— 𝐜 𝐨 𝐧 𝐭 𝐚 𝐜 𝐭

[possessum]

action / text / video / etc.
NOTE: I am forever backtag friendly and absolutely open to doing things from past events that won't really have an effect on things at any given time. For example, if you'd like to do something with Peter aged down or when he was his spider dream guide, etc.

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[possessum]

[ His unceremonious confession is met with an equally unceremonious response. Which is... telling, really, that he's talking about all of this too late. It's telling that Henry knows more than she ever should have had to know — things he should have tried to prepare her for before she had to face them herself. And once again, his guilt eats at his stomach, a little creature gnawing and gnawing away. He keeps wondering when he'll finally be all the way hollowed out.

Though, then again, maybe it's just.... easy to believe. Looking back now, "demonic possession" hasn't exactly been a subtle thing. The signs have been there for a long, long time. He just couldn't.... put his thumb on it. And he couldn't accept.

Still. He's known about it long enough. He should have said something. And the discomfort shows on his face at her question; Peter looks down, like he can't look at her. ]

I guess I started really.... figuring it out back when the... the Titanic stuff happened.

[ So...... months and months ago. Fuck. ]

I forgot who I really was and all that, but..... whoever I thought I was, knew he had a, uh... a demon. He knew that was what it was, and he was terrified about it.

[ ....Deerington had concocted a pretty on-point little au for him. ]

...And over time, I guess I... I've met people who know about stuff like that, and they've..... helped me see it, too. [ He's staring at his hands, refusing to look up at her. ]

Looking back, I can see it's been with me this whole time. I thought it was just... some shit my head made up, or.... a ghost following me around, or.... I don't know. Something.

[ And then it's there. ] I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner. I just.... I didn't know how.

[possessum]

[ Considering where he was last October — barely constituting as a functioning human being, still prone to literally forgetting that he lived in this house (or that she lived in this house)..... losing his mind at the slightest sound, and generally so out of it that he honestly barely remembers last October at all, Peter's doing pretty well.

....Of course, that might change, depending on what this particular October has in store for them. The only constant is, apparently, that it'll be bad — but if there's anyone he should face the countdown with, it's Henry. Housemate status aside, she's something of a veteran when it comes to October kicking in.

He sits on the opposite end of the sofa, dressed for battle in a comfortable nylon jacket (water resistant, not waterproof, but.... it should still help against potential... waves of blood) and jeans with the knees ripped out of them. He figures if there's a possibility his clothes might get ruined with whatever the fuck's going to happen tonight, might as well have some jeans that are already torn on. It seemed like a smart idea, okay...... He's.... trying. ]

Noooot yet. [ He glances up from where he'd been mindlessly watching whatever's on the television without really seeing it. His nerves are definitely present, but he's.... not freaking out. (Noooot yet.) The household has expanded a bit since last year, too — Rex is in one of the bathrooms, securely holed up where hopefully it's safe. And they both know who Paimon is now, making him something of an official housemate, albeit a creepy demonic one. ]

How you holding up? [ His eyes catch the movement of her necklace-fiddling, watching the item in silence. It's weird-looking, kind of creepy, but if Henry trusts it, so does he. That's the way it goes now. ]

[nakedsingularity]

[Although there are many things Henry would like to forget, and many things she's pushed down and pretends to forget, she remembers last October perfectly well. Which is why she keeps on studying him, as she has off and on the last few hours--his eyes, his voice, his mannerisms. Double checking.

She welcomes the presence of a dog a lot more readily than she welcomes their unseen fourth member. Just because she has to accept demons exist beyond the metaphorical kind and that Peter is stuck with his doesn't mean she has to like it.]

Are you sure? [Not to put added pressure on him, but... Her eyes hold doubt, and reluctance. Reluctance to find someone else looking out from his on her next glance.] No urges to float? Speak in foreign tongues?

[She doesn't care to kick off another Halloween month with a surprise appearance by Paimon. Among the changes this year, she's gotten stronger in some ways. And so has Peter's unwanted friend.

The clink of the chain as she passes it back and forth through her fingers is the loudest thing in the room for a time. There isn't much that can stop Deerington from doing what Deerington does, that's the extent of her veteran's experience. Even so, she'll take anything, even the placebo effect of a strange gift she doesn't know what to do with. At least incense has proven tangibly reliable in the past; the house reeks of it, and will reek of it the whole rest of the month so long as there's someone around to light it.]

I'll be better if I know you're not about to lose it.

[nakedsingularity]

[The doomed Godzilla voyage--so around the time of her doomed voyage home, then. She gives him an easy out with his struggles to hold eye contact, gazing out at the stream, digesting his version of events. There's no clear way to feel about Peter--about what he's been through, about what he's going through, about the kind of danger he'd unknowingly brought into the house--but she can't be angry he hadn't sat her down and bared every gory detail.

After all, if anyone has a right to be angry about people not being upfront, he could easily make the case she's the worse offender between the two of them. After all, the clues and hints--the weird social media profiles Deerington had cooked up for him; his erratic, violent episodes--had been piling up way earlier than that, and she hadn't confronted him then, either. She hadn't pressed him to see a doctor when he'd refused. She'd left him alone, and he'd left her alone, and she can see the selfish neglect behind all those times she'd looked away and gone on acting like she didn't see him: the desire to avoid dealing with something she didn't know how to deal with.]

I remember.

[It's matter-of-fact sounding. She remembers how he was on the ship, of waking up and trying to talk to him. And then she'd gotten busy with her own bullshit.

What forgiveness she has any claim to, she gives with a sidelong look and the same matter-of-fact inflection:]

I didn't ask.

[possessum]

[ In some ways, Peter wishes he didn't know what it's like when it happens. But he's been on the other side of it by now — Deerington's provided ample opportunity for other people to end up housing some demonic entity or other over the past months. He's bumped into people, people he cares about, and seen something else looking out of their eyes. Seen them acting strangely, speaking strangely. It differs in its ways, but at the core it's the same: an unpredictability. Like being in a room with a dragon, but it's asleep, and somehow that's worse than if it were awake. It's the not knowing when it's going to wake up. That's the truly frightening thing.

It isn't comfortable, to be asked what Henry asks him, but he understands. The time for hiding his head in the sand because of discomfort and fear is... long gone by now. There is a very real chance that this thing will make some kind of appearance tonight, and as much as he hates talking about it aloud, he knows he has to. But he doesn't know..... how to reassure her. There's a pause of silence to betray that, and then after a few moments of chewing it over, he answers in a way that's maybe not wholly reassuring, but it's at least honest. ]

I don't feel it. [ It, him. He doesn't always. Sometimes the thing springs up with no warning, but all Peter can hang onto is the knowledge that he doesn't feel it pressing up against him right now. Maybe that ultimately means nothing; as soon as October's shit hits the fan, Paimon could decide to smash his way out of him and into her, and everything else in his path. ]

....But this helps. Keep it like... calm. [ The boy fishes something out of his pocket and holds it up in his palm, and it's — a lock of pale blonde hair, secured with a clasp. Judging by the way he looks like he's holding a dangerous insect instead, he's not too thrilled by the item, but has resigned himself that it's going to be staying. Which is pretty much how Peter feels about everything in his life now, regarding his own sleeping dragon. ]

....It's Luna's. It— because she's a witch, it keeps it.... yeah. [ Wow, explaining doesn't make this shit any better! It's horrifying! The demon that's fucking possessing his body needs his comfort item, which happens to be a lock of girl's hair that she gave him as an offering. Thanks, Peter hates it.

...But if it helps at all, that's.... what matters. Because he doesn't want to risk a freak-out, either. ]

....What's your creepy shit do? [ His eyes catch the chain in her hands again, looking purposefully to it. So they're armed with a lock of witch's hair, incense, and whatever Henry's toying with. ]

[possessum]

[ Avoidance has been his go-to for as long as he can remember. "We don't talk about it" was, after all, a Graham family staple. Don't talk about the fact nobody in the room really wants to be here and we're all waiting until supper's done so we can part ways and avoid each other again; don't talk about how Peter's been depressed since he was eleven and Charlie draws to escape from the tension she's not in fact too stupid to pick up on; don't talk about how Mom fucking tried to set her children on fire in the middle of the night once.

Being here has fostered a new layer to Peter's avoidance techniques, because if he starts thinking about whatever the fuck's wrong with him, then he has to face whatever the fuck happened that night back home — the one right before he'd woken up in this place. It means he has to face that there's a 99% chance his parents are both dead, and he might be dead, and that there's nothing for him anymore. He has nothing. He is nothing. The literal demon's only the surface of his other ones.

But it's definitely the Big Bad here, the heaviest weight to share with a person, and he's really never willingly told anyone about it up front, without being pushed against some wall. He did tell Luna, but it was because.... keeping it from her was keeping her at a distance. Everyone else who knows only knows because the thing's refused to stay quiet; it's clawed its way into a disconcerting amount of fellow Sleepers' lives, a giant twitching spider falling into their laps. At some point, he's had to address it out of necessity, usually paired with horror and apology after finding out the demon's caused some awful kind of trouble for someone.

But outright saying it before? How do you tell someone there's a monster inside of you?

Her reply has the boy scrunching his shoulders up, tensing. She doesn't sound mad, or upset, and maybe he was expecting those reactions. It should be a relief that she isn't, but— there's part of him that thinks that's what he deserves, and there's an odd tension to be met with something else instead. Something that's not a raised voice or a sharp tone, something that's not openly upset with him. It makes his nerves flutter more, makes him all shaky. Peter smooths his hands out over his knees, slowly, trying to steady himself. He feels like he should say sorry again. And again, and again. ]

Is there— is there anything you wanna know? Anything I can.... explain.

[ Why not open the floor to questions now that the Big Thing is out there. Now that its title has been voiced, given form, given identity — demon. ]

[nakedsingularity]

[11:32. She stands up and sighs, swinging her arms around as she paces past the coffee table that sports the remains of a late-night snack (burgers, because one never knows when or if they'll get a good meal when the months roll over). Calmness remains a volatile and not altogether reliable work-in-progress in this house.

But she pauses when he pulls out one of his many weird tokens--though can she really talk when she's walking around with a mysterious pendant thing the powers that be gave her?]

Is that her hair?

[All right, that's... a little gross. Locks of hair in lockets and stashed away in memory boxes, not something she's ever understood. Privately, she thinks Luna waving her wand and turning Paimon into a toadstool would be a fuckton more productive use of magic, but with the way Peter's wearing her dubious feelings on his own face, she refrains from questioning what might very well be a necessary placebo effect.]

If it helps keep you calm, too, then great. As long as you don't freak out if this place does its horror makeover again, we'll be fine. [Don't worry about the hair token, Peter, she's fine not getting her mitts all over it, but she tosses him the compass to take a closer look at.] Your guess is as good as mine. It just showed up the other day. It's probably magic, too--maybe Luna would have a better idea.

[Too late to worry about it now; it's rather far down the list of future headaches.]

[possessum]

It..... is. [ It's horrifying. He hates everything it represents, but it's a necessary burden to bear if it keeps Mr. Headsmash nice and quiet. Peter quickly tucks it back into his pocket (deeply), not really wanting to hold it in his hand any longer than he has to. Hopefully just knowing it's on his person will be enough for the demon. If he is, in fact, awake right now.

Until Peter knows for sure, he will keep some distance around Henry, making sure that when the clock strikes and Bad Shit starts happening, he won't be able to immediately scrabble close enough to do any damage to her. These.... are things one must consider when one is possessed. It's not an easy life. ]

Apparently, it means a lot to him.... [ Him?? It?? He's still unsure how to refer to Paimon; it fluctuates at times. When she tosses her own potentially cursed item his way, he (of course) fumbles to catch it, hardly the most coordinated person on the planet. At least it doesn't go spilling out onto the floor, his fingers managing to grasp the thing and slowly hold it up to his face. ]

.... I don't like it. [ He winces at the appearance. It's creepy. He doesn't like it, Henry!! He's going to set it down on the sofa, giving it a little shove back in her direction. ]

If we survive tonight, we can ask her. Maybe she's seen something like this before. [ He slumps back against the cushions, arms draped tightly across his stomach as he watches Henry. Where she's taken to stress pacing, Peter's withdrawing into himself, unmoving from the couch. He can practically feel the tension coming off of her, and his own is likely just as palpable. ]

.....Have you ever died here?

[ Well that's a morbid and probably ill-timed question. It isn't the first time he's wondered, but he's never asked. He knows people die; it's a frequent thing that happens in this place. They die and they come back. But Henry had lived here for quite awhile before he showed up outside her doorstep, and Peter... doesn't know much about her time then. If they're about to be thrown into October Terror, maybe it's a good time to find out. They still have a couple of minutes. ]

[creidim]

[ Cool is not a word she's expecting to hear, in all honesty. Certainly not for something like her uniform. But she will... absolutely take that, smiling shyly as she looks down at herself. She does like hearing that, cheeks warmed a little. Peter thinks she looks cool. ]

Even in America? I didn't know that, I thought all schools here everyone just wears their usual clothes. It's been quite strange not having a uniform.

[ There's a brief pause as she watches him fiddle with his ear for a moment, and she frowns a little. ]

Is something wrong with your ear?

[ Sorry she's just... absolutely calling you out like this. She means it genuinely, alright? Do you need some lotion or something, it's looking a little red...

She pats down the front of her robes, smiling a little again. She does really like her uniform, okay. Despite some things that have happened, Hogwarts is really important to her. ]

Oh! And it has pockets, too! [ Cool and functional! ] Including one for my wand!

[ She will even demonstrate, picking hers up from her bedside and putting it safely in a pocket on the inside of her robes. Yes, it's very handy. Her hands then go for the outside pockets but she freezes when her fingers touch something round and cool tucked away inside of it.

Slowly, she pulls it out to examine it: a single, large gold coin. Luna's expression tempers at the sight of it. It's her DA coin. For a long time she simply stares at it, a date gleaming back at her. She had this on her, back home. But it hadn't been on her when she'd arrived here.

Luna's head tilts to the side. ]

I wondered where this was.

a delivery

[boyobscured]

[ On 1 Nov, Peter gets a package. There's a note that reads: ]

Peter. I want you to have these. I think they could help you and Paimon with emotion things. Maybe help him with anger. Thank you for being my friend.
-Credence

[ In the package is the following: ]

This strange artifact gives off a hollow ringing sound, as if being blown by a gentle breeze, once it is hung up in a space, regardless of whether any wind ever blows over it. The sound is incredibly soothing, ridding any who are in the room to have their negative emotions (anger, fear, depression, etc) to slowly disappear. However while it is seemingly beneficial at first, if the chimes play around a person for more than an hour, they may find it increasingly difficult to have any emotions at all, as if the chimes were sapping them of their feelings completely. Once they leave the room, this feeling will persist for up to one day.

These chimes can not be broken, but should anyone smack or strike the chimes on purpose, they will cause a discordant note that makes the chimes otherwise useless for 24 hours.

a thing | shh pretend it's the 1st

[creidim]

[ On the morning of the first of November, the bloodied hellscape of October begins to recede. There's a hush over the town, Sleepers left to pick up the pieces from the month, finally able to get some sleep after a long month without it. It's by some miracle that Henry's still awake when Luna comes over with a small dog in tow, offering quiet sympathetic smiles. She moves to head up the stairs, Rex following close at her heels, recognising where she's headed.

But there's silence at her soft knock on the bedroom door, and she carefully opens the door and peers in to find a sleeping form on the bed. Rex slips inside, trotting over to Peter with a soft whine, peering up at the bed for a long moment while Luna lets herself in. She clicks her tongue softly, directing the dog to his own bed in one corner of the room — best to leave the boy sleeping.

He seems to sleep deeply, exhaustion on clear on his face as Luna draws near. She's tired, too. Dark circles and red-rimmed eyes to match his. She'll need to sleep soon, but she had something very important to do on top of returning Rex to his owner. She looks at Peter quietly for a moment with a soft smile before she turns to his bedside and places some items there.

The two boxes are wrapped in silvery paper he's seen before, tied with deep green ribbon. She leaves the parcels on the bedside with a little handmade card addressed to him, propped up against them. The largest of the two a little smaller than a shoebox, filled with different kinds of wizarding world sweets. The smaller of the two is no bigger than the size of his palms. In this one is a golden pocket watch on a chain. It looks just like an ordinary pocket watch, but there's an extra button on the side. When pressed, the the clock face magically changes and rearranges itself; several arms appear and the face changes to segments labelled: home, work, school, in town, lost or in peril. The new clock arms are delicately labelled with a symbol to represent a person Peter has a close relationship with in Deerington — the tiny crescent moon representing Luna currently placed in the 'in town' section.

There's been a left note with the watch to explain how it works, who the symbols are for and an extra little note: It is customary for a witch or wizard to receive a watch when they become of age.

Gifts silently delivered, Luna turns back towards the sleeping boy. She hovers for a long moment, lips pursed — suddenly a little unsure and shy as she debates with herself. Moving before she loses her nerve, she leans over and presses a gentle kiss against his cheek.

Happy Birthday, Peter. ]

1/2

[possessum]

[ Bougie. Ohhh. There's an actual laugh at that — not that Henry can hear him, but even so. ]

Not exactly ivy league level, but we had a grand piano
That probably puts me in a certain category, doesn't it

[ While hardly wealthy, yeah, his family did live pretty comfortably. And he's.... aware that he's really being given some pieces of information here, regarding Henry's own home life. It's a subject that both of them know how to skirt around very well. ]

If you're sure I'm not keeping you from grand college adventures
Then we can tackle college together next year

[ He... does like the sound of that. There's still a little flicker of guilt in him that whispers holding her back, but his guilt monster also looks for any reason alive to flare up. It's maybe weird to think about the future at all, but it's... a lot less daunting thinking about facing it with others. A concept that still manages to boggle his mind. ]

2/2

[possessum]

[ There's a lengthy pause after, because he's aware that both trains of thought are inevitably going to lead somewhere uncomfortable, and it's a matter of choosing which track to chug along.

In the end, he chooses the latter. Talking about how Dana came from a world where she was chosen as some kind of sacrifice and died is a little too much to throw out right now. ]

Not to get all depressing
But my sister died in the middle of the school year
So whatever lingering shred of motivation I might have had pretty much fizzled out

What made you quit?

[possessum]

[ It really suits her, he thinks. Something a bit special, not the normal clothing. Of course, Luna often seems to find ways to make ordinary clothing her own, too — the glittered Converse come to mind. ]

Yeah, mostly like private schools require uniforms? The rich kids' schools. [ There's an almost wry little smile at that; Peter very easily could have ended up in a school like that. While not wealthy, his family had money, lived comfortably. But it's one decision he does thank his parents for; he would have no doubt hated having to go to a private school. ]

You could wear it here sometimes to school, if you wanted to. It might make you feel... closer to home. [ Being back in her usual school clothes. The question, however, has him freezing — oh god. Peter quickly cups the offending ear before he can think how... strange that must look, covering it up. ]

Oh no, it's okay. Just. I've been touching it too much. [ What a.... good explanation. He tries to look nonchalant, and probably does not at all! He's glad Luna gets occupied with something in her pocket, and the distraction gives him something to focus on, too, something that isn't how cute and cool Luna looks in her uniform. His ears are finally cooling off a little....

Peter slowly gets to his feet, groaning slightly like an old man as his bones protest a bit, and then drifts closer to lean in and see what she's looking at. It's a coin, but it's clearly something with significance to her. ]

What's that? Lucky coin?

cries @ this......

[possessum]

[ The nightmare of October fades into a dreamlike state instead: gentle November snow and quiet ease. But that relieve from the horror of those bloody weeks is disorienting in its own ways. Peter feels.... sick, strange, coming out of it. No doubt, everyone does in various ways.

For him, it's waking up from so many bizarre perpetual nights being swallowed up by Paimon, with the smell and taste of blood so heavy in him. Luna's care of the demon has helped a lot, but there's still much to recover from; Peter feels ill, untangling himself from bed sheets he'd been tucked so deeply into as though seeking protection. His mind, though heavy with exhaustion, is at least clear again; he knows who he is. There's Rex to greet him as he wakes, and... items at his bedside. And he knows why — he doesn't have to remember, this time. Last year he'd completely forgotten his birthday; it had slipped past.

This year, he's... been thinking about it approaching. It's been an odd thing pressing in on him, an uncomfortable pinprick against his side. But he hadn't been expecting to wake up to any presents; he hadn't outright advertised it or anything like that. He'd been expecting to just face it quietly on his own, and let it fade away.

Peter helps Rex up onto his bed (those short legs have a hard time jumping; maybe he should see if the pet shop has any of those little doggy stairs....) and moves to sit there too, slowly sorting through the items. The card first: it has him smiling, softly surprised. It's from Luna, made by hand. Little button musical notes. The sweets from her world are met with an almost boyish little excitement fluttering up in him — food. He'll share these with Henry (........and probably with Paimon, who will no doubt sneak his hands into them).

The watch.... stuns him. It's beautiful, gold and shine, and the magic of it, the second face, is amazing; he spends a long time just watching the little hands to see when they move — Luna's now safely 'at home'. Even without magic involved, Peter's never had anything like this before. It makes him think of his dad in a way, a lump wavering in his throat. He misses his dad, misses... everyone, and that's perhaps a deep part of his lurking melancholy. Turning eighteen is a strange feeling; any birthday would be, but this one in particular.... he's reached adulthood and he's aware that he's still changing, growing, in this place. But he doesn't know what it's like for him back home. He might be dead too, or... something worse.

But it means something deeply to him, that someone left these gifts to greet him with. It's... a reminder that there are things to look towards. That in this place, he has things to reach for, to look forward to. People who think of him, people to love. He hasn't lost everything. He spends a long time gently and carefully brushing his fingers against the watch's surface; this is a gift to take great pride in.

He's sure Luna needs time to rest, to slowly start her own healing process, so he'll call her later in the afternoon, to thank her for this. ]

[possessum]

[ Coincidentally, the first day of November is Peter's eighteenth birthday. Officially an adult, by some standards, anyway. It's.. a strange feeling; there's been a melancholy hanging around him, amplified by trying to recover from October's horrors.

The gift almost seems Meant to Be, a much-needed source of relief. At first, he doesn't realise it has some sort of magical property — he just hangs it up out on the porch and sits under it in the mornings to come, listening to the relaxing chimes. It reminds him of his old house, before this place.

But he soon comes to realise that the sound is more than simply soothing; it's a balm for upset, for ache, for the usual things. For Paimon too — and the gift comes just in time. The river near their house has just.... vanished, seemingly overnight. Deerington is shifting. And the demon used to find solace there by the sounds of the water; he's upset by its disappearance. But the chimes are a perfect substitute.

It's a wonderful gift, and one Peter will be very much grateful to his friend for. When he realises Credence is gone, he'll think of him each time he sits by the chimes. ]

sometime this week 🎁

[nakedsingularity]

[Henry's been warming herself with a kernel of anger in her gut since puberty set in, but the unsettled anger she feels as the snow begins to fall and she slowly stops expecting a fresh hallucination to spring on her around every corner is a sharper, more jittery ire. It's an anger tinged with loss, too. October had hit her particularly hard and personally, but the start of November makes her think of someone else who shares a birthday with Peter. One of her oldest losses here, but one that still smarts.

Her frustration is spring-loaded with no viable trigger or target to unload it on, and she spends a lot of time glaring out at the new addition to their house. The set dressing changed while she was busy losing her shit, it seems. She doesn't like it--not the gigantic tree house now nestled in the trees by the forest, or the inexplicably missing stream running by the house. Change is suspicious at the best of times, but these changes are like the sudden absence of so many people: abrupt, unexplained, and unwanted.

She likes the way Peter blanches at the tree house even less. She's sure it's for some awful fucking reason--because everything about their lives seems to built on some awful fucking foundations--and that tempts her to grab some gasoline and a match and take care of at least one of these problems.

For a few days she fumes, and she glares, and she sketches in her little black sketchbook--first absently and then with a purpose once she resolves to exert some kind of control without starting a forest fire.

Once her design is done, she slings her bag of paints over her shoulder and disappears up into the tree house for the better part of an afternoon. Empty paint cans drop from the hatch one after another. Finally, the last thing to leave is her, with her hands a little more smeared with paint than they were when she started.

Peter will find some alterations the next time he goes up. The first thing he'll see upon climbing off the ladder is a poster affixed to the plain wooden wall, something she'd found once upon a time at the department store and thought was funny. She'd always meant to one day jokingly put up in his room, but then she'd gone back to Reston and... well, maybe it's time for that cheesy laugh.

But when he turns around, he'll see her real effort to write over whatever past this eyesore has had: a white doe made out of moonlight and stars, poised in the rain-soaked greenery of what she envisions peaceful Utah back country must look like.

Happy birthday, Petey.]

[nakedsingularity]

[What does she want to know? Everything, from the beginning. How does a teenage boy come to be possessed by a demon? What can he do? How strong is it? Should she be more afraid? The whole, ugly story, not the partial whitewashed story she'd settled for with Nikolai. People have been trying to claw the truth out of her for too long; someone else doing the baring would be a welcome change for once.

But that's what she wants. What she needs.

So wrapped up in what she'd needed, she'd pushed Townes to the brink of a mental breakdown. She'd ruined her relationship with Jenna because of what she'd needed. Gutted her mom. And Anna... And Sean, and Cliff, and Logan, so many people she'd pushed away or hurt because her need superseded theirs.

What does Peter need?

She rubs her palms over her knees, scraping off whatever impulse there is to treat him like a chance to rectify mistakes made with other dangerous men in the past. She's careful, both because she doesn't know the first thing about monsters and demons and because she's the proverbial bull in the china shop of traumatic subjects.]

So how can we stop it? This is Deerington, there has to be a way. Like the guy on the network said.

[nakedsingularity]

[She looks bemused when he says the entity is attached to Luna's... hair. Okay, sure. Theirs is the weirdest relationship and if anyone she dates ever gives her parts of them to control her teleporting, she's out.]

What's the worst it can do? Lead us to another funhouse town? [Not to defend her broken compass--she doesn't really like it that much, either--but it's difficult to imagine how it could make this dawn of the final day vibe worse. She bends to retrieve it, copying his motion and storing it in her jacket pocket.] If we survive this month, maybe I'll remember to ask her.

[But she turns sharply back to him when he asks that of all things, brows pulling together. She just finished making light of it with the blackest humor possible while they count down to blood moon kickoff where they'll literally be fighting for their lives, so it's not exactly irrelevant, but...]

No. [Dumb luck and accepting she can't help everyone (or even anyone) has served her well.] Would you really want to know if I had, though?

A COMPLETELY UNNECESSARILY LONG REACTION bc this killed me.... (1/2)

[possessum]

[ Peter can't claim to know how this place works, what logic is behind the choices of the powers that be, but he understands one thing about it. It knows all of your personal ghosts, and it's only a matter of time before each of them are brought to your doorstep.

Such that, when the treehouse just appears overnight — out back, supported by four tall trees, exactly as it was back home — he's not surprised. Horrified, frightened, wounded, yes. But it's not a surprise. He wasn't expecting it, but seeing that last real remnant of Charlie doesn't bowl him over the way he thought it might. That ultimate thing was always meant to find its way to him, that place where his fate was always destined to finally reach its climax.

Of course, he doesn't know exactly what that treehouse will eventually hold for him, back home: how the second he returns there, he'll be led up the ladder and to a room full of people, to the beheaded remains of the women of his family. To be crowned king, only it won't be Peter anymore. He'll be hollowed out all the way, and something else will fill up the insides of him.

The appearance of the treehouse does, however, weight heavily on him. He's already tipping towards another depressive spell — turning eighteen feels.... weird, and he's melancholic through the early days of November. Not distancing from Henry or outright behaving any more gloomily than he already does, but it's there in the subtle things. How he spends more time in bed, how he stops shaving again, doesn't bother to trim locks of hair that have grown completely wild from October. How he spends a lot of time staring at nothing, lost in his thoughts — eyes too clear to be the usual demon zone out spells.

The treehouse is the unwelcomed final push, and Peter mostly ignores it, eyes purposefully avoiding looking that way. It's in view of his bedroom window, so he leaves the blinds and curtains drawn shut.

But he does go up into it. Just briefly, just to look around — and he draws his knees to his chest with his back against a wall and cries a little, and misses Charlie, and misses his family, and then he comes back down. It'll be some days before he goes back up into it again, and he can't say why he does. It's numbly, movements up the ladder robotic, stiff. He'll probably just sit up there in it again for awhile (and unknowingly, half of his compulsion is Paimon, the strange and jumbled Charlie-part of his memories that are drawn to the treehouse as their safe space).

But something tugs Peter out of his unfeeling state, replaces it with a startle instead: a poster that he definitely didn't hang up, and he doesn't quite hit him that it had to have been Henry just yet. Because what he sees when he turns around is slowburn shock, and he just stares, mouth tipping open, eyes wide.

It's.... Luna. He recognises the white doe right away — he'd seen her too, in that form. At first he hadn't known it was her, and the realisation had come later, but.... he'd remember her anywhere, now. An ethereal swirling of white, as though she was comprised of the essence of the moon itself. An impossibly sweet and yet so familiar softness, a.... safety.

He... doesn't understand, not at first, completely stunned: How is this here? But then it comes, the realisation slowburn and building. He lives in a household of artists: Paimon.... does things with art, draws and collects and creates. And there's Henry, and.... Peter recognises her handiwork even if this is different from anything he's ever seen from her.

Henry did this. Somehow, she... knows Luna in that form. Because it's absolutely Luna; there isn't anyone or anything else in this place that looks like the particular deer. Peter slowly moves to sit cross-legged in front of the artwork, just staring at it for an unknown period of time, transfixed. Forgetting, for a little while, his anxiety, his upset, his hurt.

When he finally comes down, he's still dazed, but quietly. He'll find Henry, wherever she is, and he doesn't quite know how to say 'thank you', because he can't quite put into words what he's thanking her for. It's... too much to simplify. How she'd known to paint Luna. How she'd known to paint her for him. The treehouse is the same, but... also different, now. Something different. Something that has pieces of Luna, and Henry, in it.

He doesn't know how to stay 'thank you', so he slips his arms around her for a shy hug (a rarity for them both, and he probably inflicts much more awkwardness than if he had simply said 'thank you'), and says "the treehouse looks good" (oh Peter.... you tried....)

...Henry's become something different for him, too, over the past months. Or maybe she always had been really, since the moment he appeared in this house and instantly became a resident. "Family" is what they were assigned to be, after all. But the word resides in a different place in him now. They're each other's family.

Following inevitable awkward laughs and/or generous eyebrow raises, he'll invite her up for a smoke after dinner, in the treehouse. It was never his; it was always Charlie's. And then it would be Paimon's.

But here, maybe it's his and Henry's. ]

(2/2)

[possessum]

[ ......Except Paimon does think it's his, and will be Quite Displeased that Henry and Peter have not only defiled it, but spend even a second in the space (though the mural featuring Luna, aka The Witch, will absolutely help to appease his restless spirit, and keep him from being too annoyed about it. In fact, when he's up in the treehouse during his own excursions, he'll often be staring open-mouthed at the painting for hours on end until he passes out asleep in front of it). He can appreciate art, okay, and Henry did well with this. It's a portrayal of what he immediately recognised as some manifestation of Luna's spirit, her soul. He's extremely pleased with it.

.......He's less thrilled with the poster and there will be numerous times it ends up thrown on the floor of the treehouse. Occasionally, he'll even carry it down and leave it in Henry's bed when she's not around. He won't destroy it; there's... something in him that seems bound to have a certain respect for gifts, and he recognises that this is a gift to his vessel, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. Take it back, Henry!! ]

[possessum]

[ Henry's thoughtful silence is appreciated, because it gives him a chance to try and recollect himself a little (a task Peter is..... still very unaccustomed to). At least he's not edging towards panic; neither of them need that right now. His hands continue smoothing over his knees, over and over, slowly, and with that gesture, he slows his breathing. Techniques he's picked up over time. Prevent the panic, rather than have to stop it after it's started.

By the time the question comes, he's a little better off, eyes lifting to look back up and over at her. The boy draws in a sharp inhale — then a soft exhale, as though readying himself for something. ]

I don't know. [ It's not his favourite answer to give. ] There's a lot of... people here, who know about shit like this. I've uh, I've met with some exorcists and stuff. But this thing.... it's apparently really strong. It's... it's like, a king.

[ Yes, there is a fucking demon king inside of the boy you've been living with all this time, Henry. It sounds so bizarre it's almost funny to say aloud. Almost. ]

There's........ rituals and things, involved with it? And so it's like... something to be really careful with. [ Aka it isn't as simple as purchasing an exorcism and getting cleared one day, apparently. ]

....And I don't know exactly how it... got into me, back home. So I haven't really been able to... help anyone understand where to go from here. All I know is after my sister.... My mom did a séance. To try and... talk with her. [ He's never told anyone that before. This, too, sound so bizarre it's almost laughable, only Peter looks like there's a gun aimed right at his head with each word. ]

....Something did talk to us. I thought it was Charlie at first, but.... I don't know. I think it's been following me around ever since then? I saw it.... Like I kept seeing this weird light and I think maybe that was the thing. The demon.

[ His voice quietens, and his hands start up their slight trembling again. ] I don't know why it wanted me. I don't know why it's here.

[possessum]

[ It definitely wasn't something either he or Luna wanted. A sort of last resort, and one that cost.... a huge sacrifice. Only Paimon came out of it truly happy. Glad someone did. With your creepy fucking lock of hair that's so precious to you. ]

You never know. [ It could be all manner of freaky shit. Bestow some curse upon them or...... make them turn into five-year-old versions of themselves. This place runs a wide spectrum of Bad Effects.

But he also knows that random items show up often that aren't dangerous, and actually helpful instead (even if those... unnerve him just as much as the antagonistic stuff...) He eyes Henry as she slips it into her pocket and then looks back at him, meeting her gaze.

The answer is an immediate relief; death may be temporary here, but that doesn't make the concept any less.... horrific. ]

Think I couldn't handle it? [ It's not said as a challenge; there's a shadow of a smile ghosting the edges of his mouth. Peter knows he... can't handle certain things. He still doesn't know how Luna had died way back on the Titanic; he can't bear to know the details. Not yet. ]

I keep bumping into people's... ghosts. The ones that show up after they died. If I'm going to see one of you, I'd definitely wanna know.

grOSS FAM FEELS

[nakedsingularity]

[She gets it. The bad spells. The difficulty of corralling the right words. The importance, sometimes, of merely knowing someone is there in another room in their house gone quiet under a layer of snow and the weight of their individual thoughts, ready to clear off a spot to sit on their bed and pass over a joint should words emerge to explain red-rimmed eyes. She gets sometimes the best way to communicate is nonverbal.

His gratitude comes across loud and clear, and the pat he gets on his back is her you're welcome. And a thanks, too. A thank you for a lot of things: for being there; for being braver than he thinks, and kinder than he has to be. It's only awkward if the sentiment doesn't run on a two way street.

But Paimon better not even think about stepping foot in her room when she's not there, or there will be more. Don't test The Bitch, motherfucker.]

[creidim]

That's actually a really good idea! [ No, really. She really likes that idea. Her face brightens at it, looking quite pleased. It would be a nice way of feeling closer to home. Soon enough it'll be a whole year since she's been in Deerington, and there's much she misses about home. Hogwarts included.

She knows there'll probably be a few people who might think she looks a little ridiculous wearing a kind of weird, wizarding uniform to school. But then again, has Luna really been one to care about what people thought of her?

Her eyebrows raise a little at his answer: I've been touching it too much. But she doesn't actually say something in reply, nodding a little. It's a believable answer, but are you sure you don't need some ointment? ]

Well. Kind of. It's a galleon, it's a form of currency we use. [ Although the fact that the wizarding world uses different money to Muggles isn't particularly itself something that should be surprising.

There's a brief pause as she considers her words. She's... careful about speaking too much about her recent history in her homeworld. Peter knows fine well about the dark creatures and magic that exists there, but he has no idea about what's actually going on. She's... still never told him. One day, she will bring herself to do it. Talking about it with Diarmuid last month certainly helped.

But for now she can give... a little context. Offer pieces here and there. ]

Back in my fourth year, we got this really awful teacher. She wouldn't actually teach us proper magic, insisted that there's no such thing as dark magic. So we wouldn't need to learn anything defensive. [ It's vague, but also enough information — Peter knows there's dark magic, after all. ] So we made our own little club, a secret one. So we could learn magic properly for when we'd need it.

It's how I learned a lot of the spells I know now. Like the Patronus charm. [ There's a small smile at that. ] I liked going. It was like having friends.

[ Rest assured: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville are now very much her friends. ]

But we needed a way to let people know when the meetings would be. Hermione came up with this very clever idea with the galleons. It has a charm on them. If she edited the master coin, all the others that the members had would change.

[ She turns the coin over to show him a series of numbers, a serial number of sorts. She explains how the number actually corresponds to whoever made the coin on a real galleon. But with the charm, they could be changed to dates and times and no one would know the difference should the coin fall into the wrong hands.

Luna's smile grows thin-lipped. The serial number currently reads: 220001051998. ]