— 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]

[ There's no way Peter would let himself take credit for something like this — it may seem like a small gesture on the surface, but it's much more than that. Much more than simply a little tin of half-full tea. It's an act of kindness, of Luna's kindness, and it's the same type of kindness that Peter associates with Ben. The sort of consideration that involves taking care of others in those little gestures: gentle, nurturing. An extra layer of thoughtfulness that most people might skip over entirely.

Peter smiles slightly at the laugh just under her words, the way she breathes it out — he's never harsh in his brand of stubbornness, but he is stubborn. He won't take credit for her find, but then, Luna's suggesting a plan of compromise for them both. Of course she is; she'd know exactly how to handle this sort of situation. The simplicity of it actually surprises him to hear — he wouldn't have thought of that himself. Peter's no problem-solver. His smile spreads a little, and he nods. ]

All right — it's from both of us.

[ Technically, it is true; it's through working together that they're the most productive, or able to be productive at all, really. Without Luna, he might.. wander, mentally, physically... She keeps him there. Keeps him safe. He helps her with the lifting, the movements; she's so tired — while her careful, capable eye can spot the things he might miss, various items, anything that could help. They make a good team, balanced.

Reaching out to touch Luna's hands is surprisingly easy for him, considering how skittish Peter has been about any sort of touch, even for those he feels more comfortable with. But... it isn't something he has to work himself up to, not for her. Not anymore. He'd lost her, and he'd found her again, and while there is absolutely a shyness, a nervousness, in him, because he's not used to this kind of thing, either — Luna's tired, and ill, and those other things won't stand in the way of his own need to help her.

He watches the hesitation in her — and it's when it's given a shape (not wanting to be a bother), that Peter understands why it's there. He gets that, and it immediately tugs his heart in an odd way; he finds himself wanting to.. reassure her that's it's always all right. ]

You could never be a bother to me. You can stay as long as you need to, um— any time.

[ His mouth opens again, something else lingering, then given form, because there's a bit more to it. ]

I— want you to stay. I'm really worried about you.

[ It's a rare, genuine conveyance of Peter's... feelings, laid out like that. His fingers slip under her palm just a bit, tucked in so that he's holding one of hands very softly — giving it a little squeeze. He doesn't know it yet, but there's something connecting him to this young woman, something literal, subtly affecting them, some source of comfort, but — Luna's already been that for him anyway. If the thread between them has ever hummed with activity up until now, Peter wouldn't have noticed a difference in the way he already feels towards Luna. She's safe, comfortable, she makes him feel... more. More confident, more capable... more happy. He feels soft waves of anxiety when she's away, like something's missing. ]

Sorry there's not any pillows or anything, though. It's not that comfortable, but you can lie down here— [ He slowly lets go of her so that he can start fussing over the blankets on the floor, trying to piece together a few to make some kind of padding. In this place, any supplies are a blessing, but it's not an ideal situation for someone who's feeling ill on top of everything else. The wooden floors are cold and it always seems damp here, in this strange place deep under the ocean. Peter's fortunate that the clothing he'd arrived here with involves some layers; it helps keep him warm: button-downs, waistcoats, suit jackets. He'd quickly gotten over how strange the dated clothing felt when he realised how lucky he was to have it at all.

Peter pauses. His intention was to let Luna take a nap here and he'd probably drift off somewhere close by, to keep watch while she sleeps — maybe sort out the cans or busy himself with some other activity, but... ]

Um, but— you know what? You can lean on me if you need to. Like a pillow. [ He can sit down here with her while she sleeps, if she wants him to, that is. Perhaps it's a strange addition to the offer, one that he would be too nervous to suggest if he were an average teenage boy — but neither of them have really been average teenagers for awhile, have they. And in this place, where survival is a frightful journey, there are more important things than being awkward about offering himself as a pillow to his exhausted, sick friend. He moves to sit back down amongst the little nest of blankets, smiling at her again. There is a hint of his usual shyness there, but it's not shutting him down. ]

I can put some blankets on my lap and you can lie your head there, or... if you want me to lie down and you can rest against my shoulder or something. Whatever's most comfortable.

[ She's the sick one, after all, and he'll be here however she needs him to be. ]

[creidim]

[ I want you to stay. The words actually pull a physical reaction from her, she jumps slightly — looking across at him with slightly widened eyes. She looks visibly stunned, a hot feeling flashing through her as she startles. For a brief moment, she's almost in disbelief at his words. But the longer she stares at him, his words ringing in her ears, the realisation actually settles in her: he wants her to stay. He wants her to stay.

Eyes fluttering in a few quick blinks, she looks away — flushing slightly. It's... a good feeling, a nice feeling. Too long she's spent being rejected by others her own age — never included, never a part of anything. Dumbledore's Army had started the wheels in motion of finally belonging, being wanted but it's still something that she's not used to. And here, a peer, a friend — who wants her to stay. And she's warmed by it, quietly touched. A small smile slowly spreads across her lips as she looks away, bashful if anything.

But then come his next words. Luna feels a pang in her stomach, shifting on the pleasant feeling. Her smile slips a little: he's worried. ]

I'm alright, you know. I will be— I'm just—

[ She wants to tell him. She wants to tell him everything that happened, the reason behind her sickness. Keeping the information from him doesn't feel right in a way — not when they've been so open with one another so far in their friendship. But this? This she hasn't told him, and it stings — burns through her like a betrayal of that friendship. She wants to tell him the truth — because he's been nothing but good to her and deserves it.

But she can't. She can't put that weight on him. Being around Peter has been nothing but a comfort, a warming joy — almost like she could tell him anything. But the last six weeks have been difficult for their friendship — and they've both hurt enough. Luna doesn't want to hurt him further, doesn't want wound him with that truth.

It goes against much of who she is — but for Peter, she wants to shield him from this. She will tell him, in time. Just not now. Luna inhales softly, flashing a tiny smile to finish her sentence. It's all she can do. ]

No, no. It's fine— [ She's slept in worse places. Even her own sleeping place back with Newt, Theseus and Percival isn't the greatest — although she's probably gotten the best deal out of the four of them. At their insistence, of course. Luna's been too tired to really argue with them. ] it's perfectly good to me.

[ She watches him fuss over the blankets, not quite moving just yet. And then come his offers: You can lean on me if you need to. Luna pauses again, mouth opening and then closing. It shouldn't be surprising, she's... kind of done this before. Back in the depths of the cellars of Malfoy Manor — she remembers times when Mr Ollivander would rest on her, the elderly and battered wizard gently leaning against her arm to doze sometimes as she held his hands. She's even, months ago now, napped with Newt — when the Moon Sickness had taken its toll, and the cure had worn her down. Newt had let her sleep curled against his chest in an arm chair, both of them too tired to climb the stairs to bed.

She'd liked that. Remembered how comforted she'd felt. She looks at Peter again, with his small shy smile — feels a bloom of warmth in her chest. Finally: ]

Stay where you are. Don't lie down.

[ She's slow to move, tentative even, pushing herself forward — it seems much like coaxing a timid animal, this is such new territory for her. Even in the throes of the survival mindset Deerington so often throws on them all, she's never... done this before. Not this, not with a boy — and despite the mindset, despite the desperate urge to rest, there's a strange, jittery buzz in her chest. It's a low-burning feeling, background noise — not enough to keep her away for too long, to stop her from going to him.

She scoots forward towards him and wordlessly crawls into his lap, carefully manoeuvring herself to sit sideways in it, her shoulder resting against her chest. Luna pauses then, pursing her lips to glance up at him, before she settles any further. ]

Is this okay—? I like this way. I—

[ Something catches her eye, cutting her off: something at Peter's hand as he moves a little to accommodate her. The glint of red in the low light. Luna inhales sharply, her eyes widening — blood—?

She reaches for his hand, pulling it towards her to examine it. Only it's not blood at all. Far from it. The red shimmers slightly as she gently twists his hand — the pale, spectral twine tied around his middle finger. Softly, she touches it with her own fingers, finding it completely intangible. But it isn't just simply tied around his finger completely: it's only one end and the thread trails from him — she follows it with her and realisation dawns on her.

Luna pulls her right hand back, towards her, finding the other end of Peter's thread tied to her ring finger. She blinks, swallowing thickly in her stunned silence: a red string of fate—? What magic is this—? She inhales, uttering his name softly. He sees this too, right—? ]

Peter.

[possessum]

[ Peter watches the way the words flit across her — like something tangible. Though he doesn't know exactly how they're affecting her (he's not quite a mind-reader just yet...) he understands that they are. He understands how words are physical things, how uncomfortable it can be when they touch upon the skin. Even good words can feel like that — soft nails tapping. A whisper upon the cheek. For a moment, he's afraid, just slightly, lips parting to start to say something to reassure her that she isn't cornered. Because words can corner you, trap you, and maybe he's done that to her now. He's about to remedy that: 'It's all right, you don't have to. It's okay.'

But then Luna smiles, and looks away, and the anxiety coiled in Peter loosens; he exhales, soft, as he watches her. He knows shyness, too, and it surprises him to see — but in a strangely pleasant way. The soft flush to her white cheek. He stares there, at her cheek, and then his own eyes drift away as though to give her privacy, or space. Those little human things — smiles, flushes, tendernesses. He's still shy to them, too. They're still new for him.

He sees the lapse in her shyness, something else taking hold — but subtly. And then Luna's agreeing to stay, in what she says next. 'It's fine— it's perfectly good to me.'

Relief eases out of him that Peter hadn't been aware he was withholding. If she were to leave, that would be all right — he'd insist on walking her back, so he'd be able to make sure that she got there safely, but... but there's something to the fact she's staying that feels right. Because that means he can watch over her directly for a few more hours.

He means the offer to let her use him as comfort however she needs, sitting there near the wall, and then Luna directs him to stay where he is, and Peter does. He stays as she moves closer, and then — up and into his lap, turned so that her thin shoulder is a soft pressure against his chest, and Peter doesn't breathe for a moment. It does surprise him, stuns him into silence for a moment. There is that part of him that feels a certain timidity to this level of intimacy with someone else — once again, an average teenage boy, inexperienced, distanced from others. Someone in his lap — a girl no less — is a new experience that would usually shake him to the core. (Not in a bad way. This isn't bad. ...It's actually quite nice.)

But the him that exists now, the one who isn't only a teenage boy anymore, feels the intimacy in a different way. A... vulnerability. She rests childlike against him, tucked inwards, letting him hold her. The last time someone had been bundled up in his arms so small was when Charlie had—

—he doesn't think of it. He can't. Some part of him knows it, but it's buried down too deeply.

Peter's arms are slowly going around Luna, slowly accepting, drawing her in, inviting her towards himself ever-so-slightly. He isn't good at comfort. He doesn't— know how. But he feels her small frame, how weak and tired, and he wants to help her. He wants to hold her the way he often needs to be held. ]

This is okay. [ He replies softly, lips barely moving, his heart feeling an odd ache of witnessing her vulnerability. It isn't the first time. He'd felt her trembling against him that nightmarish evening in the forest, saw Luna trapped somewhere awful. But this is— different. Neither of them are caught in the whirlwind of their terrors, grasping each other desperately, fingers digging in. This is.. a choice, a plan, a decision made by both of them, to hold one another. Something swells in his chest, and Peter lets it.

Then she's reaching to take his hand and he watches her, hardly moving, not wanting to disturb her as she rests against him. It takes him a moment longer to notice it than she does — he's simply blinking down, wordlessly watching as she turns his hand, explores his digits — and then the boy notices it, too. Red, glinting. A string. It would be enough to frighten him usually, but he's making this discovery with Luna, and something to that fact makes him... braver, makes him okay. The feeling blooms so subtly that he isn't aware that it's spreading outwards once they both see the threads, that the connection between them sparks, that something strengthens. ]

I see it too, [ he murmurs, almost... awed. Peter gently turns his hand, watches the thread vibrate softly, connected to her. ] What... How is that...? [ ...working? How could it possibly exist? It's intangible, and yet it's clearly there; they're both gazing downwards at it. He looks up to meet her moon-eyes then, confused but— not afraid.

There's something else there. He feels it before he sees it, cotton-soft. Melodic, whispers of thoughts. Not his, but in his mind. He should be afraid of this, too, and usually he would be, but— not this time. Peter reaches for Luna's hand then, slips his fingers into hers. The act is almost subconscious; he grasps onto hers both to seek support and to give support. To anchor both of them. The red threads are brought together in the act, caught between their palms. ]

Do you hear that? Someone— talking? Or... almost talking?

[ It's Luna's thoughts, or snippets of them, though he doesn't know yet. 'What is that?' he thinks, and his own mind is a little louder, uncertainties drifting through. ]

[creidim]

[ It feels surprisingly easy to sink against him. Her muscles seem to sing with contentment, relaxing against him as he tentatively draws her in. He feels warm. Not the kind of warmth she's still dealing with — the uncomfortable prickle of fever that makes her skin go hot and cold, flushes her with the dampness of illness. A good warmth, steady and inviting. Comforting. Luna feels better in this closeness, being held like this, sitting in his lap — as if she doesn't ache so much. She remembers how warm his cheek had felt back in December and feels a shy flutter in her stomach. This is nice, she thinks.

Sleep pulls at her, coaxing her with as much gentleness as Peter offers her. But the thread between their fingers keeps her temporarily captivated. Peter's words come with hushed awe and she feels the same — not afraid of this, but curious. Her eyes like saucers as the ghost-like thread shivers between them and then looking to him, equally as mystified as he is.

She's still staring at him as his fingers slip between hers, lips parting at the action in surprise — the sound comes. Inhaling softly but shakily, her fingers close downward, quiet whispering resounding in her mind: hushed, like soft breathing. Peter's voice echoes inside of her and Luna grows still to hear it: What is that? Luna blinks — Peter? Absently, her thumb brushes against his knuckle — self-soothed by the movement, and of him holding her hand and she holding is — as she listens. ]

Yes, I hear it.

[ She breathes it out, not wanting to raise her voice. She's enthralled by it — by the array of whispers she hears. And then she notices it: beneath the louder vocalisations, there's another set of noise. Low, echoing in the background. Luna stares at Peter for a moment longer before her gaze shifts down towards her hands. Her eyes glaze over and lose their focus as she mentally sifts through the sounds, trying to order them. She listens carefully, concentration etching into her face before she blinks suddenly — there, she hears it. But— what is it?

It doesn't sound like words, not really. More like a low hum at first, a white noise that almost sounds— sound content. Odd, chittering static — absent but definitely quite at ease. Luna listens for a moment or two until the soft echo of a 'cluck' vibrates in her mind, startling her slightly. She knows that noise. She repeats it quietly in her own head — her tongue gently touching the roof of her mouth, silently sounding it.

Her head tilts, realisation dawning on her face. Peter has made those sounds before. He made them the first time they'd met. She's heard them since — could this be his thoughts she's hearing? But then... the noises — those aren't really Peter, she doesn't think. Something else, but certainly coming from him. The curse, she thinks quietly. Whatever plagues him, has seen plague him. Her gaze lifts towards him once more, eyebrows raising. ]

I think that's you. I can hear you. [ Perhaps they should test it out. The need to know, to confirm suspicions is a strong one. ] Think of a word, or a phrase. Anything you want.

[possessum]

[ It's an odd situation all the way around: they're in some underwater city, a place of mystery and danger and never enough of anything. And yet in this moment, settled on the floor among sparse blankets, back pressed the wall and Luna curled in his lap, Peter feels some sense of normalcy through everything else.

...Even when it happens, the strange feeling and the strange thought-sounds in his head, ones that don't belong to him. He just can't be afraid, the way he normally would be. Not when Luna's with him. Not when her fingers are entwined in his. He keeps her safe, but she keeps him just as safe.

He watches her listen, watches her think — because he knows by now the way her eyes get when she's thinking. They might look lost with the wide openness of them, fogged-over moons, but she's somewhere deep and thoughtful, and he stays quiet, waiting.

He doesn't know what she hears. It's somewhere inside him that he can't reach — hidden away deeply. Paimon doesn't communicate with him much, doesn't want to. The demon keeps a mental distance between them, with occasional sounds and hums and whispers leaking through; Peter's heard the clucks before, echoing like his sister's ghost in his mind. But not the way that Luna will hear it. ...Intentional. Purposeful. Paimon feels her there and is warmed by her sudden, strange presence. Soft white fingers gently reaching inwards to the blackness he stays in, and he's surprised by it, surprised and happy and reaching back out to her.

They do both hear Luna's mental "cluck" — quiet, like the after-ripples of a stone cast onto the water, a reflection of what's in Peter. Paimon's excited surprise surges, swelling fast — she knows he's here; she spoke back to him — but Peter doesn't understand the exchange. He simply blinks, lids fluttering slightly, but not yet piecing together that the sound came from her; he thinks it's just another one of his own mental sounds, and he tries to ignore it. Peter... knows what's inside him, even if not the exactness of it or what it needs. He knows by now that it's alive, even knows what it's supposed to be called. Demon. He remembers feeling it in louder forms on the ship, remembers being constantly aware of its Hellfire. It's quieter now, a gentle murkiness that blends into him rather than fights him. Maybe it's tired. Maybe it's at ease.

He has to tell her. He has to tell anyone that he cares so deeply for. But he... can't, now. It's too much, and he has to be careful, and he'll need Ben to help him with... the form of that, and... he's afraid. He's very, very afraid in ways he hasn't even been able to touch on at all, refuses to. Sometime. For now, they have to just survive this place, and for now he has to help Luna, who's still so sick and frail.

'The curse'.

He cocks his head slightly, eyes widening — those were actual words this time. What.. Where...?

'I think that's you. I can hear you.' ]

...Me?

[ It takes him longer than her to figure it out, and he blinks glossily, but follows along with her suggestion. After considering it for a moment, he's thinking something quietly but clearly: ]

I'm really hungry.

[ ...A simple message...but one that has weight; hunger is a constant state in this place. He feels a little bit silly, though, ducking his head slightly just after the thought, a little grin splitting his expression as his hand simultaneously gives hers almost a subconscious squeeze. Whatever this is, it isn't bad. Just strange. ]

[creidim]

[ Luna feels it: the rising delight of some presence inside of him, reaching for her as she tentatively reached inwards to it. She had noticed it, the sounds lost amongst the surface noise, and in return it notices her — is so very aware of her. She doesn't know what to make of it, but the sudden awareness, of being seen by whatever it is brings a need to tread with care. The buzz of warm joy at being noticed... confuses her. She mentally steps back slightly, unsure — inhaling softly in a silent gasp as if she'd reached for something too hot, felt the burn of it against her skin.

She knows something is inside of Peter; knows something lurks in there, has looked at her and tried to reach for her before. But she has no idea of what it is, really — what kind of magic presence it truly is.

Now is not the time to go throwing herself into it, not when she's not sure what's going on between the two of them — how they can hear one another. Care... is needed. She isn't the steadfast and impulsive makings of a Gryffindor, after all. Her house favours caution in the face of new knowledge.

Her attention focuses back onto Peter, onto working out this strange communication between them. She watches him carefully as he considers for a moment and her eyes widen when his voice clearly rings inside of her mind — not quite as if he'd spoken aloud, more... intimate than that, somehow. Like a secret.

But she can't help but smile a little at him, making soft sounds of mirth at the words she hears. It's... a little silly, yes. But it works. She'd heard him. ]

I'm really hungry, too. [ At least she has her appetite back these days, as small as it is. She barely ate at all in her first week back from death.

Is this... some kind of Legilimency, though? It's the only word she knows for it, to look into another's mind. But it seems— seems shared. As if they both are Legilimens. Luna finds herself quite at ease with that wondering, inhaling and exhaling softly. Silently, she leans into him, resting easily against him — settling herself more comfortably. He's warm, the fabric of his rich clothing from the ship soft against her cheek. It— it feels safe.

She swallows slightly, concentrating for a moment — working to gently direct the words to him. ]

It's alright, though. I'd prefer to sleep first.

[possessum]

[ Maybe he should be afraid to even hold her like this, knowing that something dark and awful lurks inside him. ...He is afraid to. Not so deep-down, but in a place Peter hasn't quite been able to pay much attention to, with everything else that's happened. And truthfully, that thought has been strangely snuffed out before it could really take root just yet, for the moment anyway — since finding Luna in this place again, the thought of leaving her side is... it's just unthinkable. Perhaps that's due to this thing between them, this literal red thing. All he knows is that even beyond that need to keep watch to make sure she's safe, he feels... best, when he's with her. He feels best, and at ease, and that extends to the core of him. To what lives inside him.

Paimon feels her surprise — she's just as stunned by the awareness of connection between them as he is — and he lets go, almost as abruptly as he'd moved to greet her. The tether is still so new, so fresh, he doesn't know how to hold it in his hands just yet. He lets go, but not reluctantly — willingly. She'd known he was there, she'd spoken to him. Cluck.

This is.. something. Something to think on. Something to... approach, with caution as well. Paimon has waited and watched this entire time, inbetween those little moments of being able to reach out of Peter. It seems he's able to do that more and more these days but... he needs to be careful, too. He slips back, still warmed — a vibrating hum easing back into a comfortable place, lets Luna have only Peter again.

The odd fluttering exchange of emotions and presence between girl and demon remains largely unnoticed by Peter, only some of it leaking through to him, but like an after-thought. A phantom. What he's paying attention to now are the subtle shifts in Luna — some he can see in her face, and some he can... feel, behind her eyes. She smiles, and he can feel her smile in his mind as much as see the movement of her mouth.

Typical boy, thinking with his stomach. Peter grins again, but something else this time — a sort of cautious delight, eyebrows lifting. She'd heard him, heard exactly what he'd said. How is is possible...? But then, they've faced all sorts of impossible things together.

'It's alright, though. I'd prefer to sleep first.'

Soft as down, her voice is within him. A pressure, but not demanding. Not aching. Comfortable, gentle, warm. He nods, as carefully as possible so as not to move her at all where she rests against him, ear and cheek tucked to his chest. He's alright, too; the hunger isn't demanding right now. It's an emptiness he's grown almost accustomed to, he's fine with it. He's at ease.

Peter adjusts himself slightly, gently, and then goes still, sitting with his back against the wall and Luna in his lap. One arm lifts to find the thin blanket nearby, fingers drawing it over her petite frame and his arms settle back over her that way, tucking her in against himself, protective. He feels the fever-warmth of her skin, contrasted with the chill of her, and frowns softly to himself, but after a moment, exhales, slow and even, coaxing the anxiety out of himself. He has to make himself the most comfortable place for her. ]

Let's sleep, [ he agrees, tentatively trying it out again — easing his thoughts towards her. A soft smile touches the edges of his mental-smile, shy but warm. ]

[creidim]

[ The presence leaves as suddenly as it first came to her, she exhales and it draws back. Falling away into distant background noise, no longer reaching past Peter for her. It still seems... happy, even as it leaves her. She's left with quiet, unformed questions — a silent curiosity of whatever it was. Doesn't know if it will reach for her again, either just simply content at being acknowledged or looking for the connection once more.

It's thoughts for another time, but ones that she won't let slip too far away from her. This is... important. Something more direct than brief flickers behind his eyes, or wild thrashing without any coherent thought. Her eyes glance down to the thread — what has it opened between them?

Luna purses her lips for a moment, thoughtful but then distracted by something else. She can feel a little anxiousness and she knows it isn't her own. Some quiet fear that doesn't belong to her — but slips through and gently fills the spaces in her mind for a brief moment. The presence isn't the only one who feels warmth — she's sure it's coming from Peter, too. That he's comforted to be here with her.

And she feels comforted in return, it seems to drift through them, a constant. Safe. That word seems to sound out again. She feels safe. Luna leans on that word, that feeling. Inhales it, draws it in to her and exhales it out to him — a soft whisper of emotion. It's sincere: she is safe.

He pulls the blanket over her. It's strange, this. A nice strange, despite its newness. She settles against him, muscles finally relaxing — there's little room for relaxing in this place. But... she can do it here, right now. Her body quietly aches for it: for rest, for dreamless sleep.

Peter speaks again and she exhales a breath, amusement in it. She... likes this. Some silent little secret between them, speaking like this — soothed by his voice in her head. ]

Thank you. [ It's soft, sleepy — a sigh that sounds more peaceful than she's been for some time now. Her thumb moves again, absently brushing against his knuckles of their clasped hands, the ones holding the strings between them.

It doesn't last long, the motion growing slower and slower as sleep inches closer. It's barely a few minutes before her breathing finally begins to even out into easy, shallow breaths — slipping into sleep. ]