it.

—Levi, we need to talk—y/n tried to look normal, but it was almost impossible.

—I'm listening—He looked at her for brief seconds after going back to his steps and walk behind his desk. Levi pulled the chair back and sat down looking at some papers, waiting for her—Well?

—I'm pregnant.

There it was. She had said it. No introduction, no previous argument, no planned words, anything. Words had just slipped out of her mouth, there was no need to elaborate that much, is not as if he needed an explanation about had that happened. What was done was done. She stood there if front of his desk, looking at his reaction. y/n feet were stuck to the floor, gravity feeling heavier than ever, and she could even say she was feeling her heart beating against her chest.

Levi didn't look at her, he just set his cup down slowly, processing the words he had just heard. The images of her friend's head at his feet, seeing half of Farlan's body fell to the floor when the titan had eaten him. His squad dying at the forest, all of the other people he saw dying were repeating in his head one by one. Screams, parents that cry when their children die because of titans or looking their bodies under the ruins of a house that was a home. Children that had to survive on their own because their parents couldn't make it after an expedition, or just because they couldn't make it at all, that was their world. He just couldn't think about anything else. Having a child was something risky, he couldn't bear the idea of something happening to y/n and innocent creature. Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

—Please, say something. At least say we're done, or—Before she could finish he interrupted her.

—We are not done, don't be an ass—Levi denied with his head and then stood up.—When did you find out?—he asked, his face as free of expression as always, but on the inside, he had a storm.

—Today, about an hour or so—She went back to the couch and sat down— I fucked up, I know—She laid her elbows on her thigs while holding her head with her hands.

—The fuck you're saying. You didn't make it on your own, we both did—He walked towards her and sat by her side— Tch, this is not the best place to bring a kid.

—I'm more than aware of it, Levi. Trust me—She said, looking at him once he was next to her— I can ask Hanji if she knows something to... You know. To stop this now—At her word, his face gained a strong expression.

—Oi oi, don't you even think about it—Levi's voice was louder than the usual— We can kill those tall-ass beasts, raising a brat shouldn't be that hard.

—Are you... Not losing your head because of this? or angry?—y/n asked furrowing her eyebrows, certainly, she was surprised at his reaction.

—Tch, of course not. It is just... I'm somewhat scared. I know shit about kids, all I know is they need to eat or else they die—y/n couldn't help but laugh a bit, he was being honest and open about his feelings, something that happens once in a blue moon.

—I don't know much either... But maybe we can figure it out along the way—Her eyes were way much more relaxed than before, and she even gave him a small smile.—

��Sure thing, brat. We'll do our best.—He replied, grabbing her hand and squeezing it softly.

———————

Days went by, and Levi's attitude remained pretty much the same. He was more protective over her, at the point he didn't even let y/n use a stair or carry heavy things, the world outside was fucking dangerous and he couldn't control everything that happens, but he could keep her and his child safe while they were together. And of course, everyone at the SC had known of her pregnancy, it wasn't as if they could keep it as a secret, they would've found out anyway. Levi had told them to keep an eye on her, so her days of doing things on her own were practically over since everyone, even the cadets were looking after her.

Another night when sleeping was not a thing and Levi was wide awake. Nothing in their world was secured, anything could happen at any time, and those thoughts kept him awake almost every night. He looked at the body next to him, y/n shirt was tugged up, and he could see her belly was now starting to show, just a small but noticeable bump. Levi smiled to himself, maybe that future ahead was not going to be that bad, and a sure thing was that he was going to fight even harder to protect both.

The night moved slowly, and when rays of sun started making their entrance through the windows, y/n rolled on her side to hold Levi, but all she could find was an empty bed. Giving in, once she was totally awake she decided to take a shower.

y/n was brushing her wet hair when she heard steps coming in, turning around she found Levi with a paper bag on his hand.

—You're here, I thought you were swallowed by the earth—She joked.

—I wish. Shitty glasses begged me to go with her to the market to buy some things for her damn experiments—Levi huffed and left a short kiss on her lips.— And before I forget, I bought this.

Getting his hand inside the bag, he took out a crochet handmade teddy bear, it was grey with a yellow bow tie around its neck.  y/n grabbed it and look at it with softening eyes, Levi had remained pretty reserved about the pregnancy, and even maybe a little distant, obviously because he had no idea what the hell to do other than take care of her, but those acts were the ones that made her know that he was deeply involved. For a man like Levi, buying a teddy bear was something that no one could see coming.

—It looked flea and infection-free. It was also quite clean and decent, the old lady said she did it last night, so I thought I could buy it—He shrugged his shoulders— For when the brat comes out.

—Did Captain Levi Ackerman just bought a teddy bear?—y/n asked him with a playful smile, walking towards him.

—Tch, shut up—He looked away, feeling one of her hands on his waist.

—It is the cutest bear I've seen—She gave him a soft kiss on his lips— I'm sure this kid will love it, and will never let it go—letting out a laugh, she sat the bear on the couch, going back to him afterward and she caressed his cheek— You're still worried, aren't you.

—How not to be in this shitty world—Levi said with his usual voice— I wouldn't know what to do if something happens to you. Both of you.

—We'll do our best to keep this baby safe, Levi. And you will be a great father, I can tell that—Smiling at him again, she noticed how his expression was softening just a bit.

—I trust you—After saying that, he was the one that kissed her.

Both of them were well aware of the constant dangers, but if there were people who could raise their children, how could they not do it? They were strong, persistent, good-hearted, and the kind of people who would give their lives for the ones they care about. Levi and y/n were going to do their best to give their child a good life despite the horrors they might face in the future. Together they could face everything. 

[weasleydream]

The life and grief of Percy and Y/N Weasley - Part 6

Holy mother of Chuck (oups, too much Supernatural...) we’re already at this point of the serie! I have to say I’m quite proud of this one, even if it literally breaks my poor little heart... 

So yeah, if I had to put a warning, I would say this is quite violent. Also, I’ve used some dialogues from the book, you’ll easily recognize which ones.

Anyway, as usual, feel free to give feedbacks and enjoy!

Masterlist

(gif not mine) 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 

Their first battle 

Our family’s absence in our lives was more and more difficult to bear. Restless nights were quite frequent, nights during which I would dream of the worst scenarios possible. I was tormented by terrible images showing Mum dying, Ginny fighting a Death Eater, Bill sacrificing himself for someone… Almost every night, I woke up screaming, tears all over my face, the heart hurting a bit more when I thought maybe all of this would happen without my family knowing how much I loved them. These nights, Percy would barge in my room immediately, as if he was waiting for the moment I would wake up, and hug me while murmuring it would be okay. He didn’t believe a word of what he said to me, though.

The situation at the Ministry worsened day-by-day: now, the Death Eaters didn’t even try to hide themselves anymore and the number of crimes against the wizarding world was increasing, the worst one being the tracking of the muggleborns. For the first time in a while, I had wondered where was Hermione, a good friend of mine, and if she was safe. Percy had assured me the Ministry was still looking for her, along with Harry Potter and our younger brother, Ron. The three of them had infiltrated the Ministry and stolen something from Dolores Umbridge, before escaping and bringing with them a score of muggleborns. They had a price on their heads, but they weren’t the only ones in danger. 

Our works at the Ministry put us in front of the enemy each day. Percy was more threatened than I was though: he was Thickness’ assistant, and he knew his boss was manipulated by Death Eaters. I was kind of protected in my small office of the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau, but I was dying from worry each time he didn’t join me for the lunch. They know he doesn’t agree… They have taken him to get informations… He’s dead… These thoughts were always in a corner of my head, and they faded only when Percy finally came back home. 

However, things really changed for us when one day, during the lunch, four men barged in my office where Percy and I were eating. They all had their wands pointed on us, and one of them spoke with a deep and threatening voice.

“Are you Percy and Y/N Weasley?”

Percy, who had jumped on his feet and placed himself in front of me, nodded.

“A perfectly reliable source has informed us that you show some signs of disagreement. You know what happens for the traitors. Follow us.”

Everything happened too quickly for me to comprehend. Percy cast a spell and the man fell backward, leading another one on the floor. I grabbed my wand and petrified one of the other two and Percy disarmed the last. He grabbed my hand and we ran out of the office, rapidly gaining the Atrium and getting out of the Ministry. We apparated in our flat.

“What the hell just happened?” I muttered. “How did they know? I thought we were always careful!”

Percy frowned. 

“Obviously not enough.” he murmured. 

All of sudden, a strange noise echoed from the fireplace. A face appeared, an old man looking slightly like Dumbledore. It was his brother, Aberforth: Percy had contacted him for the first time three weeks ago. He regularly informed us about the situation at Hogwarts. This time, he didn’t waste time asking us how we were doing, he just announced something and left us in shock. 

“You-know-who will arrive soon at Hogwarts. They will fight.”

I fell on my knees, the worse feeling of panic I had ever felt raising in my chest, and Percy seemed on the verge of fainting.

“We have to go.” 

I nodded, grabbed my wand on the table, handed Percy his, and we apparated at the Hog’s Head. Aberforth groaned and nodded toward a huge portrait at the wall. It was open and we saw the entrance of a tunnel. Understanding it would bring us to Hogwarts, we went down there and run as if our lives depended on it, me behind Percy and my heart beating faster than ever. We eventually reached the end of the tunnel and Percy missed a step. I did exactly the same and fell on him. When we got up, we both gasped: almost all our family stood in front of us, the shock on their faces mirroring ours. 

An unbearable tension appeared immediately. I was fighting tears and didn't even recognize Fleur Delacour who tried to break the tension by talking about someone called Teddy. 

Dad’s weak voice echoed, asking what in Merlin’s name we were doing here.

“I was a fool!” screamed Percy. He kept babbling, trying to find a word to describe himself, which Fred provided him with a small smile. 

Mum broke down and engulfed us into a hug, pushing Fred doing so. 

“It’s becoming an habit…” he groaned. 

Dad approached too. Percy looked at him in the eyes for the very first time since that night and apologized. Dad seemed on the verge of crying too and quickly hugged us. He let Percy go but prevented me from turning around by grabbing my face.

“Y/N, I’m sorry… So sorry…” he choked out.

“Don’t worry…” I managed to say. “We have bigger problems right now, don’t we?”

He nodded and let me go. I found myself next to Bill - who sent me a genuine smile, and I noticed his scars - while Dad and Harry explained briefly the situation. 

“Come on, we have to go in the Great Hall.” 

Bill urged me toward the door, but Ginny jumped on me. She was mumbling something I couldn’t understand, partially because the sound of my blood pumping in my veins was too loud and echoed in my ears. 

“Stay safe… Ginny, I’m begging you to stay here, safe and sound, you hear me?”

“You stay safe Y/N.” she replied. “You just came back to us, Percy and you, you have to be careful. We can’t lose you a second time…” 

I stroked her hair one last time and followed Bill. I noticed something shining on his finger, and I couldn’t help but gasp.

“Are you married?”

“Yes, with Fleur.”

I stuttered apologies. My oldest brother was married and I wasn’t even there with him.

“Don’t worry Y/N, we’ll marry again after this if you want!” he winked at me. 

The Great Hall was crowded. Members of the Order of the Phoenix, along with old and actual Hogwarts students, were here. Some of them were talking about the evacuation of the one who were too young. With a heavy heart, I thought of Ginny who was alone in the Room of Requirements (that’s how Harry had called the room where we had arrived, I had never heard about it before) and prayed whatever divine power for her to be okay. 

Percy, who had noticed my watery eyes, put an arm around my shoulders. I glanced at him: his jaw was clenched, his eyebrows frowned, and his eyes showed a burning flame, the flame of his determination. 

Professor McGonagall was explaining how the younger ones would be evacuated from the castle when a terrifying voice, a cold and high-pitched voice, echoed in the Great Hall. 

I know that you are preparing to fight.

A lot of students screamed, their hands plated on their head. Others were frantically looking for the person who was speaking, but I knew he wasn’t here. It was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and he wasn’t in the castle. Not yet. 

Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.

All of sudden, all the screams stopped. Maybe some were hoping there wouldn’t be any fight, but I was sure most of the people were waiting anxiously for a condition. 

Give me Harry Potter, and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. 

You have until midnight. 

I felt like my heart had stopped. What if someone had the idea of -

“But he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!”

A Slytherin girl stood at her table and pointed at Harry. Without anyone saying anything, all the people seated at the Gryffindor table stood up and we placed ourselves in front of Harry to protect him. The Ravenclaw and the Hufflepuff did the same. Percy and I exchanged a look: yes, we were going to fight like true Gryffindors. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped on the platform and his powerful voice announced what we had to do. He told he needed someone to organize the protection of the various passages leading into the school and Fred proposed his and George’s help. He immediately got up, gesturing Lee Jordan to follow George who was leaving. 

“Perce, Y/N, will you join us?” He winked. 

Percy and I got up on the same movement and followed him. George and Lee were waiting outside. 

“George… You… Your ear… You…” Percy stuttered.

I looked up to my brother and saw with horror that one of his ear was missing. 

“Yes, battle wound.” he grinned. “The girls love it, they say it looks -”

“Disgusting.” interrupted Fred. “Come on, we don’t have all night. We have a battle to win.”

“What can we do?” I asked. 

“Y/N, you know this secret passage leading to Honeydukes? Go with Percy and make sure to block it.”

I nodded. Our younger twins had showed it to me once and I remembered where it was. We agreed to meet up there after it was done and Percy and I left. We quickly found the statue and I murmured the spell to make it move. We cast various spells and the tunnel fell apart. No one could walk in it. Percy cast a last spell on the statue to make sure it wouldn’t move and we left. 

We came back to the Great Hall who was turning into an hospital wing much more accessible and easy to defend than the original one. Fred, George and Lee weren’t here yet, so Percy and I helped Madam Pomfrey organizing her stuff. 

When our brother and their friend arrive, they led us to an empty corridor. 

“Dad thinks the Death Eaters will arrive in this wing first.” said Fred. “I guess we should stay here.”

A few persons arrived on brooms. I recognized Oliver Wood who was leading them. They had more brooms and were looking for help. Lee joined them. It was just the four of us, the four Weasley twins, and soon, we would fight side by side. 

“I think it’s useless to tell you to be careful.” My voice was shaky. I looked to Fred, who was frowning, to George, who tried to smile weakly, and to Percy, who grabbed my hand. “I can’t lose any of you. We have to win this, our family needs to win this, and then Perce and I we will make up for our mistakes.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Fred managed to smile and hugged me. I caught a glimpse of Percy taking George in his arms. We exchanged, and George’s strong embrace almost made me break down. What sent me over the edge was Percy’s bear hug. I felt him shaking against me, and I didn’t know if he was scared, or crying, or both. 

“Perce, I know I never really said it to you, but -”

“Don’t do that.” His voice was pleading and I felt his tears wet my hair. “Don’t talk like one of us is gonna die. It won’t happen Y/N. It won’t happen.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. No, of course, none of us would die. No Weasley would die. It was impossible. At this moment, a terrible regret filled my heart. 

“I wish I could hug everyone once more…” I muttered. 

“Just keep that for the celebrations of our victory! I can see that from here… There will have Butterbeer and Firewhiskey - no, Perce, you won’t touch it, you know you can’t stand alcohol.” mocked George. 

“I don’t know what you mean” mumbled my twin. 

“I think you perfectly know what I mean.”

“Yes, Perce, don’t you remember back in fourth year when -”

A blood curdling scream echoed somewhere in the park. Percy glanced at his watch. 

“Midnight.”

It was beginning. 

Fred, George, Percy and I moved in the corridor so that we could cover it all and anxiously waited for our enemies. I tightened my grip on my wand. From now on, it was the only thing that separated me from death. 

Six Death Eaters appeared at the corner of the corridor. They ran toward us. Two of them stopped in front of me, and my instinct took over me. I was casting spells as fast as I could, trying to dodge all of the curses that flew in all directions. I petrified one, but the other projected me against the wall behind. The air left my hungs. The man in front of me grinned wickedly, knowing he had won, but then his grin vanished, making way for a shocked expression. He fell head first and Fred ran toward me. 

“You okay?”

I nodded and got back on my feet. Taking a second to catch my breath, I saw that four Death Eaters were out of action. Percy and George were facing the last ones, and joined by Fred, they quickly eliminated one. The last man tried to make the wall explode but three stupefying charms hit him before he could finish casting his spell. The explosion, which would have been fatal, I was pretty sure of it, was relatively weak. Fred was the farthest and nothing happened to him, however Percy took a few steps back and George fell on his knees. 

“George!” 

Fred shouted his twin’s name while running toward him. 

“It’s nothing…” George mumbled. 

A burst of stone was planted in his shoulder, and a trail of blood was pouring out of the wound. His arm was trembling and his wand slipped out of his hand. 

“You have to go to the Great Hall Georgie, now!” urged Fred. 

I turned toward Percy and my heart skipped a beat. I had assumed he was fine, but a large cut covered his forehead and another one had ripped his shirt. He was losing a terrifying amount of blood - well, in my perspective, which wasn’t really objective. 

“Percy, you go with George. I stay here with Fred.”

“No way.” Percy said firmly. “You stick with me, Y/N, you have no choice.”

“I won’t let Fred alone.” I hissed. “Go with George, I’ll be okay.”

At this moment, Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson arrived on their brooms and landed next to us. 

“They have invaded the other side of the castle. They need more people in the west wing!” warned Angelina. 

“Okay,” mumbled Fred. “Okay, Y/N and I will go there. Can you make sure George and Perce go to the Great Hall?” 

“Of course.” answered Oliver. 

Fred pulled him apart to tell him something and Angelina and Lee were helping George getting on the broom, much to his annoyment (“I’m not dying, I can fly on my own!”). I jumped at Percy’s neck, pulling him against me with all my strength as if it was the last time I saw him. 

“I won’t go Y/N. I won’t leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” I grabbed his face and forced him to look at me in the eyes. “Fred will be here. Don’t worry. Go to the Great Hall, get healed and come back to me. Be careful Perce, please…”

My voice choked up as I tried to ignore my terror of seeing Percy leaving me. He obviously felt the very same thing, because he kissed my hair and whispered. 

“Stay alive Y/N, promise me you’ll stay alive.”

“I promise.”

Oliver pushed slightly Percy toward his broom and I watched my brothers fly away and disappear behind the corner of the corridor. 

Everything was calm around Fred and I. It was like the calm before the storm, a kind of tension almost palpable who seemed to rest on our shoulders. It was frightening. I felt it becoming unbearable. I felt the lump in my throat preventing me from breathing, my eyes burning, the feeling of dizziness. Fred understood what was happening and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me as if he wanted me to wake up from a nightmare. It worked somehow and I regain my senses. 

“We can take a little break if you want.”

I just nodded and we sat against the wall. I rested my head on Fred’s shoulder and he took my hand. It was a silent way to assure each other we would be fine and, while doing so, plenty of memories flooded in front of my closed eyes. 

“I can’t believe how grown up you all are,” I murmured. “I mean, George and you are adults, you have your own shop, and Ginny, she’s almost a woman… I wish I could have seen Ron… Maybe I could have said I loved him and he would have known - and Charlie, I don’t want -”

“Don’t worry for that Y/N, he knows it. Trust me, he does. They both know.” added Fred when I looked at him, surprised. Another silence followed, this time broken by my brother. 

“I asked Oliver to make sure Percy and George stay in the Great Hall the longest time possible. I said he could knock them out if needed.” he added with a small laugh. “At least they are safe. And I can protect you.”

“No.” Fred looked at me in disbelief. “I will protect you. That’s my job, I’m your big sister, and I have done a pretty poor job until now. I could give my life for you, Fred, as much as I would do it for everyone in our family.”

I got up and extended a hand toward him. As soon as I looked at my little brother, I knew what I said was truer than ever. During this battle, if anything had to happen near Fred - an explosion, a curse, whatever - I would be there and I would save him. Same if we ran into any member of the family. Somehow, this goal I had fixed myself provided me a renewed determination and I finally was able to push away the fear. For the first time in my life, I felt like a true Gryffindor and knowing my family was with me, I felt ready to move mountains. 

“Let’s go to the west wing.”

Fred took my hand, unable to hide the worry shining in his eyes. We joined the heart of the fights. The Death Eaters were many more than anywhere else in the castle, and so where the dead bodies lying on the floor. I stopped in front of a girl who obviously didn’t have the age to be here, her neck was torn and a true river of blood was flooding of her wound. I wanted to help her, or at least hold her hand and reassure her but Fred, who was holding tightly my hand, pulled me forward while shaking his head. 

A Death Eater and a werewolf stepped in front of us. 

“Greyback.” hissed Fred.

That was the werewolf who had attacked Bill, I had heard his name at the Ministry. A cry of rage escaped my mouth and I cast him the first spell. Fred, understanding I had chosen my enemy, attacked the wizard. Greyback had a supernatural speed of reaction: as soon as my wand produced a flash of light, he jumped aside and made his way toward him. I tried to stun him, but there was no use. An evil smile had taken place on his abominable face, a smile that showed bloody fangs. Thinking of his unfortunate victim was infuriating, and for a brief moment, I saw the girl with the bloodied neck. Knowing attacking the werewolf directly with a spell was useless, I frantically looked around me, seeing in passage Fred still fighting with the Death Eater. My eyes passed on a wall partly collapsed, and I gestured toward a particularly big piece of the wall with my wand. The stone flew and landed where stood Greyback. The last thing heard of him was a weak moan of pain. 

Not even thinking of how I just killed someone, I joined Fred into his fight. The Death Eater he was facing was undoubtedly the most skilled we had faced until now, but we were two and he soon had to retreat. On the corner of my eye, I saw two other Death Eater arriving, and I heard some wizards of our side arriving behind us. Fred looked away during a fraction of second. The Death Eater took this opportunity and in a last attempt to get rid of us, he pointed his wand to the wall behind us and I could read on his lips Bombarda Maxima. 

At this very moment, I wasn’t even sure I was the one who decided to act. I felt like a stranger in my own body, a stranger who watched the scene in slow motion. I saw the wall beginning to crack, the fissures glowing in yellow. I jumped toward Fred who was slowly turning his head and placed myself between him and the wall. I took him in my arms, protecting him with my body, in the same way I had done in the stairs so many years before. The sound of the explosion resonated in my brain and I still could see the flashes of light behind my closed eyelids. When they finally vanished, along with the hissing of the explosion, all went black.  

Third POV

The smoke created by the explosion slowly disappeared, dispersed by the flashes of light thrown above his head. Fred slowly regained consciousness and while doing so, he began to feel a weight on him. He managed to lift his head and his heart almost stop beating. Y/N was on the top of him, her face hidden in the crook of his neck and her arms still around him. He saw the exploded wall and suddenly, he understood. He moved as quickly as his sore body permitted him, and laid delicately Y/N on the floor. The flashes of light had stopped, the Death Eaters were stunned. 

“Y/N… Y/N wake up…” he mumbled, the tears making their way to his eyes. “You can’t die! I forbid you! Please, Y/N, please, come back, wake up!”

Fred bent over his sister, painful sobs escaping his mouth. He clenched her shirt, shook her, screamed, but she didn’t wake up. Hoping she was still there, somewhere, able to hear him, to feel him, he put his head on her chest. He was about to tell her how much he loved her, his only big sister, the one that had always protected him, how much he regretted all these pranks, all these times she had screamed or cried, these nearly three years without her, when he heard it. A weak heartbeat, followed by another, and another. She was still alive. 

When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s voice echoed in the castle, Fred threw himself on his sister to protect her from all the threats. 

You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. 

Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. 

Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. 

You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.

Fred didn’t waste any time. Knowing no one would attack him, he carefully lifted Y/N’s body up and ran toward the Great Hall. Her head was bouncing violently, but Fred was afraid she would die if she wasn’t healed quickly. He was so focused on his mission that he didn’t even notice the blood that was impregnating his shirt. 

The Great Hall was crowded. People were wandering between the bodies, afraid to find a son, a daughter, a friend. While running toward Madam Pomfrey, Fred threw frantic looks to the lifeless bodies around him, hoping with all he had no one he knew would be laid somewhere. He felt a stinging pain when he saw Remus and Tonks, both pale and holding hands. Dead.

He obeyed to the matron as soon as he found her and laid delicately Y/N on the floor. Madam Pomfrey lifted her head, and watched sadly at her hand covered in blood. She waved her wand above Y/N, slowly got up and sighed. 

“I cannot do anything, I’m sorry.”

She left hurriedly. Fred fell on his knees. No. No. She couldn’t die. She didn’t have the right. Not because of him. Not when he had just gotten her back. He slowly put his hand in his sister’s hair, stroking it like their mother used to. She seemed to be asleep, and Fred could have imagined she was dreaming if her skin wasn’t so pale. His heart was slowly breaking, and the lump of pain in his throat threatened to choke him. 

A hand he couldn’t identify gripped his shoulder. If Fred had turned his head, he would have seen Bill’s scarred face covered in tears, his mouth twisting in a strange way to prevent him from sobbing. He tried to take his little brother in his arms, he wanted to comfort him even if he was suffering himself, and Fred let him do so. He sobbed onto Bill’s shoulder, constantly repeating it was his fault, he should have saved her. Fleur Delacour was behind her husband, her eyes barely containing her tears. Seeing them suffering like this was awful, the worst thing she had ever seen. 

But Fred’s sobs and Bill’s pain weren’t the worst. God, no. When the rest of the family arrived, joined by George and Percy who had looked for their twins, unaware of the terrible loss they would have to face, they saw the boys kneeled on the floor. Percy’s cry of agony broke everyone’s heart, he threw himself next to his twin sister and shook her. He was unable to tell a single word, the only thing he managed to choke out was “No!”. Molly squealed in horror and kneeled next to her daughter, holding tightly her cold hand. Arthur took a few steps back, the sight of her oldest daughter’s lifeless body causing him a physical pain. He remembered all the things he had said to her, all lies because himself was frustrated, and he knew he would hate himself until his death day. 

“She isn’t… yet.” murmured Fred, trembling in the side hug George was now giving him. 

No one asked why he had added “yet”. They had all understood, and they knew what that meant. Not Percy. Behind his tears, a painful hint of hope lighted his eyes up. He grabbed Y/N’s other hand, and whispered in her ear, begging her to wake up.

“Perce…” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. Percy gasped.

Her eyes flickered open. The pain in her body and above all in her head was nothing compared to what she felt when she saw her beloved twin hoping she would be alright. She knew, everyone knew that she would…

“I’m… sorry, Perce.” She had tried her best not to let her family hear her pain, but she had failed. 

She saw the despair in Percy’s eyes, she saw his own pain as he was understanding that his best friend would die in front of him. But she didn’t want him to cry, she didn’t want Fred, her mother or anyone to cry. She had so much things to say yet so little time. She felt it, her life was slowly abandoning her.

“Why?” cried Fred. “Why did you do that?”

“I told you… My job, Freddie.” She cracked a smile. “It’s like the good old time, isn’t it?”

Molly, who had just understood what had happened, barely contained her sob and kissed her daughter’s forehead. 

“You don’t deserve it… Y/N, you don’t deserve to…” Fred was unable to say it. It would be real, and he didn’t want it to. 

“To die?” Her voice was getting weaker and weaker. “I deserve it more than you, Freddie.”

He shook furiously his head. Percy had stayed silent. He was numb, he couldn’t imagine anything to express how much he loved her. How much he loved his twin. His best friend, the only one who had been with him since the beginning and until the end. Until her end. 

“Perce… Please Perce… Can you hug me?”

Percy felt it. He felt his heart breaking. Y/N’s voice was so weak, so fragile, and her eyes showed more fear than he could even imagine. Delicately, as if he could break her with a sudden move, he passed an arm behind her back and sat her against him. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and Percy grabbed her hand. His tears were rolling on her hair. 

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, I’m sorry I was a poor excuse of a twin…”

She raised a shaking hand and tangled it in her brother’s hair, ruffling it like she used to when she complimented him.

“You weren’t… I love you, all of you. I love you, Percy.”

Y/N used her last ounce of energy to smile before closing her eyes and letting her hand fall. 

“Promise me you’ll live for me…”

The last thing she saw was her family’s tears. 

The last thing she heard was Percy’s scream of agony.

The last thing she felt was his arms trying to protect her from death.

The last thing she had done was fighting at her family’s side, and she couldn’t be happier.

To be continued

Part 7 - Last part

[sherry-smith]

We’ll Forget The Tears We Cried

Written for @ineffablehusbandsweek!

Day 4: Senses; Touch/Sight/Hearing/Taste/Smell

Summary: It's a matter of balance, after all.Four times Aziraphale and Crowley question their relationship across the 20th century and one time they actually find the answer

On AO3

Mayfair, 5 November 1918

He’s not quite sure why he keeps staring out of the window, instead of going back to bed.

The first time he woke up was May 31st, 1915; it’s not easy to sleep while bombs explode all around you, no matter how many miracles you’d previously cast to protect your house against anything that could possibly happen. He didn’t exactly expect a war to happen, nor raids in the middle of London. Crowley used to believe that he could miss even a century and almost nothing would’ve changed; now he knows that this is a brand new world, in which suddenly even so little as 53 years can make a difference. This is called, apparently, “progress”, and whoever invented it didn’t really do a good job.

Going back to sleep in 1915 was out of question. So he’d popped across the Channel, tempted soldiers into disobeying orders and desert, forged reports and documents, instilled fear in generals’ and colonels’ hearts, anything to make those silly humans go home and end this stupid war.

(Had Aziraphale been there, he would’ve sworn that Crowley was just making up excuses to save as many lives as possible. But Aziraphale was in London, helping civilians, which spared the demon the embarrassment of being called nice.)

Now, three years later, he’s back in his flat, in his favourite pyjamas, frustrated. When he closes his eyes he sees death and destruction, trenches and explosions, horribly disfigured bodies and amputated limbs and intestines sprawled all over the place. He feel like he’s going to puke any moment now.

It’s not like he’s never seen such things, he’s a demon after all, he’s fought in so many battles, both among humans and celestial beings. Except this war is different, somehow. He’s not sure why, he just feels it. Maybe it’s the fact that humans keep finding better ways to kill each others, to the point where he should consider retiring for good on another planet, since his job had been stolen by puny mortals centuries ago. Yet, he stays.

He’s not quite sure why he keep staring out of the window, instead of going back to bed. It may, or may not, be related to that guy who died a month ago in the flat on the other side of the road. Or rather, to the figure on the pavement who is staring mournfully at said flat.

Robbie Ross. That’s the dead guy’s name. He’s made researches, while dealing with insomnia. What was so special about him remained a mystery; Ross’ story was one of sorrow, persecution and lost love, as many other men’s. And yet, once in a while, an angel would discreetly miracle some flowers on his doorstep. That was, most likely, due to the fact that these days it’s complicated to get to Paris, where the guy’s buried, side by side with a certain Oscar Wilde, apparently a famous writer.

(Had Crowley been awake, he would’ve probably enjoyed Wilde and his friends’ company. It seemed an unlikely company for Aziraphale, though, so he’d tried reading some of the author’s works to understand. One novel and five short stories later he was still confused, although The Nightingale and the Rose sounded vaguely yet inexplicably familiar. Maybe one day Aziraphale himself would explain it to him, but not now, and not in a long time.)

The angel turns his head and Crowley quickly hides behind the curtain. Through the thin fabric, he sees a face he barely recognises. There’s no softness in those eyes, no joy, no hope; just grief, as deep as the deepest ocean, as dark as the darkest pit. Aziraphale stares longingly at his window. On one side of the road lies the friend who’ll never walk the Earth again; on the other side lies the friend who’ll never walk the Earth again by his side, or so he fears.

“Do you miss me, angel?” Crowley thinks, trying to read his mind and heart, trying to find the old, cheerful Aziraphale behind this mask of sorrow and loss and despair.

“Would you greet me like an old friend or smite the enemy you were never supposed to fraternise with?”

Deep down he knows Aziraphale misses him as much as he misses him, but the rejection still burns on the surface and he feels vulnerable, too vulnerable to be seen. So he keep staring, and Aziraphale keeps staring too, both afraid to make the first step.

“Smile, my angel.” he finds himself thinking “Smile and I’ll know everything’s okay and we can fix this mess and forget about the last 53 years. Smile and I’ll come running to you right now, through the scandal and the bombs. Please.”

But he doesn’t smile. Instead, he blinks away the tears and heads back to Soho.

The world has changed and turned a depressing shade of grey. Quietly, in their own ways, Crowley and Aziraphale have changed too.

London Underground, 26 February 1944

He wonders how long his eardrums can resist. Not that he needs them, strictly speaking.

The awful whistle of the bombs is painfully familiar; it reminds him of 1915, a disrupted nap, trenches and bullets and screams that echo through the years. Someone decided that that hadn’t been enough, so here it is, the brand new rerun, with brand new weapons and tortures and horrors. It had took him a whole year, back in 1918, to finally go back to sleep and, as soon as his head hit the pillow, 1939 was there and farewell bed! He didn’t feel rested at all, but one’s gotta do what one’s gotta do, so he joined the Secret Services. No playing with soldiers this time round; he was aiming higher. Strike where it matters, where you have to operate so subtly that neither of the two sides are undoubtedly sure you are working for them. Not Nazis and Allies, not Heaven and Hell. The line between good and evil is so blurred in this new kind of war that it’s incredibly easy for someone like Crowley to do whatever he likes without any higher authority complaining. He’d always craved freedom; this is not the kind he’d hoped for, but it’s something, and that’s a start.

These days, London is disturbingly similar to Hell, except when it’s not. At this point, Crowley’s not sure what he likes best. Lost souls wander, desperately trying to carry on a somewhat normal life, and failing. Children cry, adults weep, sirens wail, bombs explode, all around, all the time. He sometimes suspects that German pilots don’t actually need to see the lights to recognise London, they just have to hush for a bit and follow the broadcast of misery.

And when you think the noise will never stop, it suddenly does. As soon as the raid ends and the last explosion fades into the darkness, Crowley is the first living being to emerge on the surface. He examines the crumpled buildings by the light of the few fires that are yet to be extinguished. He walks the empty streets that can’t belong to London, not the fierce city he’s so proud to be living in. And the silence is somehow louder than any other sound. It’s a delicate moment in which Death walks beside Crowley, collecting dust that used to be alive mere seconds ago, before people come out of the ground and press play once again in the game of survival.

It’s not always easy, but he’s usually able to detach himself. He thinks about the Ineffable Plan and convinces himself that there is a greater good, there has to be, otherwise it means that nothing, nothing matters, and that prospect is far too frightening to be worth being considered. Funny how when he used to be an angel he always doubted divine plans while now, after almost six thousand years on Earth, he desperately wants to believe in them. That’s called “faith”, possibly, in some dark and twisted way.

One night, amidst the deafening silence, he found a teddy bear in the ruins. He showed weakness, for the first and last time during the war. Besides, there was just Death to witness. He knelt and picked it up and cried, the only sound to be heard for miles and miles. He would’ve even prayed, if only he’d remembered how to do it. Truly dark years, if even demons resort to prayers.

He was vaguely aware of Aziraphale standing behind him, piercing him with wet eyes and unasked questions. He had ignored him, too lost in his own grief. Neither of them has mentioned that night so far, and probably neither of them ever will. Besides, they rarely talk these days.

Contrary to the last war, this time he didn’t wait for an angel’s smile; he ran into a church and claimed that blessed smile at the risk of being discorporated. It was worth it, obviously.

Now he’s looking at Aziraphale, who is too busy concentrating to be paying any attention to him, and wonders what exactly is the nature of their relationship. He’s thinking about a song, the most beautiful celestial harmony he can recall, but soon discards it. It’s not really what he’s looking for. It’s something that starts unexpectedly with a loud bang, and then gets quieter, and grows louder and louder until the orchestra tumbles and silence falls. Like the silence that scares him in the streets of London.

He wants to ask, because he truly has no idea wether it’s the town’s noise or the angel’s silence that is driving him mad.

«Crowley… Help…» he whispers, and he snaps out of his pensive trance. He gently takes the weight of the Underground’s ceiling off Aziraphale’s shoulders and on his own. They’ve been doing this for four years, like Atlas in their little world. Activate the sirens. Take people to the shelter. Divert the bombs. Make sure the ceiling doesn’t collapse. Let people go home. Repeat. Again, and again, and again.

When the raid is over, they part their ways without even saying goodbye. Perhaps one day he’ll hear the angel’s merry voice again. Perhaps one day their sweet music will start playing again.

Soho, 6 October 1961

He immediately senses that something’s wrong.

For starts, the bookshop is closed. It’s not that unusual, truth be told; the opening hours have always been erratic, to discourage potential clients. What’s unusual is that it’s been closed for four years now. On top of it, Aziraphale is not there most of the time, and that’s definitely weird. However, when they do see each other, everything seems fine, so he never voices whatever doubt he might have.

It’s well past midnight and Crowley produces a key he’s owned since 1800 (“You know, just in case”

“In case of what?”

Aziraphale had never elaborated further, for some reason.)

There was a time when the bookshop had been the most familiar place in all of London, even more than his own apartment. He would know by heart the entire catalogue and the location of each and every book. He knew the place like the palm of his hand. There was a tricky step by the entrance, so subtle that every single person who set foot in the shop would trip over it; Crowley was rather proud of that addiction of his. The bookshop had been a sort of home for him for nearly 62 years. When he came back, 79 years later, things had changed, but so had Aziraphale and so had Crowley, so he told himself he just needed to get used to it again. Easier said than done.

However, certain things never change, or so he believes. Despite Aziraphale’s best efforts, there’s always been this lingering, undefinable scent that lured you rather than drive you away. It was a delicate mixture of old books and incense, difficult to describe but undoubtedly fascinating. He doesn’t know it yet, but it’s also not there anymore, lost in almost a century full of history.

After the Blitz, Crowley and Aziraphale stopped meeting each other in the Underground, in favour of St. James Park. It took some time to regain the intimacy they used to have, and yet there’s still the feeling that they are not quite there yet. This means that the last time Crowley stepped into the bookshop was exactly one hundred years ago. He’s not prepared to what is waiting for him.

Being a snake, he’s more sensitive to smells than humans. His tongue flickers in the blink on an eye and he realises that something is wrong, really wrong: there are no odours at all. The shop feels cold and aseptic, making him feel deeply uncomfortable. He sits by the desk and leafs through the nearest volume, not really interested in it, wondering what could’ve possibly happened. And waits.

It’s well past midnight when the bell on the door rings and someone trips over the faulty step. He helps Aziraphale up and notices two dreadful things. One: he’s drunk, and that’s shocking; Crowley has never seen him drunk, not once, not ever. Two: he smells like whiskey, and sweat, and something else he can’t define, but it’s definitely awful.

«Where the hell have you been? What happened?»

Aziraphale is only vaguely aware of his surroundings. Not a good sign.

«Just a… reg… regu… normal Sunday night.»

«It’s Thursday. Well, technically, it was Thursday, must be Friday by now.»

«Whatever.» He falls on the sofa and closes his eyes.

This is far worse than Crowley expected. He can’t cope with a drunken Aziraphale, so he snaps his fingers to sober him up. The smell of alcohol is still in the air.

The angel covers his eyes with a hand and sighs. «What are you doing here?»

«Oh, no, you don’t get to ask question. I’m the one asking, you sit there and answer me, understood?»

He peeks through his fingers. This is new. And bizarre.

«Where have you been?»

«What do you care?»

«I said, where have you been?»

«You’re not my mother. Mind your own business!»

It clicks. It’s the early sixties, it’s Soho, he’s male-presenting. Of course, he’s been to a gay pub. Wait, what?

He recalls the whole business of the guy who died in Mayfair in 1918; it had something to do with gross indecency and a scandal.

Whatever happened in the late 19th century, it had deeply broken Aziraphale, possibly beyond repair. He cursed himself under his breath for not having been there. From what he’s gathered, it’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen; deep down, he still hopes his conclusions are wrong.

He’s not sure what to say. He feels like he’s walking on thin ice. «The bookshop’s different.» he tries.

«Must be the change of management. Asher Fell doesn’t own it anymore, I’m afraid. Nor Ishmael. Or Remiel.» His voice breaks upon mentioning that last name. Crowley doesn’t push it; instead, he makes a mental note to investigate further in the future.

«Asher?»

«Asher Ziv Fell. The letters on the sign do mean something.»

«Do they? I’ve always wondered who’s behind Co.»

«Not sure. What was your grandfather’s name?»

«Really? Do I look like I own a bookshop?»

«Appearance can be deceptive.»

He’s secretly pleased, though he won’t admit it. After all, this is kind of his place too.

«So, who owns it now?»

«Ezra J. Fell. He’s Asher’s great-grandson, or great-great-grandson, I don’t remember which one is it. It hardly matters, doesn’t it?»

«Yeah. Wait, what does the J. stands for?»

«It’s just a J.» Aziraphale is staring at him, and it’s impossible to decipher his gaze. It’s making Crowley uncomfortable as much as the lack of smell.

«Right.»

An unbearable silence settles, during which the demon hopes to come up with something clever to say. He doesn’t.

«Crowley, why are you here?»

“Because I missed you, I missed you so much and I hate this whole situation. I’m sorry for what I did, I didn’t mean to screw up, I only wanted holy water because it’s the only thing that will get rid off any demon who dares to put himself between us.”

He comes up with a watered down truth instead. «Have you considered moving to Mayfair?»

Aziraphale frowns.

«I mean, living in Soho now is not like a century ago. The place is full of… bad influences. Sinners. Might be dangerous for an angel.»

He tries to read between the lines and fails. «Aren’t sinners the ones who need angelic influences the most? Besides, these people are not dangerous at all. They’re my people.»

He doesn’t like the implications at all. He groans, frustrated. «At least, be careful. Getting drunk won’t have angelic influences on anyone. And try to be a woman, if you really must have relationships with men, for somebody’s sake.»

«Why? - Aziraphale pretends to be confused, but he obviously isn’t. He’s not as naive as he used to be - It wasn’t necessary among the Greeks. Or the Romans.»

«Yes, but you didn’t have outlawed sexual intercourses with the Romans, angel, that’s the bloody difference!»

Aziraphale’s silence speaks volumes.

«No. You didn’t really… Have you gone mad?»

«I must kindly ask you to leave.»

«But…»

«Get out, demon!»

Crowley is too stunned to properly react, so he doesn’t oppose resistance when he’s pushed out of the bookshop.

That was meant to be a hyperbole, not the truth. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. This is wrong, wrong, wrong. This is not Aziraphale. This is a fallen angel who has not fallen, surprisingly. This is someone who has suffered a great deal and is licking his wounds in the most inappropriate way.

Is it possible for angels to suffer from depression? He doesn’t know. What he does know is that blaming himself is easier than blaming him. “Where were you when your angel needed you the most?”

The smell of whiskey haunts him. There is no way out of this mess.

Hyde Park, 6 July 1996

By 1967, Aziraphale is back to being his usual self, the one who used to watch Shakespearean comedies by Crowley’s side or take him to lunch in Paris during the Reign of Terror. He even gave the demon a flask of holy water, trusting him a great deal; the most awful chapter of their lives is finally over.

It’s lunch time, they’re sitting on a blanket on the grass in Hyde Park, a basket and a bottle of champagne between them. Crowley can’t help but feeling grateful. “Perhaps we can go for a picnic, someday.” had said Aziraphale that night. And here they are, having a nice picnic. Progress is slow, but it doesn’t matter; after all, they have all the time in the world.

«Remind me, why do we keep coming here every year since 1972?» he asks playfully.

There’s a new unspoken rule now, both in Heaven and on Earth, that says that Aziraphale is the guardian angel of the - as it has now been renamed - the LGBT community. Crowley’s fine with it. He justifies himself by claiming that people coming out spread hate among families; of course he doesn’t like to put it that way, but Hell does, so it’s sort of alright.

He’s glad that things have changed, that finally Aziraphale is happy and safe. He no longer risks to fall because of a hedonistic, highly immoral lifestyle. He doesn’t even interact with humans that much these days; he helps them, befriend them, but nothing more. The worst that could happen to him is to be mistaken for Crowley’s partner by random people on the streets. Crowley doesn’t mind it at all; actually, he secretly likes it. He wonders if Aziraphale doesn’t mind it too. Probably not, judging by the way his fingers brush the other’s for far too long when taking the glass of champagne handed to him.

«My dear boy, you know perfectly well why. Cheers!»

The glasses clink against each others.

People march past them, thousands of people, waving colourful banners, laughing, singing, kissing.

«I just love all this love! Look at them, how happy they are! Look at how they glow when they are unafraid to be who they are. It’s beautiful.»

Aziraphale glows too, Crowley thinks. His hair is golden under the gleaming sun, his eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. He tries not to stare too long at his rosy cheeks, or else he might tempt himself into caressing them; more than that, he tries to avoid his lips.

He’s been thinking about it for quite a long time - 29 years, to be precise. He’s always been aware of the feelings he harbours for him, despite not daring to say it out loud, or even admitting them for several millennia. But now things seem to be different, easier, maybe, apart from the small detail of him being a demon and he an angel. He hopes that’s something they can sort out. Now things seem to be different because he suspects those feelings are mutual. He wants to ask, but doesn’t want to risk; so he keeps hoping, and staring, and longing for his touch.

«Is everything alright, dear? You are unusually quiet.»

«Am I? Nah, don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m fine. Just thinking.»

«About what?»

“About that couple over there. You see them? How softly they’re hugging? How one of them is shielding the other with a flag? That could be us, if we forget about Heaven and Hell for a second. Can we?”

«About London Pride. Is it one of ours or one of yours?»

Aziraphale smiles fondly. «I can’t recall.»

Of course he does, they both do. It’s one of those things human invented themselves. Doesn’t mean they didn’t both put a hand in it; in the end, they both earned a commendation from the respective sides.

«That reminds me of that time a friend of mine was accused of being the leader of an underground organisation composed by 47,000 gay men here in London. Of course it’s ridiculous, but we found the idea rather amusing. I wish he was here now; I bet he would’ve loved it.»

Aziraphale’s smile fades. Crowley knows exactly who he’s talking about, even though he’s not supposed to. One day he’ll find the courage to ask, but right now his priority is cheering his friend up.

He puts the glass down and gets up. The basket, the bottle and the glasses disappear as he extends his hand.

«Do angels dance?»

Aziraphale looks puzzled. «No, they don’t. Do demons?»

«Not really. Once in a disco in the 70s a guy mocked my moves. Let’s say it was an eventful night.»

Aziraphale hand is delicate and impeccably manicured, his skin smooth and soft, and his fingers fit perfectly against Crowley’s.

They move around quite awkwardly. Neither of them really knows how to dance; neither of them cares.

Aziraphale’s head ends up on Crowley’s shoulder, who suspects his body is going to spontaneously combust. He’s never been so intimately close to him, or at least not in a long time. He thinks it would be a lovely yet weird way to die.

«Crowley?» he calls, uncertain.

«Yes, angel?»

«Can you feel it? All this love, I mean. It’s so strong that even you might be able to sense it.»

Crowley is grateful to Someone that Aziraphale can’t see his stupid, blissful grin.

“Oh, I do, my angel. I do”

Berkeley Square, 2 June 2024

He wouldn’t call it a date, despite it actually being one. It’s more of an anniversary anyway, though he wouldn’t use that word either, because it would imply that there is something more than friendship in their relationship; there is, but it’s not official, so he ignores the voice in the back of his head that keeps calling this a date.

Actually, they don’t go to the Ritz that often. When they eat together, they prefer to explore little restaurants. “We must support local businesses” had declared Aziraphale, or something like that.

(«Besides, isn’t it more interesting than dining at the same old place every day?»

«But they have the most expensive wine, I like good wine.»

«You do realise those are not synonyms, don’t you?»)

They’ve been building this new habit slowly and without much thought. It started with occasional take-away sushi late at night at the bookshop, then weekly outings, depending on what they felt like eating on the appointed Saturday night. Now Crowley’s fridge is always full and they end up having lunch at his place every day, like it’s some kind of ritual.

If someone had told Crowley a decade ago that someday he would’ve had lunch every day, he wouldn’t have believed them. He didn’t need food, so it seemed a pointless waste of time. And anyway his sense of taste is more similar to that of snakes than humans’, meaning he doesn’t have taste buds; he tried to explain it to Aziraphale once, but the angel struggled to grasp the concept.

(«What do you mean you don’t have taste buds?»

«It’s a snake-biology thingy. I just, you know, flick my tongue and smell. It’s like taste, really. Don’t see why you have to separate the two senses, they’re basically the same!»

«No, they’re not!»

«Well, they are to me.»)

He still doesn’t eat much, but he does eat. Although, even more unexpectedly, he realised a couple of years ago that he prefers cooking. So the habit goes like this, Crowley cooks and Aziraphale eats. There’s a certain intimacy in it, a sense of domestic life that shouldn’t be possible for angels or demons. It’s not perfect, not yet, but it’s enough to make Crowley wonder what would it be like to live under the same roof, to properly share a house. He tries not to think about it, as he tries not to label lunches as dates; he fails most of the time.

They don’t go to the Ritz that often, but they go there once a year, on June 2nd. It’s another habit they’ve been building in the past five years, to readjust their lives after having lost their respective sides for good. It’s about tiny details that make them both feel grounded, like they still belong to somewhere. Except somewhere is not a place, but rather each other’s presence.

After lunch, they sit on a bench in Berkeley Square and silently watch passers-by. Kids pretending to be fearless pirates, teenagers snogging not-so-discretely, young couples strolling pushchairs and old couples walking hand in hand.

«It’s wonderful, isn’t it? - says Aziraphale, licking his ice-cream - And to think all of this might have been swept away! I’m so glad the Apocalypse has been averted.»

«Yeah, me too.»

There’s a stain of chocolate on Aziraphale’s cheek, which makes Crowley smile fondly. Day after day, the angel is more and more human, and probably he, too, is less and less of a demon. “It’s not bad, once you get used to it.” he thinks.

«Crowley?»

«Mh?»

«I’ve been thinking. It’s been five years now, maybe… don’t you think it’s time for a change?»

He’s confused. Time to change what, exactly? Things are fine - they are fine - why change anything?

«You remember Anathema and Newt’s wedding last year, don’t you? It was lovely. So, I was thinking, is it possible - I mean, if you want to, of course - could we… be like them?»

«You mean married?»

«I mean, living together. Leave London. Buy a cottage somewhere. We are retired, after all.»

Crowley frowns. He’s not sure whether he’s imagining it or it’s happening for real. He’s not sure what to say, either, so he settles for a neutral statement. «What about the bookshop?»

«I’d be satisfied with a library. Actually, it seems to be the best option. I’m running out of excuses to drive away costumers.»

«And you’d be happy? In the middle of nowhere, with… me?»

Neither of them dares to look at the other. Crowley’s eyes wander from person to person, from tree to tree. Aziraphale is staring at his ice-cream with so much intensity, as if his own life depends on it.

«Wouldn’t you?»

Something snaps inside Crowley’s mind. Here it is, the promise of the perfect future, within reach. Only a fool would turn that down.

«Do you… love me?»

«Oh, my dear, - he whispers adoringly - wasn’t that obvious?»

Carefully, Crowley turns his head to find Aziraphale looking expectantly at him. Carefully, he learns towards him; it’s the angel who fills the gap.

As they kiss, every piece falls into place. This is where they truly belong. “ ‘till Death do us part. Or the next Armageddon. Or whatever.”

Crowley’s overwhelmed, so much that he feels the urge to breath, despite not technically needing it.

Aziraphale laughs. «You have chocolate on your lips, my dear.»

«Oh, angel, I’ve just tasted something far better.»

[a-scribbling-intruder]

Fanfic Recs pt.1

Soo this was long overdue. I don’t really read fanfic that often, and when I do it is mostly things other people have reccomended to me. So i’ve always wanted to create my own rec list to return the favour, but somehow never got around to it. So yay years later, here’s at least a start. Will probably sort it better if i update it. Anyways if fanfic and any of these fandoms are your cup of tea, enjoy. Mostly gen and either humour or horror, it think. Fandoms included: Harry Potter, Death Note, MCU, LOTR, Sherlock Holmes, Original Fiction and weirdly, Samurai Champloo

Harry Potter (and Crossovers with Harry Potter)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9238861/1/Applied-Cultural-Anthropology-or Applied Cultural Anthropology (Or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Cruciatus)  (Hermione/Tom Riddle) Really well done, pairing is not the main focus (they’re not even together yet), instead hermione being her usual brilliant self but being sorted into slytherin. She isn’t just suddenly evil, she’s still righteous and wants to better the world. But exactly this (with a little help of a unassuming black diary) leads her down a slippery slope. (Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11160991/1/0800-Rent-A-Hero 0800-Rent-A-Hero. Harry has finally gotten rid of snake-face and settled down with Teddy and Andromeda. Cue inter-dimensional space vortex opening in his living room. Summoned from his finally peaceful life by Dumbledore and the Order to solve their voldemort problem, Harry is less than pleased. But can he truly just ignore them? Grudgingly „Harry White“  accepts the free post as divination teacher at hogwarts and starts befriending his female interdimensional counterpart, Iris Potter, all while wanting to get revenge on Dumbledore and trying not to get too involved with Tonks… The beginning is a bit grizzly but overall it is definitely  more on the humorous side, and also poking fun at so many fandom chliches! (Last updated 6 months ago, so there is still hope…)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10954546/1/Framed-Fractured Framed and fractured. During the fiendfyre-incident in the Room of Requirement Harry barely escapes through some kind of black hole. Now he’s stuck as a painting in the RoR, with a surprisingly sane, young and healthy looking Tom Riddle as the only visitor. The painting only decipts a bleak room, the door is shut and strange shadows lurk in the 4th wall whenever the RoR is not used. There is also an old diary there, speaking of monsters just outside of the room… – very interesting start, tom and harry haven’t really interacted yet but the descriptions of the timelessness in the painting and the “unexplained horror” vibe are fab. (Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10136762/21/ The Case of the Man who was wanted. (Harry Potter x Sherlock crossover) Harry Potter lives as a fugitive after being accused and imprisoned of a string of murders after the defeat of voldemort. Sherlock gets called to solve the case of the mysterious death of the Dursley couple in Surrey and finds known terrorist and fugitive Harry Potter inside, who, unexpectedly, claims to be innocent. Sherlock gets involved in not only the world of witchcraft and wizardry, but also in a strange man who seems kind of hollow and has many well-kept secrets… (Again, the kind of lovecraftian creepy horror vibe i love. Ongoing.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/11115934/1/The-Shadow-of-Angmar The Shadow of Angmar. (HP x LOTR crossover) Harry gets summoned by the witch king as „the master of Death“. Broken and battered, he starts searching for a way home in an unknown world where his magic doesn’t work. Has FANTASTIC world building and a very bitter and world-weary Harry. (Ongoing)

Marvel Cinematic Universe

http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/425428 The Calculator by katsu. THIS IS MY FAVORITE FANFIC IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. Just imagine Good Omens but more superheroes-and-supervillain themed. Loki is not going full villain like in the thor movie, but instead is more of a chaotic-neutral kind of guy more keeping the supervillainery for appearance’s sake and the occasional meddling to aleviate the boredom. But then he takes the meddling a bit too far, and karme comes to bite him in the butt. Big time. I really don’t want to say more about the plot bc it is so brilliant and original. Just read it. Also, have a quote (this is only a footnote, actually, so imagine what the real fic mus be like): “yes, he had filled several little leather-bound diaries with childish scrawls of red ink that read things like, “Die Thor” and “You never really accepted me!” And then he’d attended a few sessions of primal scream therapy and taken a modern dance course at the local community college. Between finding a constructive way to express his anger and making some lovely friends that he still had tea with every Wednesday afternoon while they chatted manicures, fashion, and lap dogs, he felt much more comfortable in his own skin these days. All it had really taken was escaping the poisonously macho atmosphere of Asgard, which according to Kevin was something like living in Omaha and not being interested in Football.“

http://archiveofourown.org/works/5460221 Genesis by teaberryblue. Reluctant to make the truth about their secret weapon known, the American Government tells the world that Captain America is a man named Steve Rogers.  According to public record, he died, tragically, in 1945, and he became legend.In 1998, the Avengers find a body trapped in ice. She’s alive. Her name is Eve. She has Captain America’s shield. Featuring a slightly different cast as the Avengers and brilliant discussion of gender issues, kinda whimsical-poetical writing style. (Oneshot, completed.)

Death Note

http://archiveofourown.org/works/461685 Murmur in the Shell. Light Yagami’s dead, L is dead. Yet the idea of them stays in the world, embodied by black notebooks that always will fall. History repeats, even if nobody wants to be a part of it. After all, there will always be new players. (Near, new!Kira. Really nice, jus a short ficlet about the roles we sometimes must play and the ideas of dead men  we pick up along the way.) (Oneshot, completed).

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9380249/2/ Rationalising Death. Light Yagami finds the Death Note, we know the rest. But in this story, light talks all his steps through with his inner voices (like „Test It“ aka „Death“, Moral which everyone kinda ignores and also could be called Caution, or Practice). Its less cracky than it sounds now, i promise. Rather, it’s a very interesting character study bc it doesn’t just paint Kira as a sociopath with a god-complex (well, that too -) but explains his actions as being very, very human (while not excusing them). Seems to be dead at 10 chapters but i still would recommend reading it bc its brilliant, the style is a bit like hpmor’s. It explains the thought processes of everyone (L, Light, Misa, Ryuk, all that jazz)) very thoroughly and is also quite amusing (light comparing hinself to batman consantly, e.g.). But the best part is probably Misa’s characterisation (i’m not gonna spoil it for you but omg) –> https://m.fanfiction.net/s/10580913/1/Rationalising-Fiction Rationalising Fiction also check out this nice lil’  timestamp (recursive ff?) of another author wherein Misa realises she is a fictional character. Very meta, very lovely.

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/8415898/1/God-of-the-Machine God of the Machine by The Carnivourous Muffin. The OC/SI Anna Jones suddenly appears in Light Yagami’s bedroom. When you read about fictional characters they can fall kind of flat, not that they’re not interesting but you always know they’re not really like you. Light seems less scary, L less creepy and Misa… well Misa always seems insane, even in the Manga. So Anna Jones is fucking terrified, curses herself for not paying better attention to the details in the manga and has to consider her survival and the prices she’s willing to pay. (Yes, this is the Self-Insert Trope but played so well. Also very philosophical. Ongoing. Also, go read everything by this author while you’re at it.)

Other

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/9915682/5/ The Last Christmas. A industrial engineer takes up the mantle of santa claus and gets some dangerous ideas about the true meaning of Christmas… (No fandom, or is that like the mythology fandom?, anyways, it’s creepy and give’s you some food for thought, although the story itself isn’t that polished. Very interesting and original take on santa claus!) (Completed.)

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2865379/1/Nenju Nenju. Samurai Champloo. Because no anime has ever kindled a bigger need for a love triangle. This one’s fairly good and really long, with a nice dose of angst but a happy ending. (Mugen/Fuu, Jin/Fuu, Mugen/Yanusha)

[m1d-45]

I HAVE A WHOLE THING TYPED UP ABOUT MANDELA CATALOGUE AND I AM SO DELIGHTED THAT WE HAD THE SAME TRAIN OF THOUGHT ABT THE FAKE CREATOR BEING AN ALTERNATE. like first of all that is a goddamn jackpot of a situation for an alternate - a world of people who would do anything for their beloved creator, who would be so devastated if said creator were to be led to slaughter, especially by their own actions… and we know how good alternates are at imitating the divine. it’s almost unfair, how easy it is to convince everybody that you - unremarkable, perfectly human you - are the true imposter.

now there are tons of ways reader could die - maybe the false creator kills them personally, maybe it’s one of your acolytes, maybe… well, if you know the mandela catalogue, you know how it goes with alternates. there’s not enough room for the both of you.

(sorry midas you have let a monster into your home i am physically incapable of being normal abt online horror) - teddy anon

alternate!imposter is SUCH a thrilling idea i’m SO happy you brought this to my attention

talking beneath the readmore <3

ok quick disclaimer i’ve never directly watched the mandala catalogue directly for a variety of reasons, but i HAVE watched wendigoons trilogy about it, so.. idk keep that in mind

anyway. alternates.

they manifested through your device—whether you want reader to live within the mandela universe is honestly up to you, i could see the alternate manifesting as like a response to the unanswered prayers- OH or bc everybody keeps worshipping essentially an empty throne, and their faith makes them a new god? wait wait- ok so in mondstat’s archon quest venti essentially says that faith gives archons their power, so by having all that faith and nowhere to put it, it could manifest an alternate. or celestia does shit idk it’s up to you.

leading off that: alternate! imposter who physically cannot exist outside of the throne. they exist solely as a placeholder for faith, so- oh my god there’s NO ROOM FOR THE BOTH OF YOU I-

sorry. i am normal. i am 100% normal abt the mandela catalogue and the lore of genshin impact (2020). i am calm. i am normal.

im- maybe if the reader lives in the mandela universe their alternate realizes the absolute goldmine that is genshin, and goes there to spread the alternate disease or something. reader thinks they’re safe from the alternates but NO it’s in THEIR PHONE-

WHT IF READER GETS NOTIFICATIONS (prayers) ABOUT THE ALTERNATE SITUATION?

people in genshin start suffering from alternate encounters, M.A.D. is running rampant, vision holders are strong but the alternates are stronger- maybe the alternate allies with the abyss, two beings of separate planes coming together to take over teyvat, the traveller now fighting a copy of themself that taunts him about how it gets to be with their sibling, it is the better twin for never leaving their side, it is the one that deserves to survive.

“and we know how good alternates are at imitating the divine” TEDDY YOURE KILLING ME /ops

OR OR OR OR OR OR- the original alternate took over christianity right? (running off wendigoons analysis i might be wrong BUT) what if they took over the creators religion in the same way? the true creator was cast out, sent to earth, as the alternates took over teyvat from the VERY START?

ok so crackpot theory time: smthn smthn the mandela catalogue here on earth is like… teyvat/celestia/something trying to give us information about the situation on teyvat? like it’s here because we need to know about it if- when we descend to teyvat once more. the original alternate damaged us and hurt our ‘soul’ or whatever so we’ve been living out human lives for ever and ever, slowly healing by the ‘faith’ from out human connections. it isn’t as strong and would take literal billions of years, but what if the people in teyvat don’t worship the alternate!creator themself, but rather worship the title of the creator, i. e. the true creator, or you. this allows you to descend to teyvat at all without it being entirely ruined by the alternates.

^ don’t have much sense around that but i REALLY like it.

OH WHAT IF THE ALTERNATE!CREATOR HAD ALTERNATES OF THE ARCHONS ON THE THRONES???

obviously archons would see RIGHT through alternates- or at least have an inkling, or maybe they just have differing worldviews and the alternate!creator wants EVERYTHING in their grasp. and the extra faith in the archons, now the alternate!archons, will only strengthen them and their forces?

idk how the alternates would work exactly since they operate via technology in the og series, but maybe it’s via elemental power- oh or the gnoses??

like like visions— visions are “external foci” (says venti in the mondstat archon quest) so if you squint real hard and pray to the alternate!creator then maybe that can count? bc elemental sight is technically another version of the world colored only by elements so- oh and the leylines, or maybe even irmunsul? THE WITHERING? ELEAZAR?

guess who’s 100% Normal about this!! me!!!

i may have let a monster into my home, but what is one demon to another?

thank you. please return. i love you /p. hope that made at least a little bit of sense.

[benajahccjoseph]

from gods slit wrist

  Halogen Incense

  Daddy stopped when he left her car seat on the roof.

She was born into it. Early she saw everyone was born similarly  She lived in horror at the world’s endless supply of heretics.

  Consuming confusion was brilliant in her entrance. A blinding that you tried to look through. The star, the yesteryear, the livid hopes; all under her banner. She entered stage center, dazzled and smiled the smile of small deaths and caught breath. Mississippi. A single precious tear from Gods face, a single drop of blood from Gods slit wrist, dropped in th mud. Seemed the whole state was confused, she never understood that. How was all a God’s country so turned around? Sometimes she thought maybe it was in her eyes.

  They were catching a bus Daddy said, but she didn’t figure as much. She held his hand, comforting him. Our Lady of Perpetual Grace was passed without so much as a spit. Daddy wouldn’t look at it. Catholics. Mostly we called em the harlot. She knew what a harlot was. She’d been one.

  Grady was supposed to be around Carthage. Hard boys up there, Momma said. Last time he was around he gave Momma some of his teeth. They were always doing that type of thing. They hugs was long uns.

  Katherine Robertine Elizabeth Toter-Cobb. We was all flummoxed by such a regal name. Mama has some history attached to it but she only showed us the peeking corners and dirty obscurities.

Momma stole books and burned them after ‘eating’ them. She’d whisper that it felt like eating anyway.  She’d say this every time. Perhaps these were only time she wasn’t listing. Momma believed in divine winds. She wouldn’t ever fight em. She wanted a hero, so bad. Her favorites were the ones who died at the end. Nothing confusing about that.

  Katy-Rob they called her. Daddy called Momma pretentious. Or pretty contentious. It was one of the only times she looked at him with love. I magine she thought it witty. I know I did. After that look she went on to the pharmacy and Daddy went to buy tickets.   I caught up to her looking real intent on some new tennis shoes on this dude with a Cat hat n’ those damn sequined jeans.

Know when you gaze up and on a thing…cher, you change it?

I know that mama.

Oh youre so erudite, you.

What?

Momma was Acadian and though she was supposed to be so smart she talked just like everyone else, cept kinda dumber for that couy’on shit. In every picture I every saw of her she was showing her long white teeth, like she was trying to sell something. Later I came to see she was trying to prove to the world she wasn’t poor.

Id seen Mama do some sketchy shit, some wicked shit…one time she rented Grady out for 3 months. Stabbed a girl in Germantown outside a Memphis because she was too high. In the heat of demon attack mama looked sinistral, eyes seemed almost all black and shadows moved about her profile like they was alive. Face would be all fucked up. I hated looking at her like that. You just wanted to put yourself inbetween her and that.

I wote a poem for her. She loved to dance. Long lines a sweat in every right place. Everyone looked at her when she was dancing… like they everyone wanted to hump ’er…momma had dat juju.

We leak through the clicks you clock and mourn for the rocks we see carried about Demure with reverence but cannot rationalize just feel within as we all watch our loved ones spin to try and place an eye on the thing That produces the suffering and in this spinning habitual it metastasized into ritual and the dance in its ignorance is beautiful lenocinant sinistral

and i wish we could all be still

    “Feet pue tan, mi amor”

Mama don’t cuss. Never would.

I loved lines like that. The whole lot of us lived on that line.

    There wasn’t ever gonna be any bus, and she was startlingly not shamed by his lie. Heretics. Small feet kicked at a Fanta Orange. Katy-Rob couldn’t be sure if they was black or dirty so she looked up a bit. Confusing who was proper and who wasn’t. She’d heard some ministers ministerin’ on keeping birds with birds and cows with cows.

  She wanted to scratch when she itched but she never did.

  Holed up at the non-denominational she took a moment to do her 4th dailies while she watched the transactions. Time and money for peace of mind, she knew there was no equanimity in that purchase for how can you sell somin inside the body. Only time she felt that was in the rock and roll church’s, that precious theater inside her heart singing out the most amazing dance numbers. Gold and purple feelings. Like Mamma’s Tigers.

  Bus trip in the none-to-crisp suit pocket, they stayed for the Wed. prayer meetin. “Lord, clarity!?” is all she heard.

She let em. In her mind she wouldn’t say any of them words, though she knew em all. Not anymore. School want ever much of an option. She imagined she’d gone some 86 days counting Sunday school. Down in Delta Daddy drove the pickers and Momma would help her people at the gin. She guessed they also make juniper liquor, but she had never seen anybody so much as talking too much.

  Usually she let em. Long as Grady wasn’t in the county or parish.

      Carthage

  Inside of the pain management clinic Momma wagged a smidgen more than usual.

  The Cave. Yeah she felt like she understood what that peasant man had been on about. Inside of her the beasts walked behind her eyes projecting outward before the flame. Spirit. It was in there, everyone cept the great harlot believed that, maybe the Jews too.

The connection with the nebulous. A shadow moving over the death waters. Spirit. All of us believed in it, we just didn’t know what it did exactly. People loved to say ‘god-bless’ or ‘Lord have mercy’ without any effect registerin’. To my mind that just made it a cuss word.

  She loved the swamp. Would try and draw it out on some papers she kept in a plastic sack. She would rub the expensive paper between her fingers and something stirred.  The cicadas song was richer there, the air tugged back, weightier somehow. She felt like her house would one day be in the swamp, clapboard painted green with mesh to keep out the critters but not else.

    It sounded like a side of deboned meat being hit with a Louisville slugger, he’d been there and few people went around with bats. Guns mainly. Breaking his hand had been a salvation. He thought he’d found religion but he’d found instead a boy from Colombia. Alerts rang. Grady felt drugs were a last option. Open but last on line. Everyone he grew up with said “in line” but Grady was careful with his mastery of what he considered the only separation betwixt man and dog.

Manfreid Israel Romele was Russian. Perhaps German. Older. Beautiful. Cement blonde. How is a fighter so beautiful? Grady knew.

Smoldering halogen incense prayed for them. Pissing on the carhood altar.

The boy was a fucking nightmare. Glowed. Darkness. He’d seen it before. Everything was loose when he prayed, like the boy standing feet away, steam roiling off of his neck, with “Molon Labe” tatted across the front of his windpipe, where he got hit 45 seconds later.

  The Chevelle was purple and Grady wouldn’t lean on it. Surrounding the Big Red Barn choking the purity of the moment were the ‘chickens’.   Grady had said, ”clucking foul” but his folk just spit out the gumbo. Grady did not respect a man who watched blood-sports.

  Ancient and comfortable. It was more than he could bear, of at time he would sit in the pot till he’d eatin it. A marvel of his power, kneeling on the commode in communion. Particles of hay and heat, cicada’s his private herald. Easy 220.   Easy. Against his knees fabric calmed his fingers, he thought of his sister; the smile closed. He thought of Teddy on his horse, the pompous, articulate fool.

  “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood…”

  So fucking obvious, like ham-in-hand. Natchitoches. Ham-in-Hand Festival 94. You could walk across the Sabine on boats, smells of the Cajun Microwave’s buried in the soft loam some 100 paces from the water. Whole hogs stuffed with chickens and doves. Grady wondered if dogs trusted smell the way humans subscribed to sight. It was over tween them and he should have seen it. Grady looked coldly at his need. Only the slightest of scowls. Chemicals he thought, chemicals and blips.

    He didn’t think it much, to go to war. He was plied with Mozi, Xenophon and 1st Chronicles 4:10 early. Daddy leaning over him and pointing to sketches momma had drawn to go with the Gideon Bible which was in constant circumlocution with others of its ilk. He always walked hunkered down, tied firmly to many things that were not tied to him.

She scuttled over the grooved Cyprus, kaleidoscope of man reduced, he saw her; languidly absorbing the violence to come. Beneath her impressive multi-spectacled visage was her load, atwitter. Looked of fine hairs in a sharp breeze, her brood beneath her belly. She leaned back as if to sit or box or pray, front legs circling in the direction of the bigger man’s dead face.

  Lawd have a way, boy you ready?

The man was a fat, suspender framing a whet shirt with nowhere to go came up on Grady’s boy Ara too fast.

Ok we ready?

Ill kill you ifin you don’t step back.

Things was tight, Grady knew all bout this here.

Aight then.

  Theys a bit a nonsense bout that bet?

No. Straight up.

Mine’ll be in money orda?

Ara’d get it after the fight now, cause I’ll be on my way, Briar Rabbit style, gros cul.

    Fat man took on a greasy bugger as backward he moved, “that man fittin to fuck you.”

Tingle. Mmmmmmm. Grady felt like Ehud preparing to assassinate the fat king Eglon of Moab.

Hear that Schvartze, eer dat fat man.

God give me a verse. He chewed a small hangnail.

Ha. He knew it. 2 Kings 9:20, 20 The watchman [a]reported, “He came even to them, and he did not return; and the driving is like the driving of Jehu the son of Nimshi, for he drives furiously.”

The Lord gave this verse a lot.

  Ehud and Jehu. Lawd have mercy son.

    This boy was car black, and it really aint right, that type a black. That sheen of purple that made Grady think of dinosaurs and that painter Turner. Give em almost like invisibility at night. And nobody wants that shit. It’s like that shine you can see you’re reflection in… but it gives pause cause it’s a black you staring back. How fucking mad you’d be.  Grady wouldn’t look at those shiny black cars, he even avoided dark purple.

Fat man giggled into his cerchief and sat down on a bale; he thought, looking toward the unimpressive white boy, that this’d be soon over.

  Grady prayed a bit, squatted and thought of something like a dwarf star painted on a canvas the side of the barn.

He knew the boy’d come over the top and heavy, he knew hed move left and the boy’d come in with a quick step and a lunge at his knees.   All the cat in that man was now cutting its way to the top. the breath was bull-like in intensity but shallow. The red rims mean he’s a drinker probably and he favored his left knee a bit. Grady felt sorry then. Sorry for his life and his momma, sorry for the man who was gonna try a kill him, sorry for the fat man who bet against his own kind, sorry that Mississippi water that he smelled on everything was growing less pungent.   Sorry God was real and poetry was to hang him. Sometimes things seeded afor birth ripen when they aint wanted. He always felt tears was fine where laughter was.

They drummed him out of the military for being too young. Sure at that time it would be the catalyst for a life riding the dark horse, he considered killing himself but didn’t. Grady’d look in the mirror most days to check and see if it was time.

    I read somewhere that poor people typically name their kids names like Unique, Kandy, Sherry and Amber. Later, I read somewhere that girls with some particular names wind up being hookers and dancers and in the porno’s. It bothered me it took two studies to not say that poor girls went to stripping a shade faster than rich ones. Academicians are so fucking stupid. Not only this but everyone knew that strippers changed their names. I thought then and think now I should be in charge of a hair more.

I guess I followed her around some.  I remember the taste of bubble-gum scented shampoo and her face.  We were protective of each other as should be expected.  Daddy woednt too much of a provider, nor a daddy.  I guess she burned out that wild streak cause she came back directly. “I wish I was in Dixie, hurrah hurrah In Dixie land Ill take my stand to live and die in Dixie. Oh way Oh way Oh way down south….. in Dixie.” She loved the word Dixie, long as I knew her though I believe she thought it more of a state of being, like glory or honor.  She may ah never known it was holding all our heads under water.  Grady knew all about it and loved it anyway.  Some things just don’t figure.  Soon as I could I got out. Not sure anyone else ever did, not really.

I remember him takin pictures of her holding onto a lit lighter and a squeeze bottle a lighter fluid. I remember when the men came in and he couldn’t protect us.  He tried.  Grady says, “tryin dyin.”

I read an article somewhere bad things happen to poorer people more often, it was more nuanced than that but that’s what I got. “Katy-Rob, bring us that phone.” “your cellular phone?” “We aint go no…little smart-alec.” She was always doin stuff like that.  I couldn’t ever figure who she was making fun of, Daddy or this Democratic Republic. Maybe Jonny Locke. Momma was a Rhodes Scholar, I do not know how.

    The slovenly way she met my laughter got her a lick. She called herself red velvet, not a nickname, her color. Said mamma was white as the driven snow cept a little Cocoa and a dash’a red food colorin. At a certain age I started realizing that I was gonna be mostly for myself, like my cousin Fay. I took to strippin like anybody’s business. First night in, this little Indian girl told me we do private parties, all naked. I couldn’t see much difference anyhow. It was illegitimate and the girls were indifferent to the men sucking on their titties and stuff. It just suited me fine.

  I told Grady that he was to keep my little sister outta my world. There was only room in Carthage for one Cobb stripper.

      The striker clicked down and something happened but it sure did not fire a round. White slipstream stepped quickly and quietly inside and hit the man with the gun in the throat. That noise is a thing. Everyone knew he’d done killed him. Grady remembered Niccki Bercham getting punched just so and dying. He guessed he coulda just knocked the gun away. Somewhere, someone was probably holding a little nigglet, waiting on daddy to call. It’d be a wait.

  There were eight Cobbs all said but they slithered off, most of em anyway, to Bama and Nam and Peru. Doesn’t matter too much because once they left sight of the Mississippi River, they was good as dead.

        Why’d they decide to try and kill him? Grady had a small warrant out on him that left the Boss little choice. That’s what I heard.

  Theys four of us around and we all came. Amber, Bo, Katy, and me. Grady stood up from a Shaker stool he loved.

Grady said they’d maybe come for one of us.

They got Katy Rob two nights later, sent in her fron tooth wit they diamond set in it. Fucked up but shed done talked about rippin it out her own self.

  Similies was supposed to be a real swanky joint but it was not. Owner by strategery has built a damn motel in the back. Lord have mercy, sulphur factory. I went to pills in the first month. Once you have gonna church and believe, shit gets real hard to do…after the first couple times anyway.

  Grady wasn’t blood related to all the girls and he knew to divide his attentions. You cant just go around fighting the whole wrestling team. Amber was neck-tatted and out from around at 14. Our older cousins had done some strippin down on the redneck riveria and I reckon it called her harder’n dope.

Katy took to the hard life too but came back to me and Daddy, Momma and her never cared to talk to one another. She came back quieter and only wore beige and grey. She wrote long letters to Amber and cried some but I would have had her cry all the time if’n she’d just stay.

  You’se too young buddy.

I knew you’d say that shit.,

Amber drove up in a fucking Infinity with something clanking under the jappy hood. I knew Grady wouldn’t even look at her, not even one time.

Amber and me gonna go talk to Joe-Block. See if we can figure something out.

  There wasn’t any reason to hate Grady for being what he was but I had me a weapon too.

I never knew a way to complete the things that others completed. I reckon I’m slow or I ain’t totally grown up yet.   Somin’. When I saw those men take Katy and beat Daddy, there was some sort of wet click and I seemed of a sudden to be able to see it all. The vast expanse and the precipitous nature of the wealthy and the bright. left us all killing each other over a double wide and an abortion.

  I watched myself, knowin somehow I had made a decision that was about being a man, about being a Cobb n’ a Toten but there wasn’t anything movie about it.  I stole a ladies cruiser out front a the Winn Dixie and played with myself all the way to Biloxi.  I felt greasy and popped a pimple on my back.  Somehow the Ruger felt lighter the further south we went, like it was becoming less offended by its own.

    I was in love with the purity of my little brother. He would never talk to me in front of other people but in private he asked after my girlfriends and me. Once I got a bit too graphic and he white’nd up so I was sure he was gonna kill me. I think he’s still a virgin at 24.

    I had made 1200. I have no damn clue where that fucking money is now. Jessie and I were working on a routine, she had this idea for a ‘concept piece’ with Moors and an allusion to the Hearst family but we just wound up kissing and smoking cigarettes till it was our turn.

They could see her now. More whispers to Letty, “This place gone turn out.”

“mmm”

“Im gone go bump th doe man and see if he got a piece.”

Letty smiled a ray of rancid rainbow.

5’1 or 5’3 he guessed. Wadnt no 5’2. Tatted up like her momma didn’t give a fuck. A little bump in his chest somewhere reminded him of another girl, another stripper, another piece of meat in the wily trades of men.

She caught his eye and may have winked, which sent Letty whom everyone called Lessy to the potty to laugh in the stall.

Men with huge dicks walk a bit different she whispered to a man sticking a 10 in her g. Lets the whole world who cares to know. The roxi’s in her were turning everything a little less than, like life was amped up but she was at regular speed.  She kept seeing > signs. In the glass of the bowl, in her reflective panties, in her eyes in the cracke john mirra. Pulling his head she thought momentarily of licking his ear but these was Halliburton boys, fresh oft the rig and in Hub City to be jackass’s but not to take a good shower.

When she threw up the front row moved toward anywhere that wasn’t there. Same time a rukus in the commode and a gunshot out the back.

  A week later a tall boy walks in and politely asks after Robert-Earl. No one really wanted to tell him.

Everything I did the hardest I ever done. I worked all my life with Daddy at whatever we was doing then so I always knowed I could throw a bale a bit harder than most. I was always taught to be polite even if they weren’t, so I thought Id just ask after Katys old boss. Figured with his lip Id go on ahead. His eye popped out with that first one, his ocular cavity crushed, and I walked toward the back looking at the mirrors for boys coming up on me. I know I punched some girls and I hope to high hell they aint no videotape a me but when it started in earnest it couldn’t be helped. I know one of em kissed me on the back of my neck while I was stomping on this colored boys. Heard later he got paralyzed some. Gottim a check anyway.

I learned that night why mama said them Carthage boys is hard. Robert-Earl. I had a drown his brother in front a him and it wernt no easy thing.

  Amocitea

Your Daddy aint gonna recognize you.

Still that little girl. When under all of it, peach flame tripped along at the word. She wanted so much for him to swoop, it was pure. A clean thing, her vision of Daddy just doing what all real animals did. Maybe he was too human.

That golden blanket that she just expected to keep on being, didn’t; and she stepped out really believing that they was gentlemen in this South, in this here state. One night looking deep in her own eyes while everyone elses in the room were on her crotch she realized that this southern thang was a crock. She spected Margaret Mitchell probably just cold wishin like every other Dixie brat split-tail. It was a precious pity that she thought in that manner, she thought…probably affecting her self-image or the like.

    She’s hurt I felt. Hurt people, hurt people but with such a swirlin tide, a man just got to decide when to jump in, not if.

  Once I heard that Grady involved everybody in his business, I knew I hadda get us outta town. I didn’t really think Momm’d come wit her doctors here and whatever else she was into. Since Id come back from the Wilderness I had taken to wearing full length skirts and not shaving. I know my flesh well and I knew that just like this skirt, I could put it back on rrrrrreeeeeaaaalllllly quick. And that’s the plan, back to the hotel to make us some money.

Half-way from the bus-stop to the club I thought just maybe I was being a bit drastic, but I cant remember what my next thought was after that.

  Bo adjusted the mirror on the 91 Olds to see if he’d indeed gotten dip on his collar. A birth canal in the back seat caused him to blink for a second longer than average. The strip-club owners Daddy used to be a Marine and it showed. Punching and biting his way out of the trunk into the car was a feat, Bo’d be the first to tell ya. He’d blindfolded, zip tied and hit the man with 75000 Watts but this Minotaur was now in the backseat. Fucking Carthaginians.

  They realized quick they’d done fucked up with this one. She prayed aloud all day long, was unfailingly polite and every chance she got she tried to kill em. Lessy had knocked her tooth out purely on accident but after he reckoned the diamond to be fake, he sent it on to the boss.  Almost all his spare time went to kittens. More had received some care from a witch the Dixie Mafia used for dogs. Little bitch had fought harder than any man ever would. In the end she’d ripped off a testicle and with that they put her in box.   She calmly told em she couldn’t breath.

  I hada shoot him through the seat and we wrecked. He was hurt even worse, so I lit a floor mat afire and ran off in the other directin than Angola, Fuck that, Daddy’d worked there as a guard for 3 days till they done found out he’d been in Parchman for vehicular homicide. Mamma said that great clouds a nephalim hung over those places. I couldn’t see them but I smelled em. Mamma and Katy-Rob always had eyes for that type of thing. Maybe they both lyin though.

I figured theyd run they dogs from around the car so I needed to get gone.

Did not like taken anything from white folks, I did not know how I was gonna pay for that ladies car I done wrecked but it’d get done. The little Kawasaki three wheeler cranked up nice and I left them my hunting license to show good faith.

  You aint gonna believe this shit.

Francis-Jean Prichideaux III really could have done without hearing another person say that. It seemed to preface every comment. As a boy he’d felt something akin to the feeling he had now when other nut-brown Acadian boy’s ud say, “Wanna see something…hold my beer.”

Nothing good eva come outta dem type a commentary’s.

What?

Claudius came over with a note. Says here that Similies had another big da-doo.

Whan?

Last night.

  Itd been 2 weeks since they colored boys come up in that terrible place and Blanc Bebbette got taken, now what dis shit?

Dixie Mafia used for dogs. Little bitch had fought harder than any man ever would. In the end she’d ripped off a testicle and with that they put her in box.   She calmly told em she couldn’t breath. More heard, “I feel free.” thought long and hard about that medicine Melodina gave him, the plan was he was, of a time, to go back. ER out the wustion. She told him he could still sire a brood, if he chose.

  Right now the chose was in nose. That moment, eternal, universal, when you know for certain that thing are bout to get lit.

  I hada shoot him through the seat and we wrecked. He was hurt even worse, so I lit a floor mat afire and ran off in the other directin than Angola, Fuck that, Daddy’d worked there as a guard for 3 days till they done found out he’d been in Parchman for vehicular homicide. Mamma said that great clouds a nephalim hung over those places. I couldn’t see them but I smelled em. Mamma and Katy-Rob always had eyes for that type of thing. Maybe they both lyin though.

I figured theyd run they dogs from around the car so I needed to get gone.

Did not like taken anything from white folks I did not know how I was gonna pay for that ladies car I done wrecked but it’d get done. The little Kawasaki three wheeler cranked up nice and I left them my hunting license to show good faith.

      You aint gonna believe this shit.

Francis-Jean Prichideaux III really could have done without hearing another person say that. It seemed to preface every comment. As a boy he’d felt something akin to the feeling he had now when other nut-brown Acadian boy’s ud say, “Wanna see something…hold my beer.”

Nothing good eva come outta dem type a commentary’s.

What?

Claudius came over with a note. Says here that Similies had another big da-doo.

Whan?

Last night.

  Itd been 2 weeks since them colored boys come up in that terrible place and Blanc Bebbette got taken, now what dis shit? Least he didn’t have any crackers around to be yapping about…”oh what now you gonna do colored ssherrff”

  The problem we have with God honey is related to expectations and not based in the hard VERITAS of life. See here, what happens when youo to church?

I listen to the preacher

Right, sure but when you’re singing a good Hallelujah song. Or something real once make you cry every time. That jut Him leeting us know that we are cared for.s like that one goes, “Lord You are more precious than silver…

Lord You are more costly than gold.

Together, “Lord You are more beautiful than diamonds.

And nothing I desire compares to You.”

Lord, honey you have a voice like angel blast-furnace. When you get that deep purple swell….

Purple and Gold.

Yesssa, and that is the real thing and it is a thing that belongs in this world yet has a hand fully in the next. But what you looking for there is that feeling to keep on keepin on.

Yessir.

But it don’t.

No.

Is that Gods problem or yours?

I feel like sometimes it is Him.

Cause you just go home and go straight to sinning.

And I wonder why in all His Greatness, I just can’t get a little help in that department.

But you care don’t ya?

I care a great deal.   I expect it’s my conscience.

Yes. But a conscience ain’t a stopper, it’s just a fuse light indicator.

So then where’s the stopper?

That’s the catch.

Meaning its all up to me.

Honey, you ever look at a real life hero?

Maybe Rooster Carley?

Hmm. Ain’t none. He died 2000 years ago, therebouts. Now we just hunker down. Oh you gone sin.   I’m gone sin. Yo Mamma, Lawd have a way. Its not about ‘not doin’ its about accepting your place in grace.

My place in grace.

  From behind him mamma stepped, lightly, elegant specter. White on white on white, yet the air hovered lightly around it as if mistrusting. Mama’s essence was rebellion. Born with a dead twin boy, she lay never crying once in granny’s arms. Said she wouldn’t look nobody in the eye. They was alarmed from the get go. Mamma was said to have spent some of her teen years in Walnut Gove. She supposed to have found God in there, in the gladiator school. Once when she came home to the Shady Acres #3 after being out for a minute, she took me and we sat behind the dumpster; she told me about the first love of her life while she smoked up a cool bill a rock. Some people get all crazy scared of people on hard drugs, like they got special powers or summin. I ain’t but but a buck and change and I’m telling you I have cold knocked fuckers out who go too close. It’s best just to warn white folks up front, but when mamma slumming or Im at school and we dealing wit regular street niggas, I just stay loose, if mamma grab and go…then well, Im just down wit mine.

Oh Daddy.

I love my Daddy…

  What are ya’ll ssscheming on. Lemme see your billfold.

Daddy’s trying to tell me all the war we got with sin is just an illusion.

Woman, that’s not what I said.

That we have to learn to accept our weakness as part of life. And personally for me, cause I listen to all them preachers and I read all them books and I pray on the Bible…I do it all with a knife in my belt and Im down for the clan but I do not wanna keep on living this way.

Ooh its one of them talks, you…what your daddy is remise in sharing is that there are other forces at work in this world.

NO.

Well talk later honey.

We never did.

I believe Mamma occupies some special place in this world, like a gold key that is made for just one lock, the most magnificent things await behind it; but you put that fucker in your back pocket with a handkerchief and they key is lost in the Misty Mountains.   Myrrh and aloe and decay and female sex and the heat after summer rain and moss and Cyprus and dawn and linen white. Mamma mind was fine. Mammas body was the problem. She worshipped it to hurt her.

She saw a movie once at the Motel 6 in Latham Springs Texas called Jennifer’s Body, she said that though the metaphor was sloppy and the genre “totally LA” a poor excuse, yet she understood that somehow this connected us, because I was watching her becoming self aware.

Of an aspect only I believe, but a crack in the wall blinked a purple light in my eye and I realized that indeed “the affections of the heart are Divine”. If God dropped the veil once in a while, it somehow ran through my mother.

  But even though I am slower than other folks, I can tell you that if Daddy believes that things are moving behind the scenes and mamma sees em too. Man, these things are making them worse…not better.

                Man out of trunk

Boy wrecks.

Runs into St Francisville swamp

The kidnapping event

Tearing the tooth

Too much “arm”   dead girl

Grady gets pickeup

Amber breaks him out

Bo meets someone unexpected

Daddys lie

Gradys brother is Robert Earl.

Daddys bet

    Layerdown. from gods slit wrist   Halogen Incense   Daddy stopped when he left her car seat on the roof.