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We'll Take Our World By Storm Chapter 3
Harry Potter | 2021 | 9,191 | Ao3 | Previous | Masterlist | Next
 I hope that was fun. I certainly found it so. But for all these are children that are and will be important, I need to take you back to where we were before: Number Ten, Magnolia Crescent, Nineteen-Ninety-One. Itâs around three in the afternoon by now, which sadly means that summer school is out.
 âIâll go without you!â Harry threatens from the bottom of the stairs.
 âYouâll wait two minutes for me to finish this braid,â Fay snaps back. Sheâs in the upstairs bathroom, doing exactly that. She has one half of her hair braided from her neck down and then tied up into a loop, and is braiding the other half down her front.
 Harry sighs at the ceiling, and then jogs up the stairs. âAre you sure-â
 âI donât need help,â Fay says tightly. Her next two folds are jerky, and then she takes a breath and the pattern evens out. She reaches the end, and glances over at Harry. âCan you hand me the pins?â
 Harry grabs a few bobby-pins and hands them to her one by one. Fay pins up the second braid, giving the effect of having a droopy bow made of hair tied at her neck. Harry sets the rest of the pins on the counter, and then hands Fay her bag. Itâs an old messenger bag Vivian made when Fay started Primary School, based off Vivianâs own bag from Before. It has a lot of pockets for organization, and Regulus enchanted it not long after. Fay slings it over her shoulder, and gives him a look.
 âYou have your card?â
 âOf course,â Harry pulls it out of his pocket and shows it off. Fay grins. She doesnât check for hers, although sheâs sure itâs in her bag. If it isnât, Harry will let her check out books on his.
 Fay pounds down the stairs, darting past Harry to get to the bottom first. He gives a shout and follows, stumbling to a stop when he finds Vivian at the door. âHi, Aunt Vivian.â
 âLeaving for real this time?â She teases. Vivian looks a lot like Fay, but her eyes are darker- brown, not silver. And Vivian doesnât put in the work to keep her hair up beyond ponytails.
 Fay sticks out her tongue, bow-braids flopping around with her wide movements. âYep! When do you want us back?â
 âDinner time,â Vivian says. âLatest.â
 Harry gives a lazy two-finger salute, and Fay nods once. Sheâs been careful about that for years, and even when home time isnât dinner time, they all refuse to be late without letting someone know - itâs why, despite being eleven, Fay has a flip phone in the pocket of her bag. Together, they arenât in as much danger.
 âIâve been called in for something, but Ian and Caspian are still here.â Vivian kisses their foreheads.Â
 âGot it,â Fay says. All three leave the house at the same time, after the siblings call up goodbyes to Caspian and he discorporates to come swirl around them in a misty approximation of a hug.
 The two of them start walking east, waving to Vivian as she drives away. âIâm so glad we got your supplies when we got mine.â
 Harry snorts. âYouâre just afraid of the celebrity rush.â
 âAnd for good reason,â Fay says with a scoff. âUgh. Can you imagine the uproar?â
 Harry can, actually. It makes him giggle, a little wistful but mostly anxious and amused. âWeâd play hide ân seek the entire trip.â
 âOoh we should do that the next time we go!â
 Harry grins, apprehension forgotten. âWe should! Make it a family day out, you know?â
 âYes!â
 âAlthough Delphi isnât allowed to shift.â
 âNo, she should be,â Fay counters quickly, voice rising in her excitement. âAnd glamours should be allowed too. Remember how excited sheâs been about finally getting into Ancient Runes for that project her and her friends are doing? And if we were actually avoiding someone, weâd use everything in our arsenal. Then we could try to pick people out using mannerisms and magic sense instead of our eyes!â
 âFay, youâre a genius!â
 Fay grins and flicks her head back, causing her bow to bounce. âWell, I did grow up with you.â
 âGuess you had to catch up sometime.â Harry smirks. Fay splutters and then sticks her tongue out. âRace you to the library!â Harry takes off after sticking his tongue out in return.
 âHey!â Fay yells, rushing after him.
 They stop running after a few minutes, and walk the rest of the mile and a half. Despite that, when they reach the building, Harry holds the door open for Fay and sticks his tongue out when he says he won. Fay makes a face, but ends up laughing.
 They spend an hour in the library, with Harry hunting down books and reading the first chapters of one while Fay works on the 200 piece puzzle in the entryway. Afterwards, the siblings decide to go to the park. Now, in their neighborhood, there are two parks, because itâs actually two neighborhoods with an access road between them. Magnolia Crescent is on the western side, and Privet Drive on the eastern. Sadly, the Library is also located to the east, about a mile and a half from the house.
 I suppose you wouldnât know why them having to walk around Privet Drive is so terrible. Weâll get there. The point is, to go to park, Harry and Fay could either go to the eastern one, which is directly accessible from Wisteria Way, the access road that leads into a third neighborhood to the south. The highway is northwards. Or, they could walk back into Magnolia Crescent all the way, past their house, and down a set of houses towards the western park.
 They go to the eastern one, today.
 Harry finds a tree to read under, and Fay goes to swing. Thereâs another group of kids at the park, who drag Fay into a game of Groundies within minutes.
  "Is the paper-legend good?"
 Harry looks down at his visitor, and smiles. The little, still unnamed constrictor reaches her neck to lay her head across Harry's thigh. "Yes." He picks a blade of grass and puts it in his page, before flicking back to the start of the story.
  "What's it about?"
 "I'm not sure yet," Harry says. "It's called To Kill A Mockingbird."
  "Will you read it to me?"
  "Of course. Get comfy." Harry gives her a moment as he puts on his reading voice, something he learned in a household of storytellers. Even with the voice, he doesnât read in english. Heâs talking to a snake, so he translates to snake as he reads. Itâs a skill not many have. "When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and his fears of never being able to play football were assuaged-" here, the snake tapped Harry's arm twice with her tail, their signal for her having a question. "he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn't have cared less, so long as he could pass and punt." Harry tapped where he stopped once, and then looked at the snake. "Question?"
 "What's football?"
  "It's a game where we use our feet-" he gestures at his own "-to kick around a ball and score. Although I think this book is from America, where they call rugby football."
 "Why?"
 "I don't know," Harry says drily. "Americans don't think like proper snakes enough to clearly name things. They call football soccer. But you play the game by using your feet and a ball! Football!"
 "Like family-den," the little snake says sagely. Snakes don't bother with complex names- things are what they are. Harry is Speaker-Who-Reads and sometimes Speaker-Who-Reads-Human-Script if a snake wants to take the time. He was Wrong-Death-Cheater before, and some new snakes still call him that or Greater-Death-Cheater. Fay is Little-Death-Cheater, but before that she was Misspeaking-Hatchling. Adrian is Sun-Human-Nestfather, and Regulus Snake-Charmer or Large-Nestfather. (Sometimes he's Beastspeaking Human Hatchling Of Protector Predator Without Fur, but that's a proper society title among snakes). Caspian is Broken-Magic-Hatchling-Of-Snake-Charmer, or Night-Mist. Sometimes the names change, because the people do too.
  "Yes," Harry agrees.
 "Hey look, it's the Freak!"
  "Blubber-venom," the little snake hisses. Harry looks up, jaw clenched.
 A pudgy, white eleven year old with two chins and blonde hair is standing above him, grinning maliciously. Considering he's an eleven year old â and they can only hold so much maliciousness in their bodies â this is impressive.
 Of course, this is also Dudley Vernon Dursley, Harryâs maternal cousin, who was raised by 'perfectly normal' people with an abnormal hate for anything not in their worldview, so⌠Maybe it isn't that surprising.
 "When I got my name changed," Harry says drily, carefully closing the book as his snake friend retreats, "I'm very sure there wasn't an F anywhere in it."
 Dudley makes a face. His parents don't particularly care if he's intelligent, and puzzles were discontinued after his second tantrum over them.
 It's his friend Piers Polkiss who understands Harry's comeback instead, and snarls. "Freaks don't get to pick their nicknames, Freak."
 "Does the same rule apply to rats, Polkiss?" By this time, Harry has stood up, leaving his book on the ground with his snake and Fay's shoulder bag.Â
 "You sound crazy when you hiss like that," Dursley says like an insult.
 "And you sound like an idiot anytime you open your mouth."
 Across the park, Fay finds her way down the stairs to open her eyes and make a face at Jess, who is climbing back onto the main playground floor from her position hanging outside the railing. Fay isn't tall enough to reach up and grab Jess' ankle. Michael, over at the swings, freezes, and then starts creeping back towards the main equipment. Fay sees him and starts towards him and the edge of the playground. "Groundies!"
 Michael groans, and Fay is about to run back to the playground when she spots Harry surrounded by her three least favorite neighbors. "On T!" Fay calls, abandoning the game in favor of supporting her brother.
 âTwo Ten Groundies!â Michael calls, turning to the kids still playing.
 "Shut your mouth!" Dursley snarls as Fay comes up beside them.
 "What, scared he'll show everyone how much smarter he is?"
 Dudley skitters back from her, moments after Piers and Malcolm. Fay rolls her eyes, and shifts her shoulders so sheâs ready to punch him.
 âNo one asked for your opinion!â Malcolm snaps. Dudley is the leader, but heâs scared of magic while Piers is the Bugs Meany to Fayâs Sally Kimball.
 Sheâs still proud of that one, despite all three parental units giving matching lectures of âI get why you did it but it was still wrong, and next time donât break your thumb.â ...Then again, maybe thatâs why sheâs still proud of it. âI doubt Harry asked for yours either, but here we are.â
 âIf I wanted advice on good life decisions Iâd just do the opposite of whatever youâd say,â Harry says, matching her tone. âBut then again, to do that Iâd have to listen to you in the first place.â Dudley growls. Harry clenches his fists but rolls his eyes. Fay taps her hand to his right before he folds his arms up to give off a decent unimpressed vibe. âGo read a book, Dursley. Or plant a tree, if you think you can do that without killing it. Make up for all the air youâre using.â Harry wants to say âthe air youâre wasting,â but he was raised properly and there are boundaries.
 âIâll tell mum you were being freakish in the park!â Dudley threatens.
 This, after seven years outside of Petunia Dursley nee Evansâ custody, is a useless threat. âSo? She canât do anything about it.â
 Later, this gang will be the type to throw punches, but for now Dudley tries to shove Harry into the tree, and when Harry catches himself and Fay throws herself at Dudley, he screams and runs off. Piers follows, although Malcolm stays to sneer. âCareful Dunbar, next year we can arrest you for assault.â
 âIâd love to see that,â Fay threatens in return, swaying back to her feet. âEspecially when you always start it. Maybe weâll share a cellblock.â
 He sneers again but flounces off. Harry breathes out sharply, and Fay lets him grab her hand. He sits down and groans, pulling Fay with him. She lands beside him, but flops sideways onto his stomach quickly.Â
  âI dislike that human,â the little constrictor says, poking her nose out from under Fayâs bag.
  âMe too,â Fay hisses. The constrictor starts climbing Fayâs face, and the girl lets her.
  âHello Little-Death-Cheater.â
  âHello,â Fay says, much of the hate leaving her tone. âHave you chosen a name yet?â
 âNo,â she admits, pulling her tail up so she can curl on top of Fayâs chest. The constrictor doesnât care which chest sheâs on, the heartbeat is the same. âI want my speaker name to mean smart-wise-knowing-advice-old-has-seen-much.â
  âAthena? Sheâs the Greek goddess of wisdom, war strategy, and I think something else,â Harry offers. âOr Thoth, the Egyptian god of knowledge.â
 âIâll consider them,â the constrictor says.
 Harry picks his book back up and opens it. âIâm gonna start again.â
 âOkay,â Fay says. She listens to a few paragraphs before the jitters start, and she gets up to go join back in on the game.
 âAre you trying to be a wrecking ball?â Caspian asks, watching Ian push his lego creation with all of his insignificant upper body strength.
 âNo,â Ian says, eager to explain the story he is creating with blocks and dolls. âBad guys knock down! Fire-fight fix!â
 âAh,â Caspian says in his best sagely voice. Heâs been dealing with little kids since he was nine, and is luckily still good at it. âWhich ones are the bad guys?â Ian waves the two dolls in his hands. âAnd the good guys?â Ian sets down one of his dolls to point at three other dolls sitting on the ground. âI see. A good team.â
 Ian grins and turns back to his game. Caspian looks down at his sketchpad and turns away from the page of eye practice. The dollsâ designs are rather basic, but he can work with them. Caspian starts by sketching a collapsing building. Later, heâll adapt designs for the heroes and villains and add them to the scene, but for now he works on his perspectives.
 Fay and Harry head home around five thirty. Most of their conversation over the short walk is light and random, led by Fayâs wandering focus and Harry egging her on.
 Thereâs one part though, that isnât.
 âI hate him,â Fay says, glaring holes in Dudleyâs back as he and his gang wait to cross the highway. Fay and Harry arenât going to take the intersection, because Wisteria Way is a barely used road and really, theyâd just waste time if they went north to the intersection and then back south towards Magnolia Crescent. âSometimes I wish I could-â Fayâs mouth shuts with an angry clack.
 âIf you say stab him, Iâll have to inform you that assault is still illegal,â Harry snarks. He loves his sister, and he doesnât like his âcousinâ, but Harry ignores them as much as he can, which is a lot more than Fay does. Itâs not until Fayâs wide, extraneous movements stop in the middle of the road that Harry remembers. âToo soon?â he asks softly, taking a step back so heâs not leaving Fay behind.
 âNo,â Fay says. Her voice is high, but her tone and expression are flat. Her fists are clenched. âItâs been four years. Thatâs plenty of time.â She sounds dead. Robotic, maybe, but mostly drained of emotion. As the Narrator, I can tell you that Fay is actually very upset. Sheâs already got ADHD, but the rushing in her ears isnât that. Neither are her clenched fists, or the sudden ghost aches in her chest. No, that would be called PTSD.
 âYou donât have to rush through trauma recovery, Fay,â Harry says gently. âOr ignore it altogether. You certainly shouldnât.â Heâs treating her like a spooked animal, which is an accurate description. Sheâs a spooked fox right now.
 âYouâre not my therapist.â
 âYou donât have a therapist.â
 âIâm fine,â Fay snaps, voice rising with the force sheâs trying to put into the phrase. She starts walking again, faster now than before.
 âItâs okay if youâre not.â
 âYou are,â Fay says bitterly.
 Harry scowls, keeping up easily. âThatâs not the same thing and you know it.â He clenches his jaw before he can keep getting upset, and takes a breath instead. âAnd anyway, youâre wrong. I donât think any of us are okay with what happened to you. You donât have to pretend to be.â
 âI want to be!â Fay snaps, desperation coming through her tone at last. It gives her an air of life that sheâd cut off minutes ago, especially when she turns to speak instead of staring straight ahead. âPapa doesnât talk about as many cases anymore, I still canât go to the basement, and I just want to be normal again!â
 Harry scoffs. He sounds derisive, but heâs hiding empathy. âNormal? Like the Perfectly Normal Dursleys? Like how it would be normal for a Black to be in Azkaban? Boring and casual?â Harry swallows his next scathing remark, because heâs trying to help Fay, not hurt her, and a guilt trip would hurt.
 âNo! Yes!â She takes a deep breath and exhales harshly. âI just donât want to worry,â she says softly. âI donât want to freeze up and I donât want any of you to have to watch your words around me.â
 Harry shrugs, and steps sideways to bump shoulders. âLike thatâs any different from the rest of us,â he drawls. Fay laughs once, despite herself.
 âFine, Iâm normal for our household. Happy?â
 âOnly if you are.â
 Fay closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. âYeah. I will be. I have to be.â She opens her eyes and makes a face, her next thought slipping in and grabbing hold. âEw. Iâm never going to get a quiet moment at Hogwarts.â
 âYou could go to Slytherin. People expect them to be creepy.â
 This time, Fay scoffs. âNo thanks. Ambition? Eh, maybe. But cunning and the ability to live by word games? Iâll trip over my tongue way too much.â
 Harry shrugs. âIf you say so.â
 âBesides, I thought you were going to Hufflepuff?â
 âWell yeah,â Harry says as if itâs obvious. âBut the Sett is in the basement and the Den in the dungeons, so weâd be close. Certainly closer than if you go to your tower house.â
 Fay shrugs. âWeâll see.â This time she shoulder-checks him.
 I remember talking about the cores of the houses, but here is something you must remember: Few things stay the way they were intended. A civil rights group can become a terrorist gang. A refuge can become a prison or an exclusive area. Protests can turn into mass violence. Houses made for the sake of sitting like-minded children under certain teachers can become cliques. A treaty for peace can lead to inability to properly prosecute criminals. A shelter for lost animals can become their final home.
 Ambition became bigotry and cunning became manipulation. Daring became recklessness and Boldness became stubbornness. Kindness became weak-wills and acceptance became naivety. Curiosity became showing off and interest became strictness.
 Red became Heroes, Green became Villains, Yellow became Afterthoughts and Blue became Tools.
 These are not what the houses should be.Â
 Thankfully, these are not quite what the graveyard siblings mean.
 âWould it help to try looser hairstyles?â
 Fay shakes her head. âNo. I think- the hair thing is mine. Sure, the start was⌠that. But I like doing it. Even if no one else understands.â
 âAlright,â Harry acquiesces easily. He knows his sister, but at their hearts, technically, theyâre different people. Hearts really isnât the right word here. Cores, perhaps? Yes, I think so. Fay and Harry are different people at their cores, and so Harry trusts Fay to choose what she thinks is best. Usually.
 They are children. They can, have, and will make mistakes.
 Thankfully, this isnât one of them. Harry was correct earlier when he said recovery canât be rushed, and this is him refusing to rush Fayâs.
 After a few steps, Fay starts talking quietly again. âDo you think Dad would get me a knife?â
 âProbably,â Harry says softly. He doesnât waste much time before finishing what heâs thinking - like I said, he only trusts her most of the time. âHeâd also probably enchant it so you canât use it on yourself.â
 âI wouldnât!â Fay snaps, turning to glare. Her bow-braids flop with the movement. Harry raises an eyebrow at her, and neither trip on Number Sevenâs driveway rock collection. Fayâs indignation drops, and she averts her eyes. âI know you canât carve scars away.â
 âGood,â Harry replies, tone as quiet as hers had been. They reach number nine not long after, and Harry waits until theyâre crossing the road to continue. âI bet if you asked, Delphi would build you a glamour for while weâre at school.â
 âIâm not planning on wearing anything low cut,â Fay says, blunt and honest. She doesnât rub her chest, but she does link each of her hands around the opposite wrist.
 Earlier, I told you about Harryâs physical scars. What they looked like, where they were, even if they werenât visible. What I didnât tell you is that his are far from the only scars among the residents of Ten Magnolia Drive. Vivian has a line across her right forearm and a bullet wound in her left leg. Regulus is missing his left arm from mid-upper-arm down, and you can find small scratches on most places of his body if you bother to look close enough. Reg is pale as all get-out, so his blend in the most. Caspian can discorporate on command or whenever heâs overwhelmed. Adrianâs scars are definitely the most benign, a mass of scar tissue on his leg from a sharp rock in highschool, and a deep line across his thumb from a scalpel slipping in college. And Fayâs is a twisting, ragged mess of scars across her ribcage, with a slash sideways on her stomach and the only straight line running from her bellybutton to the dip between her clavicles. The top of that one is the only one visible in most clothes.
 âOkay,â Harry says. âIf you change your mind, Iâm sure she could use the incentive.â
 âOkay.â Fay opens the front door with a flourish. âCas! Weâre home!â
 While life as a whole is interesting, nothing else relevant happens until much later. Noctua the Greater Sooty Owl reaches the Dunbar-Black residence around one in the morning of July twenty-fifth. This may seem an odd time to you, but please think back to the owl lore I imparted upon you after the beginnings. Owls, especially properly bonded owls such as Noctua, will appear when convenient. In this case, that means she returns home at one A.M., entering through an upstairs window, to a child whose night took a nosedive.
 Not that you can tell from the window thereâs a child in the room. Itâs the lone room on its side of the hallway, and instead of a teenager splayed despondently on the bed, thereâs a roiling black miasma that covers the comforter and drips down to cover most of the floor.
 This is, as I said, Caspianâs scar. He lives with a parasite chewing on his magic, unable to use it to the extent of an average wix, let alone his siblings. Sometimes he canât pull together into a solid human being, though usually, he can shift on command. But this type of magic, the magic that runs through Regulus, Harry, Fay and Caspianâs viens? The type that fuels Delphi and Dora and Alicia? This is an emotional magic. Some wix gain renown for being able to control magic without a wand. Some people call this wandless, which is a Snake Name if Iâve ever heard one. In children, itâs called accidental.
 In reality, itâs just wild. Structured magic is made with wands and rituals. Itâs reliable, recreatable... the most scientific type of magic there is. Wild magic is made with movements, feelings and wishes. Both are good with the opportunity to be bad. Both can be learned through hard work. Wix can have affinities for either, and if they donât like it they can learn the other.
 Caspian will never learn structured magic, but heâs learnt enough wild magic to stop the parasite from killing him, as it would most others.
 ...I seem to have gone on a tangent. You should get used to it.
 The point of explaining magic to you readers, whom I doubt have any of your own, is to explain that Caspian is simultaneously tied more and less to his magic than others you meet will be. A bad day for most can mean a few windows or cups shattering, maybe a small explosion. For Caspian, it means physicality takes more work than he has energy.
 When Noctua enters the house, slipping through the open window with grace and a whirring, whistling noise that sounds like a bomb being dropped, Caspian shudders. It takes a few minutes, during which Noctua makes herself comfortable on the bedpost, for Caspian to pull himself together.
 âHey Nocts,â he says softly.
 Noctua cheeps and moves to his shoulder. She does this for two reasons- the second is to make the letters more accessible. The first is so she can preen him. Caspian may be her owletâs nestling, but he is her owlet too. Human connections can influence owl claims, but only if the owl allows it. If you believe Noctua is the type to allow it, you are severely mistaken and may be reading too fast. This is an owl who bonded herself to a wizard, instead of the other way around.Â
 Noctua preens his dark hair as Caspian takes the letters off her foot and sorts through them.
 There's one to Vivian from Amelia, and then three half-pages. One for Caspian, one for Vivian and Adrian, and one for Harry and Fay. These are from Regulus.
 Caspian takes his, because he doesn't need to read his family's, and because Regulus has always been the best for calming him down. Vivian has always been the worst at it, just for the record.
  Caspian,
Hey kiddo. Amy says you guys have been worrying. Don't let Viv and Rian psyche you out, I know what Iâm doing.
 Besides- nothing here is going to take off my other arm.
 I might have just found a lead; yes, I know, I say that often, but I am usually right. Stay safe, donât let the kids cause too many problems. I will be home in time for the dinner with Bonesâ, so Iâll see you soon.
  I love you, Caspian.
Regulus Artcurus Black, Heir of The Most No-
-Regulus. <3
 Caspian grins, a little wry and a lot sad, as he reads. Itâs all good news, but what he really wants is for his dad to sit against the wall and tell him a story while he falls apart and pieces himself back together.
 Anyone else in the household would do it, Harry had even offered before he went to bed, but they never have the same energy Regulus does.
 Noctua keeps preening, telling him about her day in short cheeps and chirps, telling him about how well Regulus looks and how nice the old lady was. It doesnât do much, mostly because Caspian doesnât speak owl.
 If Noctua absolutely needs to tell a story using words, itâs best for her to go find a snake to translate, since the wix in her home all speak parseltongue, which is the official wizarding name for snake language. Well, to be fair, Regulus speaks a couple magical beast-based languages, but he is a terrible translator. Heâs too formal.
 Caspian appreciates the effort anyway, and reaches up to try and pet Noctuaâs back. His control slips halfway through, so instead he merely blows mist through her feathers, but she understands.
 Caspian lays back and lets himself melt. Noctua cheeps again and picks at the mist where his shoulder used to be, before taking off with another high-pitched whistle. She narrowly pivots at the ceiling, and then dives towards the windowsill. She lands on it primly and turns her head the required three-hundred-and-sixty degrees to stare at Caspian. She cheeps again.
 Caspianâs miasma tightens, not enough to form a human, but to form something humanoid, whose head-cloud tilts. Noctua chirps â quietly, because itâs dark and sheâs smart â and then takes off out the window.
 Caspian loses shape again and follows her.
 Itâs interesting, readers, how intelligent animals are. Thereâs a story I know, not related to this one, where a Guinea Pig reacted to her human-childâs distress. There are stories of dogs checking for breathing, and cats giving headbutts instead of hugs. There are military animals and there are therapy animals. Animals are not humans, but they can be intelligent despite that. Sometimes more than humans, sometimes less. This is one such scenario.
 Noctua has spent seven years living in this household, and nine years taking care of Regulus. She knows how to help her owlets and nestlings.
 Since she does not have the vocal range to tell Caspian stories, sheâll take him flying until it takes more effort to remain mist on the wind than it does to be solid.
 Regulus Black does return around nine the same morning, but before that I have to take you back to another country. Remember Scotland and the castle? Yes, I need you back there.
 This is Hogwarts Castle. You'll know well of its existence by now. And you have heard of, if not seen, Minerva McGonagall's existence.
 She is a teacher, the head of Gryffindor house, and deputy headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Old and Scottish, her face is lined but her hair is still black. Wixen age much slower; Minerva is sixty-five, and only her wrinkles give it away.
 Inside the castle, Minerva has woken up, dressed herself in smart green robes, eaten breakfast, and set up to check letters and build attendance lists.
 ...I mentioned that yesterday was The Calm Before The Storm.
 Today, The Storm Is Brewing.
 Minerva lays out the letters and adds the seven names in alphabetical order to the longer parchment she already has. She cross references this with two other lists, one from the Book of Names and one with annotations for MCPS. Unlike many other stories, when she comes upon Harry and Connorâs acceptance letters, she isnât surprised at all. This isnât because sheâs part of a conspiracy to dispose of Harry, or because sheâs a seer, but rather because she is Minerva McGonagall, one of the few reasonable and functional adults these kids will have access to. Which, Iâll admit, is a convoluted way of saying she works with Magical Child Protective Services and has already met Harry in the years since the Godricâs Hollow disaster.
 Minerva finishes, and then because Lily Evans and James Potter were some of her favorite students, she writes a letter of her own.
Dear Lily and James;
    I am looking forward to teaching your boys. Please make sure they both know I expect excellence; a few years among muggles cannot dampen magical prowess and I will be disappointed if he pretends it does.
Sincerely,
 Minerva McGonagall
 Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts
 It's not a long letter. Not one sent with the intent to cause panic. Not one sent to show off that Minerva knows more than the Potters. It's just a short, friendly missive to former students and teammates. She doesnât remember that the Potters donât know, or even know that herself. Sheâs not the MCPS Department Head. Her letter is meant to be teasing and friendly, not ominous enough to shatter family bonds.
 Minerva takes it out of her office, down a few floors, and then to the outer tower that houses the owlery. She sends it with an unbonded school owl, and doesn't think any more on it.
 On her way back to the castle she runs into Rubeus Hagrid, the Groundskeeper. He has bowtruckles - twig creatures - in his hair, which is bushy and long and grows into his brown beard.
 "Good mornin' âNerva!"
 "Good morning, Rubeus," Minerva says, slowing her walk. "How are the Acromantula hatchlings?"
 Rubeus Hagrid, whom I will be calling Rubeus despite most calling him Hagrid, grins, wide and bright. He towers nearly three feet over Minerva, who is herself five feet and nine inches tall. "They're coming along great! Largest set of survivors so far. Aragog is so proud." It's a project from when they were in school together, nearly fifty years ago. Minerva and Rubeus were Gryffindors, although she was a few years ahead of him. Aragog is the first of their Acromantulas, and the leader of this group.
 "Oh do pass on my congratulations," Minerva says lightly. "And Mosag is doing well?"
 "Laying eggs doesn't do much to 'er," Rubeus says. "Biggest issue is that she's getting old. I think they'll just have to dote on grandkids next year." Mosag is, of course, Aragogâs mate. Luckily they donât breed like black widows.
 Minerva, who has a few grandchildren of her own, understands the sentiment. "Theyâll get more freedom that way, not having to deal with as many tantrums.â
 Rubeus hums. âTheyâll all be living together, though.â
 "I suppose that's true." Minerva changes direction, so instead of going to the castle she was going towards the hut on the grounds. This is where Rubeus lives, and has since he stopped being a student. "Do you think you'll have time for another visit this month?"
 "Ah course!" Rubeus says cheerily. "Any idea what time works best for 'em?"
 Minerva purses her lips. "I think he'll be another of the bad ones," she admits. "Probably a Slytherin or Hufflepuff."
 "Pink and blue for the cake, then?"
 Minerva smiles, glancing over at her friend. "Yes. Perhaps some orange or silver too."
 "I'll make sure they're good and ready," he promises.
 âThank you. Do you want Regulusâ notes before you go, or compare after?â âI think only triggers first,â Rubeus says, as usual. He has long since grown out of letting others do his thinking for him, especially when it comes to children.
 Connor Potter is eating a late breakfast when the Hogwarts owl knocks on the window. Obviously, this confuses him. He already has his Hogwarts letter.
 This isnât an official letter, as I hope you guessed.Â
 Lily picks the letter up and opens it, leaning on the kitchen counter as she reads.
 Now. You don't know everything that's happened. I do, but I'm a Narrator and therefore get special privileges. What I'm trying to say here, is that while Lily has some information you don't, you also have some information she doesn't.
 Such as knowing Harry's general health status and residence.
 Right about now is when Lily realizes that Harry has magic.
 You're welcome.
 [Cathy-]
 [Sally, Iâm working.]
 Lily does not do too well with this information. Not because she doesn't want him to be, but rather because it means she has missed many events she didn't need to, and that her sister has been lying for years.
 "Mum?" Connor asks, watching as Lily's face goes pale, the hand holding the letter beginning to shake. "What happened?"
 Connor feels usease growing, although for a different reason than Lily's. His dad is an auror, and there's always the chance of something going wrong. This is where his thoughts go, instead.
 Lily shakes her head loosely, only peripherally noticing her older son. "It's- there's- McGonagall said-" she takes a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "I need to go."
 Connor lunges away from the table and wraps a hand around his mom's wrist before she can apparate.
 Apparition in the Wizarding world is not a term used to refer to spectres, but rather a method of transportation. Among whom I believe you readers are, the concept is easier explained as personal teleportation.
 Lily twists on her heel, dragging Connor with her as she pops out of their home in Somerset and over to Surrey, which is just southwest of London.
 "Mum, what happened?!"
 âItâs your brother,â Lily says breathlessly.
 Connor freezes for a moment as Lily keeps walking down the street. âHadrian?â
 âYeah,â Lily agrees.
 Lily knows this neighborhood. She has been here four times before, once ten years ago, twice seven years ago, once three years ago, and doesnât stumble as she walks through the area towards Number Four, Privet Drive. Connor doesnât know the area, but he follows Lily as she storms through the place.
 âWhatâs- you donât usually get letters.â Connorâs voice is small and unusually anxious. âItâs normally feelings, right?â
 âYes,â Lily agrees. âItâs-â she sighs. âI donât think heâs in danger, Connor.â
 âWhat was the letter?â
 âHeâs been accepted at Hogwarts.â
 It takes a couple of minutes for Connor to parse through to what that sentence means and why it's causing panic, in which they reach the house in question. Privet Drive doesnât contrast Magnolia Crescent much, but it does have its differences. One of which is that instead of being full of people who personalize their cookie-cutter houses, Privet Drive Residents would rather match. The street is full of brown townhouses that share walls with each otherâs garages, instead of the white and black singular houses found across Wisteria Way.
 âOh,â Connor says numbly. Hogwarts accepts magicals only, and as I said, often the prestigious ones. He looks at his mum as she knocks. âDoes that mean I can meet him?â Connor's voice is as faint as Lilyâs when he asks.Â
 âYes, you should,â Lily agrees. She knocks again, less sharp and more forceful, pounding.
 Connor feels some mix of elation and lingering nervousness, although now it doesnât carry as apocalyptic of a feel. Heâs heard of Hadrian, seen baby pictures from before Lily and James sent him away. Connor canât remember ever hearing Hadrianâs voice, though, because he hasnât. Hadrian hadnât learned to speak fully before they were separated. Connor is glad his mum cleared it up though- itâs much less taxing to be anxious about a new person than it is to be anxious about one you already know dying.
 The door opens and then slams in their faces.
 Lily frowns and raps again, harder.
 Inside, Vernon Dursley fumes. He, like his son, is extremely obese, and more bad tempered than he is heavy. âPet! Your freak of a sister is here!â
 Petunia Dursley skitters out of the kitchen, eyes wide. Her thoughts all carry to the tune of âWhat did the freak boy do now?â Petunia is blonde, like her son and husband, although hers is dirty enough to almost be brown. Her neck is long, and her face narrow: itâs a sharp contrast indeed, for Petunia is underweight and tightly controlled where her family is obese and impulsively emotional. âIâve got it. Take Dudders out the back.â This order comes for a few reasons, one is that she doesnât want her precious son to be exposed to magic, and the second is because her son would be the first to expose their lies.
 When Petunia opens the door, she smiles tightly. âHonestly Lily, youâre such a worrywart.â
 âYou didnât tell me!â Lily snaps, in no mood for niceties.
 âExcuse me?â Petunia asks, panic shooting through her. There are rather a lot of things she hasnât told her sister.
 âWhere is my son?â Lily says instead, pushing her way inside the quaint home. Connor follows, and he cases the place first, looking for signs of his little brother. The issue is he doesnât see any. All the picture frames, of which there are a lot, only include the Dursleys and family on Vernonâs side. Connor doesnât know these people, but he knows his brother will have dark skin, even if he dyed his hair as he grew up.
 There are no pictures that fit that description.
 Lily notices the same thing faster, when she looks around a minute later.
 âHeâs- out at friends,â Petunia says shakily. âWhy?â
 Lily turns a glare on her. âHogwarts just owled me,â she says venomously. âHadrian is magical. So where is my son?â
 âYou gave him away!â Petunia snaps back. âHeâs not yours anymore.â
 âI thought he would live better without being teased by magic!â Lily snaps. âYou were always jealous, Tuney, donât try to deny it.â
 âSo youâd rather give us a blight on our household?â
 As the sisters keep fighting, Connor looks around more. There are video games, but theyâre all either in poor shape or very new. Thereâs trash on the floor and the couch looks overused. He slips away and into the kitchen, which is pristine apart from the half-eaten snacks on the table. The cupboard under the stairs has locks, which Connor finds weird, because theyâre old, but they obviously lock on the outside and are opened with a key from inside. They look like a terrible child-proofing technique. Heâs pretty sure muggles know better.
 âI visited! Why didnât you just tell me then?â
 âIt was more worth it to keep the kid and get the money,â Petunia sneers behind him.
 Connor makes a face at her greed, as it reminds him of some of his least favorite society adults. He sneaks up the stairs next, which isnât any more helpful than the downstairs. There are four bedrooms, one which is full of, forgive my language, trash and crap. Unbeknownst to Connor, this is Dudleyâs second bedroom, where he keeps all of his unnecessary possessions that cannot fit in his main bedroom. Connor moves on. The next is Dudleyâs main bedroom, which is a mess but includes clothes and a bed. Then he finds the master bedroom, and the guest room.
 Connor very quickly realizes either his brother is a terrible slob, or isnât living here. The prospect causes fresh terror to rise in his gut. If Hadrian isnât here, where is he?
 Connor takes the stairs back down two at a time, and pauses to look at his mum and aunt.
 âYou make no sense!â Lily spits. âVernon is always bragging about how much he makes; you should have just sent Hadrian back!â
 âI couldnât!â Petunia snarls.
 âWhyever not?â Lily rolls her eyes as she scoffs.
 âI killed him!â Petunia shrieks.
  I killed him.
 The words echo around the house.
 Connor trips on the last step.
 Lily takes a breath, eyes wide, breathing shallow, ears ringing.
 It doesnât change what she heard.
 Despite appearances, or assumptions I may have given you earlier, Lily Potter loves her children. She can, has, and will die for them. Itâs obvious, then, that hearing this is wounding.
 Another breath, wherein Petunia covers her mouth in horror and Lily nearly shuts down. She would have, grief overpowering anger, if Connor hadnât gasped. The sound yanks Lily out of her spiral, and she turns away from her sister and to her son. Her bright eyes are wet as she reaches out and drags him to her. Her mind is reeling. Every time she visited, pulled by panic, pain, and a bond she still doesnât understand, Petunia insisted that Hadrian had no magic. Petunia refused to let Lily ever see Hadrian.
 She very sharply regrets ever listening to Petuniaâs demands, even on their logical days.
 It makes some sense that Hadrian is dead, and yet makes none at all. Lily has felt him. She needs more information, to find out how and why her rituals failed, she needs- Lily needs to mourn and think and- something doesnât add up here.
 It will, reader, but not yet.
 She drops a kiss on Connorâs crown, trying to comfort him while reassuring herself that at least one of her children is definitely alive. After a moment, her thoughts return to Petunia. She is not discussing infanticide with the victimâs brother in the room. âI think thereâs a park down the road,â she whispers into his hair. âGo over there, Iâll-â she pauses when her voice cracks, and presses her wand into his hand. â-pick you up later. After I figure this out.â And she will, eventually. Lily prays that this will be like the time before, even as she knows the chances are terribly low.
 Petunia should hope she gave Lily's son a proper funeral.
 Connor gives her back her wand, flashing his own, which he snuck into his pocket before breakfast.
 Lily nods and then stands up, turning to look at her sister. Itâs not quite a glare, but it is heavy with betrayal and intent to receive answers. The unnaturally bright color only thickens the atmosphere. That storm I mentioned?
 Itâs here.
 Connor takes a step towards the door when she lets go. Heâs not crying yet, just breathing heavily, but that will happen later, once it sinks in. See, Connor has heard of his brother. When his parents are feeling nostalgic, or when the Weasley twins do something ridiculous, Hadrian is mentioned occasionally. But most often? Most often, which luckily wasnât all that often, Connor heard about his brother during late nights or dark days in the basement, when his mom wrote runes and chanted and probably broke the law - sometimes she would talk about him. But Connor has never considered him actually dying. Getting hurt, sure. Glowing eyes and flowing blood had given that impression plenty when he was young. But he has never considered death as a possibility.
 Connor closes the front door behind him, and stays there for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut. The tears have started now, and then his aunt is talking again, and he can't make out the words but he doesn't like the tone. He clenches his fists and starts walking down the unfamiliar road, completely lost within minutes.
Now, earlier that day, around nine oâclock Iâd say, Adrian Dunbar floos into Amelia Bonesâ office within the Ministry of Magic. Floo travel is⌠well itâs not hard to explain the action but I consider the name disingenuous: itâs derived from the Flue Chamber in a fireplace, which is the inside of a chimney. Nominally it makes sense, however floo travel works by sucking the traveler down into the flames, not up like a Santa Claus ripoff. The Floo Network is a series of magical fireplaces across the world, and since they are imbued with magic when theyâre built, one does not need a magical core to travel among them.
 âGood morning,â Amelia says warmly as he stumbles out of her person-sized fireplace. Adrian has not mastered magical travel, even this many years later. It could be due to his lack of magical core, or he could simply not have the best equilibrium. Personally, I advocate the latter, because even wixen arenât perfect- indeed, many stumble whilst they travel.
 âGood morning, Amelia,â Adrian says, grinning. He has a bag of medical basics thrown over his shoulder, and his hair is tied behind his head per the usual.
 âYou remember how to get there?â
 âYep.â By which he means âProbably, so long as the hallways donât move.â Itâs a valid concern in magical buildings - his own house does it.
 âGood luck, then,â Amelia bids, opening her office door. âLiftâs on the east side today.â
 âOf course it is.â Adrian rolls his eyes. Heâs not sure why magic is allergic to being coherent. âCan I use the floo again for lunch?â
 âCertainly.â Amelia doesnât add a clause about not messing with her stuff, because Adrian isnât the type. âI might not be here though.â
 âAlright.â Adrian bids her farewell and heads into the hallway and bullpen, crossing to the lift. He waves to James Potter on the way, who grins back since his hands are busy trying to wrangle on the red overobe that is his departmentâs uniform. They're not friends, but they're both friend ly enough to smile at strangers in the mornings. James doesnât know Adrian, he barely sees Adrian and has no reason to note his existence beyond the Sunshine Person he sees every now and then. Adrian does know James, most people do for some reason or other, but Adrian knows him because Regulus had a dart board with his face for six months. It was taken down after Reg got custody of Harry. Adrian doesnât really care about Jamesâ existence - people change, gossip is rampant, and heâs never had to interact with the man personally. He is also unaware of Noctuaâs vendetta, but to be fair not even Regulus knows about Noctuaâs vendetta. That is simply a Noctua thing.
 Otherwise, nothing important happens as he delves into the bowels of the Ministry, down the lift and through ill-lit hallways towards a spinning entryway. The Department of Mysteries, where he's working today, is a giant circle, magically enhanced to connect everyone inside to everything inside.
  Adrian has to stop and stare when he leaves the circular entryway and enters the Death Chamber.
 The next room isâŚÂ heavy. That's the first word to come to mind. As Heavy as the hospital when his kid was dying or his morgue when itâs full. Heavy like an unsolved murder, or a fresh crime scene. Like Vivianâs tone when talking about her family. Like the little notebook no one wants to open. Heavy like a funeral, like a memorial, like the sudden, crushing reminder of how terrible humankind can be.
 Heavy like its namesake.
 âWhat room are you looking for?â The comment rips him out of his thoughts. Adrian jumps, turning quickly to the speaker. Sheâs got Black Family silver eyes, but it takes Adrian a minute to recognize them between the different shape and the darker skin tone. Her black hair is dry and messy, bundled on top of her head. Her green earrings are the only color visible around the grey shroud that qualifies as an Unspeakable Uniform.
 âEntropy, inside the Death Room.â
 She nods, a sort of bobbling movement that reminds Adrian of the teenagers heâs raised. Sheâs young. âThatâs this way, Itzcalliâs in there today.â She starts walking around the large, odd room, and Adrian follows. Heâs never been inside this area of the Ministry of Magic, which I forgot to explain, but is a government building hidden under London proper and sprawls beyond physical capabilities. They only got clearance to let him look at bodies from magical cases two years ago, and those few are usually delivered to the muggle building. This is a special case, including a decomposition spell that could only be slowed by bringing the bodies here.
 Adrian noticed as soon as he walked through the door to this department why the spell was halted. The entire room feels like a graveyard, something mournful and heavy that presses upon him. Morgues have a similar feeling, but this is stronger, somehow. It looks like a stone stadium, bigger than his house that slants down to a podium and an archway with a black veil, the thin fabric being blown by wind Adrian canât properly feel.
 He stays very far away from that one, for more reasons than the overwhelming anxiety that rears in his chest when he looks at it for too long.
 "How do they design the departments?"
 She turns around, walking backwards around the high bench. "It's a circle," she says, gesturing. "So Entropy is the room between Time and Death, and Grief connects me to Love. I have rooms for Thought and Space too, but they don't connect physically. Limerence connects Love and Thought, and Dimension bridges Thought and Space. On the other side is Travel, which connects Space back to Time."
 "There were twelve doors, though?"
 She grins. "And only five of those connect. If Entropy could be accessed straight from the entry, you wouldn't be here." She sounds exceedingly smug.
 Adrian nodded, admitting her point. They reach another pathway up and down the stadium, and the Unspeakable turns upwards. âIâm guessing the other rooms are classified?â
 âYep. Some of them do loop in here though, and if you take that door-â she points at the next pathway over, directly opposite the door he entered through. âYouâll find yourself in Thought, and the one beside it loops into Space.â
 Adrian huffs exasperatedly. âMagical blueprints must be murder to read.â
 His guide laughs, even as she turns away to enter the right doorway. âUnspeakable Medina,â she calls, still smothering laughter. âDoctor Dunbar is here, from the DMLE.â
 âIâm not actually from the DMLE,â Adrian cuts in a little awkwardly, but the humor from before keeps him going. He has worked with wixen enough to not be exceedingly anxious, but had he not already made a friend he would be much more nervous. Not all wixen are open to working with muggles - itâs a concept thatâs caused Regulus much stress, especially as he canât shadow Adrian everywhere as he can with Vivian.
 ...Not sure if Iâve mentioned it yet, but thatâs what non-magical people are called, muggles; theyâre generally never told about magic, and less likely to work with it. Of course, being told does not necessarily equate to knowing that magic is real, but thatâs a rather large debate for another time.
 Adrian spares a moment to wonder how she knew his name, before remembering that the Ministry gives out name tags to visitors. His today says Dr. Dunbar, DMLE investigation, which is probably why his guide assumed that was where he was from. Sadly, proper Ministry workers don't do the same, so he can't use that to learn her name.
 "Hello." He says, catching up to his friend and waving towards the next witch.
 The Unspeakable looks up from the papers on the dissection table to smile at him. She too is shrouded in grey, but she has bright yellow ribbons tied through her hair and dark brown eyes. Itzcalli Medina is Hispanic, compassionate, and tired. The Death room isn't her usual area of expertise - out of the five 'workshops' in the Department of Mysteries Itzcalli usually works in Love. She, like many Unspeakables, is willing to work with many types of magic, and has worked before with Adrian's guide to find connections between life, love, and those who escape death.
 "Morning," she greets. "You're the muggle contact?"
 "Yes," Adrian says, not missing how his guide's eyes widen as she does a double take. "Adrian Dunbar." She doesnât seem upset, just curious.
 âBe careful who you give your name to,â she says, tone a little sharp but- sheâs not adverse to Adrian being here, sheâs worried about him.
 Adrian glances back at her, working through the possible insult to find the advice buried in it, and he smiles wryly. âTelling and giving are different things.â
 Both Unspeakables relax at this. His friend smiles wryly in return, and then turns to Itzcalli. âYou donât need me here, right?â
 âNah,â Itzcalli shakes her head. âThey assigned us Devon for this one.â
 Adrianâs guide makes a face. âGood luck with that.â She steps back and waves lightly. âIt was nice meeting you, Doctor Dunbar. See you at lunch, Calli.â
 âYou as well.â Adrian waves.
 âYou better!â Itzcalli calls after her as she descends the stadium steps again. Itzcalli turns back to Adrian. Merely looking at her exhausted smile makes his body ache, but heâs inordinately excited. Guessing by Itzcalliâs lack of movement, though, heâll have to wait to start.
 âWhich room is hers?â Adrian asks to fill the time.
 Itzcalli hums, following Adrianâs pointing. âShe works in the Death Chamber. Her desk is by the veil.â Itzcalli shivers. âI went to pick her up in person once, and it was terrible. Now I just send her a Patronus when I need her.â
 âIt is⌠heavy, around here,â Adrian agrees, looking around the Entropy room.
 Itzcalli smiles without humor. âDeath is heavy, Doctor Dunbar.â
 Adrian pretends he believes her without exception. âOf course it is.â
 Itzcalli blows nonexistent hair out of her eyes. âCâmon, we have an extra pair of robes somewhere here that you can use.â
 âI brought scrubs.â
 Itzcalli gives him a look. âI know what those are because Iâm muggleborn,â she says steadfastly, âSo trust me when I say that Unspeakable robes are way better. For one thing, they absorb curses.â
 âDo you get cursed often around here?â
 Itzcalli laughs, back to him as she walks the length of the combined office-morgue-and-mini-department. âWay more than you think. Most of it comes off objects weâre studying, but there have been inter-department murder attempts.â
 Adrian does a double take. âYouâre kidding.â
 âI wish,â Itzcalli says fervently, looking back over her shoulder to make a face. âThe aurors canât even do much about it because the point of Unspeakables is we can only discuss work in the Department.â
 âIs that going to affect me too?â
 Itzcalli pauses, and looks back at him from her position- climbing a wall? Heâs not sure what sheâs up to. Neither am I, honestly. âGood question. The Unspeakable oaths bind to a magical core, but you donât have one - unless you do, and itâs just too small to use?â she hums. âIâm going to look into that sometime.â She drops from the ceiling, a silver robe thrown over her arm. âTa-da! Enchanted against Time Sand, Light and Dark Curses, Compulsions, Portkeys, Blood, and more!â
 Adrian shrugs it on with a smile. âI appreciate it.â
 Itzcalli gives him a searching look. âYouâve dealt with nonhumans before, havenât you?â Adrian shrugs a vague yes, and Itzcalli drops the subject. âAnyway. Devonâs late, which is a little surprising because heâs a pedantic jerk but then again heâs working with me, so.â She rolls her eyes, but the annoyance is quickly buried under a smile that promises chaos. âWanna get a headstart on the case?â
 âSure. Where are the bodies?â Adrianâs grin doesnât quite match, but he is excited.
 âRight-â Itzcalli spins, the yellow in her hair contrasting the dark decor. She stops for a second to orient in an unusual room, and then points. âthis way!â Adrian laughs a little and follows her towards the opposite wall, which now that he looks is made of cold lockers.
 The labels on the lockers are parchment, and the cabinets are some pale stone that steals light. Everything here seems old, and as Adrian reads the tags he sees itâs not just a feeling. âHow old is this Department?â Adrian asks, not looking away from the tag. M. E. Warren, 1943. That was before he was born.
 âAs old as the Ministry itself.â
 Itzcalli and Adrian jump at the new voice. Thereâs a man with dark skin, light eyes, and dreadlocks leaning against the doorframe from Timeâs side of the room. He has a necklace featuring the rune Dagaz over his robes, the silver only visible because it shines. Lighting in the department comes from enchanted sconces set along the ceiling - considering how large the main Death Chamber is, it's no wonder the lighting matches the atmosphere.
 âMorning, Devon.â
 âMedina,â he returns, his smile obviously fake. Adrian takes a moment to brood about being in the middle of two fighting wixen, and then he shrugs. Adrianâs here for science, and heâll deal with the people in the middle. He knows Itzcalli isnât bad, and Devon might not be either.
 "You're the muggle?" Isaac Devon asks, raising an eyebrow.
 "Adrian Dunbar," he offers the name without a hand.
 Devon's smile is slight and hard, but he moves on anyway, pushing off the wall to point out the right locker. "The body's over here."
 Itzcalli is already standing at the locker in question, and she re-
 Okay, seriously? This is important information, but I'm sensing rather a lot of disinterest. Why?
 Oh.
 ...is that the problem? I suppose I did leave you in an emotionally charged moment earlier, but I am trying to get through all the important bits.
 You donât care. Alright, my apologies. Iâll take you back. We were with Connor, right? Yes, we were. Heâs walking through the neighborhood cluster that contains Magnolia Crescent, Privet Drive, and Wisteria Way. And heâs crying, because- well if you forgot why heâs crying I do have to wonder how many of these words youâre actually reading.
 Now, it takes Connor a little while to find a park, turning corners and crossing roads as he tangles himself deeper into the suburban jungle. Despite getting terribly lost, he does find the park, so itâs probably okay.
 Oh, who is he kidding?
  Nothing about this is âokay.â
 Connor has heard of his brother, but itâs always been assumed that Hadrian was alive, just somewhere else. He had assumed there was a chance, you know? If he spent enough time in the muggle world, if he asked the right questions, he could see his brother. They could go out for lunch someday. He had never been prepared for this. How could he have?
 Hadrian was sent away for safety reasons - although really they should have kept him longer to ensure he didnât end up like Caspian - and Connor grew up watching Lily work to ensure he stayed safe, far away from their painfully-in-the-spotlight family. Connor thought Hadrian was safe. He had been told Hadrian was safe.
 How could this have come from that? How could he- do you understand how terrible it is, to hear of the death of someone you could have been close to, without any idea of when you lost that chance? How he died? Why he was killed?
 Although, Connor supposes as he crumples under a large willow, that there is no âwhyâ good enough to justify killing anyone, especially a child. Connor hides his face in his knees, but he canât disguise his shaking breath. How could his Aunt do that? And then lie, maybe for years?
 How could she live with the guilt?Â
 âHey,â someone says, and the words are accompanied by the sounds of someone sitting down beside him.
 Connor is⌠really, really not in the mood for strangers today.
 âAre you okay?â
 Itâs⌠not the question Connor expects to be asked, but he accepts it anyway. He doesnât look up, but he shakes his head.
 âDo you wanna talk about it?â
 To a stranger? No, he doesnât. Connor shakes his head again.
 âOkay.â
 Beside him is the subject of his thoughts. Harry leans back on his hands, ankles crossed as he gives his companion some quiet company. Ian is happily in a sandbox, and Harry lets his eyes wander to him instead.
 The Magnolia Crescent park is nearly deserted today, so Harry noticed the moment the other kid arrived. Harry hasn't figured out who heâs sitting beside yet, but to be fair neither has Connor.
 What Harry has figured out is that the newcomer is crying, and even if he won't talk about it, Harry has found that most of his resident family enjoys commiseration or someone else telling a story while they cry.
 In his family, itâs usually a story; after a few minutes of commiseration, Harry begins to speak. âIanâs new too,â he starts, still mostly watching the toddler even as he glances at Connor. He's never seen Connor before, but he knows most of the neighborhood kids by face if not name. âWeâre not sure how long heâll be staying; my aunt was going to look into it today, actually.â
 Connor does look up then, because until now he hadnât noticed the parkâs third occupant. He finds Ian quickly, and then buries his head again.
 âWe donât usually get our hopes up for permanent placements,â Harry explains. âI think weâve had four, outside of Fay, Cas, and I, since I joined. Although I guess Fay isnât really a permanent placement, since sheâs a bio kid.â He shrugs. âThe foster system is a mess of semantics.â
 Connor snorts. He didnât see any other kids, so he has no idea who his companion is talking about, but most of his attention is drawn by âfoster systemâ. This isnât something Connor knows, considering heâs ten and has never needed that type of knowledge.
 âFoster system?â Connor asks, unknowingly the first words he ever says to his little brother.
 âYep!â Harry says. âIâve lived here nearly all my life, but I was in Privet Drive for the first few years, up âtill I was four. Then someone actually noticed that the aunt and uncle werenât fit for custody and my other uncle took me in instead. Uncle Regâs a certified foster parent, which is how he got custody in the first place. Now I live here with him, Cas, and the Dunbars.â
 âHuh,â Connor says, parsing through the information. He still doesnât know what most of it means. Harry stops talking, sensing Connorâs focus waning. âWhat do foster parents do?â
 âFoster parents take in other peopleâs kids, sometimes as part of a family arrangement, and sometimes so that kids with bad families can be somewhere safe. Itâs not a perfect system,â Harry looks up at the trees. âBut itâs got a good heart.â
 Connor snorts. An imperfect system with a good heart sounds like society, he thinks.Â
 âSounds useful,â he says instead. âHow do they find out who has bad families?â The question is pointed, but not because heâs really mad at his companion. Heâs wishing someone had used it to save his brother. He hasnât yet realized they did.
 âReports of suspicious behaviours,â Harry says. âThatâs where it tends to go wrong. The clever ones can fool investigators.â
 Connor hums, and Harry lets silence reign as Connorâs thoughts chase each other around his head. Connor wipes his tears and sets his head on his knees, instead of in them. âWhy did you come over here?â
 Harry doesnât look down, watching leaves move instead. âI donât like letting people cry alone.â
 Itâs a nicer answer than Connor had been expecting. He dreads the day heâll have to personally deal with good liars; up till now, other children have often admitted eventually that they were sent by parents. âOh.â
 Harry doesnât respond.
 Connor looks over and his heart skips a beat. Harryâs marked cheek is on the right side, which is away from Connor, but the resemblance is there anyway, especially because Connor has been thinking about it recently. âWhatâs your name?â he asks, not noticing how his voice has gone light and teary suddenly.
 Harryâs head snaps over at the tone change, and Connor gets to watch as Harry recognizes him in return. Harryâs eyes, a dark green that doesnât match their motherâs but could have once, widen, and he blinks once.
 âHarry Potter,â Harry says, composure slipping. âEr- Hadrian; both are true. Youâre-?â
 âConnor,â Connor says.
 They take a moment, both of them, to examine the other and compare to themselves. Harryâs hair is longer, but itâs tied into a bun that reminds Connor of someone from his dadâs school photos. Connorâs is short and wild, not an afro but something of the same effect. They each got one parentâs eyes. Connor finds his eyes drawn again to the lightning scar, the one heâs only seen once, in a final family photo before they split. He thought it was black from infection then. Itâs still black though, so he assumes his hypothesis was wrong.
 âYour scar never healed,â Connor finds himself saying absently, reaching up until his fingers nearly brush it. He doesn't, though, too scared he'll vanish the apparition.
 âNeither did yours,â Harry responds, staring at the oddly pink mark. He doesn't reach out. This isnât quite as weird for him as it is for Connor, because Harry occasionally reads the newspapers, and Connor has occasionally been in them.
 âCurse marks donât,â Connor shrugs. âI-â he gestures helplessly, chest tight even as the rest of him feels oddly floaty. âI thought yours would have.â
 Harry shrugs in return, a little awkwardly but his voice is falsely casual when he speaks. âSome things just have to leave a mark, I guess.â
 The twins are quiet, eyes intent.
 "How are you here?" Connor asks, in the same breath Harry begins.
 "What are you doing here?"
 "You first," Connor says.
 Harry acquiesces. "Like I said, I live here. Why are you here?"
 Connor is quiet, feeling his heart climb up into his throat at the reminder.
 "Connor?" Harry asks, picking up on the sudden dropping mood.
 Connor searches Harry's face again, a little desperately, and then he closes his eyes, because he can't say this to Harry's face. "We came to visit my aunt," Connor says, trying to line up the facts in front of him. It doesnât work. "Mum and I were supposed to pick up my little brother."
 Harry watches the pain on Connor's face and hides a wince. "Did they say he didn't want to come with you?"
 "No. They said he's dead."
 "Petunia said what?" He spits, and Connor jolts, eyes snapping open, because the vitriol is so removed from the tranquil atmosphere that it sets his heart racing again.
 He watches his enraged brother, and thinks of the row from earlier. He swallows. "I don't think she meant to tell mum. She sort of yelled it as they were fighting."
 Harry buries his face in his hands. "Oh, I despise her."
 Connor watches. Things are, again, not adding up. Or⌠not again. They have yet to make sense to Connor. "How are you not dead?"
 Harry peeks around his fingers, unwilling to spit out the entire story; "It's⌠a long story."
 "Sounds like our lives," Connor says with a snort.
 Harry has to agree to that. It really does. "Do you know what resuscitation is?"
 "No," Connor admits. He feels a bit like an idiot, having to ask so many questions, even though he shouldn't. Growing up is about learning the world, and he and Harry grew up differently.
 "When a heart stops, or a person dies, it's possible to restart the heart if someone does it right. And if you keep blood flowing, then there's not as much damage when the healers actually wake them up. At least, that's how it was explained to me. Not sure what gets damaged, because you still have to heal, but-" Harry shrugs, dropping his hands from their earlier gesticulating.
 "They can just- bring you back to life?"
 "Yes but no? It only works if you do it right away."
 Connor hums. "Someone brought you back."
 "I came back," Harry confirms. "Any other questions?"
 Connor stares hungrily instead of answering. He can't think of any right now, but he feels a question bubbling under his ribs, more than one maybe, unformed but yearning.
 Harry lets him, but his own focus is on how improbable this is. He had⌠planned, in a sense, how he was going to go about dealing with the issue of having a twin brother when they met at Hogwarts, with differing plans based on their house layouts.
 This meeting nicely crashes through those plans, chews up the rubble, and makes soup.
 And that is assuming this isn't a particularly creative and clever plot to kidnap him or get information, but Harry is ten and doesn't think that highly of himself.
 "Not yet," Connor finally admits.
 "Ri!" Ian shrieks, making his presence known again in the sandbox. "House!"
 Harry glances away from Connor to see what Ian means. He shifts, and smiles when he notices the mounds. "It's a very nice house, Ian."
 Ian grins and goes back to building.
 âWhoâs that?â Connor asks.
 âIan,â Harry answers. âHeâs been here two days.â
 Connor hums.
 The silence stretches, and Connor hates it. Harry canât see his discomfort, but he can tell anyway. He prepares to stand and kill it, but Connor speaks first.
 âHow did you-â He sighs, looking at the sky. âAre you sure youâre okay? She canât hurt you again?â She canât kill you again, Connor doesnât say.
 âYes,â Harry promises, settling down and threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. âNever again.â
 Connor watches, and then nods. âGood.â
 Harry smiles weakly, but this conversation makes him uncomfortable and now that he has his brother he wants to think of something else.
 Connor eyes him as he falls silent, and kind of wants to pry, but this is the first time he remembers meeting his brother, ever, and he knows most people donât spill their guts right away. Heâs not going to mention his random childhood coma or other drama, and heâs not even sure he wants to hear the story behind Harryâs short death. Itâs terrifying enough as a concept.
 The silence reigns until Harry comes up with a question, random as it is. âThis is weird. How do I know youâre even the real Connor Potter?â
 Connor snorts, because while many people have asked in awe if he was âreally Connor Potter?!â theyâve never needed confirmation. The scar on his forehead has always been enough. âWhy wouldnât I be?â
 Harry doesnât answer. He doesnât have a set caper that would require this, and he doesnât feel like itâs needed, either. Harry shrugs instead, because he already said it. âIâll figure it out,â he says languidly.
 Connor raises an eyebrow. âUh-huh. And how do I know youâre the real Hadrian Potter?â He⌠hasnât considered this possibility yet, but since Harry suggested it, Connor feels paranoia clinging to his skull.
 Harry shrugs. âIâm alive?â Connor snorts, but he quiets down quickly. Harry looks at him, concern and worry climbing his chest. He meant it as a joke, something instinctual that brought livelihood back to their dead conversation. Not to actually worry Connor. âHere,â he pulls his library card out of his pocket. âI havenât kept my school IDs with me,â he admits, âBut it counts, I think.â
 Connor looks at the card like he doesnât know what to do with it. He doesnât, for a moment, and then Connor recognizes enough pieces of the design to realize what it is. âOh! I donât have mine,â Connor admits. âWe donât go often.â
 âI go all the time.â
 âCool.â Connor shrugs. âIs there a good one around here?â
 âYeah,â Harry says. âThereâs not a true magical section, but itâs got a lot of good fantasy-fiction.â
 âCool.â
 "What's your favorite book?" Harry asks before the awkwardness can take over.
 Connor stops to think. "I'd go with the Big Friendly Giant, probably. Yours?"
 "Alice In Wonderland by Lewis Caroll."
 Connor squints. "Isn't that an adult book?"
 Harry snorts, but he acquiesces too. "I needed help reading it the first few times," he admits. "But I know what most of the words mean now, and it's a fantastic universe. Lots of wordplay."
 âYeah? Like what?â
 And then Harry is smiling, excitement unhindered, as he explains his favorite parts and the metaphors that took him the longest to get. Connor watches, and he thinks honestly that this is what Ron means when he talks about Ginny's love for espionage. It's something Ron and Connor are terrible at (they've tried), but it makes her happy. Connor's been in such situations a few times, watching as the Weasleys or Neville start talking about things he doesn't understand or follow but they're passionate about.
 This is four times better.
 "I think it would be fun to make an amusement park themed after it," Harry says, winding down. "Or just enchant a teakettle or something for smoke signals."
 "The shrinking and growth potions sound fun," Connor says. "We could sneak around mouseholes." Ginny would love it, he thinks. And Fred and George should never be allowed to touch it. The Yellow and Blue duo are menaces.
 "Or snake dens," Harry grins. Somewhere to their left doors slam and someone starts yelling about not being late. Harry looks over.
 Connor knows this won't last, but he wants it to. He watches Harry's awareness shift and mourns it, just a little. "You like snakes?" He asks, just to draw Harry back.
 "Yes!"
 Connor grins. "Me too. Dad took me to meet an Occamy once, she was the rudest snake I'd ever met, but her feathers were so pretty! Not quite the color of the sky, more of a green-blue gemstone, or pool water."
 "Whoah."
 Connor grins, both at the reaction and the memory. "What's your favorite snake?"
 "Mostly I know garters, but there was a random cobra who'd come to hang out a few years ago. I'm not sure what happened to her."
 Connor flops backwards, turning to look at Ian. The toddler looks nothing like him or Harry. What had Harry said earlier? Foster care?
 "Who do you live with now?"Â
 Harry looks over, but stays sitting up. "Uncle Regulus, Aunt Vivian, and Uncle Adrian."
 Connor⌠has no idea who any of those are. He tries to place the tree he's under instead. "You mentioned kids too, earlier?" Itâs not an aspen, but it could be oak or willow.
 "Yeah, there's also Fay and Caspian. And Ian, now."
 Connor blinks, and then snorts. âOkay so,â he holds up his hand to count them out. âYour name is Hadrian, his name is Ian, and you live with people named Caspian, Vivian, and Adrian?â
 âYes,â Harry says around a laugh at Connorâs tone.
 Connor actually laughs then. He loves this. The apprehension from earlier has long since vanished, he's comfy, and he's learning about his brother. âWas the matching on purpose?â
 âI donât think so,â Harry grins. âThey didnât name Fay Favian.â
 Connor snorts. âIs Fay a nickname?â
 âShort for Faith."
 He nods. âI wonder if there are any nicknames for Connor?â
 âLily and James only call you Connor?â
 âNot even close,â Connor shakes his head. âBut none of their nicknames are short for my name.â
 âWhat nicknames do they use?â
 âSweetheart, Bucktooth,â Connor pauses before adding the last one. "Sometimes Their Little Immortal." There are others, but even out of the ones in the vein, perhaps especially from their number, few stick.
 Contrary to his worries, Harry laughs. "Cute."
 "What about you? Any embarrassing nicknames?"
 "None of your nicknames are embarrassing."
 "Bucktooth is terribly embarrassing," Connor corrects him, opening his mouth to show off his teeth. It's embarrassing in a good way, though. "What do they call you?"
 "Harry, mostly. Aunt Vivian is Viv, Adrian is Rian, we call Caspian Cas, you know Fayâs, and then thereâs Uncle Reg.â Harry shrugs. âOtherwise theyâre all jokes like Casper or Changeling.â Heâs leaving out the ones he doesnât like. Squirtle is the first to come to mind. Later there will be Hades.
 âChangeling?â
 âLegend says the fae used to steal human babies and leave other fae in their place.â
 âCreepy,â Connor says bluntly. Harry shrugs.
 âItâs not too bad if they steal from the right house.â
 Connor frowns up at him, but doesn't contest it. The way Harry said it⌠There was something there Connor doesnât get yet, and he isnât going to start an argument heâll lose.
 âThink Con would work as a nickname?â
 Connor shrugs. âWhy not? It does the job.â
  âYouâre discussing names without me?â
 Connor jumps as the snake appears in the grass beside his head. Harry doesnât. Connor smiles slightly and greets her at the same time Harry does.
 She raises her head to greet them in return. âHello, Greater-Death-Cheater-â Harry makes a face at the title. Connor wonders why- itâs fitting, which makes it a good one. âWho is your companion?â
  âThis is my clutchmate, Connor.â
 âNo proper name yet?â
 âActually yes,â Connor says, looking at the little boa. He shifts so he can sit up. âIâm Night-Dandelion.â
 Harry giggles. Connor shoves him blindly, which doesn't stop the laughter.
 The brown snake seems to judge the name, before doing an approximation of a shrug. âThereâs been worse.â Â
 Harry buries his head in his hands. âPlease donât insult him."
 âWhatâs your name?â Connor asks before he can explode from the emotional flux his little brother defending him causes.
 The snake puffs up. âIt is under deliberation and has yet to be picked,â she says, as sagely as a baby boa constrictor can be. She turns to Harry. âIf your clutchmate and nestmates are half speakers, why do Sun-Human-Nestfather, Unhatched-Mother, and Night-Mist not speak as well?â
 âI have no idea.â
 âMum and dad are speakers too,â Connor says. âIt's fun when weâre out, dad will make fun of people, and mum and I see who can go the longest without laughing.â
 Harry grins sideways at him. âHave you been caught?âÂ
 Parseltongue is weird in Harryâs family. He hadn't considered whether or not his blood relations would share the skill. Fay and Regulus do, although he can't remember if Caspian can too. Caspianâs skills are unreliable.
 âA couple times,â Connor admits sheepishly. âStill fun though.â
 "Did you bring your book?" The snake asks, cavalierly changing the subject. The twins let it happen.
 Harry shakes his head. "I did, but I'm not reading right now."
 "Your book?" Connor asks.
 "Speaker-who-reads."
 "I read to them," Harry explains, because as nice as the boa is, titles donât explain everything.
 "Why?"
 "It's a good way to practice, and it's fun. Plus, snakes are a bit like kids. They're funner to talk to when you know what they're talking about or have a topic in common."
 Connor 'huh's. He's never thought about that. "I thought snakes were inherently smart."
  "We are," the boa says, flicking her tail imperiously. Harry squints, wondering if she's the cobra reincarnated. It's an eerily reminiscent gesture. "But even smart creatures can learn better, night-flower."
 "...not⌠my name," Connor says, but he doesn't expect it to make a difference. Snakes can be stubborn.
 "Coin?"
 Connor blinks at Harry. Did he miss something? "What?"
 "Still trying to think of nicknames," Harry explains. "Not a good one?"
 "No idea," Connor says. Harry looks at Ian again. Ian's still in the sandbox, though now he's laying down.
 "Is he making sand angels?"
 "What's a sand angel?"
 "Snow angel but sand."
 Connor doesnât recognize that phrase either, so he assumes itâs a muggle thing. Godricâs Hollow is a mixed community in name only; this muggle neighborhood is more inclusively mixed than Godricâs Hollow. There have been enough incidents without obliviators visiting that everyone here knows about magic to some degree - and technically, Regulus hasnât broken the Statute of Secrecy. Loopholes are a clever manâs best friend.
 Godricâs Hollow just hides magicals among the muggles, giving the impression that thereâs a bunch of Elitists trying (and failing, depending on who you ask) to rough it. The separation is noticeable, and honestly a little pitiful. Thereâs keeping a secret, and then thereâs segregation.
 I find one more tolerable than the other.
 Connor pushes himself up, deciding to go see. Heâs learning loads on this expedition to the muggle world, wizarding home nearby or not. âCan we go see?â
 "Sure," Harry agrees, moving to stand up too. They head over, and yeah, Ianâs waving his arms and legs in the sand. Harry smiles, and it is still the best thing Connorâs seen. He thought heâd seen it all when Harry was talking about Alice in Wonderland, and he was wrong. âYou having fun?â He asks, leaning over Ianâs head. He looks so proud, so fond, that Connor finds himself mirroring the expression.
 âYeah!â Ian calls happily. âJoin!â
 Harry looks at the sandbox, which is⌠really just the entire playground box. âAlright.â He sits down and looks up, pausing for a moment to just look at his brother, whoâs looking at him like he hung the sun. âYou coming?â It makes something in his chest tighten because he hasnât done anything to deserve that look, but at the same time- Harryâs not happy that he had no chance to plan, but he is very happy he got to meet Connor.
 Connor looks down at his brother, who has yellow sand peppering his dark hair already, and shrugs. âSure.â He doesnât flop bonelessly like Harry did, instead sitting down gingerly. The smile falls from his face as he does. Heâs not a fan of sand. Itâs itchy.
 Itâs even later when Harry poses his next question- well, not his next one. Children are fickle and their minds wander, but this is perhaps the next one whose answer I deem important. ââŚNewspapers say you still live in Godricâs Hollow?â
 âYeah.â Connor hums. There are clouds moving quickly across the sky, but Connor canât feel a breeze. âDo you⌠remember?â The question is hesitant, low.
 âNot that one,â Harry says without missing a beat. Despite his speed, he matches the mood. âYou?â
 âNot much.â Connor shakes his head and then regrets it. Sand is gross, and now itâs all over his neck and in his hair. He remembers a lot, considering he was younger than two. âLots of lights.â
 Harry closes his eyes. âIâm sorry.â He doesnât remember that day. He doesnât remember the attack on Potter Cottage. He remembers other injuries, he remembers Number 4, Number 10, and Number 8. He remembers an aching neck, a pinched back, and a searing shoulder. He doesnât remember the bright lights Connor does.
 Connor doesnât respond for a few minutes. âThis is so weird.â
 âWhich part?â
 âIâm meeting you!â Connor throws his hands up, eyes bright. They flop back into his sand angelâs sleeves a moment later. âI always thought⌠it wouldnât happen until I was an adult.â
 âOh,â Harry says. âI forgot⌠you thought I was a squib, right?â
 âYeah,â Connor agrees. âWere you planning on meeting me?â
 âYeah,â Harry looks over at his big brother, a tendril of apprehension building but he stamps it down. Theyâve done great so far. âI wasnât sure if you knew I existed. Weâd talked about a couple different ways you could react.â
 Connor hums. He hates it when he does that, imagines all the ways something could go right and then all the ways they could go wrong. Itâs annoying and usually only manages to upset him. Itâs why he tries to listen to his impulses first. âIâm glad we met.â Connor doesnât think the words say enough.
 âMe too.â
 Harryâs words donât seem to either, but Connor can hope. He keeps his face seeking the sun, but glances sidelong at Harry. Harryâs looking at him, expression almost as fond as when he talks to Ian, even if thereâs more hope than assurance. This is okay, he decides. This is better than okay, really, itâs good. Connor looks back at the clouds and breathes, feeling the knot of emotions in his chest slide over each other and loosen.
 This is good. Heâs okay. Harryâs okay, too, which is so much better than Connor expected a few hours ago. Lily will come find him, and he can explain, and they can meet the foster parents, and Connor will have a brother again.
 He doesnât remember the first time, no, but this was just like making a friend, and he knows heâs okay with that, wants it even.
#Harry Potter#WBWL#Cathy The Narrator#Not (our parents') children#NOPC#WTOWBS#Jaymeow writes#Crossposting Spam#Connor Potter#harry potter au#Timothy The Narrator#Lily Potter#Vivian Dunbar#Adrian Dunbar#Dudley Dursley#Fay dunbar#Faith Dunbar-Black#cw: implied child death#implied infancide#we are children of empty graves#discussions of self harm#discussion of abuse#Petunia Dursley
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But one must go beyond encircling flames. Ancestor worship is a process. The exact nature of the relationship between an ancestor and their descendant is always to be determined. The sun on the wall, to the right of the mirror, is hot, and in the shape of a portrait, from which individual personality has been effaced.
Brandon Shimoda, Hydra Medusa
#brandon shimoda is my weird psychic wrestling match author#i reread this in Utah on my way back from burying my grandma's ashes#my sister and i had crawled under a tree to take turns lying on the cool part of the grass#just like we did when we were children in the central valley#i both connected with it more this time and felt oddly irritated by the lack of--as he says--individual personality#shimoda's ancestor 'characters' and poems have#the way Grave on the Wall attempts to understand a dead man via things the FBI said he said in 1942#the obsession with inhabiting the past with locating and understanding sites of mythic evil and suffering#the ancestors as endless light and the descendant--the author himself--a blank. an empty door.#'we are much safer on the threshold of memory' becomes 'but poetry tastes so good on the threshold of memory'#and i feel like shimoda's writing has gotten stuck there. but maybe it's just because#i don't believe what he believes about the dead.#bookshelf
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israel posted a video of them giving water bottles to palestinians on a beach, then destroyed their luggage and shot at them after they stopped recording.
israel posted a photo of one of their soldiers "assisting" with an elderly man, then they shot him twice in the back and killed him.
in 2015, the idf posted pr photos of an israeli soldier giving water to an elderly palestinian woman, only for them to execute her after the photo was taken.
in 2005, an idf soldier emptied his rifle into a 13-year-old palestinian schoolgirl. he said he would have done the same thing if she was 3-years-old. he was acquitted of all charged.
israel claimed that hamas beheaded 40 israeli babies and then a month later cut off power to a palestinian hospital where premature babies were on incubators.
israel bombed a group of children collecting rainwater.
israel shot and killed two palestinian children playing with their scooter.
israel shot a hard of hearing girl in the face with a stun grenade and broke her jaw.
israel is using bombs with blades that are designed to cause maximum damage to the person in range.
israel forced medical workers at al-Nasr medical center to leave babies in incubators in order to evacuate the hospital they were bombing.
israel turned off power to hospitals in palestine, forcing nurses and doctors to use their phone flashlights when treating patients.
israel raised their flag over Al Shifa hospital.
israel has blown up the chambers of the palestinian legislative council.
israel targeted a "suspicious vehicle containing several terroristsâ, meanwhile the only people in the car were three girls, ages 10, 12, and 14, their grandmother, and their mother. the only survivor was the three girls' mother.
israel planted a copy of mein kampf in a children's bedroom in a gazan house they claim hamas was hiding in.
israel poured fake blood onto the floor of an israeli child's bedroom and claimed hamas killed them.
israeli soldiers posted a video of them dancing on gazan graves.
israel posted a video showing a calendar in a palestinian children's hospital was a hamas guard list because it was written in arabic.
israel was using white phosphorus on hospitals.
israel bombed a refugee camp.
israel has burned olive trees in palestine.
israel has put cement into the water supply of palestine.
israel claimed that they found tunnels under Al Shifa hospital, only for it to be exposed that those tunnels are actually in sweden.
israel built a bunker and command room under Al Shifa hospital in 1983, only for them to now say that they are hamas tunnels.
israeli police arrested an israeli high school teacher, who posted on facebook expressing sympathy with palestinian civilians who have been killed.
israeli soldiers filmed themselves throwing a stun grenade into a palestinian mosque.
we are witnessing a genocide in real time framed under the guise of stopping hamas. israel has been terrorizing palestine for as long as israel has existed, but their access to technology and social media has made it much easier to fool people into supporting them.
meanwhile, noah schnapp is posting that zionism is sexy and celebrities are standing with israel. just absolutely twisted shit.
edit: for those who would like sources, my twitter is alliiesmith. i have retweeted everything iâve mentioned. i apologize for not providing this sooner
edit 2: iâve had some people in the replies and reposts pointing out that linking my twitter seems like promotion. i just wanted to clear up that that was not my intention. iâve been retweeting resources and news much faster than iâm able to add to this post, and i thought that my twitter profile could be something of a hub for information. i donât care if you follow me, but i think scrolling through and seeing what iâve retweeted could be helpful.
#*#allie talks#israel palestine conflict#israel#idf#palestine#gaza#west bank#politics#current events
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hi! long time reader, first time submit-er :) could i request a dilf!wonwoo fic where youâre trying to get your kids out the door to trick or treat with a friend or a family member because you and wonwoo have a halloween party and you get self conscious that you donât look hot enough in your costume but wonwoo disagrees? very fluffy, maybe even smutty if that works for you hehe
â Pairing: Dad!Wonwoo x Mom!readerÂ
â Summary: For the first Halloween in years, you and Wonwoo are able to enjoy it together without the kids. When you feel a little nervous about your costume, Wonwoo is determined to show you that youâve always been the sweetest thing.Â
â Word Count: 2,278
â Genre: Slice of Life, Married Couple/Parents
â Type: Smut, Fluff
â Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
â Warnings: Light mentions of anxiety regarding letting kids go trick-or-treating without them, slight body insecurity and light mentions of a skirt not fitting comfortably, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, spitting, hair pulling, stupid and corny during sex.Â
â A/N: Hey so anyway Iâm not even that big of a fan of dilf-teen or parent-fic but here we are and I am ACTUALLY VERY INTERESTED IN DAD WONWOO NOW. SO THIS IS NOW YOUR FAULT THAT IâM THINKING ABOUT IT. Also the visual of Jihoon with a kid on his shoulders sent me into an early grave.Â
â A/N 2: PLEASE THE BANNER IS NERDY BUT THEYâRE DRESSED AS COWBOYS OK LMFAO
â Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.
Main Masterlist â Tag List Request Form â Ask â Haliween
âSoonyoung, her crown!â You warn, watching as your friend smacks the plastic crown off Haenâs head. She doesnât seem to notice, too busy digging her greedy little hands in the pocket of his tiger onesie where she knows sheâll find candy. âAre you sure you can do this?âÂ
Soonyoung scoffs. His outrage is lessened by the ridiculous tiger onesie heâs in, the suit zipped to the neck and the hood pulled up over his head. Heâs got Iseul in his arms, cradling her in her dragon costume as she pulls on his hood while Haen reveals a Jolly Rancher.Â
âMaybe we-â
Wonwooâs hand on your lower back cuts you off as he steps through the door frame. He pitches his voice low and gentle as he crouches down, eye level with your eldest child. âHey, no candy until after. We agreed, remember?âÂ
Pouting, she shoves the candy back inside Soonyoungâs pocket. Behind him, Jihoon and Jeonghan snort. âYes, daddy. Sorry, I excited.âÂ
Mouth pressed firmly to hide your smile, you feel the overwhelming sense of love for her as she puts her hands behind her back, waiting patiently for Soonyoung to escort her down the steps and sidewalk to go trick-or-treating.Â
âWeâll be fine,â Soonyoung assures, pouting as he takes Haenâs hand and spins around. Your other friends hold out the empty buckets made to be filled with candy. âWe promised we had them, and we do!â
Wonwoo stands, hand sliding up your back as he does. âYou remember where the key is?âÂ
âYes, daddy,â Soonyoung calls over his shoulder. He passes Iseul to Jeonghan, who holds her far less precariously. âWeâll let you know when weâre back. Go out on the town or whatever it is parents with no kids do.âÂ
Children and parents line the streets. You watch your little group of friends with your two kids meander down the sidewalk, Jihoon immediately lifting Haeun to put her on his shoulders. Nerves eat away at you as they finally vanish from your line of vision, lost to the other swarms of trick-or-treaters and bobbing halloween lights hanging from trees.Â
âMaybe we should-â
âNope,â Wonwoo says gently, pulling you toward him. âTheyâll do fine. Jihoon is with them, what could go wrong?â
Blowing out a sigh you nod, taking a moment to just drink him in. As much as he hates dressing up on Halloween, heâs done it again this year for you, dressed in the exact cowboy costume that you had put together for him. Itâs less a costume than it is precariously picked clothes - the tan, suede button up and brown leather pants had already been in his closet, along with the belt and bolo tie. Youâd just purchased the hat and the boots to complete the look.
And it is a look.
Wonwoo has always had the annoying ability to look good in whatever he wears. It doesnât matter if heâs sitting on the couch in a shirt with juice stains from Iseul spilling her apple juice all over him or if heâs in a pressed suit at a company holiday party - he looks good in everything.Â
Heading back inside, you catch yourself in the mirror near the entrance, tugging at your skirt a little. Itâs a little higher and tighter than you remember, and the button digs into your stomach a bit more than you like. Chewing your lip, you quickly turn from the mirror, busying yourself in the kitchen looking for your car keys and purse.
Wonwoo follows you silently, leaning against the door frame as he watches you. His eyes are heavy on you, your stomach fluttering as you drop a credit card onto the floor. Cursing, you bend down to get it, feeling the skirt hug you tightly and restrict your movement for a second.Â
âIâve got it,â he says quietly, pushing off the wall.
âNo, no,â you manage to peel it off the tile. âThis damn skirt is so much tighter than it used to be. God.â Standing up again, you shove your card into the wallet, not meeting his eyes as he drifts toward you. âMaybe I should change.â
âWhy?â
âI donât know. Maybe itâs just⌠I donât know.â
âI think it looks fucking fantastic.â You roll your eyes, looking at him with a deadpan stare. His mouth twitches a little as he drops his gaze to the jean skirt in question. âYou look fucking hot.âÂ
âWeâre married. You have to say that.â
âWeird. I donât remember that being in our vows.âÂ
âIt definitely was.â You fiddle with the zipper on your wallet, nibbling on your bottom lip. âI think it was right after in sickness. It said and always tell your wife sheâs hot.âÂ
His laugh is throaty and he reaches for you. You let him, his hands soft as he pulls you toward him by the waist. He smells like spicy cologne and something that is distinctly Wonwoo. Instead of looking up to meet his gaze, you focus on the pocket of his shirt, lifting your hands to fidget with it and press it flat.
âBaby,â he murmurs. You still donât look up at him, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. âI really like the skirt, but you can wear whatever you want.âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âMhmm. It makes your legs look good. Not to mentionâŚâ One hand drifts from your hip to your ass, squeezing generously. Your breath catches and your eyes flick up to meet his. Theyâre dark, a playful edge to his gaze that youâre intimately familiar with. âYou look good in everything to me.âÂ
âHmm.â
âHmm?â he imitates. Wonwooâs fingers skim the edge of the skirt, brushing across your thighs. You shiver, clinging to him a little as your eyes flutter shut at the contact. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest as he says, âWant me to help you out of it?âÂ
The two of you have been together for nine years, married for six. You know every part of your best friend turned boyfriend turned husband. There is no corner of his heart he has left unturned to you, no thought that you cannot complete, no words he can speak that you donât already know.
So when he asks if you want him to help you out of it you know what heâs asking you. He isnât saying heâll help you out and to pick out a new skirt. He isnât asking you to change it. He doesnât even want you to put the skirt back on, if his hungry gaze and the low pitch of his voice tells you anything.Â
âI thought you wanted to go to the halloween party.â
His laugh comes out in a huff. âIâd like to get you out of that skirt more.âÂ
Wonwooâs fingers curl around the edge of your skirt, a question. âPlease.âÂ
Wonwoo has never denied you anything, and he doesnât now. He spins you against the counter so that your hips are pressed to it, your back to his chest. He sinks his hands down your front, fingers deftly undoing the button. His hot breath is on your neck, his lips barely skimming your skin in an almost-kiss.Â
Button popped, Wonwoo pulls the material open. Instead of rolling it down at the waist, his hand snakes into your skirt, pressing against your underwear as his mouth connects with your throat. You let out a breathy noise, melting in his arms as he presses his fingers to your clit over the silk of your underwear.Â
âOh,â you breath, going slack against him. He doesnât mind, pinning you between him and the counter as he circles his fingers teasingly. He keeps his mouth busy, pressing wet kisses up your throat and toward your jaw. âThought you wanted me out of it.âÂ
âI will,â he promises, nipping your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, giving him more access. The lower pit of your stomach burns with desire, sparking at his lazy touch. âJust wanted to touch first.â
âSlow ainât your thing, cowboy?âÂ
âNah, Iâve got a pretty thing that wants to take a ride.âÂ
Your laugh is cut off by a hiss, your head falling forward, as Wonwoo glides a finger down to press at your entrance. You feel your muscles clench, your stomach lurching as he teases you. A hand shoots to his wrist and you dig your fingers in, nails biting.Â
âBe nice,â you warn sternly.Â
âMmm. Youâre using your mommy voice.âÂ
âI wouldnât have to if daddy was being nice.â
âDaddy says heâll make up for it.âÂ
Daddy does. He always does. Wonwoo loves to tease you and make you beg for it, but he doesnât now, fingers pulling your underwear to the side so he can stroke your pussy in full. He moans at the wetness he finds, hooking his chin over your shoulder to watch as he works his hand between your legs.Â
Wonwooâs fingers are deft and skillful, applying just the right pressure and stimulation to work you up. Your breath becomes stilted, feeling the ripples of pleasure as he gets you where he wants you. Pinned between him and the counter, you canât move. Canât squirm. Canât buck your hands to meet his strokes when he sinks a finger into your cunt.Â
âFuck,â he rasps, pressing a messy kiss to your shoulder. âLike fucking silk.â
Heat creeps up your neck. You feel breathless under his attention, the heel of his palm pressing into your clit as Wonwoo leisurely fucks you with his finger, dragging it out only to slide up to your clit, circling gently.Â
Your fingers dig into him as Wonwoo strings you along, enjoying the way your sounds turn airy and weak. He plays you perfectly, working you up until you feel your thighs twitching, eyes shut as you let him steer you toward your peak.
Wonwoo pulls his hand from your skirt, making you eyes fly open, mouth hanging open. Turning to yell at him over your shoulder, your words are lost as he drops to his knees, fingers yanking your skirt as he goes.
Cool air hits your legs as he taps your ankle, asking you to step out of the skirt. You do and he rewards you with a gentle kiss on the back of your thigh, his hands skimming up your legs. You feel the coolness wear his wet fingers leave a slick trail on your skin.Â
Leaning forward, he plans another gentle kiss on the curve of your ass, making you laugh. He hums pleasantly, hands warm and explorative. He presses the small of your back gently, making you lean onto the counter, ass out.Â
Delicately, he peels your underwear from your hips, tossing them somewhere else. His hands return to your legs, pressing gently to pry your thighs apart. He groans at your messy cunt, no doubt proud of his work.Â
The marble countertop is freezing cold, ground you as you rest your cheek on it. You feel your chest heavy, holding your breath for a moment when Wonwoo leans forward and dips his tongue between your folds tentatively.Â
âSoonyoung should take the kids more often,â Wonwoo notes, breath hitting you between the legs. You make a strangled sound, distracted by the way his fingers squeeze your thighs, digging into the meat of them. His tongue dips back in, dragging upward again. âWant to do this more.âÂ
âYou - fuck - did this last night.âÂ
âNot with you bent over the counter and this pretty ass in my face.â His hand smacks your ass lightly, making you squeal. He laughs deep in his throat, a little bit of a groan as he mutters, âExactly.âÂ
Wonwoo stops talking, mouth busy as he fastens his lips to your heat, sucking gently. He drives you insane, losing yourself in the way his tongue circles gently around your bundle of nerves. He alternates between tongue and lips, a shattering combination of heaven and hell as he works you toward an orgasm.Â
His mouth isnât the reason you fell in love with him, but as you start breaking apart, you think it might be a solid entry on the list of reasons. You reach back with one hand, knocking the hat off his head to tangle your fingers in his hair. He grunts, appreciative as he gives a particularly greedy suck, making your toes curl.Â
âFuck,â he mutters, breaking away for a second. His fingers peel you open and you moan when you feel him spit against your hole, clenching around nothing. âWho needs candy when I have the sweetest thing right here?â
âWonwoo.âÂ
âYou even melt in my mouth.â
âWonwoo.â
He chuckles. âYeah baby, I know.â
He always knows. He attaches his mouth back to you, slick and messy and loud as he works you to your orgasm. Your nails dig against his scalp - he doesnât care. He lets you tug him further in, happy to press his face as close to your heat as possible.Â
You press back into him, muscle clenching. You burst like a bubble, completely coming undone under his mouth as you come against him, face pressed to the counter. He pushes you through it, not letting you escape him when you try and wiggle away, tongue hot and hungry until youâre begging him to let up.Â
Wonwoo pulls away, breathing heavily. His hands skate up and down your legs and suddenly youâre grateful your weight is all on the countertop, thighs totally useless.Â
âGod damn,â you pants, eyes shut.
âYeah,â he agrees and stands. You feel him crowd you in, touch seeking your hips. âCatch your breath, partner. You still got a ride to go on.âÂ
-
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#wonwoo smut#jeon wonwoo smut#wonu smut#svt smut#wonwoo x reader#wonu x reader#seventeen smut#wonwoo fic#wonwoo fanfic#minors do not interact#minors dni#haliween
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can i read your thesis i wanna know about how mesopotamians kept their loved ones close. i feel like there might be something about roots or foundations or grounding, connecting the family to the home & people to place both physically and metaphorically. gravesites are powerful powerful place connections and im really curious about what we know about a culture whose gravesites and homes were one and the same. i imagine they were pretty comfortable with death
so it's not online yet because i want to publish it first in a journal BUT i can tell you a bit about it. this is gonna be specifically about the old babylonian period (19-15th centuries BCE) because that's what my thesis is on, but with some changes it's pretty much applicable throughout mesopotamian history
so the basic thought behind burial under the houses is that the dead don't cease to part of the family. ancestor cult is an important aspect of mesopotamian culture and domestic religion. the netherworld is not a nice place, it's dark and dusty and all the spirits have for food is dust. but if you feed your ancestors (this is a ritual called the kispum which consists of food offering, libation and the calling of their names. it's a regular ritual that some sources say was done monthly, and others say it was during the yearly festival of the dead in the month of the god dumuzi/tammuz) then they'll have things to eat and drink in the afterlife! and if you are a spirit, the more descendants you have, the more your well-being is ensured! it's a symbiotic relationship. if your ancestors are satisified, they can help you out with things and act as sort of benevolent protective spirits over the household and the family, and also welcome you in the netherworld when you die. but spirits who were not properly buried or aren't given the proper offerings can wander, come back to haunt you and cause harm. if you would like to know more about this, i recommend dina katz's book, the image of the netherworld in the sumerian sources, an amazing read. the point is, the dead are part of the family, they have their metaphorical place in the family structure and a physical place in the home
people in the notes mentioned that moving probably was difficult. and it definitely was. some of the people buried in these houses were in underground tombs, built from burnt clay bricks, and some others were just in graves dug into the earthen floor, all around the houses. now these brick tombs are often found completely empty, no skeletons, nothing. which means that the family took them when they moved away. probably because they were in some way the most important ancestors, maybe the main lineage of the family? this part is not really clear because these bones are missing, they took them, we don't know anything about them. however, in ur, there are two examples of just the skull being buried and i think that means that family moved to this house from somewhere else and brought the skulls of their ancestors along and re-buried them. it's a very rare find though
from an anthropological perspective, the phyisical proximity of the graves in the same place where the living slept, ate, worked, raised children, etc, was a kind of constant reminder. of their shared ancestors, of their shared identitiy as a family and as a larger clan or kinship group. from a psychological point of view, it was a strategy of coping with grief
important to note also, that this was not practiced by every family. there are houses with no graves at all or just one or two graves, certainly not the whole household. this means that most likely there existed also cemeteries, burial grounds outside the cities. to my knowledge, no cemetary like this has been found yet. but it would be insanely interesting to see what they were like and how the people buried there were different from the people buried in the houses at the same time!
in the end, let me give you a quote from the myth of erra and iĹĄum (translated by karel van der toorn in the book mesopotamian magic). this is what a man says about his house:
"These are my living quarters, I have personally made them and will have my peace within them, and when fate has carried me off, I will sleep therein."
i said i can't write a poem about this. and i don't have to, because they already did and it's beautiful
#okayyy im gonna stop rambling#this is getting really long and if you are not careful im gonna dump the entire 60 page thesis on you#asks for me#my posts#mesopotamia#funerary practices#tw death
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ATLANTIS: THE LOST EMPIRE (2001) PROMPTS * Â assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary
it's been my experience when you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up.
i sleep in the nude.
about time someone hit him. i'm sorry it wasn't me.
i didn't say it was the smart thing, but it is the right thing.
i came down the chimney. ho ho ho.
we've done a lot of things we're not proud of. robbing graves, plundering tombs, double parking... but nobody got hurt.
maybe somebody got hurt, but nobody we knew.
will you look at the size of this? it's gotta be half a mile high at least.
our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children.
you're so skinny, if you turned sideways and stuck out your tongue, you'd look like a zipper.
hey look, i made a bridge.
as far as me goes, i just like to blow things up.
come on. tell the kid the truth.
does it match my dress?
it was like a sign from god.
i got your four basic food groups: beans, bacon, whiskey, and lard.
you have disturbed the dirt.
what have you done?
if you give back every stolen artifact from a museum, you'd be left with an empty building.
i gotta admit, i'm disappointed.
you ask too many questions!
who are you? who sent you?
do not be such a crybaby.
now tell me your story, my little friend.
trust me on this one. you don't wanna know.
if you're looking for the pony rides, they're back there.
what else have you got in there?
forget your jammies, [name]?
you're gonna want a pair of these.
i think we've seen how effective my decisions have been.
have i left anything out?
you did set the camp on fire and drop us down that big hole.
i took this job when my dad retired.
you are a scholar, are you not?
who told you that?
let's go over it again, just so we got it straight.
we're all gonna die.
someone needs to talk to that girl.
for the good of the mission, i will go!
tonight's supper will be baked beans. musical program to follow.
hey, i had nothing to do with it.
i'll have to quit my job.
you didn't just drink that, did you?
don't move, don't breathe, don't do anything...
carrots? why it it always carrots?
with something like that, i would have white wine.
we can't let him do this!
okay, now you can go.
how was my accent?
we are not thriving.
where are you going?
don't take no for an answer.
look, i have some questions for you, and i'm not leaving this city until they're answered.
somebody's gonna have to suck out this poison.
i thought you said he only had guns!
mercenary? i prefer the term "adventure capitalist."
do you wanna do my job? be my guest.
i'm gonna need you to fill these up.
thank god i lost my sense of taste years ago.
why don't you translate, and i'll wave the gun around.
this was not part of the plan.
you do swim, do you not?
your heart has softened.
you would have slain them on sight.
what they have to teach us, we have already learned.
something wrong with your neck?
so i guess this is how it ends? fine. you win.
get back! i've got soap, and i'm not afraid to use it!
look at all those tattoos!
i've got a bone to pick with you.
any last words?
i really wish i had a better idea than this.
i know i'm forgetting something.
you're the one who got us here.
you must've read it a dozen times by now.
sometimes i get a little carried away.
all will be well. be not afraid.
i hate fishing. i hate fish. hate the taste, hate the smell, hate all them little bones.
you will not regret this!
hard to believe he's still single.
can you drive a truck?
no time like the present.
i love it when we win.
you pick now of all times to grow a conscience?
#rp meme#rp prompt#atlantis: the lost empire#mcflymemes#rp memes#roleplay memes#rp starters#roleplay prompt#ask memes#ask meme#roleplay meme#roleplay inbox prompts#rp inbox meme#inbox prompt#inbox meme#sentence starter prompt#sentence starter#sentence starters
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Can we have Andrew and Reader have a life after the events of the game (In the Bulletless Decay route)?
Reader would be an exchange student who would have gone to stay with the Graves family, but in the end she ended up being another 'victim' of the game's circumstances.
She would be a type of person who was indifferent to almost everything, cold-blooded, with somewhat sociopathic tendencies but with a kind heart.
Okay, let's do this, after Ashley's murder, Andrew and Reader finally got fake teeth and moved somewhere far away, but with all the recent traumas and along with the fear of being abandoned.
Andrew started to have possessive tendencies, a little clingy, toxic, manipulative towards our 'poor thing' Reader and that would result in them having children in the future, to keep her trapped in the coffin with him.
ANDREW GRAVES X F!READER
(a/n: okay so i think i understand what u mean, sorry if its not what you expected, im a little(very) rusty rn at writing) NOT PROOF READ!
okay so first of all, Ashley never liked you, and thats part of the reason Andrew liked you sm
like, yea, he always does whatever his sister wants him to, and he hated himself for falling for you
but there was just something about how you were so indifferent under almost any circumstances (oh how he enjoyed seeing you crack under the pressure when you ate the cultist!)
your cold blooded outer shell was something intriguing to him
he wanted to study you
he wanted to get to know you.
did he care about you from the begining? ha, no.
of course he didnt
his sister hated you, so he hated you too
she was afraid you'd steal him from her so he didnt give you the chance
a couple of days into the quarantine is when he'll finally give in and start talking to you
and low and behold, he loved you from the first interaction
you were just so interesting!
he, of course, felt guilty for going against his sisters wishes, but he still would spend mre and more time just talking to you
after killing ashley i think he would just be in denial
for a really (REALLY) long time he would just wait for her to come back, even tough he knows shes not going to
after somehow getting away and finding a permanent place to stay, you two got in a relationship
both of you had abandonment issues you should treat, but neither of you felt it was necesary
from the start he didnt let you talk to anyone else but him
at first it was something you despited about him, feeling it was too clingy. you needed space, you needed privacy
but at one point those needs started fading away
he would tell you "you dont need anyone else but me. im the only one who is capable of understanding what you went trough! and you're the only one who can understand what I went trough. but its alright! dont worry about me! just worry about yourself and what you want. its not like you care about me anyway."
so you belived him
you didnt need anyone else but him
you told him you didnt want kids
thats one of the many topics you talked about when you met
you didnt feel they fufiled any particular need of yours and you didnt want to have them if you were just going to regret them after
he managed to change your mind
after having your 2nd child with him, you were so far gone that you remained just and empty shell of the person you used to be
the lines between you two started bleeding into eachother and so he absorbed your presence
you were no longer yourself
you were just who he wanted you to be all along
he still loved you of course
also i feel like he would get a lot of his manipulation skills from his sister
or whatever is the feeling he gets thats closest to love
he just needed you to stay
and whenever it seemed like you were ready to fly away, he would cut your wings
________________________________________
final a/n
i know its bad dude, im sorry đ
if you were to ask me right now what i just wrote i couldnt tell you (like im fr rn)
if you want me to try to re-do it just ask (if u didnt like this one that is)
so uh
thx for asking
and sorry its bad lmao
here are the other fandoms i write for!
have a nice rest of ur day/night!
#andrew graves#andrew graves x reader#x reader#fanfiction#the coffin of andy and leyley#tcoaal#fanfic
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Season 2, Episode 20 - What Is And What Should Never Be (Part Two)
Series Masterlist
Authors Note: Part Two!!! If you havenât read part one yet, go here. Youâll need to read it to understand this and the series. Hope everyone likes!â¤ď¸
_______________________________________________
Y/N had gone to work and Dean was lounging in their living room, finishing off Y/Nâs beer as he flipped through channels on the TV set. Dean let out a content, âAhhhâ as he clicked the remote, landing on a news station. âAnd today marks the anniversary of the crash of United Britannia Flight 424â The newscaster said.
Deanâs heart dropped, his eyes widening as he leaned forward, instantly recognizing the flight by name. âIndianapolis residents held a candlelight vigil in memory of the victimsâ Dean could feel his fear growing, âNo no no. We stopped that crashâ His mind going back to that day they had to exorcise a demon on a plane.
-
Dean was now in front of Y/Nâs laptop, running his hand over his face as he stared, eyewide at the headline on the article. âFlight 424 Crashes. 108 deadâ the headline read. He began skimming the internet for all their previous hunts within the past two years, the words ânine children comatoseâ, âparents mutilatedâ, âgirl drowns in hotel poolâ rang through his head.
Dean felt sick to his stomach as he read about all the people they saved over the years were now gone, as if all what they did was for nothing. This reality was too much for him, he desperately wanted a normal life but seeing thisâŚit didn't sit right with him.
At the corner of his eye, Dean saw the figure of a woman drift in the hallway. His eyes snapped up to see no one there, he knew it couldn't be Y/N. He knows her figure like the back of his hand, so immediately he got up and rushed into the room. The seemingly empty room.
Dean heard something move in the closet, his head snapping in the direction. He attempted to reach for his gun he keeps in the back of his jeans, only to pat air. Forgetting that he's a civilian and not a hunter. The instinct came naturally. Dean then swiftly opened the door to see the skeletal remains of a man and a woman, hanging by their wrists from the ceiling.
Dean stared at it in shock and fear, before he could do anything, he sensed a presence behind him. He quickly turned around to see the young girl he saw outside the college and in the restaurant, a bleeding wound was prominent on her forehead. Her spirit then diminished out of sight. Leaving Dean stunned.
He spun around to see the skeletal remains he saw just a few seconds ago were now gone. "What theâŚ" Dean muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around the room where the skeletons had been not a moment ago. "What the hell is going on?" He repeated to himself, trying to make sense of everything he had just witnessed.
Frustration boiled within him as he ran a hand through his messy hair, feeling utterly helpless. He took a deep, shaky breath before quickly exiting the room. "Screw it. I need a drink" Dean mumbled, grabbing his keys and heading out the door.
____________________________________________
Thunder was rolling as lightning filled the dark sky where Dean stood in the cemetery. He looked down at the headstone that read âJohn Winchesterâ with anger, sorrow, pity and a bit of hatred. âAll of them. Everyone that you and F/N saved. Everyone that Sammy, Y/N/N and I saved. They're all deadâ
The anger in his voice was palpable, as he looked down at the grave with clenched fists. "Everyone!" he repeated, his voice hoarse with emotion. The rain that fell from the sky did little to soothe his anger as he continued to glare at the headstone.
For a moment, he was silent, the only sound being the pattering of rain on his jacket and the distant rumble of thunder. Then he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "And thereâs this girl that's haunting me. I donât know why. Y/N canât even feel her, I mean, how can she not see her? The chick feels everything, it's annoying sometimes!â
He sighed frustrated, leaning against a neighboring headstone, not even caring if he got mud on himself. "I donât know why. I donât know what the connection is." he muttered, raising the bottle of whiskey to his lips. The alcohol burned down his throat, but he welcomed the sensation.
It was a distraction for the moment, a way to numb the pain and anger that churned within him. But as the liquid coursed through his veins, it also made his head feel fuzzy and he soon found himself slumping against the headstone, his eyes growing heavy.
He knew he should probably get up and get out of here, but the weight of everything seemed too heavy, too much to bear. He sighed and took another swig of whiskey, hoping that it would bring him closer to unconsciousness.
âIts like my old life is coming after me or something, you know? Like it doesnât want me to be happyâ Dean rambled in frustration before glaring at his fathers headstone. âOf course, I know what you and f/n say. WellâŚnot the two of you that played softball, butâŚâ Deanâs throat constricted as he held back tears.
âYou guys would say, âGo hunt the djinn. Hey, it put you here, it could put you backââ Dean said bitterly. ââYour happiness for all those peopleâs lives. No contest right?ââ Dean further quoted his father and F/N. Dean took a shaky breath, his vision growing hazy as the alcohol continued to take its toll on him.
He knew he was rambling, but the words just kept pouring out of him, fueled by the mixture of anger, sadness and confusion. "I just... I just donât get it" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, âBut why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero?!â Dean exclaimed, his heart clenching as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks.
âWhat about us, huh?! What? Momâs not supposed to live her life. Me and Sammy arenât supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?! Itâs-â The words died in his throat again, so he brought the bottle to his lips.
The whiskey burned as it traveled down his throat, but he didn't care. The pain from the burn dulled the emotional pain that threatened to consume him. He slouched further down against the headstone, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand.
His gaze fell on his father's grave again, his eyes narrowing faintly. "Why canât I just have a normal life? Why does it always to come back to this?" he let out a bitter laugh, "Itâs like Iâm cursed or something" He took another swig from the bottle, his grip loosening as the alcohol took effect.
Dean let out a deep breath, feeling the world spin slightly as he attempted to push himself up. His legs felt weak and shaky, but he managed to stand. "Yeah." He muttered, stumbling forward a few steps. He didnât even look back as he made his way out of the cemetery and towards his car.
-
Dean woke up the next morning in bed, his head was still fuzzy, a nauseous feeling in his stomach. He groaned, his hand moving to cover his eyes as he slowly sat up, blinking groggily to adjust to the light in the room. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throbbing headache that had taken up residence in his head.
His eyes glanced over to see the time on the clock, 6:30 a.m.
He heard the sound of the toilet flushing in the bathroom and saw a tall glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol was placed neatly on the nightstand. Dean grimaced slightly as he reached for the Tylenol and popped a few pills into his mouth before washing them down with the water.
The coolness of the liquid helped to soothe his raw throat, and he exhaled heavily. He heard footsteps approaching from the bathroom, but before he could turn to look, Y/N swung the door open, a slight frown on her face.
Y/N leaned against the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, "Hey." she said, her voice gentle but with a hint of concern. Dean looked up at her, guilt hitting him as he saw the look on her face. He knew by the look on her face that this wasnât the first time he came home late and drunk, he could see the disappointment in her eyes.
But that wasnât it, she was nervous. Y/N moved over to the bed and sat down beside him, reaching out to take his hand in hers. Her thumb rubbed soothingly over the back of his hand, trying to offer comfort despite the obvious worry she was feeling.
"You okay?" She asked softly, studying his face intently. He nodded slowly, looking down at their clasped hands. He squeezed her hand gently, meeting her gaze. "Yeah, Iâm fine," he mumbled. A lie. âI-â Y/N tried to tell him what she just found out while she was in the bathroom but her tone was shaky.
Seeing the hesitance on Y/N's face, Dean's heart dropped. "What is it? What's wrong?" He asked, concern etching his features. He squeezed her hand again, silently encouraging her to speak. Y/N took a deep breath before meeting his gaze once again. Her free hand was buried in her robe pocket, clutching the positive pregnancy test in her hand.
âI know we talked about it before⌠we spoke about doing it after our wedding. Iâm ready to do this and I know you are too but-â She sighed before slowly retracting it from her pocket, placing it into Deanâs hand. Dean's eyes widened as he stared down at the pregnancy test in his hand, his heart skipping a beat when he saw those two pink lines.
His hand trembled slightly as he held it, his mind spinning with a mixture of shock, joy, and trepidation. He looked back up at Y/N, his gaze intense and full of an array of emotions. "You're... pregnant? We're having a baby?" Tears welled up in Y/Nâs eyes as she nodded, âAfter I left for work last night, the beer made me sick and I puked my life out. My boss sent me home early, then I realized my period was lateâŚreally lateâ
A flood of emotions coursed through Dean like a tidal wave. He gently set the pregnancy test down beside him and brought Y/N into his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.
"We're gonna have a baby," he repeated, his voice full of awe and love. He pulled back slightly to look at Y/N, his eyes glimmering with happiness. "I can't believe it. This is..." He trailed off, too overwhelmed to find the right words to express his feelings.
This wasn't real. Is what his mind screamed at him.
Y/N was more than pleased with Deanâs reaction to her positive pregnancy test. Clinging to Dean for dear life as she sobbed, âWeâre gonna be such bad ass parentsâ She chuckled through tears. Dean chuckled softly, holding Y/N tighter against him. He buried his face in her hair, taking in her scent and relishing in the feeling of her in his arms.
"We definitely are," he agreed, his hand stroking her back soothingly. "We'll be the best damn parents our kid could ask for." All while saying this, he knew what had to be done. Desperately trying his hardest not to cry, because this is all he wanted, but he knew he couldnât have it.
âDo you have to work today?â Dean asked her tenderly as he traced circles on her back. Y/N shook her head, feeling the comforting touch of his fingers tracing her back. "No," she murmured, "I have today off, thankfully." She snuggled closer to him, relishing in the feeling of his warmth.
"Why? Whatâs up?â She asked curiously, tilting her head up to look at him. "Just asking," he said lightly, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have some stuff I need to take care of today.â He explained. "Iâll be gone for a bit, but Iâll be back in a couple of hours, okay?â He placed a kiss on her forehead, attempting to mask his pain with a smile.
Y/N nodded against his chest, feeling a slight sense of unease but not wanting to push the matter. "Okay, baby, Iâll be here," she replied. "Just be careful, alright?" He nodded, pressing another kiss to her temple. "I will," he reassured her.
Reluctantly, he gently eased her off his lap and rose from the bed, grabbing a shirt from the dresser. "I should get going though. I love you, princess." Those words struck Dean to his core. Y/N watched him get dressed, her heart heavy with worry and confusion but she plastered a small smile on her face. "I love you too, charming," she told him.
Once Dean was gone, Y/N sat quietly on the bed, her heart heavy with confusion. It was as if something was off about him, but she couldnât quite put her finger on it. She tried to push the thoughts aside, knowing he probably had something important to take care of, but she couldnât shake the feeling that something was amiss.
With a sigh, she laid back on the bed, trying to find comfort in the soft sheets and the familiar scent of the man she loved.
Once out in the garage, Dean leaned against Baby, his shoulders slumping as the weight of what he needed to do hit him all at once. With a sigh, he got in his car and started the engine, the only thing on his mind was the decision he had to make.
____________________________________________
Sam jolted awake in his bed to the sound of the door opening downstairs, it was way early in the morning, he instantly clutched the baseball bat he had under his bed. Gently padding over to the door.
Sam slowly opened the door, his grip on the baseball bat tightening as he strained his ears to listen for any sounds. Hearing the faint sound of movement downstairs, he cautiously made his way out of the room, keeping the bat raised just in case.
He saw the figure of a man in the dark house rummaging through the China cabinet as he peered from the corner. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the figure in the dark. He stayed hidden behind the corner for a moment, his heart racing as he tried to decide what to do.
He gripped the bat tighter, launching himself at the âintruderâ. Dean swiftly dodged the attack and tackled Sam to the ground, pinning him down with his body. âThat was so easy, Iâm embarrassed for you?â Dean quipped. "Dean?" Sam exclaimed, breathing heavily, "What the hell are you doing here?" Shoving his brother off of him to push himself to his feet.
âI was looking for a beerâ Dean joked, patting Sam on his shoulder. A wave of nostalgia washed over him at the interaction. âIn the China cabinet?â Sam questioned, his brows furrowed as he padded over to the wall to flick the light on. His eyes glanced over to the table to see a box of their momâs expensive knives.
âThatâs momâs silverâ Sam pointed out, âSam-â Dean sighed but his brother cut him off. âWait, you broke into the house to steal Momâs silver?!â Sam lowly exclaimed. âIt's not what it looks like, okay? I didn't have a choiceâ Dean tried to defend. âOh really? What's so fucking important that you gotta steal from your own mother?â
Dean grimaced, raking his fingers roughly through his hair as he tried to find the right words. "You want the truth?" He grumbled. The disappointment in Sam's voice was evident, and it cut deep. But he knew he couldn't tell him the truth. At least not yet. "Yeah. Yeah I do," Sam urged him as he nodded, Dean sighed before coming up with a shitty excuse.
âI owe somebody money.â Sam rolled his eyes. Typical Dean, he thought to himself. âWho?â He asked. âA bookie. I lost big on a game. I gotta bring him the cash tonightâ Dean lied. âI canât believe weâre even relatedâ Sam mumbled, shaking his head. Deanâs face dropped, his heart aching in his chest.
âSam, Iâm sorryâ Dean apologized sincerely, âYeahâ Sam rolled his eyes. âIâm sorry that we don't get along. Iâm sorry that you and y/n/n arenât friends anymore because of me. And I wish to hell that I could stay and fix it, fix everything.â His voice cracked. âI wish I could stay and be a fatherâŚ.but I gotta do thisâ Dean said, his voice filled with determination.
âPeopleâs lives depend on itâ Dean sighed heavily before picking up one of the silver knives from the red box. âWhat are you talking about, Dean?â Sam asked lowly, confusion clear in his tone. âNothing. Forget it. JustâŚuhâŚâ Dean said as he turned back to his brother. âHey. Tell Mom I love her. And tell my princess that Iâm so sorryâ Dean said with a sad smile.
Sam's confusion turned to alarm as he watched Dean pick up the knife. "Dean, what-?" he started to say, but before he could finish his thought, he saw Dean's sad smile and his stomach dropped. Dean turned on his heels to walk out of the room. âDeanâ Sam tried to stop his brother from leaving.
âIâll see you, Sammyâ Dean said tenderly, pulling the door open. He gave the house one last sorrow filled and painstaking look. Then he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Sam stared down the shut door for a few seconds, his mind spiraling. âWhat the hell, Dean?â He muttered to himself.
He couldnât shake the uneasy feeling in his gut as his worries about Dean only increased. Sam was left standing in the doorway, his heart heavy and his mind racing. He couldn't understand what had just happened. Why had Dean been acting so strangely? Why had he stolen the silver, and why had he talked about people's lives depending on it?
Sam's mind raced through possibilities and worst-case scenarios, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of it. Immediately, Sam fished his phone out of his pocket to call the one person he knew would get through to Dean.
Dialing Y/Nâs number, he waited anxiously for her to answer. The seconds felt like hours as he held his breath, silently praying for her to pick up the call. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, her voice came through the speaker. âHello?â
"Y/N," Sam blurted out, his voice filled with urgency. "Something's up with Dean" he told her, pacing around the room in agitation. There was a beat of shocked silence on the other end before Y/N spoke, her concern evident in her voice. "I knew itâ She grumbled, gripping her steering wheel.
After Dean left the house when she broke the news of her pregnancy, Y/N didnât shake the feeling of something being wrong as much as she wanted to. So after over an hour of it nagging her, she hopped into her truck and went all over town looking for him.
âIs he still at the house?â Y/N asked Sam quickly. "UhhhâŚ" Sam hummed as he peeled back the curtain. The Impala was still outside with Dean sitting in the driverâs side, seemingly lost in thought. âHeâs still outsideâ Sam answered, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.
"But he was acting strange. He said something about owing money to a bookie and people's lives depending on it. I don't know what to make of it, Y/N" There was a short pause on the other end as Y/N absorbed this information. "That doesn't sound right at all,â she said, her voice filled with worry.
âYeah, I know,â Sam agreed, his anxiety growing by the minute. "And then⌠he told me to tell you and mom that he's sorry and that he loves you" he relayed, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Y/N's heart sank at the mention of Dean's message, a knot forming in her throat. There was an undeniable feeling of dread in her gut.
Sam looked back out the window, his eyes falling on Dean who hadnât shifted from his spot since earlier.
Her mind was racing, wondering if this was because of her unexpected pregnancy. So she tried her best to formulate a plan, even in this stressful time. âOkay, listen to me very clearly, Samuel. You go outside and keep him there for as long as possible. Iâm on my wayâ Y/N instructed him sternly.
"Got it. Iâll keep him there," Sam assured her, his tone set with determination. âIâll even pretend to be mad or something.â Y/Nâs instructions were clear and concise, giving Sam a sense of purpose and a small hint of optimism, which he desperately needed at this moment.
-
Meanwhile, Dean was sitting in the Impala, lost in thought for God knows how long when suddenly his passenger side. Sam plopped into the front seat with a heavy sigh, causing Deanâs head to snap in his direction. âGet out the car,â Dean exclaimed sternly. âIâm going with you.â Sam insisted.
âYou're just gonna slow me down." Dean growled. âTough!â Sam sassed. "This is dangerous and you could get hurt!" Dean shouted. âYeah. And so could you, Dean!â Sam shouted back. Dean was still trying to find a comeback when they suddenly heard the sound of screeching tires.
Their heads whipped around to see Y/N's truck coming to a stop a few yards back from the Impala. Y/N quickly jumped out and sprinted over to them. "What's going on?" Y/N asked breathlessly as she yanked the backdoor open, her wide eyes fixing on Dean with concern.
Dean was taken aback by her sudden appearance, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt seeing her there. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered, struggling against his own desire to reach out and hold her close.
"I donât care. Sam told me everything. Whatever stupid thing youâre about to do, youâre not doing it alone. And thatâs that," Y/N asserted firmly. Sam exchanged a knowing glance with her, silently impressed by her determination. Deanâs eyes narrowed as he looked at her, a mix of annoyance and affection.
He knew better than to argue with her once she had her mind set on something. Whether this was really her or not, heâs pretty sure every version of her would fight his stubbornness if she needed to.
His eyes glanced between Sam and Y/N with shock, he could understand why she would be so stubborn, but not Sam. If they werenât close here, if Dean was so horrible that Sam wanted nothing to do with him, why would Sam stick his neck out for him?
âI donât understand. Why are you doing this?â Dean asked Sam in confusion. He sighed deeply, tearing his eyes away to face the windshield. âBecause youâre still my brother,â Sam muttered. A small smile tugged at Y/Nâs lips as she placed a hand on her stomach.
The two words stung Dean, cutting deep into his heart. âStill my brother.' His eyes glanced down to Y/N's stomach as she subconsciously placed her hand on it. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, knowing that he would never get to experience that with her.
"Bitch." he smirked at the two, Samâs brows furrowed in offense as Y/N smiled. âWhat are you calling me a bitch for?â Sam stuttered, Y/N let out a snort of amusement. âYouâre supposed to say, âjerkââ Samâs brows furrowed again. "What?â Sam muttered under his breath as Y/N snickered, Dean rolled his eyes before putting the Impala in drive.
âNevermindâ He huffed. Y/N placed her hand on his shoulder from the backseat, âAsshatâ She shot at with a grin. Dean chuckled under his breath in amusement, his chest swelling with the familiarity, âNutcaseâ
____________________________________________
Y/N was half asleep in the backseat, her hand resting right over her stomach, lazily tracing circles around the navel through her shirt. She tried to focus on getting a somewhat proper rest having been on the road for more than 12 hours. The hum of Babyâs engine was the only sound that echoed through their ears.
Deanâs eyes landed on Y/N through the rearview mirror, the painful ache in his chest resurfaced as he watched Y/N trace her navel, gently caressing her own stomach, almost as if she was comforting their unborn child before it was even in this world yet.
He wanted so badly to just reach over and do the same, he always knew sheâd make a great mother, even if y/n wouldnât admit it to herself. But he had to pull himself away from that nagging feeling. The voice at the back of his head that was begging him to be selfish for once. He had to focus. He had a mission.
âWhatâs in the bag?â Sam broke the silence, pointing to the brown paper bag laying next to Dean. Y/N cracked open one of her eyes, âNothingâ Dean huffed, focusing his gaze on the empty dark road. âNothing?â Sam sassed, âYeah, nothingâ Dean snapped back. âJust open the damn bag, I donât wanna hear any bickeringâ Y/N grumbled in annoyance.
Sam scoffed before picking up the back. âFineâ He said, âFineâ Y/N mocked back, earning a glare from him. âYou donât wanna do thatâ Dean snorted. âOh, really?â Sam sassed again as he reached into the bag, pulling out a container of lambâs blood. Y/N gasped theratically as Sam did this, his own eyes widening with shock.
âWhat the fuck is that?!â Y/N exclaimed, pushing herself up in the backseat. âBloodâ Dean shrugged, both Sam and Y/Nâs eyes twitched at him. âYeah, we can see that itâs blood, Dean! What the hell is it doing here?!â Sam shouted. Deanâs smirk widened, âYou guys really donât wanna knowâ He snorted.
âNo, we really do wanna know! We really really do wanna know!â Y/N yelled, crossing her arms over her chest. Dean sighed, shaking his head. âYeah, well, yâall are gonna find out sooner or laterâ He sighed, âI needed a silver knife dipped in lambâs bloodâ Dean explained casually.
The car fell silent, he craned his head to see Sam and Y/N staring back at him with wide eyes, jaws practically touching the floorboards. Dean had to hold back himself from laughing at their faces, the look they had was hysterical.
âYou needed a silver knife dipped in lamb's blood, why!?â Sam exclaimed. âBecause thereâs this creature, a djinn, and I have to hunt itâ Dean stated. Sam and Y/Nâs faces dropped, âI let an insane man impregnate meâ Y/N muttered to herself, her voice going up and octave as she threw herself back into the seat, looking around in disbelief.
âOkayâŚstop the car..â Sam began calmly, âI know how it soundsâ Dean shot back. âGreat. JustâŚ.stop the carâ Sam tried again, y/n was still staring out the car in disbelief, her jaw hanging. âItâs the truth, guys. There are things out there in the dark. There are bad things. There are nightmare thingsâ Dean insisted, Y/Nâs eyes snapped over to him as he continued.
âPeople have to be saved, if we donât save them, then nobody will,â Dean said determinedly. Sam and Y/N could feel their heads spinning, trying to make sense of what Dean was saying while still trying to process his previous statement about the silver knife. "You're telling us there's some monster out there you want to hunt?" Y/N asked disbelievingly. "Yeah" Dean said as if it was obvious.
"And you need a silver knife dipped in blood to do it?" She continued, her eyes never leaving his. "Uh-huh" Dean confirmed nonchalantly, his focus still on the road. Sam and Y/N shared a disheveled look. She decided she had had enough, pushing herself over from the backseat and into the middle of the two Winchester boys as Dean drove.
âYouâve gotta be losing it,â Y/N declared, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and disbelief. âAnd you canât just go and hunt some âdjinnâ that supposedly exists, you have no business getting yourself tangled up in something crazy like that!â She cried.
Dean shot her a quick side glance before returning his focus back on the road, âItâs not a âsupposedlyâ thing. These things are realâ He stated matter-of-factly. Y/N shook her head in disbelief, her eyes wide, âYouâre insaneâ she muttered.
âLook, man, we wanna help you, alright. We really do but youâre having some kind of psychotic breakdown soâŚâ Sam chimed in, attempting to fish his phone out of his pocket. âI wishâ Dean muttered. âBabyâŚâ Y/N said to him tenderly. Deanâs hands tightened around the steering wheel at the soft tone, the nickname making his chest ache with yearning.
He briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing thoughts. âSave the pet namesâŚyou donât mean it like thatâ he huffed under his breath, opening his eyes as Sam dialed a number on his phone. Y/N physically flinched at his harsh tone as he rolled down the window and snatched Samâs phone out of his hand before tossing it out of the window.
âWhat the fuck was that, Dean?! That was my phone!!â Sam exclaimed, whipping his head around in shock. Y/Nâs mouth dropped, âYou just threw his fucking phone out of the window!â She gasped. Dean ignored them both, his gaze fixated on the road ahead, âIâm not going to a rubber room Sammy and y/n/n, and we got work to doâ Dean said calmly.
âWe were just trying to help you out, Dean!â Sam shouted. âWe donât want you to get hurt!â Y/N added, tears brimming in her eyes. That made Dean know for sure this wasnât his girl, because as much as she was a crybaby for sad movies and cute animal videos, she wasnât so easy to break. âWhat, you two protect me?â Dean snorted in amusement.
âYeah!â Sam and Y/N exclaimed in unison. âOh, thatâs hilariousâ Dean chuckled sarcastically, turning back to face the road. âWhy donât you twojust sit tight and try not to get us all killed?â Dean demanded before turning on the radio. Lynyrd Skynyrdâs âSaturday Night Specialâ began booming through the Impalaâs deck again.
Sam and Y/N sat back in their seats, speechless after being chewed out by Dean. They exchanged a look before facing the windshield again, both of their minds swirling with thoughts as Deanâs music blared through the stereo. Y/Nâs hands slid down to her stomach, gently caressing the skin where their unborn child was growing inside of her.
____________________________________________
The Impala pulled up to the familiar warehouse, Sam was passed out in the backseat, snoring rather heavily. After almost accidentally punching Y/N in his sleep, once again, she shunned Sam to the backseat, leaving an unconscious Y/N in the front seat. Her head was nestled in Deanâs lap, using his thighs as a makeshift pillow.
Deanâs hand moved down to Y/Nâs hair, his fingers gently stroking the strands. The aching feeling in his chest increased every time he looked down at her sleeping form. His eyes scanned each detail on her face, the curve of her lips, everything.
It has been a long time since he had seen her look so peaceful, she seemed so relaxed and calm as she slept. It was a sharp contrast the way she usually was; stressed, anxious, worried and overthinking about everything.
Dean sighed heavily before fishing his flashlight from his jacket, shining it in both Sam and Y/Nâs faces. A wide grin playing on his lips. Samâs eyebrows crinkled together as the light shined in his face, his eyes fluttering open as he groaned. âWhaââ He muttered, confusion written all over his face. Y/N on the other hand, let out a loud whine.
Twisting in Deanâs lap to face his stomach before shoving her face into his shirt in order to block the bright light. âRise and shine, sleeping beauty and sasquatchâ Dean chuckled, shifting in the seat. Sam grumbled incoherently, rubbing the sleep out from his eyes. âWhere are we?â He mumbled, still trying to wake himself up.
Y/N remained pressed against Deanâs stomach, trying to fall back into her semi-comprehensive state of sleep. âWell, weâre not in Kansas anymore,â Dean replied with a light chuckle. This made Y/N shoot up from her place in his lap. Dean chuckled again at her reaction, a smirk on his face as he turned off the flashlight.
She narrowed her eyes at him before glaring at Sam, who in turn, gave her a small sheepish smile. She huffed in annoyance before looking out the window. Y/Nâs eyes flickered over to the warehouse, the air of the cold night wafted through the open windows, Deanâs body heat couldnât keep her warm anymore. She shivered slightly, bringing her hands up to wrap her arms around herself.
âWeâre in Illinoisâ Dean answered Samâs previous question. âAnd you think somethingâs there?â Y/Nâs voice was thick with sleep as she asked. âI know it isâ Dean said firmly, his eyes narrowed at the building with determination. Sam and Y/N exchanged a nervous look before turning back to him.
-
The trio all held their own flashlights up, the abandoned warehouse/ruins Dean remembered he was attacked by the Djinn was exactly the way it was. Thunder clapped outside, bellowing through the dark hall as lightning filled the sky.
Dean led the way, his footsteps echoed through the abandoned hallway as they walked. Y/N stuck by his side while Sam followed behind them. She was starting to get a bad feeling, the warehouse was dark, cold and damp. So instinctively, she reached for her fiancĂŠâs hand, interlocking their fingers together.
âSee? Thereâs nothing here, Deanâ Sam insisted. âLook, our parents are gonna be worried sick about us, babe. Come on, letâs just goâ Y/N pleaded with Dean. Dean gritted his teeth, his grip on Y/Nâs hand tightened slightly. âShhâ he hissed. Sam and Y/N exchanged another nervous look, stopping in their tracks when they heard the sounds of a girl crying. âWhat the fuck is that?â Sam gasped.
âBoth of you, stay behind me and keep your mouths shutâ Dean instructed them, his voice laced with authority as he let go of Y/Nâs hand, using his body to cover her. His free hand instinctively went to shield her belly. They both nodded, falling behind him as he moved forward. The crying got louder with every step they took.
Sam and Y/Nâs eyes went as wide as saucers when their eyes landed on the decomposing corpses of a man and a woman. The same ones Dean saw back at his âhouseâ. Y/N brought a hand to her mouth, a sick churning in her stomach at the sight of the dead bodies. The urge to puke was poking at her as Dean kept his face stoic, the confirmation that none of this was real was creeping up on him and it devastated him.
âWhat the fuck?â Sam gasped again, swallowing thickly as Deanâs eyes flicked over to a young girl who was tied up by her wrists. She had a large gash in her throat, her skin looked dirty, as though she hadnât bathed in months. But she still looked somewhat alive, his eyes piercing into Deanâs.
It was the girl that was haunting him. Dean moved closer to the girl as Y/N reached over to grip Samâs shoulder, trying to hold up her balance. The urge to puke was growing stronger. âDean, waitâŚâ Y/N mumbled, her words almost incoherent with the bile threatening to rise up her throat. He didnât listen, only moved forward.
The girl was staring back at him, her eyes bloodshot and dark. âDean, donâtâ Sam spoke up, watching the scene unfold. But Dean still didnât listen, he went straight up to the girl, crouching down to her. She tilted her head to the side, as if to study him. âItâs her,â Dean gasped as the realization hit him.
It confused them how Dean knew this girl, but they still felt the need to help her. For Y/N, seeing the young girl in such a state brought out the maternal instincts she never knew she had. âDean, whatâs going on?â She asked urgently, attempting to reach over to untie the girl, along with Sam. But Dean stopped them, âShhhâ He hushed them when he heard footsteps.
Quickly and quietly, they all hid behind a large tank as the Djinn entered the room. The young girl was shaking as the heavily tattooed creature padded over to her, âWhereâs my dad? I donât know.â The young girl sobbed, her voice absolutely desperate and broke. The Djinn didnât answer, he just inched towards the girl whose feet were hanging slightly off the ground.
âNo. Donât. No. Whereâs my dad?â She pleaded weakly as she tried to shuffle away but it was no use. The djinn brought his hand up to her face, placing his fingertips to the sobbing girlâs face, âSleepâ He said, his fingers lighting a small glow of white before fully expanding into a large dark blue light. The girl shivered in his touch, âSleepâŚâ He said again, caressing her cheek.
The girl soon fell unconscious as the Djinn placed a sickening kiss on her cheek before unhooking the saline bag that was hanging on an IV stand. He then brought the bloodied thin clear hose to his mouth, ingesting her blood.
Y/N felt sick to her stomach, her throat closing up at the scene unfolding in front of her. She wanted to look away, but she couldnât, it was like she was completely frozen, not able to move or break her view from the girl.
Sam wasnât faring much better, a visible shiver shot through him at the sight. His head felt like it was spinning when the djinn started feeding off the girl, his eyes were wide and his mouth was slightly parted.
Dean, on the other hand, had never felt so angry. His body was tense and his jaw clenched.
Y/N couldnât hold it back anymore, the bile in her throat built up and she immediately let chunks blew all over Samâs shoes, causing the younger Winchester to gag in disgust as both the scene unfolding and the sight of the djinn drinking the girlâs blood.
âAgh, Jesus!â Sam hissed, lowly. But it seemed like the djinn didnât notice, itâs back was turned and it was still in the middle of feeding. But Dean caught the sound of Samâs gag and Y/Nâs heaving, he shot the pair a glare and held his finger up to his lips, signaling them to stay quiet.
The djinn finally finished feeding, letting out a satisfied moan as it pulled the hose out of its mouth. A chilling smile crept across its lips as it left the room. âThis is real? Youâre not crazy?â Y/N began to hyperventilate along with Sam as she wiped her mouth, buckling over as a pain struck at her stomach.
âShe didnât know where she was. She thought she was with her fatherâ Dean muttered, the wheels turning in his head. The boys then stepped out from behind the tank, moving closer to the girl. Sam held up a weak Y/N, his arm draping around her midsection as Dean clenched his fists.
âWhat if thatâs what the Djinn does? It doesnât grant you a wish. I just- it makes you think you hasâ Dean swallowed harshly. He was hoping that somehow, someway, it couldâve just been a super fucked up wish. And he couldâve fixed his relationships with his family. Finally get on F/Nâs good side. Be a better brother, be a better fiancĂŠâŚ.be a better father.
âLook man, that thing can come back, alright? And we need to get Y/N to a hospital, sheâs weakâ Sam pleaded with Dean as Y/Nâs head tumbled on his shoulder. But Dean didnât hear him, all he heard was a ringing in his ears, his head snapping to the other side of the room where a light shone over head.
Dean slowly stepped closer to the light, flashes of his own body hanging from a ceiling filled his vision. Causing the elder Winchester to choke on his own spit, his throat constricted as air refused to enter his lungs. âDean, baby. Pleaseâ Y/Nâs weak voice pleaded with him. âWhat if Iâm like her?â Dean finally let himself say out loud. âWhat if Iâm tied up in here some place? What if all this is in my head?â
Part of him knew, that voice nagging him at the back of his head knew. âI mean, it could, you knowâŚmaybe give us some kind of supernatural acid and then just feeds on us slow,â Dean muttered as he studied the girlâs face. Samâs jaw dropped at Deanâs words, his brain going into overthinking mode, he was about to say something but stopped when he heard a low whimper come from Y/N.
Her head was heavy on his shoulder. âNo, Dean, that doesnât make sense, okay,â Sam gaped. Y/Nâs weak eyes flickered to Dean once more, her breath was slightly ragged and labored from when she had puked. âPleaseâ Y/N croaked, clinging onto Sam. Dean turned to face them.
âWhat if thatâs why she keeps appearing to me? Sheâs not a spirit. Itâs like more and more Iâm catching reality flashes. You know? like Iâm in here somewhere, Iâm catatonic. Iâm taking all this stuff in but I canât snap out of itâ Dean put the pieces together.
Y/N, weak as she was, peeled herself from Sam and forced herself to walk over to Dean, her legs were shaking and it was hard to keep herself standing upright But she reached out for him, her hand landing on his arm. âDeanâ She gasped. âLook, youâre right. We were wrong, youâre not crazy. But please, we need to get out of here. Fast.â She pleaded, her words coming out thick and choked, trying not to puke again.
Y/N ran her hands up the back of his neck but it made Dean feel sick rather than safe. Dean narrowed his eyes at her, clenching his jaw before roughly pushing her off. Luckily, Sam caught her before she could hit the ground. Y/N and Sam both went wide-eyed at Deanâs sudden roughness. Y/Nâs face crumbled, her expression filled with hurt as her eyes began to water. âDean?â She whispered, her voice so fragile.
But Deanâs face was hard and emotionless, his eyes darkened as he stared back at her. âWhat the fuck man?! Sheâs pregnant!â Sam exclaimed as he carefully helped Y/N back onto her feet, his arms held protectively around her. âI donât think youâre realâ Dean gaped, feeling as though he had been shot in the heart. âI donât think either of you are real.â Dean shook his head, slowly backing away from them.
Y/N let out a choked sob, her bottom lip quivered, the urge to keep herself together was getting weaker. Her head fell into her hand while Sam looked ready to punch some sense into his brotherâs head.
He gritted his teeth before helping Y/N to lean on something before storming over to his brother, shaking his roughly. âDid you feeling that? You feel this? Iâm real! Y/N is real and so is your goddamn baby! This is not an acid trip! Weâre real and that thing is gonna come down here and kill us for real. Now pleaseâ Sam pleaded with Dean, his tone filled with desperation.
Deanâs face remained stoic, âThereâs one way to be sureâ He clenched his jaw before retracting the silver knife from his jacket pocket. He then raised the knife towards Sam. âWoah, Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah! Stop!â Sam cried, his hands shot up into the air, as if to surrender. Scuffling over to shield Y/N who was still clutching her stomach, writhing in pain. But Dean didnât believe it for one second.
âDean, what are you doing, man? What are you doing?â He pleaded with Dean, his eyes widened in panicked confusion. âItâs an old-wives tale. If youâre about to die in a dream, you wake upâ Dean stated. Samâs face fell, he knew exactly what Dean was going to do. âNo, no, no, no. Thatâs crazy, alright?!â He protested. âMaybeâ Dean shrugged.
Y/Nâs head perked up, her eyes widened at Deanâs words as she finally understood what he was about to do. âDean, no, donât!â She shouted as Sam used his arm to stop her from approaching Dean. âYouâre gonna kill yourself- Okay!â Sam exclaimed when he tried to apprehend Dean but he drew the knife on them in a warning manner. âOr Iâm gonna wake upâ Dean shot back.
âOne or the otherâ Dean breathed heavily. âLook, this isnât a dream, alright? Weâre here, with you, now, and you are about to kill yourself, charmingâ Y/N pleaded with him, her voice sounding suddenly stronger. Dean narrowed his eyes at her, âNo, Iâm pretty sureâ He growled, âLikeâŚ.90 percent sureâ He blinked before turning the knife on him, ready to stab himself.
âWait!!â Sam bellowed. Deanâs head snapped over to the side when he saw the figure of two women, one in a white nightgown and the other in a black. Mary Winchester and M/N L/N approached Dean with sweet smiles on their faces. His heart dropped in his chest as he watched from all corners. Jess appeared, then F/N from another corner.
Y/N was suddenly healthy and well again, slowly walking up to Dean. âWhyâd you have to keep digging? Why couldnât you have left well enough alone?â She asked, her voice wasnât sounding much like her own. âYou were happy.â Sam added as Mary and M/N moved and began walking besides Y/N. âPut the knife down, honeyâ M/N said gently.
âListen to her, Dean,â Mary added just as tenderly. Dean was frozen in place, his eyes wide, shifting from side to side as the women in this nightmare, his nightmare, advanced towards him. His heart was hammering in his chest, he looked like he was ready to have a panic attack. The knife loosened on his grip as he looked over to Y/N, his eyes wide like a frightened child.
This wasnât real⌠this couldnât be real. Itâs not real.
âYouâre not realâ Deanâs lip trembled, tearing welling up in his eyes to say this to his mother and M/N, subconsciously tightening the knife in his grips. All three women frowned, âNone of it isâ He spat. His eyes glancing down to Y/Nâs stomach, he felt as thought he had been shot, once again.
âIt doesnât matter. Itâs still better than anything you hadâ Mary said encouragingly. âWhat?â Dean gasped. âItâs everything you want. Weâre a family againâ M/N added, offering Dean a small smile. âLetâs go home,â She urged him. âBut Iâll die,â Deanâs voice broke.
âThe djinnâll drain the life outta me in a couple of daysâ He shook his head, part of him wanted to be selfish and take the offer but his conscience wouldnât let him. âBut Iâm here with us, itâll feel like yearsâŚâ Y/N chimed in, taking Deanâs hand into hers to place it on her stomach. ââŚlike a lifetimeâ
Deanâs breath hitched at Y/Nâs words. He was torn between selfish temptation and morality, his mind was fighting with itself. The feeling of his child under his hand was so real and it was making him falter.
The tears began to fall down Deanâs pale cheeks, he looked absolutely heartbroken. He didnât know what to do, the women around him had everything he ever wanted but it wasnât real. None of it was real. His throat was tight, he could feel the bile rising from his stomach but he tried to hold it in.
Mary brought her hand up to caress Deanâs cheek and M/N took Deanâs free hand in his. âWe promise. No more pain or fear.â Mary said sweetly as Dean nuzzled his cheek into her hand and tightened his grip on M/Nâs hand. âJust love, comfort and safetyâ M/N added in an urging tone.
Deanâs eyes reopened, still trained on his palm that was resting on Y/Nâs stomach. Both mothers stepped back, allowing Y/N to wrap her arms around Dean, running her fingers through the nape of his neck. âDean. Stay with us. Letâs go home and get some restâ Y/N pleaded.
Deanâs eyes met with Y/Nâs, staring into those gorgeous (e/c) irises that heâll never get tired of looking into. She looked so beautiful, so healthy. It was too good to be true. The idea of her bearing his child, them being parents together, the idea of her actually loving him back was all too good to be true for Dean. His lip quivered as he reached to cup her cheek, caressing his thumb on her soft skin.
âYou donât have to worry about Sam anymore. You get to watch him live a full lifeâ Jessica chimed in. Deanâs brows creased as his chest ached. Y/N leaned up to capture Deanâs lips into a gentle slow kiss. The kiss was long and tender, it felt so real, and it was making this so much more painful for Dean.
He could feel his heart breaking as tears continued to fall down his face, a strangled gasp escaped from him. But Y/N didnât let go. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hand remained firm on her stomach. She pulled away for a breath, her bottom lip trembled as she leaned her forehead against his, âWe can finally have a future together. Have our own family. I love you, charmingâ She whispered.
âPleaseâ Y/N pleaded, the look of desperation in her eyes was enough to bring Dean to a puddle, it took all in him not to crack right there and give in. He stubbornly shook his head, âNo you donâtâŚ.at least, not like thatâ Dean whispered back, his voice hoarse as he once again denied Y/Nâs love for him.
A frown took over Y/Nâs beautiful face, her eyes watering up as the words stung her. âYes, I doâ She insisted, her hands moving up to cup his face so he wouldnât look away, to look her in the eye. âDean, I do, I love youâ Her voice was pleading, she wasnât lying. The words were written all over her face, her heart was laying bare for him.
This wasnât real⌠this couldnât be real. Itâs not real.
It was Samâs turn, the younger Winchester stepped forward and Y/N released her loose grip on Dean. âWhy is it our job to save everyone?â Sam asked in a calm voice. âHaven't we done enough?â He added, the look of despair on his brotherâs face was extreme to the point where Sam was willing to do anything to keep Dean here.
âIâm begging you. Give me the knifeâ Sam begged him. Deanâs eyes trailed the room. They went to F/N, who was yet to say a word, but he had an encouraging look on his face. âGive him the knife, sonâ He finally said. Deanâs eyes then went to Jessica, before trailing over to Mary, M/N, Sam and finally Y/N. He gave her stomach one last look before leaning down to press a kiss to it.
Y/Nâs lip curled into a small sad smile as he pressed a tender kiss to her stomach before drawing back to stare solemnly into her eyes. They were glossy with tears, she didnât say anything, afraid that her voice would betray her. Deanâs eyes softened slightly as he stared down at the woman he loved.
His throat was as tight as it was before, but it felt more painful now. His heart ached, it hurt to say what he was going to say next. âIâm sorry, princess,â He murmured. With that, Dean reared the knife back before driving it into his stomach. A chorus of cries filled the room. âDEAN!â Sam and Y/N screamed.
Reality, 2007
Joliet, Illinois
âDEAN!â Sam and Y/N screamed when they stormed the ruined warehouse with Jo, guns blazing, all armed with silver knives dipped in lambâs blood. Y/Nâs stomach dropped, suppressing a scream when she saw Dean tied up from his wrists, a bag of his blood that was being drained was propped on an IV stand. He looked as pale as ever.
Y/N, Sam, and Jo advanced into the room further, eyes locked on Dean. She felt her stomach twist painfully as she took him in; bloody, bruised, pale. He was unconscious, most likely from the blood loss, he was too weak to lift his head.
âDeanâ Y/N whispered, her voice shaky as her mind ran a mile a minute. Just staring at him was making her want to break down and cry. âOh, God. Come onâ Sam pleaded as he reholstered his gun and began shaking his brother.
âDean, sweetie, pleaseâ Y/N begged, placing both her palms to his cheeks, gently tapping him as his eyes fluttered open. Jo reached down into Y/Nâs boots to take out the butterfly knife she had stored there, flickering it open.
âOh, Auntie Em. Thereâs no place like homeâ Dean moaned and groaned from the loss of blood. âThank God, I thought we lost you for a secondâ Sam breathed out in relief, the pain clear in his voice. âYâall almost didâ Dean grunted, his face creasing with pain as Y/N yanked the IV needle from his neck.
âCome on, letâs get you downâ Jo said quietly as she began to cut away at the ropes. Sam and Y/N held Dean up, not seeing the Djinn that appeared behind them. âSam! Y/N!â Dean screamed, warning them. The sound of Deanâs voice, screaming their names, made the pair of them whip their heads around in horror.
The sight of the djinn made them both freeze for millisecond, stunned. The two instantly kicked into action, attacking the Djinn while Jo desperately tried to cut away quickly at the stubborn roping, bounding Deanâs wrists.
Both hunters tried to stab the Djinn with their knives but it was faster and stronger than them, it dodged their attack, gripping them by their wrists.
âCome on, hurry up!â Dean yelled at Jo, yanking at his wrists. âIâm trying!â Jo screamed back, quickening her pace, the two were horrified.
Y/N raised her foot, high kicking the Djinn across his face (thank you cheerleading) dazzling the creature. He backhanded Sam into a railing, the hunter went headfirst into it, also dazzled. The Djinn suddenly grabbed hold of Y/Nâs throat, a gasp left her at the unexpected attack. It yanked her backwards, holding her in its grip.
Y/N struggled in his grip as he picked Sam up by his throat, attempting to squeeze the life force out of the two. Y/N reached her hand out in an attempt to summon her discarded knife on the ground with her mind but it was no use, the lack of air was causing her to grow light headed, her focus was minimal.
She was losing her touch as darkness slowly crept into vision, her eyelids grew heavier as she struggled to keep eye contact with Sam, who was equally as dizzy. She could see Sam flailing about, his lips moving but Y/N couldnât hear him through the loud, continuous buzz that was ringing in her ears.
Suddenly, Dean and Jo appeared behind the Djinn, the younger huntress buried the knife in the Djinnâs spine. A sickening pierce echoed through the room as the Djinn groaned, gargling on his own blood. Her face contorted with anger as she twisted the knife for good measure.
They watched as the Djinn collapsed to the floor with a strangled moan, his grip loosening on the two, allowing both Sam and Y/N to break from his grip. Y/N let out a strangled cough, filling her lungs with oxygen and trying to regain her breath.
Dean turned his head to look at Y/N and Sam, who were both slumped against the flooring, both dazed. âHey! You two okay?â He asked urgently, placing his hands on both their shoulders. âYeahâ Sam croaked, his voice hoarse when he swallowed. âFineâ Y/N nodded, reaching up to her neck to feel the aching skin where he gripped her.
Jo breathed out in relief as she crouched down to place her hand on Samâs cheek. Sam winced as he leaned his cheek into Joâs warm gentle touch on his face. The pair stared at each other for a moment, both glad the other was okay.
Sam was the first to break eye contact, he forced himself up from the floor, letting out a sigh, his legs felt like jelly. His eyes shifted over to Y/N, he extended his hand out to her, silently asking if she was okay. Y/N looked at him, letting out a shaky breath and nodded, taking his outstretched hand in hers.
Dean then suddenly remembered the girl from his dream, his head snapping behind him to see her tied up the same way he was. His face fell with instant sorrow when he saw her bound state, she was in a gown that was torn, her hair was messy and disheveled, her face was pale and lifeless.
Dean felt anger as he began to approach the girl, his legs stumbling as he attempted to stand up. His legs were still weak and wobbly from the Djinn venom. Dean brought his fingers up and pressed it to the side of her neck. His eyes widened when he felt the light thumping of a pulse, âSheâs still alive, guys!â Dean exclaimed with relief as Jo reached up and cut the girl down and Dean retracted the IV needle from her neck.
Dean cradled the almost lifeless girl in his hands, âI got you. I got you. Weâre gonna get you out of here, okay? I got you. I got youâ Dean breathed out, even though weak, he held her up in his hands. Y/N smiled to herself as she watched Dean cradle the girl, his voice was soft and gentle as he murmured soft little reassurances to her.
Shushing her as if he was trying to soothe a child. She and Sam shared a concerned look however as Jo frowned. All fearful and unwilling to imagine what Dean went through in just a span of a few hours.
____________________________________________
Dean was sitting on his bed in the motel room, reading one of Y/Nâs playboy magazineâs while Sam was on the phone with the hospital and Jo was lounging on Samâs bed. Y/N was making a cup of tea for Dean, per her request, to bring his strength back up.
âOkay, uh, thank you so much for the update. Okay, byeâ Sam said into the phone before hanging up. âThat was the hospital. The girlâs been stabilized. Good chance sheâs gonna pull throughâ Sam informed Dean, who just nodded in return. âThatâs good,â Dean grunted. âYeahâ Sam sighed, settling in the bed next to Jo.
Y/N returned to Deanâs bed, handing him the cup of tea. âHow about you? You alright?â She asked gently. âYeah, Iâm all right, thanksâ Dean cleared his throat, unable to keep eye contact with her as he accepted the cup of tea. Sam, Jo and Y/N shared an unconvinced look.
âYou shouldâve seen it, guys. Our livesâŚâ Dean sighed. âYou were such a wussyâ Dean shot at Sam jokingly, making the room erupt in chuckles. âYou werenât there man, sorryâ He said to Jo. âNo worriesâ Jo chuckled, shaking her head. Dean took a small sip of the warm tea, making sure to not burn himself.
âSo we all didnât get along then, huh?,â Sam asked. Deanâs brows raised suddenly, âWell- Nopeâ He replied bluntly, shaking his head. Y/N sat down next to him on the bed. âAt all?â She asked, raising a suspicious brow. âYeah nopeâ He chuckled dryly, lying through his pearly white teeth, taking another sip of the drink.
âMan, I couldnât imagine us not getting alongâ Sam muttered, the look of disbelief on his face matched the other two. âI thought it was supposed to be this perfect fantasyâ Y/N sighed, crossing one leg over another. âIt wasnât- It was just a wishâ Dean cut her off, his eyes trained on his tea.
âYeah, I wished for Mom and M/N to live. If they never died, F/N wouldâve never told dad about hunting. And we all just neverâŚuhâŚyou knowâ Dean said sadly. The other three had frowns on their faces, feeling the pain they all could relate to in him. It was a hard life they led, full of loss and suffering, they all felt it.
âWell Iâm glad we doâ Sam said, âAnd Iâm glad you dug yourself out Deanâ Jo added, both meaning their heartfelt words. âDean,â Y/N said quietly, placing her hand on his leg. âMost people wouldnât have had the strength. They wouldâve just stayed.â She assured him.
Dean lifted his gaze from the tea, meeting Y/Nâs comforting eyes. âYeah, well. Lucky meâ He replied with a small dry smile, his eyes scanning her face. Deanâs eyes flickered over to Jo and Sam, both were staring at each other deeply. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. âI gotta tell you though, Sammy. You had Jess, you were gonna give mom grandkids. And Y/NâŚyour dad was alive and you were gonna get married to Xanderâ Dean lied.
Samâs head snapped up, an uncomfortable look instantly appeared on his face. âYeah,â He replied awkwardly, rubbing his face. This wasnât exactly a topic he enjoyed talking about. A frown set on Joâs face, she knew about what happened to Jess after Sam gave her a deep dive of his life and she did the same with him.
Y/N saw the frown appear Joâs face, immediately coming to her defense. âYeah, but, Dean, it wasnât real. Nothing that happened in your head was real, nor will it ever beâ Y/N told him gently. Dean paused for a minute, feeling as though he had been shot for a third time.
His heart was practically ripped from his chest at her words. Dean clenched his jaw, âI knowâŚ.but I wanted to stay.â He confessed gruffly before gulping down a mouthful of tea. His eyes glanced down at Y/Nâs stomach, memories of the Djinnâs world were still fresh in his head. âI wanted to stay so bad. I mean, ever since F/N and DadâŚ.all I could- all I could think about is how much this jobâs cost usâ
âWe have all lost so much..w-we have sacrificed so muchâ All three of them stared at Dean, surprised at his confession. âWe know,â Y/N affirmed gently, her eyes staring at him with a mix of understanding and sadness. Sam nodded in agreement, the pain and suffering was something they all had. âBut people are alive because of you. Itâs worth it, Deanâ Sam countered.
Dean scoffed, shaking his head. âIt is, man. And- itâs not fair. And- you know- it hurts like hellâ Jo chimed in, scoffing dryly. âBut like Sam said, itâs worth itâ She assured him. âAnd youâve got usâ Y/N reminded him softly. All three hunterâs eyes were on him, their faces were sincere.
Dean swallowed deeply, his eyes glanced back down at his tea. A small part of him wished he was still in the dream. Y/N nudged him gently, âHeyâ She whispered, bringing up her pinky. âI pinky promiseâ She smiled softly.
A small smile cracked on the corner of his mouth, a small chuckle left his lips. Dean gently raised his hand and linked his pinky with hers. âThere, you canât break a pinky promiseâ She winked, earning a quiet chuckle from him.
____________________________________________
Authors Note: âyOu CaNt BrEaK a PiNkY pRoMiSeâ oh sweet summer child, just you wait until the next episodeđ (as someone who takes pinky promises very seriously, Iâm already in tears)
ANYWAYS, did I break your heart? Did I make things better? Or are you plotting my demise?đđđ
I hope everyone loves this one! Be sure to tell me what you loved or what you hated, I canât wait to hear your feedbackđĽ°
Thanks for reading and have an amazing day loves!
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@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle
@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy
@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258
Xoxo
#dean winchester#supernatural#spn#sam winchester#dean and sam#sam and dean#supernatural fandom#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x you#dean x reader#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural reader insert#dean girl#dean winchester x female!reader#supernatural tv show#x reader#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fan fiction#the winchester brothers
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Shining for you
pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
genre: sad x fluff
trope: lovers to soulmates
word cunt: 845
tw: death mentioned, suicide, (your) tears, swearing, my english
summary: you were on a mission with the team, but one of the Hydraâs men shot you. you didnât make it and itâs your deathâs one year anniversary, oh and bucky was your boyfriendâŚ
a/n: i had a bad day, i cried, so⌠iâm trying to make you cry, dear reader
songs: November Rain by Guns nâ Roses, Knockinâ on heavenâs door by Guns nâ Roses
Bucky makes his way to your grave with a bouquet of white lilies and red roses. Itâs the first anniversary of your death and he still loves you, like you didnât even die one year ago. At the beginning, he sat every day in front of your grave, but in the past half a year it became once a week. Youâve always watched him and it feels heartbreaking, that you canât touch him or at least talk with him.
âHey, doll,â he starts âI still miss you. Itâs like I lost my other half, feels like my soul died with you that day. The minute your heart stopped beating. The sparkle in your eyes, your loud laughter, your smile, I can only see and hear it in the videos and in the photos I took of you. I took of us. If you hear me, just give me a sign,â his voice starts shaking, and his eyes become teary.
You sit down next to him and he turns his head in your direction like he can feel your presence.
âY/N?â he asks quietly and you put your hand on his, the tears burst out of him. âI feel you,â he cries.
âI miss you too, my beloved soldier,â you say softly. He freezes. He hears you as whispered words.
âDoll, I hear you,â he looks directly into your eyes, despite the fact he canât see you. You feel surprised because heâs never heard you before when you talked to him.
âI love you, Bucky. I always will,â you say while you try to swallow the lump.
âI love you too, doll. More than you can imagine. You healed my broken heart, then itâs torn apart again. You were my light in the darkness. And youâre still that. Every time I tell the stars about you, I feel like Iâm knockinâ on heavenâs door. I donât know how I can manage this without you,â he sobs, it makes you cry too.
âLove, a whole life is in front of you and I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness and a family. You can have it without me too, we will meet when your time is up,â you say while the tears run down your cheek.
âI donât wanna, Y/N. I wanted you to be the mother of my children. I wanted you to be my wife. I still want it. I canât imagine it with anyone else,â he shakes his head.
âIâm gonna watch you, okay? At least try to be happier,â you say softly and lean your head on his shoulder.
âI feel you. I feel your head on my shoulder, it kills me that I can't touch you, doll. I miss you,â he sobs.
âI miss you too. I love you so much, try to be at least fine, okay? I need to see your smile. I didnât see it this year,â you state sadly.
âIâll try. Whenever I look at the sky I'm going to see you in the stars. Iâm going to smile at you,â he says softly as he looks up at the sky.
âIâm going to shine for you,â you say with a soft smile. Itâs obvious heâs going to tell you something now.
âOn that cold November day, when you left the world behind, I stood in the rain. I know how much you loved it. I stood in the cold November rain for you. It felt like you were caressing my face through the raindrops,â he swallows.
âI love you,â I say and I look at his clock. Itâs changing and it shows midnight.
âI love you too,â he says, his shoulders tensing. âDoll?â he quickly turns his head where I still sit. âI donât feel you,â his voice cracks.
He looks at his watch and he sees your deathâs anniversary day ended and the realisation hits him. He can only hear and feel me on the day you died. Once a year. He breaks down.
two months later
He couldnât take the emptiness anymore he felt without you. He ended his life when you watched the team eating dinner. He appears next to you.
âI love you,â he whispers and looks at you. You rapidly turn your head in his direction and your lips part away. âI know youâre disappointed in me, but I just couldnât do it anymore. Forgive me, Y/N,â he says and moves closer to you, slowly touching you. His face lights up when he feels your skin under his touch. He pulls you into a tight hug.
âYouâre so stupid,â you wrap your arms around his waist. âYouâre so stupid, I love you,â you whisper in his chest.
âI missed this, doll. I missed you,â he gently pulls away and kisses you deeply.
You feel happiness and also sadness at the same time. Youâre happy because heâs with you, but sad because the team lost him too. Itâs gonna cause pain for them.
Youâre a whole now. Not just two halves in different worlds. You both just become a whole again.
tag list: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @yourwifewatersflowerss
#kiara writes#kiaraâs fics#kiâs husband#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes one shot#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky fanfic#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky barnes#bucky barns imagine#bucky barns x y/n#bucky barns fanfiction#bucky barns x reader#bucky barns x you#bucky barnes fandom
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I'm Not Your Wife, I'm Your Daughter-Father!Tommy Shelby x Daughter!OC-Angst
Pairing: Father!Tommy Shelby x Daughter!OC-Evelyn (but honestly, Evie has a little bit of everyone. So, you are welcomed to be Evie...we are all Evie)
Warning: Death, swearing, violence, mentions of sex, very sad
Word Count: 2,761
Summary: Evelyn comforts Lizzie as Ruby gets sick in the hospital. When Tommy neglects his family, his daughter has some choice words for him
I am so proud of this. For the first time in a while, I feel really happy with something I wrote. So, please please please consider commenting and letting me know what you think. I know likes are easier, but I'd really appreciate some comments.
The childrensâ tuberculosis wing was a dark road. In fear of contraction, no one was allowed past a certain point. It reminded Evelyn of the road to hell, but she was older then. She knew better to speak the words in her head. So instead, she said nothing as Lizzie and her stared down the corridor that only seemed to get darker. A simple hand on the shoulder was good enough, whatever that wasâŚgood enough. They knew nothing was good. So, perhaps, it was just enough.
No longer able to bear looking down where they took her, Evelyn turned, letting out a large exhale. Out of everyone, she had to be the strong one, the present one, the mature one. There was no room to lose herself. Without looking at Lizzie, her hand searched behind her until she felt the ridges of her checkered coat. Her fingers hooked around the sleeve and tugged. But she was stubborn. If anything at all were to change from then until the end, Lizzie was determined to be there.Â
âGo home,â she told Evelyn, not unkindly. More so lack of any emotion. But sheâd be damned if she left. Evelyn looked at her step-mother, or mother, she was never really sure what any of them were. The woman was young-only eleven years older than she, but her eyes were sunken in and her cheeks lost all and any color. It would have been nice and too easy to blame it all on grief. Evelyn knew better. Her father sent everyone to an early grave.Â
She shook her head. âNo way home at this time.âÂ
Lizzie softened a bit, giving a short head nod. âVery well-â
âCan I get you anything?â she asked. There was nothing left to get. Lizzie needed no more coffee. The two women shared a look of understanding. Lizzie stepped forward and hugged Evelyn; her arms squeezed around her, head tangled in her hair. Stiff at first, Evelyn was taken aback. Her own arms slowly wrapped around, hands hovering for a moment over the womanâs back. While neither were ever affectionate as mother and daughter, Evelyn was bonded to Lizzie by one mutual understanding. One was birthed by a whore and one was a whore. âItâs not going to be okay,â Evelyn said, resting her hands against her back. âItâs going to be horrible.â She could tell the woman was crying from how her shoulders twitched and chest heaved.
âI know,â she said, furiously nodding. âI know, I-I knowâŚ.â Lizzie did her best sniffing, and wiping the wetness from her face, but Evelyn grabbed her hands. It was okay to cry. Everyone did it. Especially when life handed you a reason with no explanation. âIâm, Iâm fine-â
âLetâs sit.â Evelyn walked Lizzie to an empty waiting area that was just as gloomy as the corridor. They were quiet for a while, studying everything there was to study; paint chipped wall, door frame, the chairs, and a lopsided painting of the Dover cliffs. But when Evelyn turned her head, eerily sat next to her was a teddy bear. It was a faded brown with a worn out face. Dried tears left specks of crusty, hard fur. It and her stared at one another for far too long until she turned and found something else to get lost in. âHeâll come-â
âHe loves you,â she commented, slowly looking at her. âOut of everything in the world, he loves you more than anything-â
âNo.â Perhaps it was true, but Evelyn couldnât afford Lizzie going down that direction. âNo, he loves everything the same, Lizzie. If it was me in that room, he would have been just as conveniently occupied-â
âHeâs affectionate with you-â
âMy fatherâs affections are spread thin.â Evelyn looked at Lizzie, forcing a small, thin smileâŚlips pressed and face tight. She shook her head. âWe all fight for what isnât there. You, me, Charlie. If I was older and wiser, I would have told you none of it was worth it. Him, it, usâŚnone of it.â
Lizzie for the first time allowed herself to laugh. It was awkwardly placed among the hospital grounds, but nonetheless, it was a laugh of sorts. âI would have been just as stupid-â
âWell, if you look at it this way,â Evelyn snorted. âMarried John and you still would be without a husband.â As the words came out of her mouth, she regretted it, but Lizzie laughed trying to soak up any humor she could in distraction. Shortly after, they went back to sitting in silence, soaking up their thoughts. Perhaps trying to numb themselves in the midst of it. Evelyn felt so much she was numb.Â
Sometime around midnight, Ruby had been moved to a different room. One where the family can see her under precautions. Lucky for Evelyn, she had received the vaccine as a child unlike Ruby. They had come out just in 1921 and just a short year later, made their rounds. Lizzie had fallen asleep, slumped in the waiting room chair. She almost woke her up, but decided against it, wanting to slip into the little girlâs room herself for a short moment.
And it was a short moment because Evelyn couldnât bear to look at such a small life withering away. She slid in the room. It was the first time she saw Ruby for a few days and even then, sheâd been thinner looking. Her feet stopped under the threshold, feeling her heart sink down to her stomach. âRuby,â she whispered, not knowing what she could expect back. The last time the two sisters chatted freely, itâd been about fairies.Â
First, it was a sneeze and Evelyn helped her blow her nose. Then it was a cough and Evelyn went into her little room with some water. Finally, it was the fever and after the fever, the infection spread over her little body. Both were too busy. Evelyn would never tell a grieving mother, you were also too busy. Her father was too busy neglecting family for work and Lizzie was too busy caring for a man who neglected her. When the fever got too high, she called the doctor. Funny enough, they were home. Both of them in their own world. Own repeating cycle. Tommy had asked why didnât you tell us? Who could between all the drinking and yelling? But that was then when they were naive of it all.
Evelyn pressed by the threshold and quietly sat down on the edge of the bed. The young girl slept still, head lifted. Sheâd never seen a child so drained of life; pale and almost tinted blue. Her breaths were spread out and wheezing. Sometimes theyâd be like little gasps for air, trying to cling onto whatever was left. Affectionately, Evelyn rubbed the girl's legs to get some circulation moving and propped her up better. She was still fashioning the braids from a few days ago. âYou look so pretty, Ruby,â she whispered, sliding to the floor to kneel at the bedside. âI wish I brought a blue bowâŚIâll put one in your hair for youâll always be wearing a blue bow.âÂ
Evelyn thought back to the time she took her shopping in Birmingham. Ruby had just turned five. Look, they have a pink one for your hair. She would have looked so cute with pink. Ruby had taken one look at the pink satin ribbon and turned, pointing to the blue one, I want the blue one. âIâll always get you the blue one,â Evelyn said when the memory ended and she was left staring at the still girl. Tears leaned heavy on her eyes waiting to fall down her cheeks. It would be the first time Evelyn would have allowed herself to cry, but not for long. She placed a lingering kiss on the girlâs cheek before leaving. When she opened the door, Lizzie had just reached for the door knob. But they only shared a quick glance before Evelyn went back to the seating area.
The bear had seemed to been moved, so when she walked back in, itâd been staring at her like the devil. âFuckinâ âell,â she groaned, swiping it off the chair before sitting down.Â
Sometime between then and whenever Tommy came, she fell asleep. He peeked in before sliding into the waiting area, kneeling by her sleeping side. Despite being twenty-four years old, Evelyn was still short and able to make a makeshift bed out of chairs, curling up. He was his girl. His baby still. After everything, Tommy still looked at her as he did when she was eight. His calloused, shaking hand rested against her cheek for a moment, his thumb making circles. âLove,â he whispered, placing kisses on her forehead.Â
Evelyn jumped awake a bit, propping herself up with her elbow. In a tired voice, she said, âyou should have been here-â
âI know-â
âNo, dad.â Dad. Tommy felt that knife go through him. It had always been daddy, but never dad. âYou should have been here!â The words came out like hisses through clenched teeth. She sat up, ignoring the cushion imprint on her cheek. Tommy couldnât argue with that. He knew. Tommy looked down, swallowing, nodding.
âI had work-â
âWork,â she scoffed. âRuby is in the hospitalâŚsheâs-.â Evelyn stopped talking, noticing the red puffiness around her fatherâs eyes. She knew then. âWhy are you here with me? You should be with your wife-â
âYou should go home-â
âYouâre deflecting-â
âYou should go home,â he repeated, tone a bit more serious. âIâve called Isaiah to pick you. If you want to have a fight, weâll have a row when I come home later. Alright?â
Evelyn shook her head. âNo.â She was incredibly tired of his shit. âNo, dad, nothing is alright.â She slid from the chair and draped her coat around her shoulders, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
Tommy looked over at her. âRemember when you were eight, and you told me something.â Evelyn paused at the door, rolling her eyes to herself before tiredly turning to her father. He was still kneeling at the chair. âYou saidâŚyou said to me, do you remember? We were laying in the field and it was the first time I had taken you on the caravan-â
âWhat are you getting at? Huh?â she rushed him, fixing her bag on her shoulder. âI know, we went up northâŚit was the edge of the season and the mistâŚwe got really wet laying in the grass. But I donât understand what any of it has to do with you not being here!â
He got up, striding over to her, pointing, âyou saidâŚdaddy, itâs me and you-â
âBecause at that point, you were all I had,â she snipped back. âBut guess what, Iâm older now and my circle is bigger. I have other people, and in fact, out of everyoneâŚit seems I have you less.â
Tommy cocked a brow. âNo, noâŚyou said, in some shape and form with your little girl wordsâŚdaddy, itâs me and you, and no matter what you do, I will always be by your side.â
âI didnât say that!â
âYou did,â he said, pointing. âYou said thatâŚit was misty and in September of 1918âŚIn fact, I had adopted you just a month later. Shortly before that, I had came home from France-â
âI was eight,â she sighed. âYou canât hold something against me from when I was eight-â
His hand reached up and massaged her cheek. âIâve held people for less-â
âWell, you fucking know what, dad.â She swatted his hand away. âThat promise wears off when you start to neglect the only people who still love you. And quite frankly, loving you, itâs hardâŚitâs fucking tiring. Exhausting. You never know the meaning of accountability. You know what you do?â Tommy swallowed, his hand instinctively gripping her wrist. Perhaps deep down he was afraid she was going to leave. Go somewhere further than home. Somewhere he could no longer grab her.Â
Tommy closed his eyes and sighed. âYou donât understandâŚno one hates me more than-â
âNo one hates you, daddy,â she said. âWe're just tired. Everything we have was not worth the cost of what it took. Everyone else is gone.â In one way or another, everyone else was gone. She slipped from his wrist and started to leave.
That is when he said, âIâm glad it wasnât you-â
âThat's an awful thing to say right now,â she whispered. âThat was my sister-â
âI loved herâŚloveâŚand my heart hurts so much right now,â he explained. âBut if it was you, Iâd be better off dead-â
âAnd thatâs why I mean.â Evelyn had to choke down the tears. It was years of stress and trauma coming forth. Discreetly, she held onto the door frame. âYou donât understandâŚitâs too much! Daddy, itâs too muchâŚIâm your fucking daughter! But after Grace died, I became everything! I became Charlieâs mother, your wife, your sister, your fucking mother! I became your nurse, your caretaker, your therapist, your fucking everything. Itâs been ten fucking years, daddy, and Iâm tiredâŚIâm so fucking exhausted!â She walked over to, her hands gripping his arms. âIâve lived through every stage of life for everyone, but myselfâŚâ
Tommy was hardly impressed. He knew what she was saying, but couldnât accept it. Because he was selfish. âHave I not given you everything youâve ever wanted? That is your problem, Evelyn, I raised you spoiledâŚand I will continue to fuckinâ spoil you because itâs too fuckinâ late. So what? I asked you when my wife died to help with your brother? Huh? Is that it?â He pinched her chin. âDo you not remember how youâd sneak out all the time? Get in trouble? Party and drink? Iâd have to come pick you up from some random fucking house at three oâclock in the morning! So, donât give me that bullshit, EvelynâŚyou lived your youth just fine. You know what I did with mine? Worked and then I went to fuckinâ warâŚSo, Iâm sorry, out of all your fun times, I asked you to hold a tad bit of responsibility. Go home-â
âAunty Polly was always right about you,â she scoffed in disbelief. âYou lack all sense of accountability. I had to sneak out because that was only time I was free-â
âAnd I never once punished you for it,â he interjected. âNever striked you, grounded you, hardly ever yelled at youâŚOut of everyone in my life, you are the only fucking person Iâve forgiven without consequence.â
Evelyn pushed away. âThatâs because everything else has been a punishment. My friends from school are marriedâŚI was supposed to go to university, but you needed me home. All the men who wanted to marry have found other wives. Daddy, I am left behind because Iâve devoted my whole life to being your emotional lap dog, and what's sad is, you donât even understand!â She paused to swallow, taking deep breaths. Tears had dripped down her cheeks, falling to the ground. âDaddy, you only have three people leftâŚme, Uncle Arthur, and Aunty AdaâŚand some of us already have one foot out the door.âÂ
Tommy nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. He dug into his pocket for a cigarette. âMaybe my curse is my ambition.â
âAnd mine is that I love you too much,â she replied. âI love you so much that Iâve never left and I probably never will. So I will suffer until you dieâŚI will watch you kill yourself little by little, drink and smoke, and sleep with women you can never afford to love. I will stand by and watch you wear people down until they die, and then have to put you back together because you realize your guilt. Itâs a fuckinâ cycle.â Evelyn took a deep breath, fixing her coat before turning away. âDaddy, I love you, but I promised you that when you were making illegal bets on horse races. Not neglecting us for politicians.â
âWhat do you want me to say, Evelyn?â he asked.Â
âNothing. I want you to say nothing,â she said. âBut I fucking swear to God, if you bring that blonde headed bitch back to our home and fuck her like you did the night Ruby went into the hospital, youâll see a side of me youâve never seen-â
âDaughters donât get in their fatherâs-â
She looked at him once more. âIâll fucking cut her head and stick it on the pillars of the bridge in London like 1600. And with her blood, I will write your fucking nameâŚ.â
#peaky blinders#fanfiction#peaky blinder fanfic#tommy shelby#fanfic#peaky blinders oc#tommy shelby x oc#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders fanfiction#one shots#one shot#fan fiction#tommy shelby fanfiction#tommy and lizzie#lizzie stark#Lizzie shelby#Ruby shelby#angst#oc#original character#original female character
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six of crows is so incredibly hozier coded and to prove it ive assigned each character/couple a song and given a specific section of the lyrics
(i feel entirely normal about this i swear)
the books in general are 100% eat your young
There's money to be made, whatever's still to come Get some Pull up the ladder when the flood comes Throw enough rope until the legs have swung Seven new ways that you can eat your young Come and get some Skinning the children for a war drum Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young
kaz brekker - arsonist's lullabye
When I was 16, my senses fooled me Thought gasoline was on my clothes I knew that something would always rule me I knew the scent was mine alone All you have is your fire And the place you need to reach Don't you ever tame your demons But always keep 'em on a leash
inej ghafa - would that i
With the war of the fire My heart moves to its feet Like the ashes of ash I saw eyes in the heat Feel it soft and as pure as snow Fell in love with the fire long ago With each love I could lose I was never the same Watch it still live in roofs Be consumed by the flame I was fixed on your hand of gold Lay in waste of my lovin' long ago
jesper fahey - someone new
There's an art to life's distractions To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through Some like to imagine The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do Would things be easier if there was a right way? Honey, there is no right way
wylan van eck - through me (the flood)
Any time I've struggled on Against the course Out on my own Every time I'd burn through the world, I'd see That the world, it burns through me
nina zenik - angel of small death and the codeine scene
Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh, I Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile It's bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene
(this is so nina post-parem)
matthias helvar - foreigner's god
Her eyes look sharp and steady Into the empty parts of me But still my heart is heavy With the hate of some other man's beliefs
kaz/inej - work song
When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her
(this is just so i would come for you and if i couldn't walk i'd crawl to you i cannot)
matthias/nina - in a week
A thousand teeth And yours among them, I know Our hungers appeased Our heartbeats becoming slow We lay here for years or for hours Thrown here or found To freeze or to thaw So long we become the flowers Two corpses we were
(they're also incredibly work song coded, it was a struggle choosing between helnik and kanej for that one)
wylan/jesper - like real people do
So I will not ask you Why you were creeping In some sad way I already know I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask and neither should you Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do
#i know i say most things are hozier coded but THIS BOOK AND THESE CHARACTERS OMG#i spent an hour making this post#im so normal about them#six of crows#six of crows duology#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#kanej#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#wesper#nina zenik#matthias helvar#helnik#hozier#music
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Sofika Zielyk, a ethnographer and folk artist, is a first-generation American who has maintained her roots to Ukrainian culture. She created The Pysanka: A Symbol of Hope project as a "reminder of resilience, cultural preservation, and the power of art to uplift in times of hardship."
âThere's a legend that says as long as people are creating these eggs, the world will continue to exist. And I thought this will be my answer to the aggressor, that we will continue to exist,â Zielyk said.
With this project, Zielyk has used social media to invite and encourage anyone to create their own Pysanky using time-honored patterns and methods. These handmade pieces were then gathered at the Ukrainian Institute of America to form a unified art exhibit and installation that is ever changing as more eggs arrive.
The Pysanka originally symbolized the rebirth of nature after a long winter, with the yolk representing the sun. Through this art installation, the pysanka has been adopted as a powerful emblem of defiance against Russian aggression as well as the rebirth of Ukraine after war.
When asked if this installation will ensure Ukraine's continued existence, Zielyk responded:
"This installation of the pysanky tradition is a metaphor for the Ukrainian people themselves. They and the tradition have gone through wars, serfdom, famines, artificial famines, occupation by other countries, and yet have flourished in spite of all this. Ultimately, it shows the aggressor that we were here in the past, we are here now, and we will continue to be here."
Eventually, all the pysanky donated to the installation will travel to different areas of Ukraine affected by war.
They will be incorporated into the same ancient rituals that our ancestors performed thousands of years ago: put in beehives, buried in the ground, placed on graves of children murdered during the war. But this time, the rituals will be performed not with the intent of hastening the return of the sun god after winter, but for the rebirth of a nation from the ashes of war.
You can send your empty, traditionally decorated pysanky to:
C/O The Ukrainian Institute of America 2 East 79th Street New York, NY 10075 USA
For more information about the project and the history of pysanky, please visit the articles below.
From Tradition to Resistance: Ukrainian Pysanky as Symbols of National Survival
The Pysanka: A Symbol of Hope
#Ukraine#Pysanka#Pysanky#The Pysanka a Symbol of Hope#Pysanka a Symbol of Hope#Sofika Zielyk#Ukrainian artists#art#wartime art#Ukrainian institute of America
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The Last Day.
Steve doesnât remember what drove him here â he doesnât remember a lot of things lately, not that heâs mentioned that to anyone. They donât really question these things anymore. Fucky vision, nightmares without sleeping, or things that just get lost in the everyday grind of remembering to do normal things like eat or drink or where the fuck he put his glasses.
So, he doesnât remember what drove him here, if he was supposed to get something or if he just needed to get out of the gym, needed to breathe some air thatâs not filled with anxiety and grief and the pressure of survivorâs guilt and why and how and when around every corner, behind every door, underneath every donated item and in every bite of stale peanut butter sandwiches.
The library was never a place of comfort for him, and he honestly never really cared about it one war or another. If pressed for it, he couldnât name five books in all of these shelves. He never really looked.
But now, in the semi-darkness, the empty shelves are somehow daunting. All useful books were taken, childrenâs books donated to all the families that stayed, all science books stolen by people who were sure they could fix this, could get behind this, could build generators and water refineries and all that shit.
Somehow, the negative space in these shelves draws him in, and he takes a deep breath. A breath that Dustin would like, probably. It smells like books. It smells old. It smells like, somehow, somewhere, there might still be a constant in this world. Something that will remain. Like maybe there will always be a library that smells of old books. No matter how often the world will end.
Itâs a strange thought. But comforting. He trails the shelves, not really looking at the books, walking too fast still to make out the titles in the dim light, but he refuses to stop. He refuses to stand. To linger.
The next two rows are completely empty, and it makes him shiver. Robin probably has a name for the feeling. Maybe melancholy. Or maybe heâs just haunted. Susceptible to absence.
Or maybe theyâre the same feeling.
Blindly, he reaches for a book, because his hands begin to tingle and he really needs something to do before his lungs catch up and his brain finds out that heâs somehow almost about to panic, or to relapse, or to drop to the floor if his legs donât regain feeling soon.
He keeps walking, the book in hand. Itâs a slim edition, bound in leather, and it feels really old. Looks like it, too.
Michael Bruce
He carefully flips it open, the old paper crackling with the movement, and he wonders briefly if this is the part of the library thatâs usually watched like a hawk, the part where youâre not allowed to touch the books without supervision and certainly not without reason. Maybe. Maybe this Michael Bruce hasnât seen a real face in a long time.
It doesnât take long for Steve to find out that theyâre mostly poemsâand of course they are, old books are almost always filled with poems.
He opens the book at a random page, still needing to settle his hands, his heart, his mind. The title makes his heart drop. âThe Last Day.â, itâs called; still his eyes glide over the lines, intrigued.
Twas on an autumn's eve, serene and calm. I walked, attendant on the funeral Of an old swain : around, the village crowd Loquacious chatted, till we reach'd the place Where, shrouded up, the sons of other years Lie silent in the grave. The sexton there Had digg'd the bed of death, the narrow house, For all that live, appointed. To the dust We gave the dead. Then moralizing, home The swains return'd, to drown in copious bowls The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.
Okay. Sure. So, maybe this Michael Bruce dude is not the best company when the world is sort of ending. But somehow Steve canât stop reading, and for the first time he kind of doesnât want to stop reading a poem. This oneâs different anyway. This one just⌠it gets him.
Images of Barb flood his mind. Eddie. Chrissy. Max. Everyone who was lost, everyone who has an empty coffin in their grave and an NDA penned to their name.
To the dust We gave the dead.
The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.
Maybe thatâs why he doesnât want to go back out there. Head to the gym and fold clothes and check the missing posters and make phone calls to find out, to make sure, to keep in touch. The labours of the day. The thoughts of death.
Shaking hands flip the pages, two at once, because he doesnât want to live the last day; doesnât want to hear about it. He needs to know how it ends, needs to make sure, needs to find out, justâ
A pause ensued. The fainting sun grew pale, And seem'd to struggle through a sky of blood : While dim eclipse impaird his beam : the earth Shook to her deepest centre : Ocean rag'd, And dash'd his billows on the frighted shore. All was confusion. Heartless, helpless, wild.
Suddenly, what little light was left to stream through the windows disappears, stealing the words from beneath his eyes, and before he can look up and breathe, the door to the library bursts open, revealing a panicked Robin.
âSteve?â
âRobbie?â
âYou⌠You better come see this.â
He hears it in her voice. The resignation. Oceans raging as the fainting sun grows pale. Confusion. Helpless, heartless, wild.
He closes Michael Bruce and runs toward her on numb legs, not ready to find out about the new apocalypse heâs gonna find outside the library. And seeing black skies through the windows and pale faces behind them, reflecting against the growing darkness, he wonders if he shouldnât have skipped through the last day. The Last Day.
Terror in every look, and pale affright Sat in each eye ; amazed at the past, And for the future trembling.
Steve, too, is trembling. And Robinâs hand in his is shaking just as much.
Poetical works of Michael Bruce : with life and writings. William Stephen ed. 1895.
#i needed to project my real people emotions i have about michael bruce onto steve okay#does this qualify as a missing scene? they all have trauma they deserve a missing scene about it#this is nothing really it just fucks me up :)#steve harrington#dio words#listen the michael bruce poems are on archive.org like the whole book pls do yourselves a favour and read some good fucking poetry đđ#my man was 21 when he died okay :(#next poet for steve to discover is henry kirke white okay iâm just all over the forgotten Romantics who died too young now#stranger things fanfic#also this is not nearly as poetic as it deserves to be but my brain is too out of it lately whoops
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ăjust like heaven, chapter 1, part 2ă
this part contains riddleâs dream sequence.Â
housewardens x reader
authorâs note: i depict nrc as an actual college, so first years are 18, second years 19, etc.
summary: crowley has the bright idea of a bonding experience, specifically in the form of a dream potion.
characters: (riddle rosehearts), leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia / platonic mentions: dire crowley (ew), grim
genre: romance, fluff, smidge of angst
warnings: female reader, reader is yuu, reader is around ace and deuceâs height, sappy, marriage, mentions of potential children, some suggestive themes
ădream scene: rose colored reverieă
This Riddle looked strange. Well not really, he was just wearing a cutesy outfit with a red, fluffy cardigan and black corduroy pants. On top of it was a frilly apron. Was he taller?
The Dream Riddle took off Dream (Y/N)âs coat and hat with another chaste kiss, and the two moved into the living room. Everything was a bit blurry except for her face. Huh. âHave you eaten, my love? I know you work too hard without taking breaks.â Dream (Y/N) caressed Riddleâs cheek. Azul was subtly rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain, raising concern within everyone.
Idia is about to draw blood from the way heâs biting his cheek, trying to prevent laughter. Normie loser! How corny can a personâs dreams get?
ăIdia: At least have a cool dream! LMFAOă (He will admit this version of the prefect looks nice, but she always does- who said that.)
Dream Riddle nods. âIâm ready to go if you are. Where are we going this late, though?â He tilts his head. (Y/N) chuckles with a clearly enamoured expression. âItâs a surprise. I know youâll like it.â And with a kiss on the tip of his nose, the scene changes with a disorienting distortion.
ââË・ââžââË・â
Theyâre now standing on the outside of a cafe. Riddle considers curling up into a ball. There has to be a reason his beloved hedgehogs do it. The hedgehogs⌠that he and the prefect take care ofâŚ
Jamil feels pity for Riddle who is currently making a quiet impression of a red balloon being emptied of air. Thankfully his own dream wonât be as bad⌠at least he thinks so.
The cafe is beautiful, too perfect with checkered floors, lacy curtains and velvet couches. Dream (Y/N) is currently feeding Riddle a forkful of the most delectable looking strawberry tart with an adoring expression. The strawberries are so red and shining it hurts her eyes. She considers addressing this, but decides to have pity on Riddle who has gone through with sitting on the floor and hiding his head. Leona does the opposite.
âHah. Feels like my teeth are going to rot in my mouth at this rate.â Leona is trying to goad Riddle into digging his grave deeper. Might as well make the most of this dumb experience, right? He is totally not trying to distract himself from the looming threat of his dream being revealed, which is coincidentally in the same genre. Riddle shakes with embarrassment. (Y/N) notes Malleus staring at her dream counterpart from his position before the cash register.
âAh, I think itâs quite amusing- adorable. Dreams often reflect what their creator wants, and canât get.â For a merfolk Azul is cattier than Leona. Vil is a bit too smug too. At least his dreams are sophisticated.
Idia notices Jamil and Malleus arenât exactly invested in this story. Well, nothing interesting is currently happening, but he must push his introvertedness in the corner to save his life.
Jamilâs a bit scary, but wonât smite him out of existence like Malleus could. âHeyâŚâ Idia flinches a bit when he turns to look at him. âHm?â No backing down now, Idia. âThis is like, super cringe right? This is probably the worst weâll see, but the others one are gonna be boring as hell, right? Maybe we should figure out a way to get out?â Jamil thinks about it, and crushes Idiaâs hope into dust. âI need a break from Scarabia anyway. I donât mind it here.â He also has to see Azulâs inevitable doom.
ăIdia: Just say you want me deadâŚă
#disney twst#twst x reader#riddle rosehearts x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#malleus draconia x reader#idia shroud x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jamil viper x reader#leona kingscholar x reader
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"Our new camp in Rafah, after our third displacement, is located in a graveyard near the Egyptian border. Each day the tents of new arrivals â of those forcibly displaced by Israeli attacks â creep closer to the graves.
After every Israeli massacre, both graveyard and camp expand, crawling toward the outer edges of the desert.
Weâve been here since December 2023. Nine of us share a tent that is 16 square meters.
We are in the desert, but sometimes it does not feel that way because of the density and the near-constant sounds of Israeli explosions and drones.
There are so many people in the camp, all of us in tents that do not protect from heat or cold.
Winds sometimes uproot tents. There are stray dogs everywhere. Every day we line up for drinking water. Sometimes the water runs out and we return to our tents empty-handed.
My familyâs tent is in the middle of the camp. Next door is a medical point that supports those who have been displaced here.
Iâve seen doctors stitch up childrenâs wounds with care. Often there is no local anesthesia, so the doctors compensate with extra warmth and smiles. An elderly woman came to the tent for treatment for a chronic condition. They treated her with kindness. They did not have much medicine for her.
Since medical supplies are scarce, the doctors use what they have on hand.
We are being annihilated. We are running out of options. The north and south are separated, and communication is cut off. I used to hope that I would see friends and family in the north again, but now I just donât know.
After this war ends, where will we go? Israel has destroyed our homes, and our favorite places no longer exist."
22 April 24
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:: as much as he says it's a strength, tooru's empathy will be the death of him.
!! purely a crack fic haha. it is so stupid i apologize. happy birthday tooru!
miniseries masterlist
Oikawa Tooru had always had a gift for attracting trouble, and his ability to do so has never lost its novelty to you.
Because here he is, getting ambushed by a flock of seagulls because he had thought to make you laugh.Â
The day was going so, so, suspiciously well.Â
It was only a few moments ago that you were both laid out on the identical beach chairs Tooru had put together. You, taking sips of your iced coffee, book in hand, and Tooru, silently busying himself with the bag of fast food he had begged you for.Â
You were doing exactly what you came to the beach to do. Unwinding and distracting yourselves from your responsibilities back at home. And as you thought, it was going so well.
But all good things canât last forever.Â
At first itâs his fake sigh, then the drop in his voice when he announces that, to no one in particular, âThey look hungry too.â
Following Tooruâs eyes to the pair of seagulls not far from where you sat, you finally put the pieces together. Because you donât miss the all too familiar glint of mischief in his eyes, despite the sad tone he has on his voice.Â
âDonât you dare, Tooru.â You warn.
âWhat?â Heâs smiling now, eyes still on the birds, âIâm just saying, they look hungry! I really canât help that I care about the wildlife.â
Always feigning his innocence. You, however, saw right through it.Â
âTooru. I know you. I know what- where are you going?â
Heâs now choosing to ignore you. He stands, fries in hand, and advances carefully towards the seagulls.Â
This isnât going to end well.
He starts with one, experimental fry, tossing it to the birds from where he stood, only a few feet away. Successful, they take the bait, scrambling to see who can reach it first.Â
More fries fall onto the sand and more seagulls fly over to feast on tooruâs offerings.
You are about to turn and go back to minding your business, until you hear a shout coming from his direction. Oh god.Â
âI need more! Pass me more fries!â You turn to the empty takeout bag, crumpled and abandoned on his beach chair. Fuck.Â
âWe donât have more fries!â You yell to him, who is now backing away as the seagulls close in on him.
âFUCK FUCK FUCK!âÂ
Heâs running now, flock of birds not far behind him, and you realize that youâve gotten the attention of the beachgoers around you. Sunbathers raise their shades above their eyes to identify the commotion that had awaken them while parents rush to cover their childrenâs ears with their sandy hands, shielding them from the expletives coming from Tooruâs mouth.Â
You sink down lower in your seat and pretend you donât know him.Â
The car ride home is silent, save for the your collaborative playlist that was blasting through the speakers, and save for your periodic giggles whenever you glance sideways at the driverâs seat.
Tooru keeps his eyes on the road as he drives the way back home, his face grave. He has his shirt back on, but the sight of the seagull pecks littering his chest and back underneath is already engraved in your mind.Â
And as expected, Tooru is unable to escape the verbal torment from Iwaizumi the next day when he saw the still tender marks on his body.
Itâs safe to say that heâll never live this moment down.
#oikawa x reader#oikawa fluff#oikawa tooru#tooru oikawa#oikawa fanfiction#oikawa tooru x reader#haikyuu fanfiction#haikyuu x reader#haikyu fanfiction#haikyu x reader#hq x reader#oikawa#haikyuu oikawa#hq oikawa#beachmaxxing with bectoshi
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