#they had to go through several revisions and edits before your defense

[everypigeondeserveslove]

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 4

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 2702

Author’s Note: At last!!! I almost didn’t make it, but here I am, literally in the eleventh hour (well, okay, three minutes to go until the eleventh hour, but still)! All the thanks to @mskathywrites , @fang, and @cracksinthewalls for editing, revision, flailing, and all that stuff I need. I still love this story, and I hope y’all will, too! 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 4

Kimber knows she’s staring, but she can’t stop herself. His fingers, rough and strong from years of the hardest work, brush circles over her wrists that send her pulse fluttering through her veins. So many emotions flicker behind his eyes, some of them mirroring her own, some of them alien and unreadable. So many years have passed, so much water under the bridge, as the saying goes. 

The thing is, he was completely right earlier. She could have called him, once she learned who he and his family were, once she found a way.

But he had left town with her phone number memorized. He was in a much more logical position to get in touch, and right away, at that. And he never did. She knows he had a good reason, a completely reasonable one that would make sense if she just asked him.

But she’s scared and drained and confused and more than a little ashamed, and she’s tired of making a fool of herself.

She drops her eyes before the tears fully form and murmurs a quiet thanks as she loosens her hands from his grip. Though walking away is not what she wants to do, she forces her legs straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a firm click. 

She’ll feel better after a hot shower. That’s all she needs, a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. They’ll figure this out tomorrow, and then Dean and his brother will ride off into the sunset, and everything will go back to normal. She’ll go back to her classes as usual, helping out the occasional hunter or scholar with some lore, and she’ll bury all these feelings behind her heart again, drown them so deep they’ll never dream of resurfacing.

At least, that’s the fairy tale she tells herself as the scalding stream washes the saltwater from her cheeks. 

She actually does feel moderately restored by the time she steps out of the bathroom. She feels a little ridiculous in Dean’s clothing. The sleeves of the t-shirt hang past her elbows, and the pants legs are rolled up several times to keep her from tripping. 

At least the waist has a drawstring, she thinks as she rounds the corner back into the room. She pulls the towel from her hair, shaking it out a little just as Dean looks up from his laptop at the small table. His mouth opens, eyes widening. She’s not sure because of the poor lighting of the room, but his face seems to color a little as his eyebrows lift.

She is suddenly, acutely aware that she did not put her bra back on when getting dressed in his white t-shirt that is probably not nearly as thin as it feels.

Dean clears his throat, turning back to his computer, swallowing whatever comments have entered his mind. Kimber can’t decide whether to laugh or blush even harder and settles for the third option of hanging her office clothes up so they can air out a little before tomorrow. 

With nothing else to do, she drops onto the edge of the bed gracelessly, feeling every minute of the last few weeks catching up with her. Uncertainty and fear claw at her, ripping away what little defenses she has left. The image of the mutilated doll flashes before her eyes, red paint splashed luridly on her favorite comforter. Her lungs clench, and she sags on the mattress. 

She presses her fingers hard against her face. Acid burns at the back of her throat, bitter and biting. Her fingernails are just beginning to dig into her scalp when she registers the click of the laptop closing. Half a moment passes, then the bed dips beside her. 

She doesn’t consciously decide to move; her body simply molds itself to his side as Dean slides his arm around her back. He turns into the embrace, his other arm gathering her tightly against him. His cheek comes to rest on top of her head. The silence between them is the comfort she needs, his warmth and solidity the anchor that keeps her from drifting too far into panic.

When he finally speaks, his words rumble through her nerves, settling heavy and soothing in her chest.

“We’re gonna get this son of a bitch, Kimber. I’m sorry they got into your house, but I’m glad I was with you. I…” She rises gently with his deep inhalation, pressed as she is against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

She hears what he isn’t saying, and her hands drop from her face, her arms slipping around his middle as her eyes close.

“Me, too, Dean.”

...

“That pumpkin pie was somethin’ else,” Dean murmured. His arms were folded behind his head as he stretched out on top of Kimber’s bedspread. He crossed his ankles, settling in like he belonged there. His thin t-shirt stretched across his wiry frame, jeans lying enticingly low on his hips, and she could just see a glimpse of pink toe through a hole in one of his socks.

A pleasant, off-balancing thrill skipped down Kimber’s spine, twirling through her stomach and making her head spin a little. Dean’s jacket was hung carefully on her desk chair, his boots lined up on the floor underneath, and his button-up overshirt folded neatly on the desk.

Her parents had gone to bed long ago, and she had snuck Dean in the back door. After their exhilarating but chilled stroll that afternoon, she’d decided against the treehouse. Dean had been amused but willing, although he’d had one stipulation that had nearly made her laugh aloud.

“We get caught and your folks kick me out, you’re bringing me your mom’s leftovers to school every day for breakfast. I’m not missin’ out on home cooking just because you can’t stand to be away from me.”

Now, seeing him so comfortable on her bed, like he just belonged...Kimber knew the smile on her face was on the goofier end of sappy, but she couldn’t help it. He was just so damned…

“Cute,” he said, smirking up at her. “I know what you’re thinking. And I’m not cute. I’m adorable.”

She sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine, you’re gorgeous, adorable, vital, the absolute most. Now close your eyes so I can change.” Smirk still firmly in place, Dean dutifully closed his eyes. She knew, despite the short time she’d known him, that she could trust Dean to keep his eyes shut.

She spent a few seconds regretting the lack of any silky, dramatic nightgowns or cute, sexy little matching pajama sets. Oh, well; couldn’t have everything. She stripped quickly, tossing her school clothes into the hamper and slipping on her “Aaahh!!! Real Monsters” t-shirt. Thick socks and plaid pajama pants completed her night ensemble. 

That she had just been naked (however unseen said nakedness had been) in front of Dean Winchester had not escaped her. She licked her lips, cheeks warm, and turned slowly back to the bed. He lay still, chest rising and falling steadily, and she marveled, not for the first time, that he was here, in her room. Just for her.

Her pulse jumped, her lungs tightened, and for just a second, Kimber panicked.

“You can, uh...you can open your eyes. I’m gonna go brush my teeth; I’ll be right back.”

She fled silently down the hallway, brushed her teeth in record time, and then stared in the mirror. Her hair was just her hair, nothing amazing or horrifying; no point trying to fix that before bed. Maybe…make-up?

“Kimber. What the hell?” she muttered. “You’re not seducing him, just be cool. Jeez. You can’t wear make-up to bed.”

She splashed cold water on her face, scrubbing her skin dry with a hand towel more forcefully than necessary. She gave her reflection another once-over and took a deep breath.

“You’re his choice, too,” she reminded herself. “Just chill.”

She found him exactly as she’d left him, completely relaxed on the bed, eyes still closed. She thought for a moment that he might have fallen asleep. Kimber wasn’t sure if she felt more disappointment or relief.

“You left in a little bit of a hurry,” he murmured, eyes still closed, and she started. “Everything okay?” She almost put him off, could feel the brush-off on her lips, but his eyes slid open, pinning her on the spot. She got the eerie sense that he would know, that he already knew she was trying to put on a front, and she deflated a little.

“I’m nervous,” she finally admitted. The heat in her cheeks turned up a few degrees, spreading down her neck, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “I’ve never...snuck a guy to my room before. I just...this is mostly new to me, but with you, I want...I don’t know.”

Without a word, Dean slid from the bed and crossed the room, his mesmerizing eyes never leaving hers. He stopped a few feet away and waited, his arms open. With the bed suddenly out of the equation, Kimber felt a hidden knot of anxiety untie in her chest. 

She let out a breath and stepped into his embrace, her arms circling his waist in a way that felt easy and right. Dean’s lips pressed a warming kiss to the crown of her head. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “This is your room, your space, but even if it wasn’t-” He paused, leaning back and brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Kimber, look at me.”

She did, and his earnest expression left no room to doubt his next words. It barely left room for breathing.

“ ‘M not here to make you feel uncomfortable or scared. I’m here because you want me to be. The second that stops, the second I make you feel something you don’t want, that’s it. Period. Does that work for you?”

His eyes, so plaintive and weathered in that moment, cut right to her heart. Never in her life had Kimber felt so safe, so protected, and so very sad. She couldn’t think of any words that lived up to the magnitude of what Dean had just said, so she simply squeezed him tighter, pressing her face against the side of his neck. 

“Can you stay?” she asked. She knew he had obligations, probably needed to get back to his brother or at least check in with his dad. She felt terribly selfish in her warm, safe house with her parents right down the hall. Still, she asked. 

“Yeah, I can stay for a while.” His smile, soft and open, laid her doubts to rest. They settled onto the bed, fumbling a little awkwardly to find a position they both liked. There was some bumping, mumbled apologies, until they finally sorted out a comfortable twist of limbs that didn’t set her heart beating out of her ribs or threaten to cut off blood flow to anything important. 

She relaxed by increments, her cheek resting on his collarbone. He hugged her close with his left arm, his right hand combing slowly through her hair over and over. The silence settled around them like a second blanket, soothing and heavy.

“What do you want to do when you finish school, Kimber? College?”

“Probably,” she murmured. “I don’t know specifically, but I like research.”

He snorted, and she poked him in the side.

“Shut up, you jerk, I do. And I like sharing the information. I like helping people. I don’t really want to be a teacher, but maybe I can find something where I can do all of that.”

Dean resumed combing her hair, having paused when she poked him, and they settled a little more closely together.

“Dean?”

“Mmm?”

She blinked slowly, sleep pulling at her eyelids. Her thoughts spun out languidly, losing their urgency as his warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her pajamas. 

“How about you?”

His answer came quickly, rehearsed and without thought. “Join the family business. Dad’s been training me for years. Don’t have a lotta choice, but I know I’ll be good at it. Was raised for it.”

Her fingers crept up, her eyes staying closed for longer and longer periods between blinks. She slid her thumb over his chin, just brushing the line of his bottom lip before sliding slowly up his jaw. 

His words weren’t emotionless, but they were automatic. There was so much he never said, and she hated to push him, afraid he would just leave or shut down, but…

“But what do you want?” She persisted, drowsiness interfering with her usual restraint. “Who do you want to be?”

He was silent for so long, she nearly gave in to fatigue. She drifted on the edge of unconsciousness, fingers stroking through the silky strands of hair behind his ears. She felt his face turn, his lips press against her wrist.

“I want...this,” he said. Even half-asleep, she couldn’t mistake the raw longing behind his words. “I want...I want to work a boring, regular job and come home to someone who missed me all day as much as I missed her. I want my kids to cannonball into my legs so hard they knock me over. I want…”

His words choked off, and she stilled her fingers against his cheek, waiting for him to continue.

“I want a house. No...I...when I was little, Dad would come home, and he would just...sweep Mom up sometimes, swing her around, when they weren’t fighting. Even when they were, he’d do it sometimes anyway just to get her to laugh.”

She felt his face shift beneath her hand, but his smile didn’t feel quite right, and she moved closer. His arm tightened around her back, and he smoothed the palm of his free hand down to cup her jaw.

“I want a home. I want to be a dad, a husband. I want a family.”

She felt childish, shallow next to the depth of his simple declaration. Dean wanted what she had, what she took for granted every day of her life. This was the first time he’d spoken of his mother, and though curiosity burned hot inside her, she didn’t dare ask further questions, afraid she’d break the spell of the moment.

Dean’s voice dropped until she could feel it more than hear it, his lips pressing softly against her forehead.

“I want to come home and hold someone until I fall asleep every night. I want to wake up to her and know that my whole day, every day, is gonna be just that, all over again.”

She lifted her face to his then, and in the darkness of her bedroom she could only just make out the barest lines of his features. Their noses brushed, his hand gently pulling at the back of her head, and their lips met. His cheek was damp under her fingertips, and her heart clenched. 

She pulled his head down, brushing her lips over the tears trickling down his cheekbones more by feel than by sight. Both his arms came around her then, pulling her against his chest as he buried his face in his hair. They breathed together, memorizing each others’ scents, heartbeats, rhythms as the night crept by. 

The moment didn’t pass so much as gradually relax until Kimber felt him shift beneath her, smoothly sliding her off his chest and down to the pillows. He kissed her temple, and her face automatically turned to his, chasing his lips. She felt him chuckle against her mouth.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I gotta go. Need to check on Sammy, make sure he got dinner, did his homework, all that mess. I’ll see you tomorrow. Walk you to school?”

She nodded, humming her agreement even as she blindly reached for him. Something soft brushed against her fingers, and she automatically pulled it down, cuddling against the fabric. 

“Hold onto that for me. I’ll get it back from you sometime.” She felt a kiss press to her forehead, and then the click of her door closing. She breathed in, Dean’s scent surrounding her as she slipped under again, his button-up shirt pillowed under her cheek and tangled in her fingers. 

…

Chapter 5

[chelsfic]

Chapter 5/18 - Safety - Bucky Barnes x OC Soulmate AU

Masterlist

Summary: Soulmate AU! Bucky/OC. Our soulmarks appear at the moment of our soulmate’s birth. The Asset’s mark appears in the Spring of 1987. The words imprinted into the skin of his forearm. “Please! Don’t hurt me…”

A/N: I wrote this fic over the course of 2017-2018 and it was originally published on AO3. Recently, I decided to do some light revisions in order to fix inconsistencies in the POV, some awkward diction and typos. Please note–I’m aware that a lot of people love this fic just as it is. This is not a rewrite, I won’t be changing major plot points and I’m purposely leaving most of the writing alone. Just sprucing it up. Since I wrote this before I started posting fic to Tumblr, I decided to take the opportunity of posting the revised chapters here as I edit them. If you got to the end of this A/N: thank you!!!

Warnings: Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Eventual happy ending

The next morning, SHIELD HQ, Washington D.C.

Director Fury sat behind a desk, fingers steepled, watching as Steve Rogers absorbed the information on the tablet in his hands. Natasha Romanoff sat beside the Captain, glancing at the screen over his shoulder, face impassive as always. 

Steve’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, “I don’t understand what I’m seeing here. This is…”

“James Buchanon Barnes,” Fury finished the sentence. “Alive and apparently untouched by time, if nothing else.”

“But how?” Steve looked even more like a golden retriever puppy than usual as he sat there in confusion and sorrow, his eyes shining with the sting of unspent tears.

Fury sucked in a short breath, “The short answer is...science. SHIELD has kept files on the assassin known as the Winter Soldier for about sixty years. Many good agents have died trying to gather intel on him. A lot of people in the intelligence community think he’s a ghost. Well, I can assure you, as can Ms. Sophie Reynolds, he is most definitely flesh and blood...and metal.”

Natasha spoke up, “The girl, where does she fit in?”

The images on the tablet showed grainy surveillance footage of James Barnes, the Winter Soldier, exiting an apartment building via a fire escape with a woman thrown over his shoulder. 

Fury looked uncomfortable for the first time, “She was a mistake. We never should have let her leave the Tower, even with a tail. They met two days ago....she’s his soulmate.” 

“WHAT?” Steve almost shouted. “He...Bucky’s soulmate? But he never had a mark…” 

Steve’s words drifted off as he realized the reality of the situation. Natasha spoke, picking up the thin file on Sophie Reynolds, “Well, no, he wouldn’t have. Says she was born in 1987.”

“That’s right,” Fury responded, “and she was our best bet at a capture until he made off with her in the middle of the night. Cap, you’re the closest thing we have to a connection to this guy, where would he take her?”

Steve Rogers shook his head. He didn’t have the answer. The Bucky he knew wouldn’t kidnap a young woman out of her home. Or murder intelligence agents. Or launch an assault against SHIELD in the middle of downtown Manhattan. He didn’t know this person at all.

Natasha glanced between Steve and Fury before speaking up, “I have some ideas.”

---

Sophie was awake and pretending to be asleep. She’d conked out almost as soon as they entered the hotel room last night and hadn’t had a chance to reflect on...everything. But one thing was becoming very clear to her: she could not trust this man. She could feel that he was close. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘this soulbond thing is weird. Also the whole not having a name to call my new soulmate...weird as well.’ 

She kept her eyes carefully closed and tried to regulate her breathing as thoughts crashed through her head. ‘So, the number one rule about this kind of situation was that you were NOT supposed to allow your kidnapper to take you to a second location. So, obviously failed on that.’ But she knew where she was. So the big thing now would be to absolutely under no circumstances allow him to take her wherever the hell he thought they were going. 

She felt a stab of guilt thinking these things. Her rational self was screaming at her to escape this crazy person. But her very soul was singing out that he was the missing piece she’d searched for and he would never harm her and they should just hurry up with the whole happily ever after thing. She felt the urge to cry again but she didn’t have it in her. Why would she be fated for someone who treated her this way?

“Get up, we’re leaving.”

‘How romantic, I feel like Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. The beginning part where Darcy is still an asshole.’

Sophie stretched her limbs under the thin hotel blanket and cracked her eyes open. The man was sitting in the same chair he’d sat in when they arrived last night. 

“Did you sleep?” she asked incredulously.

He narrowed his eyes at her and grumbled, “We’re on a deadline, let’s go.” 

She took a deep breath before responding. She felt a little ridiculous having this standoff with him while laying in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. “No. I can’t go with you!”

There was a long moment of cold silence. Sophie felt her stomach drop and for the first time since they’d met, she felt truly afraid of him. Up until this moment the warm blossom of their soul bond had been a continual comfort. But when she’d directly refused to go along with his orders she felt the bond constrict, almost as if it was shrinking in her chest. It hurt. 

The man, her soulmate, stood up and slowly stalked to her bedside using all his height to loom over her. His face looked like a thunderstorm.  

“Get. Up. Now.” He ripped the blanket away from her and pulled her out of bed by her arm, wrenching it painfully. She felt the skin pinch where his metal fingers met. 

“Ouch! Stop it, let go of me! Please!” He dropped his arm abruptly away from her as if he’d been scalded by the contact. She staggered several steps away from him, backing into a corner in fright. She felt the aching constriction in her chest ease a little and the twang of his emotions just barely reaching through. She watched him standing still in the middle of the room, chest heaving, staring down at his own hand as if it were a foreign object. 

He turned toward her without meeting her eyes, “I’m...get ready we’re leaving in five minutes.”

With that he turned and started to re-equip himself with the dozen or so weapons he’d apparently been categorizing, or cleaning, or whatever you do with weapons, while she’d slept. They were arrayed on the small kitchenette table. Knives, guns...grenades? Sophie was in way, way...way over her head. She cursed herself for ignoring the grave warnings her SHIELD interrogators had given her about this man. She’d been so blinded by the newly formed bond. 

A minute passed with Sophie staring, mesmerized, at the astonishing assortment of weaponry this man apparently found necessary to bring along on a trip to visit his soulmate. She spoke, her voice coming out thin and small, “I can’t go with you. I won’t.”

He straightened his back and sighed. “What did they tell you about me? When they interrogated you?”

She spoke to his back, “You’re...a spy or something.”

“Wrong,” he said, turning to face her, “I’m not a spy. I’m a weapon. I’ve been trained to do one thing very, very well. I hurt people. Most of the time I cross them off entirely. I...I don’t want to hurt you. But it won’t be difficult for me to subdue one small, weak girl who’s being stupidly defiant. Time’s up. Let’s go.”

Ouch. When Sophie was a little girl she imagined her soul mate as this knight in shining armor character. He would save her from some nondescript danger and carry her in his arms to safety. Never, ever had she imagined that her soulmate--the one person in the whole world who was meant to love her unconditionally--could be so...mean. She felt stricken . Her face contorted in pain but still...she had to resist. 

There was nowhere for her to run. He stood between her and the door. She was literally backed into a corner. But she was also feeling increasingly desperate. The adrenaline of last night was gone and now all that was left was the cold, plain observation that this man did not have her interests at heart. He was clearly following orders to bring her some place. And she would bet her last dollar it was some place...unpleasant. Sophie had never been in a fight in her life. Never even taken a kickboxing or self defense class. So...she fled. Or tried to.

It was almost comically pathetic how quickly the man responded to her attempt to dart out around him. He simply put out his arm to block her. He was so solid she would have fallen right over if he hadn’t caught her. As soon as his arms closed around her she began to struggle, screeching, scratching, hitting and bucking. The only good it did was to at least assure Sophie that she was doing her damnedest to fight him. It just wasn’t enough. By a lot.

When she’d exhausted herself she fell limp in his hold and--again--started to cry. He tightened his hold on her and growled, “Are you going to walk out of this hotel room with me or do I need to incapacitate you?”

Even if Sophie was in a calm state of mind she wouldn’t have known how to respond to such a question. Instead she let out a keening sort of wail and slumped over, trying to move as far away from him as his grip would allow. Slowly, he let her go and stood as she sagged onto the floor. She heard a metal clicking noise before she felt him take hold of her wrist and lock a handcuff around it. She barely reacted as she watched him attach her to the foot of the bed. She watched him stand up and walk to the door of the motel room. When he opened it she could see the sunlight flooding the parking lot outside. He paused for a second, “I’ll be right back.”

Oh, good.

@watsonwise​

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

LinkedUniverse Fanfic ch. 3: The Beach

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name--Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story--I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 4: Sand and Salt.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

I’ve settled into a narrative at this point, this being the third in a series of fanfics based on @jojo56830‘s @linkeduniverse. I absolutely love working with these characters, and TBH I’ve never bothered writing fiction before. Word count: 1474. Enjoy! (edit: renamed to match the rest of my narrative)

“Where are we?” The Hero of the Four Sword managed through a yawn. “Last I remember…”

“Shhh…” The Hero of the Sky whispered. He was crouched beside Four. He pointed ahead into what looked like a great white blur. “Don’t ruin his moment.”

Four squinted into the blinding light. Gradually, the image cleared. Four let out a gasp as he realized his surroundings. He tried to stand to get a better look but found his limbs heavy as lead. He fell back in the sand. “Let me ask again,” he said in a whisper this time. “Where are we?”

The sun beat down on the young heroes. Seagulls and the rush of waves filled their ears, and Four could make out some laughing ahead. He turned his head toward it and found the Hero of the Wind stripping down to his undergarments as he dashed towards the vast ocean ahead of them.

“For starters,” Twilight began, glancing down at Four. “We made it out of that damned cave. The stalfos were no match for us once you pulled that fancy move of yours.”

Four’s eyes shot open. Evidently, he forgot he had used the power of his sword. He had never told his companions about it, but now it seemed the cat was out of the bag. “Oh. Uh. Listen guys, I know you might be upset—“

Legend cut him off with a laugh. “Upset? What, that you never told us about it? Well, a little bit. But it saved our hides back there. Tell us about it.”

Time held his arm out in front of Legend. “Give him a moment,” he said with a smile. He cocked head toward the glittering ocean. “Give us all a moment. I think we earned it.”

At this point, Wind was well into the water, jumping into the waves and letting them batter him around. His laughing between gulps of air carried over to the rest of them. Wild began undoing his cloak and baldric. The others looked at him. “What?” He asked. “Time’s right. We earned a moment.”

They shared a collective chuckle and began following Wild’s lead. Four was getting his energy back, so he stood and started undressing himself. With a jolt, he realized his sword and shield were missing. A panic set in. “Guys!” he called. “Where are my weapons?!”

Legend, trying to slide off his gold bracelet, turned around and ran backwards. He yelled back “In my pouch, don’t worry about it!”

Four grinned and ran in after his friends. They had taken good care of him while he was out. There’s something else, though, he thought to himself. Who carried me out? The water around his ankles splashed him as he ran, breaking him out of his thoughts. You know, that can all wait.

Wind stuck his left hand out at arm’s length and buried it an inch under the water. He dashed as fast as his water-weighted legs could carry him, straight at his oncoming friends. If any of them sensed what was coming next, they didn’t show it.

Right as he reached them all, he turned on his heel and rapidly spun, again, and again, and again. His hand carried water up into the air and buffeted the Links. Thanks, Orca. Gotta love the Great Spin Attack, Wind thought. He laughed wildly as he turned and turned. He was getting dizzy, and he knew he had it coming to him when he stopped.

Lo and behold, Wind slowed and stumbled face-first into the surf. He felt a hand plunge into the water next to him and grabbed it. He opened his eyes to find Twilight pulling him to his feet. He spoke softly, “Are you okay?”

Wind smiled, reminded of the battle with the stalfos. Twilight had said the same thing to him after saving him from one of the monsters. “Yeah,” he replied as he shook salty water out of his hair.

“Good.” Twilight said. Wind felt his hand being gripped harder. “Now I don’t feel bad about this.”

Wind didn’t even have time to say “uh oh” before he felt himself being whipped through the water. It occurred to him after several revolutions that maybe Twilight knew a Great Spin Attack himself.

Twilight let go of Wind’s hand, and the youngest Link was sent flying through the air. “AAAAAHHHHH!!” he cried before plunging back into the water. He took a moment to enjoy feeling the ocean envelope him, then popped his head out. “Hey! Twi! Good one!”

There was silence between the heroes for a few heartbeats. As if on cue, they all erupted into hearty laughter. Determined to one-up the first strikes, each Link tried their hand at attacking for fun for once. Sky unleased a flurry of quick, precise jabs at the water’s surface. The salty stuff hit the Links right in their faces. They recoiled, and some cried out.

Those of them blinded by the salt heard someone move up from behind them. “Sky, that was amazing!” they heard Wind shout. He had evidently run back from where he had been thrown. Warrior shook his head to clear it, then glared straight at Sky. Sky gulped. Hitting the most prideful of them with that sort of direct attack may have been a mistake. What happened next, Sky could barely track.

Warrior moved deliberately, as if executing a combo attack he had done many times. One by one, splashes from hooks, jabs, forehands and backhands bombarded Sky. A lull in the attacks allowed him to open his eyes and look at his opponent. Only Warrior wasn’t there. Oh no… he thought. He looked up. Warrior was hurtling downward in as perfect a ball as a Hylian can form. He hit the water.

A majestic tidal wave pulsed out from the epicenter. It washed over all of them with the force of a bomb flower. Warrior slowly and dramatically stood up, put his fists on his waist, and flashed a grin at his fallen comrades; Sky looked particularly dazed. “Come on, boys!” He taunted. “Is that all it takes to fell you?”

As it happens, it wasn’t. Legend, Four, Hyrule, and Wild exchanged a nod and began charging Warrior. Sky recovered and followed after them. Sensing he was suddenly out of his league, Warrior put his arms over his face and shut his eyes hard. No more salt in these eyes, no way, he decided. No attack came. A couple seconds passed. He lowered his defenses, about to taunt his companions again. Unfortunately, they were already only a yard from him, ready to splash.

The look of surprise and desperation on Warrior’s face made Wind burst out laughing. The five allies hit Warrior with everything they had, which ultimately led to them hitting each other, too. Water can be that way sometimes. Time, Wind, and Twilight looked at the bedlam in awe. The latter two jumped back into the fray, ready to dish out their best.

Time found himself gazing at his companions again. A few hours earlier, they were deep in a fight for their lives, outnumbered ten-to-one. Now they were all having fun in a beautiful ocean, letting their stress wash off them in the waves. “Alright,” he said to himself. “My turn.”

While the others were preoccupied fighting and laughing with each other, Time built up as best a sprint as he could. The water came up to just above his navel, which he decided would be just enough for what he had planned.

The one-eyed hero plunged into the surf a few yards from his friends. He swam with the grace of a Zora, twirling as he tightly circled the others. They didn’t notice what he was doing until a wall of water started to rise around them. It rose to several yards tall, and they were now gaping at the sight. That was a mistake.

The wall collapsed, slamming into the Links and filling their mouths and noses. They tumbled through the water for a good few seconds, carried by the torrent. Gasping for air and choking on the salty water, they stumbled back to their feet. Time stood alone and unopposed in the center of them. He had one hand on his hip, his head cocked to the side. “Guess I went a little overboard,” he chuckled.

“What in the Goddesses’ name was that?” Hyrule exclaimed between coughs.

Time took a moment to think on that question. He had never really discussed his masks’ powers with his companions. His mind flashed back to a skeletal guitar jutting out of a sandy beach. Thanks, Mikau. I haven’t forgotten, even now, he thought.

“Well?” Hyrule pressed.

Time beamed, gathering in the sight of his drenched, exhausted, but happy friends. “Let’s just say it’s mapped to muscle memory.”

[starryviolentine]

Brody’s Diary (Revised Edition): Chapter 5

Part one of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

Chapter 1 ( here ) Chapter 2 ( here ) Chapter 3 ( here ) Chapter 4 ( here )

If Dr. Larson had to describe Brody when she first came to Ericson’s, she would say that the child was, in the simplest terms, lost inside her own head. It wasn’t too long after Brody’s tenth birthday that she pulled up at the school’s iron gates in her family’s forest green SUV. All four of the young girl’s family members—six, if you count the family dogs—came along to drop her off. The doctor only spoke with Brody’s parents for a few minutes, but they seemed like good folks who truly cared about their daughter’s wellbeing.

Later that week, Dr. Larson received an envelope from the administrative building containing a copy of Brody’s school records, psychiatric evaluation results and other documents pertaining to her official diagnosis: generalized anxiety disorder. The hospital documents were all recent, all from within the past year, but her school file contained many, many incident reports dating as far back as when Brody was seven years old. Dr. Larson skimmed through the file, which told her that Brody had been pulled from her classroom several times over the years due to “fits of hysteria” that “disrupted the class” and “tantrums” that “disturbed the other children.”

Dr. Larson is no stranger to the unfortunate reality that children with undiagnosed mental disorders often struggle for years both at home and in mainstream school environments, and all because nobody is aware of the fact that they need special support. It’s common for them to be mislabeled as troublemakers or attention-seekers out of plain ignorance. Most of the time, all that these “troubled youth” really need is consistency and a structured routine. The Ericson Academy mission is to provide these students with an environment that supports them and their individual needs so that they can thrive.

Brody’s anxiety attacks were frequent and severe during her first few months at the boarding school. The child didn’t understand her anxiety, nor did she have any sort of defense against it, so it would easily take over her mind. Dr. Larson had to start from zero with Brody. The first few times Brody was brought to her office for an anxiety attack, the child was clearly frantic and scared. It was nearly impossible to calm her down. There were also a couple of instances when Brody got herself so worked up that she made herself physically sick. And this, according to her school records, was not a new occurrence.

It took time and effort, but Dr. Larson gave Brody the tools she needed to combat her anxiety. She taught her breathing techniques to use during anxiety attacks. She taught her the “reality check” technique so she can self-regulate whenever she feels one coming. Brody has proven to be a natural storyteller with a particularly descriptive vocabulary for someone her age, so Dr. Larson knew right away that the journaling technique would be perfect for her. Brody took to her diary like a duck to water, and during their sessions they would always take some time to discuss the things she wrote.

Dr. Larson helped Brody understand what having anxiety means, but, even more importantly, what it doesn’t mean. Just because she has an anxiety disorder doesn’t mean that she’s restricted in any way. With every therapy session, Dr. Larson makes sure that Brody knows that she can do everything that any other kid can do. That she can be a dancer, a writer or whatever she wants to be. That she has the strength inside her to control her anxiety. That anxiety doesn’t make her weak. That it’s her body and her mind and she has the reigns.  

Brody is a bright, friendly girl who has come such a long way in the two and a half years that Dr. Larson has worked with her. It’s been a joy watching her develop and grow, becoming more confident in herself and more in control of her anxiety. For several months now, Brody hasn’t had anything negative to report, and their sessions have consisted mostly of the girl’s stories about her extracurricular activities, what she’s learning in her classes, and the fun places her family takes her when they come to visit. However, the state Brody is in today is one that Dr. Larson hasn’t seen in quite a while. It’s more than a little concerning.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

There’s no response as Brody slips away momentarily. Her eyes glaze over and she’s tugging, scratching at the bracelet on her wrist. Her fingers curl around the beads and uncurl again. Dr. Larson can tell that she’s letting her mind wander again. She has to bring her back.  

“Brody.”

Snapping out of her trance, Brody pulls her hand away from her wrist and looks at her therapist apologetically. “Sorry.”

“What happened?” Dr. Larson asks again, trying to get her patient to focus.

“Well…” Brody doesn’t know where to start. “Yesterday, after lunch, I went back to my room to get my diary. You see, I usually keep it on my desk, so I thought that’s where I left it. I mean, I wrote in it a little that morning, and that’s where I remembered seeing it last. But then… it wasn’t there. I looked for it everywhere, but it wasn’t anywhere. So I wondered if maybe I accidentally dropped it somewhere, but I didn’t remember bringing it with me to class that day. And so then I thought… that maybe…” Brody’s voice gets quieter as she feels more and more ashamed, “maybe someone took it.”

The doctor has an idea of where this is going.

“I just… I completely forgot about our meeting in the morning!” Brody cries mournfully. “And Vi… I blamed her! I was just so… so mad… and worried… and I wasn’t, I wasn’t thinking! And I yelled at her in front of everybody!”

“Has Violet ever done anything that would make you think she took it?” Dr. Larson asks. The doctor has only met with Violet twice. Both sessions were mandatory visits, and both times she was unsuccessful at getting the reserved child to say a word. Violet’s unique circumstances required that she begin specialized therapy immediately upon enrollment to the academy, which meant that, rather than Dr. Larson, she had spent her first months at the school meeting with an expert in childhood trauma and grief counseling. Most of what Dr. Larson knows about Violet comes from Brody, who talks about her friend often.    

“No!” Brody loves Violet and her first instinct is to defend her. “I mean… yeah, I guess…”

“Could you tell me about that?”

“I guess she makes fun of me sometimes because I write in it so much,” Brody admits, going back to hugging her diary. “It makes me kinda sad, but I don’t think she’s trying to be mean.”

“And you’ve told her how that makes you feel?”

Brody shrugs. “Sort of, but I don’t think she was really listening.”

Dr. Larson hums. “I see. Can you think of any ways you could change that?”

“Maybe I could just ask her to listen,” says Brody, leaning her head back against the sofa while she thinks of possible solutions, “or I could tell her why my diary is so important to me.”

“I think those are both great ideas, Brody.”

Sitting quietly for a moment, Brody thinks about how she exploded at Violet yesterday. It wouldn’t surprise her if Violet didn’t want to be her friend anymore, especially after she told her that she never wanted to talk to her again. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Violet’s your friend, isn’t she?”

“She’s my best friend.”  

“In that case, you've got nothing to worry about,” reassures Dr. Larson. “It seems like there are some things that need to be cleared up between you two. You thought Violet stole your diary because she’s made you upset about it before, correct?”

Brody nods guiltily, a lump forming in her throat.

“So you blamed her, but it turns out that she didn’t take it. How do you think Violet felt when you yelled at her?”

The girl stares at her knees. “I probably hurt her feelings... and embarrassed her in front of the entire lounge.”

“What do you think you should do?”

“Apologize,” Brody answers, sitting up straighter. “I have to tell her I’m sorry.”

Dr. Larson smiles. “You’ve got a good heart, Brody. Next time you feel angry at somebody, why don’t you try using your breathing tricks? Remember, we breathe and—”

“We take control of our thoughts,” Brody finishes.

“You should be proud of yourself,” Dr. Larson tells her, “but you should also be proud of the things that make you happy. Make sure Violet understands what your diary means to you.”

Brody nods, but she doesn’t look any less troubled. “I hope she’s not mad at me.”

Just then, the bell chimes and Brody’s eyes dart to the clock on the wall. First period is over, so she only has ten minutes starting now to find Violet, talk to her, and still make it to her next class without being late. She has history next, which means… Brody closes her eyes and pictures her friend’s class schedule that she’s long since memorized. Science. Violet should have science next.

“I should go,” says Brody, scooting off the sofa. She moves quickly, knowing that she doesn’t have much time if she wants to do this now. “I need to find Vi.”

Dr. Larson stands as well so she can see Brody off. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah!” Hand on the doorknob, Brody realizes she almost forgot something else. She hurries back and gives the woman a quick but warm hug. “Thanks, Dr. Larson.”

“Good luck with Violet. Tell her hello for me.”

Brody smiles for the first time that day and waves goodbye. “I will!”

The twelve-year-old has butterflies in her stomach as she walks briskly—running is against the rules—down the hallways in the direction of the science lab. The only thing on her mind is her need to make things right with Violet as soon as possible.

[kcwcommentary]

VLD5x05 – “Bloodlines”

5x05 – “Bloodlines”

This is another episode full of inconsistent writing. It’s inconsistent not just from one episode to the next, but also inconsistent within just itself. I feel such frequent inconsistencies in the writing is significantly the fault of Tim Hedrick as the show’s Story Editor. Maybe I’m wrong, but I would think that that job title would come with the responsibility to organize, inform, and edit the writing of each episode so that it remains consistent. In interviews, the staff of the show have talked about the show’s writing process including receiving notes from various parties and making revisions, but so many of these episodes feel like they were made off of a first draft script.

As much the inconsistency of writing is my biggest complaint about this episode, the behavior of Lance, Hunk, and Pidge in their final scene in this episode really disturbs me.

We start with Sam is getting ready to leave on a shuttle and head home to Earth. Shiro jokingly tells Sam to tell Iverson he’s “going to kick [his] butt for strapping [him] to that table,” seemingly referencing the first episode when Shiro returned to Earth after his year in captivity. This feels so weird because Iverson, what little we’ve seen of him to this point in the show, is not someone I would think as being the kind of person who would be receptive to a joke like this.

Hunk gives Sam some messages he had everyone record to be given to family back home. I really like this touch, and I like that Hunk specifies his message is for his mom only. This is the 44th episode of the show, and we mostly only know about Pidge’s family. There’s been some of Allura’s relationship with her father and a little with Keith’s dad (though that was a hallucination). We really should know more than we do about their families by now. Sigh, the show has Hunk joke about how Lance’s message is probably just flirtation to a girl. It clearly bothers Lance, and Hunk responds, “I was just joking around.” Personally, I severely hate that phrase because of how often people who say it use it as a way to dismiss a person’s clear dislike of how they’re being treated.

Lance gets teary thinking about his family. This is a nice side of Lance to see.

Sam’s plan upon return is to get the Galaxy Garrison informed about the conflict in the universe and try to build some form of planetary defense system. I assume he’s taking some Altean schematics or something with him? Because Earth’s technology couldn’t possibly be advanced enough to fight back against Galra on its own.

Sam says his goodbyes and leaves through a wormhole.

This feels weird to me: Last episode ended with such a fundamental shift in the status of the Galra Empire, Lotor was able to take the throne because Shiro acted in defiance of everyone else’s desire to do nothing (even if they did show up at the end to finally help), and this episode’s first scenes are as if nothing has happened, as if last episode didn’t exist. I know the show has been holding off getting Sam out of there for a while, but still. Given the significant change in the story and the specific conclusion of last episode, this beginning is unexpectedly casual.

We finally touch on the recent events with the next scene, not through the Paladins, but with Kolivan and Keith. I had to rewind and watch this scene twice because it confused me. It starts with an establishing shot of some base close to a star. Inside, Kolivan says, “This base was, until recently, run by a Galra commander named Ranveig.” I thought Kolivan was talking about the base he and Keith were standing in. The images on their display are so small, at a sharp angle, and not prominent within the frame, that I didn’t realize that Kolivan was talking about one of the images on the display.

Also, Kolivan’s dialog seems anachronistic. He says to Keith, “a Galra commander named Ranveig.” Keith already knows who Ranveig is since last episode he got to the Kral Zera by sneaking onto Ranveig’s ship and spent some time listening to Ranveig talking while on his ship. But here, Kolivan’s dialog is as if this is Keith’s first exposure to information about Ranveig. Ranveig has apparently been developing a superweapon, which seems odd since Ranveig is supposed to be a frontline battle commander, a position which would not involve him in research and development. 

Kolivan tells Keith that the Blades “have a spy in Ranveig’s camp who’s managed to acquire high level security clearance. Since Ranveig’s departure, it’s possible she’s assumed control of the base, but we can’t be sure.” She apparently hasn’t been able to communicate with the Blades because two other Galra, Trug and Ladnok, who we saw last episode, are fighting one another in that area of space. Kolivan wants Keith to infiltrate Ranveig’s base, extract the spy, and destroy Ranveig’s weapon. 

Kolivan then launches into saying to Keith, “You cannot allow your feelings to cloud your judgement. […] Remember, the mission is the only thing that matters. Emotions are a luxury we cannot afford.” He then shows a picture and tells Keith the name of the spy he’s to extract: Krolia. Since this is not my first time watching, I know Krolia is Keith’s mother. But, without knowing that, Kolivan’s critique of Keith’s emotions seems like a total non-sequitur. It feels to me now that this line bit of dialog was written solely because the writer knows what’s coming, not because it would make sense for Kolivan to say it now. 

It’s also weird that Keith’s here with Kolivan. Last we saw Keith, he had been on Feyiv. Team Voltron was there too. Did they not bother talking to one another? It kind of feels like the EPs are trying to punish the characters and viewers by having this severe lack of communication between Team Voltron and Keith. It feels spiteful, like they’re keeping Keith totally disconnected because they were upset that they weren’t allowed to have Shiro dead and Keith replace him. Throughout the show, we’re told that Team Voltron, Keith included, are friends, but they’re never shown acting like friends. No one ever expresses concern about him while he’s gone; it’s like the Paladins don’t even know him.

The Paladins finally have a scene that connects to last episode. The Castle Ship is journeying to Zarkon’s old ship/base.

Allura says, “We have to do everything we can to support Lotor. This is our chance to promote a new era of peace.” Is she being a hypocrite here or has the show just been written inconsistently? Both last episode and the episode before that, Allura was against helping Lotor. Here, she’s talking as if she’s been supportive the whole time. Where was this perspective and attitude from her during the previous two episodes? If this is supposed to be a change in her opinion, it would be nice for the show to have her acknowledge having been wrong to reject Lotor. I wonder if the EPs and the writers even realize that she’s behaving fundamentally differently here than she did previously? And since everyone had rejected Shiro’s argument that they should help Lotor such that Shiro had to act on his own, where is the conversation between them now to reveal the aftermath of that socially?

Lotor welcomes them on board. He refers to them as “my friends,” and he sounds genuine when he says it. Like I mentioned last episode, I wonder if the voice actor for Lotor had been informed that his character was not being genuine during all these episodes because I very much imagine most actors would produce a different performance if the character is being genuine versus being manipulative and deceptive. He has had a banner hung from the ceiling displaying an old symbol from back in the days when the Alteans and the Galra weren’t at war. It’s so hard to read these statements and gestures from Lotor as if he’s a villain. Even if you want a character to be a villain who’s deceiving the story’s protagonists, you have to write that character differently than you would if they were being genuine. 

“Since I ascended to the throne, the Galra Empire has been torn apart.” Again, how much time is supposed to have passed between last episode and this one? Also, since Voltron was present for the different factions fighting each other at the Kral Zera, and Voltron specifically landed on Feyiv in observance of Lotor lighting the flame, I would think they already know the Empire is effectively in a state of civil war. But this line is as if it’s been a long time since Kral Zera and that Team Voltron doesn’t know what’s been going on.

Lotor again presents the idea that limitless quintessence (or seeming limitless, the show never really explains how the rift has quintessence in it, so we don’t know of any limits on it) is the key to getting the conflict within the Empire settled. He tells Allura that she’s the key to acquiring that limitless quintessence.

With Lotor’s consent, Shiro and Coran work to update their intelligence files with files from the Galra records system. Lotor invites Allura to come with him, and he leaves Hunk, Lance, and Pidge with an escort who’s ordered to take them wherever they want to go. For someone who’s supposed to be secretly manipulating everyone, Lotor is way more open in sharing what’s under his command with Team Voltron than a normal allied leader would be, let alone a deceptive villain. It makes Joaquim Dos Santos and Lauren Montgomery’s claim that Lotor is still being a total villain here seem dissonant with what’s actually on the screen.

Of course, Lance is jealous of Allura going with Lotor. Ugh.

Pidge decides to reprogram their sentry escort so that it can have fun. Sure. And then the episode undergoes tonal whiplash by transitioning hard into a scene of a space battle between Trug and Ladnok. It feels weird, but I actually find myself more interested in Trug and Ladnok than I do most of the show’s main characters so far in this episode.

The space combat scene is short, and then it’s back to Pidge and Hunk having successfully hacked the sentry. They blow up packs of food and run from some Galra who tell them not to. And then back to Keith arriving at the battle between Trug and Ladnok. This continual, rapid, drastic shift in tone is disruptive to the narrative.

Despite Kolivan having earlier told Keith that Trug and Ladnok “are at war over the territory,” Keith, upon arrival, remarks, “Looks like things have escalated.” They were literally described as being “at war” with one another, so what exactly was he expecting that would make this look like an escalation to him? Fighting like this is exactly what I would expect. It’s hard to not feel weird when this show has characters say things so nonsensical. His fighter gets hit by some debris, and he crashes into the planet. Despite the fighter being totaled, Keith is uninjured. He conveniently crashes near the base.

Inside, he sees Krolia, who sees him, but he reacts as if he doesn’t want her to see him. He sneaks to follow her, but she sneaks up to him too. He reflexively pulls his Marmora blade on her, while she simultaneously pulls a gun on him. This feels awkward, and not in the way the show wants it to be awkward. With them at a standoff with their weapons, Keith says, “Krolia,” in a way that sounds like he’s surprised to see her, it has the vocal inflection like he’s thinking, what are you doing here. But he was specifically following her after she had seen him, so why is he surprised that it’s her? She then responds, “You’re late.” So, she was expecting him? Why did she pull a gun on him then? The tension of this moment feels totally fake.

Meanwhile, Lotor is showing Allura “Haggar’s lair.” Allura sounds incredulous that he would show her this place. Lotor says he thinks the only reason the old Paladins were able to go into the rift was because of “Alfor’s Altean alchemy.” Okay. But then, he says he thinks there might be something hidden within Haggar’s room that will contain information she hadn’t been able to unlock. The Alfor statement does not connect to the Haggar statement, so it’s lacking a transition to explain the relevance from one to the other. Lotor thinks Allura can figure out whatever Haggar could not. Okay, but what does that have to do with Alfor?

Allura reacts harshly, walking away and saying, “I shouldn’t be here” like she’s intruding or in danger of being tainted by being in the room. I don’t understand this reaction. Why does she think this? The scene gives literally nothing to explain this reaction from her. It’s like her reaction was written for no other reason than to give an excuse for Lotor to take her hand, which he does and says, “Please. I cannot do this without you.” The tonal quality of his voice is not that of deception, even though that’s supposedly what he’s doing here.

She finds an Altean science log, which Lotor identifies as a science log written by Honerva. The fact that he can identify this information as written by her so quickly is unexpected. Has he read through these files before? He never knew Haggar as Honerva back in the day, and he doesn’t seem to know that Haggar is Honerva now either.

Allura’s surprised to hear that Lotor’s mother is Honerva. “The Honerva that discovered the rift on Daibazaal?” she asks. Odd phrasing since we know she didn’t discover the rift; Honerva was brought in by Alfor after he discovered it. Allura continues, “Then you’re half-Altean.” It feels weird that she doesn’t already know this.

Lotor says that despite his bi-species nature being considered bad by most Galra, he considers it a strength. We’ve seen more than enough to know that’s very true. The way Lotor talks, back in the day, Altean technology was superior to Galra. That makes it weird that the Galra were able to destroy the Alteans.

Allura ponders how Haggar could have gotten Honerva’s data, and Lotor responds that Haggar was “constantly seeking Altean magical knowledge that she could pervert for her own power.” I would expect Allura to bring up right now that she knows that Haggar is Altean. At the point of the finale of season two, Allura thought the only surviving Alteans were her and Coran. Learning that Haggar was Altean is not something that would ever cease to be eminently on Allura’s mind, yet the show has had Allura behave since then as if she hasn’t learned that about Haggar. Even if they don’t realize that Haggar is Honerva, the fact that Haggar is Altean yet Zarkon was so reliant upon her should tell Allura something. At the very least, she should be asking Lotor where Haggar came from, why Zarkon would put so much trust in an Altean since he hated Alteans. This episode does eventually get Allura thinking about this later, but I can’t help expecting it right now.

The episode returns to Pidge, Hunk, Lance, and the sentry goofing off. I don’t find any of it to be interesting.

Back to Keith and Krolia. Krolia asks Keith, “Why did Kolivan risk sending you here now?” This is more of the show being inconsistently written. Krolia’s question makes no sense given that in her previous scene she said to Keith, “You’re late.” If she was expecting him to be there, then why is she baffled that he’s there?

Keith answers that he’s there because Kolivan “has heard about Ranveig’s superweapon.” Kolivan specifically told Keith that they know of the superweapon because of Krolia having provided the Blades with that information. This line is like Kolivan got that information from someone else – he’s “heard about” from the woman you’re speaking to right now, Keith. Sigh.

Krolia details that whatever the weapon is, it’s the result of Ranveig experimenting with some “undocumented shipment of quintessence” that he seized. Is this the quintessence shipments that the Blades were tracking back last season, the quintessence shipments that Keith was so focused on investigating with the Blades that it caused everyone to yell at him in 4x01 “Code of Honor?” The way Krolia describes it, it’s like she doesn’t know anything about this quintessence. Whatever. Trug’s fleet has moved to assault the base.

Back with Lotor and Allura. He’s bothered by Honerva’s logs, saying that by the end of them, “it’s like they’re written by a different person. She’s frantic, paranoid, erratic. Her reason and intellect are gone, replaced by fear and paranoia.” This later description of Honerva doesn’t seem to me to be that different than how she behaved pre-quintessence poisoning.

Allura ponders about if Honerva “became corrupted the same way Zarkon did.” What’s kind of weird about this is that 3x07 “The Legend Begins” is framed as Coran telling a story. By nature of that episode’s use of a frame tale, anything revealed in the flashbacks would be part of Coran’s telling of the story. That episode tells of Zarkon’s quintessence poisoning, and it depicts Honerva’s poisoning too. The difficulties this show has had after that episode in trying to keep characters from realizing Haggar is Honerva makes me wish even more so that “The Legend Begins” didn’t exist.

Allura suggests that Honerva and Haggar are the same person, but Lotor instantly reacts harshly, saying, “That witch is not my mother.” Allura still doesn’t emphasize that Haggar is Altean, and I’m surprised. Lotor’s reaction hints that he’s constructed an illusory idea of what his mother was like, since he never knew Honerva.

Lotor asks Allura to close her eyes and “feel the energy around [her]” to continue looking for anything in the room connected to Altean alchemy. There’s some old rock with glowing marks on it. Lotor recognizes it enough that it makes him think of ancient Altean ruins on some planet. At some point in his life, he has investigated these ruins. Lotor in this episode is being depicted as someone who’s been eagerly seeking to connect to his Altean heritage. Again, this makes Lotor feel like a very genuine person, not someone who’s a villain secretly manipulating Allura. He describes the carving in the ruins he found as depicting the Altean use of a “compass stone” to lead to “the magical realm of Oriande, which houses the secrets of Altean alchemy.” Allura says she’s only ever heard of Oriande as a folk tale. If this planet Lotor references was held by Alteans, I would think Allura would know of that planet since she’s the princess of the Alteans, but she doesn’t seem to.

Keith and Krolia continue struggling on the base. They eventually get overwhelmed by Trug’s forces, who capture Keith during a fight scene. During that fight, Krolia had been using Keith’s blade, and she causes it to reshape. Keith is surprised. Trug tells Krolia to surrender, and Krolia offers to make a deal. Keith immediately yells at Krolia, “What are you doing?” Even with Keith’s primary characteristic in this show being him being hotheaded, I would think he would have something resembling a little patience in this moment.

Krolia tells him, “I left you once. I’ll never leave you again.” Seriously, she thinks bringing that up right now is a good idea? It’s like the show is more interested in performing the big reveal that Krolia is Keith’s mother than it is in having Krolia act like an experienced spy would act in this moment. It’s one thing for Keith to have issues with self-discipline and controlling his reactions to his emotions, but it’s another for Krolia to do so too. This one line is the only one in this scene she makes hinting at her being Keith’s mother, so it makes the line feel incomplete since the scene cuts after she offers Trug access to the weapon in exchange for her and Keith being allowed to leave.

Back to Allura, who thinks the compass stone should open. If I was holding a chunk of rock I had never seen before, I would not think it would open, so I don’t know why she does. Lotor is again supportive. Holds her hands in his. He is drawn with a soft, concerned look on his face. Nothing about him here reads as villainous manipulation. “I know you have the power within,” he says. That’s faith. Having and expressing faith in the protagonist is not something a manipulative villain would do.

Allura reacts to Lotor’s statement by saying, “What if I don’t?” She says that Alfor’s alchemical ability is one “few Alteans possess” and cites that Coran doesn’t have it. This is weird for her to say since she has frequently used power that Coran can’t, like every time she creates a wormhole, like when she healed the Balmera, like when she overcame Haggar’s effect on Voltron on Naxzela. It would be one thing for her to wonder if she could ever become as skilled as Alfor, but for her to doubt she has the ability whatsoever makes no sense.

She gets sad and cries and somehow that causes the compass stone to activate. That makes no sense either. It projects a map to Oriande.

Pidge, Lance, and Hunk strap the reprogrammed sentry to a Robeast coffin and launch it into space, the sentry saying it has “always wanted to see the stars.” One, it’s on a space ship, so just look out a window. But two, this sentry is someone that these three have been running around with, acting like they’re becoming friends, and they just strap it down and blast it off into space, some kind of in-vacuum functioning fireworks trailing behind it as it goes? This scene is disturbing. Lance says, “He’s my hero.” The three of them then salute the sentry. What the…? No wonder they were so easily able to write off Shiro as dead in season three, no wonder they’re able to so easily write off the clone’s death as insignificant in season six and beyond, they’re written to be weirdly dismissive of the death/destruction of people they pretend are their friends. Again, this scene is really disturbing, and it’s played as being humor.

Trug seems to have agreed to Krolia’s bargain. Krolia and Keith leave on a  fighter as Krolia gives Trug the access code. Trug orders them to be shot down. Trug is opening the doors to the weapon. Keith keeps yelling at Krolia about “handing that weapon over to Trug,” but Krolia counters, “No, Keith, I handed them over to it.” Krolia’s line is a really good one. Something growls in the shadows and walks out of the room and attacks Trug, who screams off screen.

Krolia gives Keith’s blade back to him. He asks her how she could use it, and she tells him that it used to be hers and that she gave it to Keith’s father. Her use of it was enough during the earlier scene to connect to this moment to let the reveal she’s his mother happen now. The line she spoke earlier – “I left you once. I’ll never leave you again.” – would work better here, allowing her to preserve her training and composure in the earlier scene, but still communicate the same information as a result of this story’s events.

The episode ends with a smash cut as Keith says, “You’re my” but before he can say, mother. I’m not sure the reveal is dramatic and unexpected enough to not have him say, mother, though.

So, this episode is weird. It doesn’t give me a sense of follow-up that I would expect given how the previous episode ended, nor follow-up on the social schism that was so prominent between Shiro and the rest of Team Voltron. It feels like this episode takes place a lot longer after last episode than it should. There are a ton of inconsistencies in the writing between this episode and others, both recent and more distant, but there are a lot of inconsistencies just within this episode alone.

I love how Lotor feels genuinely supportive of Allura, and I love learning that he seems to have spent time in his life trying to connect with his Altean heritage. That the EPs viewed all this as Lotor just being manipulative and deceitful makes me question their ability to even reassess their own creative work-product after it’s been produced. They might have had a goal in mind of having Lotor be a villain this entire time, but what they made does not depict him as a deceptive villain here. Writing a character to be a villain who’s being deceptively good is fundamentally different than writing a character as being good and then retconning them to be bad all along. This show does the latter with Lotor, even though the EPs think it does the former. This comes down to them not knowing how to construct a character.

I’ve grown tired of how disconnected the show has made Keith from Team Voltron. While I would have preferred the show to have retained the Paladin lineup as it was in seasons one and two, I’m not against Keith working with the Blades. But it would be nice if the show didn’t have the other characters act as if they don’t even know him. 

But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Pidge, Lance, and Hunk wouldn’t care about Keith given how they blast off the sentry in this episode. Though they treat him through most of the episode like they’re becoming friends, they end by disposing of him while enjoying doing so. They would not have treated Rover in season one of this show the way they treat the sentry in this episode. That they could take pleasure in disposing of someone is disturbing, and it’s more disturbing that the EPs and writers thought this was an acceptable behavior for the show’s supposed heroes.

[lotornomiko]

OSVP The Overhauled And Revised Edition Chapter Twelve (work safe)

   The gauntlet had been thrown, only the latest of what might number in the eventual thousands. Such a blatant challenge hadn’t first started in the garden, Lenneth finding the fires of resistance had been forged inside her from the moments before she had ever been forced to swallow down Odin’s potion. That spark of fury, that rigid determination to deny it, to defy the fate set out before her, had given way like kindling to a flame, an inferno blazing bright inside her. With it’s power, Lenneth had rebelled, had fought to retain some semblance of her true self.

It was the impossible that she had sought. The chance, as unlikely as it should have been, to try and change the path that had been forced on her. With tooth and nail had Lenneth fought, it and the injustice of what had befallen her and that of her sisters, all its unfairness that which had given the platinum haired Valkyrie just a small kernel of the strength needed. That sliver thin source a remnant of the woman, the Goddess, she had once been, it was not some love addled mortal who had awakened to Lezard Valeth’s kiss.

That had been her SECOND act of defiance, the rejection of the man, the husband, who sought to claim her body and her heart. It hadn’t been easy. It still wasn’t, the love potion’s effects still taking a toll on her. Even as she balked against it taking a complete hold of her, those slivers of love wound their way through her thoughts and into her heart. It left Lenneth to be on constant guard, fighting against the feelings that pressed their demand on her. The urges that tried to soften her towards playing Lezard’s ideal.

Refusing it all, the man and the woman Lezard would have her be, the King and the magic that would see her enslaved, Lenneth’s existence was that of an open rebellion. A protest, the woman laying a challenge down to both her God and her husband to be. She’d fight, both them and herself, Lenneth determined to not roll over so easily to the love that was now a poison in her veins.

Made sick by it, and by what it would have her do, it was an uphill battle that Lenneth has waged, some moments more difficult than others. That insipid love, those traitorous desires, the urges that they both had inspired, left Lenneth dangling on the precipice. Those moments when she has had to pull back, where she has had to fight harder than ever to resist, should have been a breaking point. It had left her angry instead, Lenneth made mad and seeing red. It was that anger that had gotten her through so much, that had kept her from falling into love’s endless abyss.

That mad fury raging on inside her, it’s existence was made all the more potent and powerful with every tidbit of information that Lenneth managed to glean, the horrors of the truth that now surrounded her. Nothing had the power to enrage her any further than that of her husband to be. The NECROMANCER that shouldn’t have even been suffered to live. His criminal nature was a direct affront to every belief and truth Lenneth had ever held, the man’s sins such that his soul was made black with them. Offended by it, by him, by the touch of him on her, the Valkyrie had had no qualms in letting him know of her ardent displeasure. Of her DISGUST. It had been just another gauntlet thrown, the defiance and derision such, that Lezard should have crumpled before it. He had NOT, the man taking the blow to his ego, and offering one up of his own. A threat, thinly veiled though it might have been, Lenneth the one made chilled by the words. By the opportunity that Lezard voiced thought to use, the advantage he thought to take.

She had gone cold inside, that ice the only thing that could account for the shaking her body had done. The trembling, Lenneth all a quiver with her unease. In that moment, she had been more bark than bite, making one last defiant stand as the hostile warning had spilled across her lips.

“I’ll fight it, and I’ll fight you.” Lenneth had said. She had been both woman and Valkyrie in that moment, holding the worry of one and the fury of the other, both halves of her nature in agreement against Lezard. So united in thought and intent, it had been their hostility that had shown in her eyes. That resentment, that of every last Valkyrie forced and the innate fear that was born in the soul of every woman to have ever existed, Lenneth ready to take it all out on Lezard.

It was a fight that Lenneth had known that she couldn’t have won, not as she now was, a mortal pitted against his magic. That soft vulnerability a weakness for any to exploit, Lenneth also had not been able to back down from the challenge that she had offered him. The words she had spoken, the disgust and derision that she had shown him. The Valkyrie had been prepared for brutality, for abuse, but not the sadness of his smile, or the tired bitterness creeping into the man’s expression.

It wasn’t a loss, but neither was it a win, the stark emotion that had laid vulnerable on his face, gutting something inside Lenneth. It was Odin’s magic upon her, it’s touch leaving her weak, to Lezard and his softer feelings, the Valkyrie held at bay by its leash. Its love his advantage, Lenneth had only been able to stand rigid with her attempt to fight off the worst of it’s effects.

It was difficult, so so difficult, and not even the truth of just WHAT he was, could make it any less. That love that tried to take hold of her, that tried to squeeze down on Lenneth with its all encompassing grip. It pushed and it prodded at her, tried and tested any weakness found, the love slipping in past many of the Valkyrie’s defenses. Not even her disgust could stand strong against it, the anger that fueled the fire inside her unable to outright hate him. She could loathe Lezard, despise him, even fear him, but the one thing she was helpless against, was the love that refused to take her no for an answer. It didn’t just lay in wait, it actively fought against her, tempering the worst of what she could give him.

Vigilance was the key. The dividing line between victory and defeat, and hers was a tireless opponent. That love had the advantage over her, and would ALWAYS have it. Ultimately, the Valkyrie was fighting a battle that not one of her kind had ever been able to win, Odin’s will and his alchemic genius absolute. The inevitable was before her, and yet Lenneth still wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t, everything, her honor, her sense of self, her very beliefs, would be lost otherwise.

It was a futile battle but it wasn’t without point. Her pride was on the line, Lenneth refusing to go meekly to her fate. She’d not easily become his doll, his play thing to mold and use as his desire saw fit. The Goddess waged a war that she could not hope to win, but for now? Now Lenneth would be content to win the more immediate battle. And the ones after, a whole succession of them, that might just last a day, or it might last a few weeks. Even a second more free was precious, Lenneth savoring every moment, every thought and feeling that was HERS and not that of Odin’s wretched enchantment.

The sapphire shade of her eyes blazed, a willful defiance and stubborn determination visible to all who cared to truly see. Tortured she might be, but the one thing Lenneth was not, was a woman who was completely love addled. It was a fierce loveliness that only added to her beauty and worth, the Valkyrie   unwittingly becoming even more of a temptation than the first time that Lezard had sighted her.

Like a moth to a flame, it drew him near, his expression tight with some emotion that she could not outwardly acknowledge. The bitterness and the sadness was at war with the longing alight in that amethyst colored gaze, and she was in denial, Lenneth choosing to interpret that reverent awe as nothing more than a sexual hunger.

Hackles raised, Lenneth was spoiling for a fight. For the soothing solace that she had only ever been able to truly find in the midst of battle. She was ill equipped for it now, having neither weapon to hold, nor armor to shield her, and words alone had never been the Valkyrie’s strong point. She was blind in the moment, unable to see, to reason, let alone realize the effect her response was truly having on that man. She hurt him without even trying, that kernel of fear, that outright loathing, all a rejection that had Lezard sagging in place as though wounded.

For one second, he lay defeated, and then Lezard was drawing himself upright, all rigid and tall and ever so determined. With an unyielding grace, one long, elegant looking finger, pushed at his gold rimmed glasses. Was that HIS metaphoric armor sliding into place, the man seeming to draw strength with his regained composure.

“I can see that you are still tired.”

She couldn’t stop the derisive sound from escaping her, Lenneth scoffing at the very idea. “I have slept more than enough to last me several lifetimes.”

“That may be….but tired doesn’t always equate to needing sleep.” He told her. “There has been a lot to take in, a lot of shocks and unpleasantness, your whole world as you have known it, changed in an instant.”

That was such an understatement in Lenneth’s opinion, the woman giving a vicious nod of her head. She was still so on guard, too busy anticipating the worst to expect any bit of kindness from the man who was to be her husband.

“My entire existence has been destroyed.” She informed him with scathing tones. “There is nothing and no one that can make that fact better.” It was a wounding truth, Lenneth’s soul screaming an agonized protest over all that had been lost.

“Won’t you let ME try?” His was an absolutely serious expression, Lezard stepping closer towards her.

“You!?” Lenneth all but sneered, giving him and the hand that he had thrust towards her a wide berth.

“Why not me?” That infinite seeming patience couldn’t last, Lenneth shaking her head no in denial.

“You are one of Hel’s own, a blasphemer, a sinner, a NECROMANCER.”

“I am also your betrothed.” He reminded her. “The one Odin gave you to for a reason.”

“Yes, to be my punishment.” She all but spat out the word, all her open hostility laying naked in the glare that the Valkyrie gave him.  He actually sighed in response, that put upon, exasperated sound grating on the woman’s last nerve.

“I wish you wouldn’t think of me like that…” Again that scoff of sound from her, that indignant disbelief expressed as Lenneth wondered just how else Lezard could expect her to think of him.

“Taint on my soul aside...would life as my partner, really be so bad?” It was no idle question, but blinded as she was by her upset, Lenneth couldn’t think to see the bigger picture in the moment. To her, there was no advantages to be found, the Valkyrie only able to recognize in him the taunting truth of her spectacular failure.

“You would—will be cared for, no need or want neglected.” It was a cajoling tone that he tried to seduce her with, the wealth and the power that Lezard subtly tried to flaunt. “My life is such that you would be comfortable, free to explore any avenue, pursue any interest without worry...”

Again a step forward, Lezard almost within reach of her. “So little would be asked of you, your duties as few or as grand as you would deem fit...think of it Lenneth. Think of the freedom life as my wife would give you.”

“Freedom!?” She practically choked on the word, on the anger and disbelief she could not suppress. It was absolutely absurd to even imply, this life of a love that would chain her, that would see her will enslaved, her every thought and action molded in turn by it anything but freeing.

“How is THIS freedom!?” Anger hissed out of her, Lenneth abandoning all desire to be wary. Instead aggression thrashed through her, all attempt to be civil and in control lost as the leash around her feelings, her thoughts, snapped apart in the moment. “When I have no choice or real desire to be here!? This place, this life, these people...none of it of my own choosing!”

There was the rapid blink of his eyes, that amethyst color shaded with trouble. She wouldn’t heed it, she couldn’t, Lenneth taking a step towards him, and then another. “How can you ever hope THIS life could compare to what I had in the Heavens? The home I had, the respect, and most of all, the purpose!  You are mad, truly and utterly, if you so much as think a life spent warming your bed could soothe away the sting of what I have lost!”

“You’re right, it can’t.” THAT admission got her to draw up short, Lenneth wide eyed for one split second, and then her eyes narrowed.

“Then...!?”

“That is why I offer you so much MORE.” She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the derisive sound that escaped her. Or the look of disbelief that mocked him so. His was a strained smile that hinted at the end of a less than infinite patience that was rapidly running out.

“I DO.” For all his attempt to not come off exasperated, Lezard’s smile betrayed him. There was a tension in that expression, no light to chase away the unhappy darkness of his eyes. “I’ve the wealth, the resources, the people and the opportunities to lay before you feet, just about anything and everything that you could ever desire to do, made available to you. It’s a whole kingdom I’ve opened up to you, the awe and admiration of thousands, their devotion ready to number in the legion. You’d not want from lack of respect or purpose, the nation of Flenceburg yours to command, to make a home of, and find your happiness in.”

“The only thing that I have ever expressed a desire towards ruling over is that of the battlefield.” She informed him coldly. “I live...and I would have gladly died by the sword….if only….” She could not finish that thought, her face not as closed up and guarded as Lenneth would have liked, her anger hollowed out by the poignant pain of a memory. Of a tangible humiliation delivered to her by a fist that had not seen fit to put her out of her misery.

Brahms. His was a hated specter in her thoughts, that imposing menace utterly despised of long before he had ever stolen Silmeria from her family. He and his kind had run rampant for countless millennia, vermin that not even the best efforts of the Valkyries, had been able to completely stamp out. Their numbers simply grew at too alarming a rate, the curse and affliction that plague the undead, all too quick and easy to pass on. A cut here, a bite there, and anything that the undead didn’t outright consume, changed and not for the better.

This time the agitation that shook through her slim frame had nothing to do with the necromancer, nothing to do with him or his queen. Hel actually slipped free of Lenneth’s thoughts, the Valkyrie remembering her sister, and what had been forced on her, the crime that had been committed. The pain of it, the memory and the knowledge of what young Silmeria would awaken as and to, it left its tortured impression on Lenneth’s soul, its pain and the guilt such, that it expressed itself in the tortured sheen of her eyes.

She was in hell. Both figuratively, and ever one step closer to literally, the pain and the remorse, the failure, all playing their part in Lenneth’s self condemnation. The guilt that the woman felt, the immense sorrow and regret, it and the fact that she had been allowed to still live, it all was too much, no crueler fate to be found, than for the Valkyrie to continue on with her grief. With the awareness, those faults and missteps, Lenneth too little, too slow, too weak to have done Silmeria any real good. It wasn’t a kindness that Brahms had done the platinum haired Valkyrie, it wasn’t even a true mercy, Lenneth tortured by what she had done.

In surviving, she had brought shame to her family’s name, had earned her King’s displeasure, and been damned in the process. None of it compared to the guilt that she had, Lenneth desperate to go after Silmeria even NOW. It would have been suicide to even try, her mortality a curse that in no way left her a match for even a newly made fledgling.

A part of her still wanted to try. That part wasn’t silenced by fright, for Lenneth did not fear her own death. She in fact would have welcomed it, the solace of knowing nothing infinitely better than the torture that the Valkyrie continued to relive. Haunted by it, by the memories and that of her present reality, it was Odin’s enchantment that both damned and tamed the worst of the woman’s dark destructive impulses. It couldn’t ease the resentment, the betrayed feeling that spiked in her whenever she thought too long on Odin.

Wondering again if her failure had truly been great enough to justify the God’s abandonment of his Valkyrie, Lenneth couldn’t stop the internal screaming that her soul was doing. That mournful wail that existed as the very beat of her now mortal heart. The pain of it was alight in the agony on her face, those blue eyes absolutely tortured. This was all her fault, her stubborn nature, and her love for her sister, such that Lenneth had fought the enchantment, instead of allowing the magic to reshape her. Instead of the absolution that would have been found in love obliterating her very self, Lenneth had found a hollow victory in retaining her thoughts, her memories, and her many painful feelings. Run ragged by all that was raging on inside her, both the real and the manufactured, Lenneth wondered if she would go absolutely mad from the process.

She might already be halfway there, Lenneth suddenly gasping. She was wide eyed and startled, Lezard close, far too close, and she couldn’t muster up the strength to mind. Not when it was his hand touching her, a light touch on the arm that turned gripping when the Valkyrie made the attempt to step back. She couldn’t escape it, she couldn’t escape HIM, and it was then that Lenneth realized what HIS touch had invited. The manufactured love that she was bespelled under making a renewed attempt, those soft and weak feelings surging stronger, Lenneth’s anger beat back with a sigh. It was a sound so unlike her, not one of exasperation or of impatience, but more this breathless, womanly sound of appreciation. Her back stiffened at hearing it, yet still she could make no move to pull away. The love tried to wind tighter around her, and the former Goddess was suffocating for it’s attempts.

“Please.” She was barely aware of saying it, of thinking it. Her soul did its frantic wail, her erratic heart beat growing ever more wild. Her pride gave way to panic, Lenneth crazed, and lashing out. Without even thinking it, without even deciding to put action to thought, she had slapped him, Lezard’s face turned to the side for one instant.

Lenneth couldn’t even enjoy what she had done, the woman instead staring appalled at him. “I’m….” But what could she be, what did she truly feel, the potion wreaking havoc on her at his touch. She couldn’t explain it, she wouldn’t, Lenneth’s sneaking suspicion such that it left her heart sinking. She hadn’t the nerve to test it out, for the first time in her life the Goddess a coward.

Again his face became this mask that hid his true thoughts and feelings from her. Lenneth braced herself, expecting his worst, but not getting it.  

“Forgive me.”

Her eyes could not get any wider with her surprise, Lenneth staring agape at Lezard. Her lips actually parted, but no real sound came out, the woman almost unable to understand what he was saying, what he was getting at! She then licked her lips nervously, not failing to notice the way that subtle action drew his eyes to her mouth. The Valkyrie quickly spoke, her tone ever still so cautious and guarded.

“For?”

He looked uncomfortable then, the red imprint of her hand on his pale cheek a stark accusation of Lenneth’s own misdeeds. He let go of her arm to bring that hand to his face with a wince, and told her that he had deserved that. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, the Valkyrie standing there a bit flabbergasted, shocked that he would excuse her violence towards him.

“I was not trying to overstep.” Lezard continued. There was a feeling there, some unidentified emotion that Lenneth couldn’t hope to place, the woman looking at him with eyes that were made soft with her confusion and by the lingering effects of the potion. The love was what tried to overwhelm her, that smothered her attempts at a true anger, the touch too soon, too recent, for Lenneth to fight back effectively. The worst of her anger dispersed to the fright and confusion, Lenneth could only struggle and flounder amid a tide of receding love.

It waxed and waned in strength, was fought back when the Valkyrie was at her angriest. It had also surged stronger at that simple touch done her, Lenneth realizing that this too was a weakness. One she could not afford to expose herself to, or let Lezard manipulate to his advantage.

“Then what were you trying to do?” Her voice was still too soft for her liking, the Valkyrie too shaken to be anything like her divine self. She still retained that presence of mind, still had the warrior’s instinct to be on guard, Lenneth betraying nothing when it came to his touch and the true effect it had had on her.

Again that uncomfortable look, as though he was embarrassed. “You seemed so distressed in the moment...so lost to everything but the pain of your thoughts...” Lenneth couldn’t deny it, the truth such that it had left her open to the touch that he had taken. Her lashes lowered somewhat, then lifted again at his next words.

“I AM sorry about your sister.” He said. “I am sorry about what has happened, to her, and to you.” He then paused, as though Lezard was bracing himself for another onslaught of hate. “But what I CANNOT be sorry for, is the fact that you survived.”

God help her, but that insipid love inspired a traitorous beat of her heat, the anger simply not strong enough to fight this. It was the enchantment that weakened her so, that made her soft to false sentiments and remorse, Lenneth just standing there, quiet and intent on his words.

“Your life is precious….” continued Lezard, with a sad sort of smile. “Infinitely so. Be you Goddess, or mortal, you are solely your own. A unique being of the cosmos, the universe itself would weep at your loss.”

“All life is precious.” Lenneth managed to speak enough to correct him. “It’s why we Valkyrie fight so hard to….to protect the realms.”

“It’s a great service that you do...” He agreed. “That need not end entirely, now that you are here.”

Her face burned then with shame, a humiliated color to her skin. “Yes, I know what Odin expects of me….”

“Forget about that, forget about HIM.” Lezard said. “What would you like to do?”

“Go after Silmeria.” She hadn’t even had to think, that desire an urgent press on her soul. “But...but as I am now…I wouldn’t stand a chance...”

“Not many mortals would…” He pointed out. “Even the strongest of Flenceburg’s mages would have a difficult time united against a just a few of the undead. Not without an assist from the divine.”

“Odin won’t help me...and neither would your queen.” Lenneth retorted, carefully folding her arms across her chest. “She’s too eager for this alliance to let my desires put at risk the treaty with such foolishness.”

“That she is.” Lezard agreed. “She cares nothing about you as a person...or even I. We’re all tools towards her goals...”

“You recognize this and yet you willingly still commit countless acts of sins in her name!?”

“Tis treason to do otherwise, and I rather put off my damnation for as long as I can.” The man admitted.

“If you had denied her from the start, if you and your parents had had any sense in that regard...” Lenneth began, but stopped up short at the look in Lezard’s eyes.

“Damned or doomed, my fate would still be the same.” Lezard pointed out. “I can do nothing about where I end...”

“So you choose to play lapdog and curry her favor, to have a better life to enjoy?” scoffed Lenneth. “That is….”

“That is a hard fact of life to those born with promise in one of Hel’s holdings.” Lezard informed her. “It’s not a choice we’re given, it’s a demand. A calling that we are groomed from an early age to accept. To a hungry child, starving, there is no right and wrong, there is only the have and the have not.”

“That’s terrible!”

“I don’t deny it. But there’s never been a true chance for me, my life and my future mapped out at that first instant that my magic sparked.” He shrugged then. “I’ve been doing what I have had to, to survive ever since.”

“You look like you do more than just survive.” She had uncrossed her arms, sweeping them out in a gesture meant to encompass the building that circled around this garden. “You have thrived.”

He didn’t turn boasting, but neither did Lezard act ashamed. He merely shrugged, as if it were of no consequence, and maybe to him, it wasn’t. Lenneth lowered her arms, given him the regard of her quiet contemplation.

“Are...Are you happy?”

He blinked then, that slow, owlish movement betraying a sliver of surprise in his gaze. She didn’t apologize, Lenneth instead just patiently waiting, wanting to hear his answer, whatever it might be.

“I...” A hesitation then. “I am satisfied.”

“That is not the same as happiness.”

“No, it is not.” He agreed. “But it is the best I can do in a circumstance such as this.” A breath sighed out of him. “I am sorry to have dragged you into this mess of mine.”

“How can you be sorry for something that my King decided?!” Lenneth asked. “It’s not as though you asked to be saddled with such a troublesome bride!”

This time when he adjusted his glasses, it gave the impression that he was nervous. “I can’t imagine settling for any one else…” A grim smile followed that pause. “Selfish though it is.”

“Selfish it is, and not something of your control or MINE.” Lenneth retorted. “The bride that you got was dependent on whoever fell in battle. If I hadn’t failed, if someone else has been just a little more unfortunate, then they would be here in my place.”

He hesitated a beat, hardly looking reassured by what Lenneth had said. “I’m still...” Another pause, as though Lezard was struggling with his words. “Content with just who Odin sent instead.”

“Why?” The word sounded harsh, even to her own ears, and Lenneth couldn’t truly temper it. She didn’t want to, again eyeing him suspiciously, a sneer a twist on her lips as the woman tried to fathom what his answer could be. “It can’t be because I am beautiful.” stated the Goddess. “Not when ALL Valkyrie are.”

“No, it is nothing that shallow.” He agreed.

“Well I don’t know what else it could be.” She admitted. “It’s not as if you KNOW me.”

“Ah but I have had glimpses of you.” Lezard said. “The true you shining bright as she fought against Odin’s magic.”

“Is THAT your reason?”

“I do like a challenge.” He admitted with a slight quirk of his lips. “Anyone who can resist the effects of the Lord God Creator’s power, is that shade of impressive that should be admired. Lauded even. I admire your strength and your will, that steel determination that is seeing you through the worst of the tragedy that brought you here, the way you turn up your nose against the magic and your King’s decree. You are made magnificent in my eyes, the physical embodiment of my...of Flenceburg’s needs.”

“Needs?”

“A partner who can rule besides me rather than beneath me.” Lezard explained. “What good would a woman be who was made so enamored by love, that she couldn’t see to a nation’s people? You can do so much for them, be more than just the promise of the treaty fulfilled. You can be a beacon of hope.”

“Of hope?” Lenneth arched one platinum brow. “I cannot work miracles, especially NOW.”

“Yet you are one all the same.” Lezard insisted. “Already there have been whispers among the doomed and the damned, the hopes of the people as to what this alliance may ultimately mean for the afterlife. Just by you being here, they see a chance for salvation, for a redemption for their souls that need not lead them to the eternal torments of Nifleheim.”

“Do you all really think there even a chance of the afterlife being reformed?” She couldn’t stop her stunned response, not sure what was more absurd. That Odin would consider it or that Hel would.

“Anything is possible, now that both sides are in talks with one another.” Was Lezard’s answer.

“It would be too great a shift in balance, the power that your Queen would lose if she let loose the doomed to paradise.”

“Maybe so, but maybe she would not be so greedy as to the souls of those not already dead.” countered Lezard. “Hel might not be willing to let go of what she already has, but she might agree to pardoning those considered doomed who have not yet died.”

“The bigger question then, is would Odin allow those into paradise?” continued Lezard.

“Not when he considers the heavens a reward for only those he deems worthy.” Lenneth exclaimed. “He has been absolutely adamant about THAT.”

“Ah but what if the requirements for what is and isn’t worthy were to change?” He seemed to be musing that out loud. “Then what...?”

She shook her head no. “It is impossible...”

“Is it?” Lezard questioned. “When the undead mutiple by the dozens upon dozens every day? When the faithful can’t produce enough warriors to keep up with the Heaven’s demands? What will it take for Odin to admit he is wrong about the rigid structure of his after life’s system?”

“Is this all just the desperate’s theories?” asked Lenneth. “Or is this really what you as the go between, discuss between Hel and Odin?”

“What is theory about fact?” It was a question for a question, Lezard seeming enlivened to the topic. “Have you not seen it for yourself? The amount of soldiers being lost to Brahms’ kind?”

“No army is without casualty…” It wasn’t that Lenneth was uncertain, so much as she was cautious, the woman not sure just what this man might already know. “Just as the einherjar fall to the vampire, so too do many of the undead fall to the Valkyrie. It is the way of this war...”

“That may be but in a war as endless as this one has thus far proven to be, every soul matters.” Lezard countered. “It is especially thus when one consider the finite resources that Odin himself is working with.”

“Finite resources?” It was a sharp, tart tone of voice, Lenneth trying to to come off unconcerned. “Don’t be absurd. There are always more souls to be had.” The look that Lezard then gave her, had alarm bells going off in Lenneth’s head, for a far more urgent reason, the woman wondering just what the man and his Queen actually knew of souls and the situation in the realm above.

“More souls? When more often than not so many are damned and doom to Hel? When mortals can’t breed fast enough to keep up with the Heaven’s demands?”

Unable to deny it, Lenneth was silent.

“What of the undead, that kill and claim what Hel does not? What of their ever growing ranks? Souls aren’t only the currency of the gods...they are preyed upon by all factions.”

She couldn’t hide her growing unease, or how concerned she was by how on the mark Lezard truly was when it came to the imbalance of soul redistribution. Considered the weakest of all the nine realm’s races, it was an ironic twist, that humans were also the most valuable when it came to outfitting an army. From the souls of the fallen that the Valkyries culled and cultivated in Lord Odin’s name, to the doomed and the damned that Hel kept in tortured line, to the undead who not only killed but changed their prey into monsters just like them, all three players in the battle for control of Creation had found use in the humans.

“That too has always been the way...” Lenneth hesitated. “But the shining realm has always prevailed.”

“Thus far.” Lezard corrected her. There was a dark undertone to his voice, one that made her shiver. “However, Brahms and his undead legions grow by each day, no limit on them as to who is or is not worthy, when it comes to outfitting the Vampire Lord’s armies. For each one slain, how many more sprout up to take their place?”

He waited a beat for an answer, one Lenneth didn’t dare give voice to. It screamed inside her head though, the thoughts of how there was less and less worthy dying, less and less souls who met Odin’s rigid requirements to enter into paradise. As the undead blight spread their plague across the realms,  so too did Hel’s influence grow, more and more of Midgard lost, and with it, less and less devout that were truly worthy.

It was far too easy to steal souls, to kill and turn turn them into abominations. The underworld itself was made bloated with the unfortunate, the doomed and the damned, those who had shunned Odin to live a blasphemous life full of sin, or those whose only real misdeed had been to die out of battle. It left less and less soldiers for the Heavens, the situation only worsened with each and every einherjar slain. A noticeable drop in the amount of replacements to be had, the Valkyries had thought it hadn’t yet reached such catastrophic proportions as to be a deciding factor for Odin to make an exception. To make ANY kind of allowances, and yet here Lenneth was, given away to one of Hel’s own, her king seemingly ready to ally with the enemy, and yet that wasn’t even the most startling of all.

It was that Odin might be this close to admitting HE had been wrong. About anything, but especially about what might make a soul worthy. So much could and would change, and it wouldn’t be just the souls that might find salvation, but the world itself, the balance not only restored, but perhaps tipped over to the Gods favor. That alone might be worth making peace with Hel, might even justify and lend purpose to Lenneth being stationed here.

Her anger still there, that hot burst of fury, was easing away with some of the Goddess’ fears and uncertainties. The worst of her doubts, Lenneth relieved to think there stood a chance that some good could come out of HER punishment.

It didn’t make it any easier to accept. Not the punishment, and not the man who was the physical manifestation of it, Lezard a disarming sight to behold, with or without Odin’s enchantment wreaking its havoc on her heart in its attempt to influence her thoughts and her will. It wasn’t that he was anything extraordinary to look at, though she grudgingly supposed he was attractive enough for a mortal. But it was those eyes that were both so potent and devastating to see, a dark heat there that spoke of a barely leashed passion, a desire whose lust was solely focused on HER.

It was so different from any kind she had ever known, this man not lusting for the battle, or for blood, not so much focused on power or greed, but instead blazing primal with a sexual intensity that would and surely had made a lesser woman tremble. Even Lenneth felt that shiver of unease, each time that darkness slipped into his expression, that potent desire such that when combined with Odin’s enchantment brought the Goddess this much closer to her sense of self being completely destroyed.

She made an attempt to stave off the worst of it, to hold it and him at bay, by maintaining a distance between them. It made it easier to think that way, to have her own real thoughts, and not some insipid feelings of a love that flustered her at best, and made Lenneth a fool at worse. Made helpless by it, the Valkyrie Goddess was in effect, afraid. Terrified of the man, and the soft fluttering sensation of her heart skipping a beat at the simple sight of his smile. It and the fear helped bolster her resentments, Lenneth angry over such unwanted and unnecessary emotions.

Love and fear had never had a place on the battlefield. Both were now the enemies that waged war on inside her, those tumultuous feelings quick to seize and capitalize on the slightest of weaknesses. They poisoned her heart, chipped away at her resolve, and drew strength from Lezard’s touch and his nearness. Their struggle inside her left Lenneth barely able to breathe, the woman all but suffocating on love, and its queer urges.

The Goddess couldn’t look at him, yet neither could she afford to look away. Wary of his nearness, of Lezard’s penchant for laying hands on her, Lenneth found she needed to maintain a strict vigilance around him. It left her exhausted, although physically more sleep was the last thing that her body and mind needed. Instead it was comfort, a solace that could not be afforded, neither by him, and neither by her, no peace to be had for a Valkyrie who had lost everything.

It slipped into her expression, that weariness and pain, that inconsolable grief, Lenneth this heart breaking vision that only magnified her otherworldly loveliness. A stronger man than Lezard would have found her impossible to resist, what chance then did a man so weak and so damned, stand of having? The odds were against them both, each having their own blatant struggle, love and lust fighting to overtake the pair.

“Lenneth?” Even that voice of his had a powerful effect, one that had rippled sensation through her, at hearing that name whispered in so throaty a tone. It was paired with an expectant gleam, that amethyst colored gaze intent on the Goddess, the open hunger in his expression enough to make the woman sway an uncertain step back.

“If left unchecked….” She warded off his concern and the touch meant to steady her. “Even the undead will soon find themselves in dire straights.”

“Oh?” It was a distracted tone, the man frowning his displeasure over Lenneth’s blatant avoidance of his hand.

“If they continue to….replicate as they have...they’ll gain numbers, but not the strength needed. Humans aren’t just a quick way to boost Brahms’ army.” Lenneth pointed out. “They are the chief sustenance for so many kinds of his loyal monsters.”

He blanched at that. “Won’t they just turn their hungers elsewhere?”

“Of course.” She gave a firm nod.  “But among all the existences of Creation, there is no easier prey to be had than that of mortal slant. Finding and hunting a replacement will cost them...though we Valkyrie fight so diligently to ensure it never need reach that point.”

They did more than just fight, the Valkyries throwing away their own lives in an attempt to staunch the flow of the evil that would pervert all of Creation. Limits were tried and tested, poke at and prodded, and sometimes even surpassed. Those fierce deities battled to their very last, sacrificing blood, sweat, and tears, in a spectacularly violent end to their careers. The lucky ones DIED. The less fortunate however? Disabled, some even savaged, brutalized to the point they’d never not know pain. Lenneth wasn’t an exception in this. Her body might be hale and hearty, with nary a scratch on it, but her soul was battered, the shame of her failures coloring her every unhappy thought. Her mind tortured with this, and with the guilt born of surviving, Lenneth clung to and embodied her pain. It was all she had left, it and an anger born of the hopeless. It wasn’t just her chances that were taken away, it was nearly all of her CHOICE.

The seeds of resentment were there. For Brahms and for Hel, for the fate of the fallen, the many losses that had incurred. Towards the man she had been given to, and even in part, towards her King. It surged stronger inside her, all that negative energy, its pain and its hopelessness, its anger, and even the guilt,  the only defense she had left. Against Lezard and against the love, that enchantment striving to overshadow the last, dying remnants of who she had once been.

If---when that actually happened, the Valkyrie inside her would truly be dead. Lenneth lost, and in her place some addled female who smiled and simpered, and played to the lust, Lezard’s desires molding her into HIS perfect ideal. That was what frightened the Goddess the most, the idea of becoming a stranger, one not even her own sisters would be able to recognize let alone accept.

She was just as lost as Silmeria, the woman realized. Except no one would be coming to put an end to Lenneth’s own misery. She was disgraced, a failure who hadn’t even had the good sense to accept the love that would have brought on the freeing oblivion of bliss. She still couldn’t, every feeling inside her heightened to the point that the one time Valkyrie was a trembling wreck. It left the Goddess reeling, fighting tortured thoughts that might drive her insane long before the love could ever set in.

“Maybe I AM tired.”

There was that slow blink of his eyes, Lenneth’s abrupt admittance perhaps too sudden and too swift a deflection from the topic at hand. She couldn’t muster it in her to truly care, the very strength and much of the fight leeching out of her with that reluctant concession. The Goddess could only grasp hold of the last remnants of her true self, wrapping the Valkyrie tight around her as those words called back to his from earlier. The rest that he had said she had needed, the reprieve its seclusion could give her. It wouldn’t free the woman from her thoughts, from all those worries and concerns that troubled Lenneth so, but at the very least, it would staunch the flow of any more distressing reveals. For in the moment, there was no room left inside her to deal with any more horrors.

It was in effect a strategic retreat, one meant to buy Lenneth some time to regroup and recover. Maybe then she’d be able to fight free of some of the more potent fears and resentments, to stand strong against the love that threatened near constant to overwhelm her.

“Very well...” His eyes did not betray his thoughts or his feelings, Lezard a complete enigma in the moment. “Then allow me to at least escort you back to your chambers.” He had offered his arm to her, as though expecting Lenneth to tuck in close against him. She didn’t, she COULDN’T, the Goddess refusing to lay hands on him save to shove him away.

She couldn’t refuse him any more than that, Lenneth’s normally astute mind, so frazzled by the turn her life had taken, that she hadn’t paid strict attention to their surroundings. To the path they had run, the Valkyrie absolutely lost in this man’s expansive home.

“All right.” She said with the slightest of nods. He was still standing there waiting with an expectant hope she then crushed with a gesture. “Lead on….and I will follow….” She waited a beat, and weathered the sigh that he did not outright give, before trailing after him.

The eyes that greeted them when they entered back into the kitchen’s area, were not just reverent and awed, they were curious. It wasn’t a curiosity born of confusion, Lenneth astute enough still to realize there was no shock borne of the sight of their Lord among them. That implied that Lezard had been here before, often enough that what should have been unusual was considered the norm. She wondered then why, wondered at what sad circumstance there could be, for the man to need to hide here that often.

It wasn’t the most pressing of mysteries, or even the most urgent of matters. Lenneth easily filed it away as an idle thought, one that could and might be examined at some later time. The what and the where established, there was only the why, and right now the Goddess simply hadn’t it in her to worry about anything extra in the moment. Not when she could barely deal with her present, with the way her world had been shattered apart, each broken shard of her existence a cutting piece that bled pain in their wake.

Just as the looks she received cut her as deep, Lenneth not so much flinching from the desperation these people showed her. The worshipful slant to their gaze, the hope on their faces, these people hungry for something Lenneth could not give them. Uncomfortable with the promise that she herself embodied, the Goddess was all too happy to leave behind the large kitchen and the people who did their work there.

“Will they talk?”

He stopped up short at that, shoulders sagging for one brief moment. “I don’t see how they will NOT.” Lezard said, and Lenneth didn’t have to see his face, to guess at the displeasure there.

“Then I am sorry.” She said. “Your safe haven is lost.”

“I’ve others.” He had turned to her, his eyes so serious and dark, so at odds with the quirk of his lips turning upright in the slightest of smiles. “Someday I’ll show you…”

Out loud she was without comment, too busy fighting the queer feeling that had arisen from the sight of his smile, The flip flopping turns of her stomach cramping. It didn’t stop her from taking note of the sensual shape of his mouth, from the firm fullness of his lips, and the way his whole face was transformed with their curving. His was a very nice smile indeed, and Lenneth despised it. Loathed it and it’s power, the feelings that it triggered inside her, the love who magic had manufactured, making her feel attracted to Lezard.

It was an unfair advantage her King had given him, upsetting the balance inside her, as love tried to tip Lenneth over to Lezard’s favor. She wouldn’t easily betray just how weak this love made her, just how effective it was in wreaking havoc on her heart. The struggle played out inside her, made the stress of it show in the strained expression of her face. The Valkyrie would wave off his concern, the woman again stating that she was tired. A bow of his head would have him acquiesce, and eventually they would get back to what had been deemed Lenneth’s chambers.

“Rest.” Lezard urged as he lingered in the still open doorway of her room. “Dinner will be ready soon enough...”

“Dinner…?”

“It’s an elaborate feast the staff has been cooking.” He explained. “Days and days spent planning and preparing the food. I’m sure it won’t compare to the feasts of the heavens but...”

“It will be fine.” Lenneth interrupted. “Food is food, no matter the realm...”

“My cooks would be insulted to hear that.” Another small smile from him, Lezard perhaps a tad teasing. “They place great pride on their ability to make culinary magic with the ingredients given them. They have been taking extra steps to make sure tonight’s celebration is a meal worthy of a Goddess.”

“Celebration?”

“Yes.” This time when he fidgeted with adjusting his glasses perch upon his nose, it gave off the distinct impression that Lezard was nervous. “Everyone has been looking forward to meeting with you...though none as much as I!”

She couldn’t hide her dismay, or her surprise over his reaction to it. “But they will just have to wait one more day.”

“Wait?” She parroted sharply.

“You’ve had enough to deal with for one day.” He explained. “I’d not have my betrothed overwhelmed any further...”

It was a kindness offered, and yet she was still wary, words echoing in her head. They had been angry and shouted out, stirring distrust in their wake, Lenneth remembering what that blonde, what that Mystina had accused Lezard of. The Goddess couldn’t help wondering the same, the woman eyeing him with a slight hint of suspicion in her sapphire gaze.

“Are you sure it’ not so much that you are not yet ready to share me with anyone?”

“Well, that too...” He outright chuckled. “I freely admit I’d prefer the intimacy of a dinner for two, rather than the chaotic ruckus of my court’s feast.”

“Just so long as dinner is ALL that you expect.” Lenneth retorted.

He sobered instantly at that. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope for more.” A hand was quickly raised, to ward off the worst of her anger. “But I also know and understand you are far from ready.”

So long as she drew the strength to fight, Lenneth would NEVER be ready. “All patience has it’s limits.” She pointed out.

“True enough.” He agreed with a nod. “But it’s an undeniable truth that I would much rather you come to my bed WILLING than not.”

“That won’t happen.” Lenneth’s voice was a pointed hiss. “Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. Do you know why? Because willing implies the choice I do not have, that I will never have, so long as this magic spreads it’s poison inside me!”

It wasn’t meant as a taunt, wasn’t meant to goad or provoke him. It was just the Goddess’ honest truth, her despair and her anger manifested in words meant to hurt. Whose heart did their dagger than dig, Lezard or Lenneth’s, the Goddess feeling the agony lock up inside her.

“I can’t change what Odin has done….”

“No one can!” Interrupted Lenneth. “His will, his law, his magic is absolute!”

“Yet you are here. Fighting it every step of the way.” Lezard pointed out.

“It’s a battle I won’t win.” The Goddess admitted with a moan. “Even I can’t hold off the inevitable...”

“Then don’t.” He hastened to explain. “Instead accept it, and embrace the good parts of it, while discarding the bad. Pick and choose what that magic will do to you...”

“I CAN’T” She all but screamed.

“You can!” The man insisted. “You prove it with every second that passes.”

“Every second is a struggle. More than you can possibly understand.” That hopeless feeling surged stronger, that bitter despair locking her her throat.

“Lenneth…”

She couldn’t take the pity in his expression, that look that softened his gaze so. “Please...” She couldn’t elaborate on just what she was asking, Lenneth all a tremble, and stepping further back into the room. “Please...” She could see how it affected HIM, how it made Lezard even more reluctant to leave her side. “I just want a moment to myself….to rest and recover from this day’s revelations...”

“All right...” It was a grudging concession, the look that he gave her one of searching. Whatever expression she wore on her face, it made Lezard nod his head as though in acceptance. “It’s the least I can do...”

Grateful in a way she could not express, Lenneth instead nodded her understanding. Lezard stared at her for a second more, before sketching a quick bow to her.  She waited until he had left, until the door has closed behind him, before Lenneth collapsed to to floor, shaking harder than she had ever.

To Be Continued…

This one ended up being a “short” chapter too. Long wait for it too. I actually wrote the first ten pages of this back in January. But then I got super sick for most of February, so couldn’t work on it. Had to focus on recovering. Well by the time I got better, it was hard to get back into writing...I really struggled with the latter half of this chapter. For the most part I like it, except for like the last page and a half. I could not seem to get it written to my satisfaction and honestly I wanted this chapter over and done with. I MAY come back to tinker with it when my brain doesn’t feel so frazzled.

This also ended up being a bonus chapter. I just felt like the way the last Flenceburg chapter ended, that I had to continue the scene...my hardest task was getting them to the point they would finally leave that garden.

Thirteen will also be a bonus chapter, as it’s a Lezard POV, where he has a scene of confronting Odin that wasn’t in the original version of the story. Which was such a oopsie to neglect, since I realized that if I don’t show Lezard in communication with BOTH Gods, it would look weird to suddenly have it happen so late in the fic. But I fear saying anymore, would get me to go into spoiler territory….

Laters!

Michelle

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers Annual #7 + Marvel Two-In-One Annual #2

December, 1977

A joyous various winter type time period for you and yours!

Due to these issues issues coincidentally falling in December and also wanting to get back to the main book as soon as possible, I’m doubling up issues in this post. It’s a Yule-esque miracle, perhaps.

I wanted to get this out last Friday but I couldn’t make it in time before I had to visit my family for pre-Christmas.

Anyway, lets get into it.

The Avengers and Captain Marvel and some jerk named Adam Warlock team up to fight Thanos.

We’ve seen this before but the Avengers got kicked off the field so Drax and Captain Marvel got to hog all the Thanos to themselves. Maybe they’ll get their asses beat by him personally this time.

Dangit, maybe I should have saved this for when Infinity War came out? Eh. I can always cover Infinity Gauntlet. Its Avengers-adjacent.

Without further ado, let us commence without stealing someone’s catchphrase.

We start with Adam Warlock being moody and in space, the two prime facets of his character.

In brief, Adam Warlock was created by evil scientists to be the Perfect Man. He was then beaten near death by Thor and went back to his cocoon. Later, the High Evolutionary named him Warlock, gave him the Soul Gem, and sent him to Counter-Earth to become its champion where he gained the name Adam. Then he became involved in a predestination paradox with his evil future self the Magus and had to murder himself in the future to prevent his evil future self from existing. Thanos helped with this for his own nefarious purposes.

Warlock has been tracking Thanos, following the trail of destruction as it were. But he finds Gamora, Thanos’ most faithful servant.

Gamora is a lot different than in the movies. For one thing, she’s dying.

She discovered his secret plan of Stellar Genocide to wipe out all life and so he left her for dead.

Gamora: “He’s quite mad, you know.”

She says, master of understatement.

Gamora also reveals that the only person Thanos fears is... ADAM WARLOCK.

Warlock swears he’ll hunt down Thanos. But he won’t do it alone. bwoop. His forehead jewel eats Gamora’s soul. As it do.

He also scream exposits at no-one that he thought Thanos was a friend but Chaos and Order whispered to him while he slept that Thanos was a betrayer and also that Warlock is the Champion of Life, the natural foe to Thanos, Champion of Death.

Usually its worrying when voices tell you not to trust your friends but Warlock is kind of intense so I won’t tell him if you won’t.

Shouting into the void done, Warlock heads off to Earth. Which is a good segue for the Avengers portion of this Avengers Annual.

It is a dark and stormy night. Iron Man is brooding by the window. Scarlet Witch is trying to get Vision to go talk to him. And Beast has revised his policy on kissing and telling with Cap apparently into it.

Scarlet Witch finally convinces Vision to talk to Iron Man by basically saying they’re the same kind of stubborn stoic jerk who hides their emotions and Vision is like fine geez good logic.

Iron Man doesn’t really have an answer to give though. He just has a foreboding feeling.

Iron Man: “It’s just that ever since I arrived here tonight, I’ve had this unexplainable feeling of danger -- of forces at play about me. I don’t want to be here but I can’t bring myself to leave!”

Captain Marvel: “That’s because you are meant to be here this night, just as we are.”

CAPTAIN MARVEL (not those ones) AND MOONDRAGON!

Coming in through the window. And dripping on the carpet. Because fuck politeness, amirite?

It took all of my willpower to not edit this panel to have Tony say “Iron nipples... rigid! They sense danger!”

Because why would you choose that panel and pose to detail his chest dials?

I wonder how awkward it is for Iron Man and Moondragon to be in the same room. He was kind of an ass to her the majority of the short time she was on the team. And then she sabotaged his new roster by quitting and then convincing Thor and Hellcat to also quit.

Maybe that’s why it seems like they’re glaring at each other. Or perhaps Tony is just mad she’s taller than him.

Anyway, weird feelings are going around because Captain Marvel and Moondragon were also drawn to the mansion with a premonition that their powers would be needed.

This same premonition must have also drawn part-time Avenger Thor here.

‘No, I just wanted to hear stories about Beast’s love life. Now was this hair curling an euphemism or did grooming serve as foreplay in this encounter?’ Thor might have said.

Okay. Maybe I’m curious. Don’t judge me.

Anyway, the Avengers and guests ponder what kind of horror might be approaching that would need such an assemblage to stop.

A few hundred light-years away, a Playstation rendered TIE Fighter shoots a beam at a star and then the star kerplooies.

And a few hundred light-years back, Moondragon feels millions of voices cry out in terror and then were suddenly silenced.

I’m not being flippant. She basically Obi-wans.

Beast is being flippant. Doing card tricks and laughing off the idea of psychic screams and talking winds. This from the guy who was on a team with Professor X and Jean Grey. Won’t be laughing once Jean pulls the same shit on a different star, I tell you that.

He also won’t be laughing right now because Adam Warlock appears out of nowhere just to sass Beast.

I truly believe Adam Warlock’s true superpower is drama. He’s even got his own weird speech bubble quirk.

Anyway, he’s another person for this assemblage. But he also brings word of their common foe: THANOS.

Apparently it was supposed to be sort of a surprise? They haven’t said his name until now but if you’ve read any of the stuff Adam Warlock appeared in you’d recognize that Gamora worked for Thanos and the distinctive shape of Thanos’ ship, which is not actually a poorly rendered TIE Fighter. Its actually much bigger.

If you haven’t read any of the previous Adam Warlock stuff well then sucks to be you. He’s barely introduced here in this Avengers book.

But Thanos? Thanos gets a whole page of recap and introduction. By Adam Warlock. His best frenemy.

What’s weird is that apparently everyone is making faces like ‘yeah we know all this already’ and Warlock sees those faces but just keeps plunging on anyway.

So yeah we get through the stuff where he turned into a giant wireframe head in space and Captain Marvel chopped a Cosmic Cube to bits.

Now apparently Thanos is one of those villains who doesn’t think they could possibly lose but sets up some contingencies just in case. See also: Ultron.

Being ungodded left Thanos floating helplessly in space. And apparently he can breath in space. But then his not TIE-ship retrieved him and he began scheming anew.

But here’s the problem (from Thanos’ perspective): Death abandoned him for his failure. So he decided he needed a grand romantic gesture to win her back. Aka: where most of Thanos’ horrible atrocities start.

And on a scroll from a dead world, he found his answer. And the answer is what his answer always is. Gathering the six shiny things.

Yup.

This is the first time Thanos gathers the Soul Gems. Later to be called Infinity Gems once Thanos in a later story realizes he kind of underestimated them.

Actually the Infinity Gems got a bit of play before they were revealed to be Collect Them All Become God powerful. The Elders once tried to use them to kill Galactus because they were mad he was older than they were.

We get a brief montage of Thanos retrieving all the Gems. Stealing one from the Stranger, liberating another from a prison satellite, finding one in a cave, getting one as an epic drop from killing a monster named Xiambor, and finding one on the Moon because of course there’s one on the Moon.

The final one he was afraid to make a grab for because it was Adam Warlock’s Soul Gem and could steal Souls.

Instead, Thanos pretended to be his friend, worked together with him to defeat Warlock’s evil future self Magus because comics, and secretly siphoned off some energy from Warlock’s forehead bling without Warlock even knowing.

And then he transferred those energies and the energies of the other five Gems into a giant synthetic Gem. A truly, truly outrageous plan.

Truly a better telling of how he collected six things then the full miniseries that preceded Infinity Gauntlet and was just Thanos being smarter, stronger and more handsome than anyone else ever. I heard Thanos was shredded. I heard he had an eight pack. Etc.

When Gamora discovered that he planned on blowing up every star, she tried to backstab him but she was no match alas.

So most of this exposition Warlock learned by eating her soul with his forehead.

Meanwhile, hundreds of light years away, Pip the Troll arrives at Thanos’ Sanctuary ship to pay the “old gang” a visit. Nobody seems to be home so Pip loudly talks to himself, objectifying Gamora and insulting Thanos and basically digging himself into a hole.

I mean, in fairness, Thanos would have killed him either way. Now that he doesn’t need to pretend to be nice to Warlock, there’s no need to be civil to Pip either.

Lets just assume that something bad happens off-screen. Because we are changing scenes again.

So we have Thanos a) doing something crazy as a grand romantic gesture for Death and b) gathering several powerful gems. What’s next on our Thanos bingo game?

Invading Earth with a giant space armada? -checks- Yup.

And its such a giant space armada its twice the size of the giant Skrull armada from the Kree-Skrull War. These imaginary numbers are way bigger than those imaginary numbers!

(How does Thanos keep getting people to sign up with him if he inevitably leads them to their deaths and then laughs at them??)

The Avengers prepare to go fight an entire space armada by themselves again (seriously, start building space defenses, the Earth). And Adam Warlock just skips out without so much as a goodbye.

As the heroes prepare to go into battle we get some good character beats from each of them. And they each kind of lead into each other. Its good stuff.

Moondragon ponders how Thanos always shatters any peace she finds. Later on down the line, he even interrupts a date with her girlfriend. Thanos is the worst. Anyway, he also killed her family and caused her to be adopted by Mentor of Titan so really he’s always been screwing up her life.

Iron Man grapples with fear. He’s going to fight Thanos for a fourth time and wonders if he should have his head examined. Each time he’s fought Thanos he barely survived. And the last time the Avengers fought Thanos, they were only able to thwart his schemes. They didn’t even fight the man. Are the Avengers just heading for an unmarked grave among the stars?

(Maybe I should have saved this for Infinity War, geez)

Captain Marvel ponders how little they truly know about Thanos. And also he hugged Death and still lives. Whats the deal with that?

Thor is just thinking ‘man its about time I get to deck this Thanos fellow in the face.’

Vision wondering if decking Thanos will even win the day. Thanos is in effect a mutant demi-god. Because apparently the Titans of Titan are an evolved offshoot of the gods of Olympus. Which I guess makes Hercules and Thanos related? And also, wuh?

Captain America wishes they had more information about Thanos’ firepower and plans. But also suspects that Warlock knew more than he let on. Which will continue to be Cap’s frustration every time he ever works with Adam Warlock, who tends to use the superheroes of Marvel as disposable pawns in his inscrutable chess games.

Beast wonders who Adam Warlock even is. He was skeptical about this whole thing until he looked in Warlock’s eyes, the eyes of someone who has seen life, death, and infinity.

Scarlet Witch though is thinking that Adam Warlock is totally evil and that he and his Soul Gem could one day prove to be their foe.

And hey. She isn’t even wrong. Because Adam Warlock’s Evil side the Magus tries to take over the universe. And his ostensible Good side? She tries to KILL EVERYONE.

I sometimes think Adam Warlock only ever falls mostly on the side of good because of spite against people that side with evil.

And then the time for pondering ends. GIANT SPACE FLEET.

God. What a spread.

The Avengers really should start evolving their strategies against massive space invasions because the plan is still to send Thor and Iron Man out the airlock to dogfight spaceships individually while the Avengers’ shuttlecraft makes a run for Thanos’s H-shaped flagship.

A massive laser cannon aimed at space would be really helpful right now but some jerk time traveler never lets us have one.

Oh. And this is kind of a suicide mission. In that the Avengers looked at the odds and thought welp we’re boned. And decided to snatch victory from the jaws of numerical disadvantage anyway even in dying.

Wait, where the shit is Wonder Man? He usually has something to say about the Avengers grimly and dutifully marching off to their deaths. Usually of the ‘I wish that were me I me I don’t want to die but I do kind of want to retain dignity while I rush into death anyway.’

Anyway. Thor starts breaking space stuff FOR MIDGARD! FOR ASGARD! FOR LIFE! while Iron Man... has to be more indirect. Since repulsors are laser punches, he uses them to redirect the enemy’s ionic rays back into their allies.

Although if you think about it, hitting a spaceship going as fast as it is with a punch laser would probably punch a hole in the hull. No sense putting an extra step into it.

And technically with no sound in space, this would be more accurate:

Just Thor loudly screaming nothing as aliens asphyxiate.

Anyway.

With exactly two people running distraction (even though Captain Marvel can also fly through space I guess they need to keep some muscle to fight Thanos), the Avengers reach Sanctuary II.

Creating a kind of seal with the bomb bay doors somehow, Captain Marvel blasts a hole in the hull.

Beast: “I imagine a small army of aliens is waiting below to massacre us.”

Captain America: “So what are we waiting for, Avengers? LET’S GO!”

Nice.

Just wading hip deep into an army of alien malcontents. Now that’s cosmic.

If Avengers: Infinity War doesn’t have Vision fist a crocodile man, then the Marvel Cinematic Universe has failed.

Anyway, the Avengers do their Avenger things. Beast acrobats around and makes the wise-cracks.

Vision just stands still and lets someone shoot through him. As I get further and further into this liveblog I realize more and more how much Vision can just passively win battles and realize where Wonder Man got the idea from during his pacifism phase.

Scarlet Witch does a probability hex at a pig/bug/devil alien wearing no pants but wearing boots and a belt and bling to make his gun hand explode.

Moondragon smugly asserts that she needs no help. And she also reaches an armament control panel so she can turn the Sanctuary II’s guns against the rest of the fleet.

Also, there’s a giant cyborg space ape named QU’LAR THE MASSIVE.

He lasts for exactly two panels before Captain Marvel tells him to sit on it and possibly ruptures every one of Qu’lar’s organs.

Related to this, it strikes Captain Marvel that things have been a bit too... easy. It was too easy to get through the Sanctuary II’s hull. Too easy to reach it in the first place. And too easy to beat up Thanos’ forces.

If Thanos wanted to stop them, wouldn’t he be throwing worse at them?

He barges into the ship’s central section expecting the other shoe to drop.

Oh hey. Its empty. Well, except for Adam Warlock and Pip the Troll.

Adam Warlock: “His name was Pip, and he was my friend. Perhaps my only friend. He was joy and light to my darkness and damnation. He was unique among the heavens... and Thanos destroyed his mind and left him for me to find. First Gamora, now Pip. All about me those I love are falling. This cannot be allowed to go on. Nor, by my Gem, shall it!”

And Adam Warlock om nom noms Pip the Troll’s soul.

Alas, Pip. You were. Someone who existed. And who I have no strong feelings about at all. I guess Warlock’s Good side trying to kill everyone makes more sense if Pip was his idea of joy and light.

Anyway, by eating Pip’s soul, Warlock now knows what Thanos is really up to. Because Thanos did the villain thing and monologued his plans before destroying Pip’s brains. And Warlock absorbed that knowledge when he ate his soul.

So why did Thanos brag about his plans and then leave Pip’s husk for Warlock to find and learn from? Shrug. Thanos planting the seeds to his own destruction is ridiculously common even at this point. Its why he becomes a farmer later. He got so much experience with planting.

Anyway, Thanos is in an exact replica of his ship (Sanctuary III?) on the other side of the sun. The flagship and the fleet and all was just a distraction.

Of course, the fleet lured the Avengers out here in the first place. If he had just snuck up on the sun and destroyed it, he might have gotten away with it. More seed planting, perhaps.

But even as Warlock and Marvel approach the apparent real Sanctuary II, it fires its Starkiller at the Sun and starts suncrushing it.

The Sun goes red and purple and begins to flare. Eight minutes later, some astronomers are really going to freak.

But not if Captain Marvel has anything to say about it! He full-speed rams into the ion-laser projector that Thanos’ big synthetic Soul Gem was housed on.

I mean, maybe aim for the big gem next time, Marv?

Because Thanos is like oh darn I guess I’ll just replace the projector and get back to murdering stars?

Then Adam Warlock finally catches up and proclaims that he’s going to kill Thanos.

He gets one punch in before Thanos counterattacks and mortally wounds Warlock.

And since he’s dying anyway, Thanos asks if he’ll rely a message to Death.

Thanos: “Tell her I follow shortly behind you, bringing an offering of undreamed of magnitude... the stars!”

-Warlock plops to the ground, probably not going to deliver that message at all-

Thanos actually seems kind of disappointed on how smoothly this is going. He expected the Champion of Life to be more of a challenge.

THEN THOR AND IRON MAN BURST IN

Because its just one thing after another with heroes.

While Thor and Thanos exchange fisticuffs and... hammercuffs? Iron Man decides to attack the big shiny thing. Because he for one knows you attack the weak point for massive damage.

With the giant synthetic Soul Gem decided, Thanos’ plans and his chance to regain his love’s favor have been thwarted.

He teleports away, vowing that they’ve earned his enmity and will have few remaining minutes of life.

But I’m sure that everything is fine and will continue to be fine forever.

So now what?

Captain Marvel wakes up, probably with a horrible headache, after his face first tour of Thanos’ projector. And he sees Warlock talking to Warlock?

Whaaaaaaaaaat?

Okay, so context. In the Adam Warlock comic, Adam Warlock traveled into the future to absorb his own soul to keep his future self from becoming his evil future self the Magus.

In-universe, this only happened months ago. And also right now.

But the months have felt like an eternity to Adam Warlock as everything he has ever loved or accomplished has fallen to ruin or died. His whole life has been a failure and he welcomes its end.

So Adam Warlock om nom noms his own soul.

And goes back to his present to live out the events that will lead him to getting his soul eaten by himself.

All the while having the soul of Adam Warlock inside and outside the soul gem.

COSMIC!

Having watched this all, Captain Marvel is mostly confused. As is anyone else who didn’t read the Adam Warlock series.

Even with Thanos’ plan to kersplode the sun thwarted, his forces still prove a threat so Thor, Marvel, and Iron Man decide to head back over to the fake Sanctuary II to help the other Avengers.

What to do with Adam Warlock’s body? Eh. Leave it. He’s at peace now. And he’ll peacefully rot in space. Probably like he always dreamed.

Or maybe give him a proper burial?

Throughout Marvel’s conversation with the two Avengers, a green-hued Warlock has been coming to terms with life after death.

Being absorbed into the Soul Gem means being reunited with everyone it has eaten. Gamora. Pip. Some other people probably from Adam Warlock’s own mag. And the realm within the Soul Gem is a land of peace where all can live as one and share a collective memory and heart.

A land where hearts are an open book, where understanding is bred, and the ego is muted. In the Soul Gem there can only be love.

Not bad for a piece of jewelry normally portrayed as evil and voracious.

So a happy ending for Adam Warlock. And a happy ending for the Sun. And a happy ending for the Avengers who decided that they’re not doing any corpse disposal. Happy ending for everyone except Thanos whose grand romantic gesture was thwarted and the idiots he always manages to inspire to follow him who are getting their teeth punched in by the Avengers.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE

December, 1977

I’m not ashamed to say that one of my favorite comic book tropes is when someone hits someone with someone. But only if they’re using said person as a bludgeon. Throwing the person is the coward’s way out.

So last time: Just scroll up. Thanos was going to blow up the Sun but Iron Man blew up his bling and Adam Warlock achieved his fondest desire and died.

This time: Peter Parker’s plot senses are tingling.

He senses... that a crossover needs him.

His plot sense also recap the events of the Avengers Annual issue and-

is that an upside down cyclops? What the heck!

Uh, anyway. Yeah. Just a recap of the Avengers Annual. Which is mighty obliging. A less scrupulous writer would have dropped a brief text recap and made you buy the issue to find out what happened.

Anyway, Peter’s dream goes beyond just the events of Avengers Annual #7. He starts dreaming of THINGS NOT ON PANEL. Except now they’re on panel because he’s dreaming of them.

Also, I lied. Its not Peter’s plot sense that's tingling. Moondragon just beamed a recap into his dreams.

After Avengers Annual #7, Thanos teleported back over to the other Sanctuary II where the Avengers were still fighting his diverse crowd of alien jerks (why do villains always believe in diversity more than the heroes do?).

With some actual leadership, they go from being an ineffectual mob mostly existing to make the Avengers look cool to a fighting machine.

In five panels, the fight turns against the Avengers and they all lie defeated.

Well, except for the away team of Captain Marvel, Thor, and Iron Man.

They take an additional page to defeat.

Thanos goes right from organizing his mob in their defeat of the Avengers to an armament control console with no time for gloating in between (which you know is very hard for Thanos) and blasts Thor, Captain Marvel, and Iron Man while they’re flying back towards the fake Sanctuary II.

I was going to joke that its because this isn’t an Avengers book that the Avengers can be totally stomped in two pages. But that’s just their life, isn’t it? Even in their own book they aren’t free of getting taken out humiliatingly easy, are they?

Thanos then had all the unconscious heroes put in stasis beams. Y’know that thing where the heroes are all lined up in a row but unable to move but there aren’t any obvious restraints? Well this time it works by keeping the heroes a micro-second out of sync with reality.

Without the giant synthetic Soul Gem, Thanos can’t blow up every star. But with the Soul Gem on the dead deceased corpse of Adam Warlock, maybe he can still blow up a star. And conveniently, he happens to be near a pretty one called Sol.

Maybe just blowing up the one star in Marvel that matters will be enough to appease death.

And then Peter wakes up, the recap portion of this recap over.

He only wonders why Moondragon chose him to send this message to. He’s a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man not a powerhouse or cosmic dude.

And we cut to Master Order and Lord Chaos basically being to blame. Their game against Death goes poorly and they’re forced to put their reserves in play.

I.e. Spider-Man and Ben Grimm, the Thing.

Because Spider-Man realizes ‘hey wait I can’t webswing into space, I need to borrow a spaceship’

And he knows just who to borrow one from.

Cue a funny moment where Spider-Man startles the Thing while he’s engrossed in reading Salem’s Lot causing him to accidentally inhale his cigar.

Oh what shenanigans you get up to, Peter.

But he gets the Thing to stop complaining about Spider-Man disrespecting the security system by shouting at him to STFU. Ben realizes that maybe Spider-Man has troubles.

So he pours Peter some coffee and listens to his story. And immediately asks what Peter has been smoking. Old tennis shoes maybe?

Which is. Ben knows that real drugs exist, right?

But since Peter is serious about it Ben figures what the heck. There’s an experimental spaceship he was supposed to test-pilot when he got the chance and now’s as good a time as any.

Spider-Peter doesn’t really have... exact directions but the spaceship’s tracking systems will track down Thanos’ ship if its up there.

Spider-Man: “If? Still have your doubts, then?”

The Thing: “About your story? Perish forbid such a thought. How could anyone doubt the word of a man in blue and red leotards who crawls on walls?”

Police, I’d like to report a murder.

But despite Ben’s skepticism, they find Thanos’ giant H on the very next page.

The Thing: “Appears like I was wrong about you this time, Spidey. My apologies.”

Spider-Man: “What do you mean ‘this time’?”

The Fantastispacecraft gets caught in a tractor beam and dragged inside the giant H (for Hate?). Ben kicks the door of his spaceship out so he can immediately go out and start punching some space goons.

Thus making the ship nonviable for a return trip. Good thinking, Ben!

Spider-Man joins in the goon punching, although he admits that monster bashing isn’t his usual comfort zone. But if he fights the small fries which basically look like weird people then he should be good.

He’ll let the Thing fight the giant space serpent.

AND USE THE SPACE SNAKE TO HIT PEOPLE WITH. That’s what I’m talking about, Ben!

Meanwhile, Thanos watches this on a monitor. He must be wondering how many heroes he aggroed today. They just keep showing up.

So he has the gravity turned off in the chamber Spider-Man and Thing are in. That’ll show them.

And Thanos’ men, who I guess trained for just this sort of contingency, waste no time blasting Spider-Man and the Thing while they’re discombobulated.

Its a bit of a shame. I wanted to see if Spider-Man would try to use his webs. A much later comic than this made the point that without gravity, Spider-Man’s webbing would splurt out instead of thwip out in nice lines. I wanted to see if that would be used here, decades before the first time I saw it.

Meanwhile, Master Order and Lord Chaos continue to commentate on the crossover. Another round goes to Death with Spider-Man and the Thing temporarily out of play. Still, they both expected this.

Summoning Spider-Man and the Thing was a ploy to get Adam Warlock back on the field from the emerald hill zone.

Meanwhile, in the land of emerald skies (they look purple actually) and green hills, Adam Warlock exposits about recent events.

Yup. He sure died. And now he lives in the Soul Gem, a paradisaical world where he can forget about his worries and his strife. All within the Soul Gem are one and live in harmony for harming another would be harming oneself. Yup, afterlife in the Soul Gem is good and will remain good forever.

Elsewhere and while, Spider-Man and the Thing wake up at the foot of the hero display case and/or stasis beam.

Thanos didn’t get the chance to gloat earlier so he’s seizing the opportunity now.

His henchaliens are preparing stasis beams for Thing and Spider-Man but in the meanwhile, look at how awesome Thanos is. He collected the Avengers better than the Collector ever did. Suck it, old man.

Spider-Man decides to hear Thanos out, hoping that encouraging Thanos to ramble will give them time to plan. And Thanos knows he’s being played but what the hell, he loves to hear himself talk.

So he explains to the heroes that he’s having another stellar projector prepared which will use the Soul Gem’s power to cause the Sun to go nova (but not that one. Or that one. Marvel has a lot of Novas).

And then he explains that he’s doing this as a grand romantic gesture for Death. Recaps how he fell out of her favor by fucking up his plan to become god with the cosmic cube. But anyway, yeah, thats why the Sun and countless lives on Earth must die. So Death will be really impressed with him.

Ben Grimm doesn’t find that a good motivation so he punches Thanos in the dick.

Thanos just no-sells it and purple energy blasts the Thing unconscious.

Annnnnd Spider-Man realizes he’s out of his league so when Thanos asks him if he wants a turn, he just webswings away.

Thanos: “WHAT?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Spider-Man: “Leaving! This is the Avengers’ hassle.”

For some reason, Thanos takes exception to this and orders his alien mooks to bring back Spider-Man’s head.

Except now what? He doesn’t know how to fly spaceships so he can’t just steal the Thing’s ride (also its no longer air tight). He can’t stay here, he’ll just get killed. But he can’t go back to Earth because if Thanos blows up the Sun, Earth will get a whole lot less hospitable.

So if he’s dead either way, he might as well stay. And if he’s staying, he might as well do something. But he can’t fight Thanos directly. He’d sweep the floor with Spider-Man and probably any hero Spidey knows.

Except.... maybe Thor?

Okay, good plan. Good plan. Free Thor. Save the world. Have everything be good forever. Spidey is glad he talked himself out of that blind panic spiral.

Meanwhile, another Master Order and Lord Chaos intermission. They sure are glad that Spider-Man didn’t let his self-preservation overrule his strong heart.

So Spider-Man loops back around to where Thanos showed him his Avengers collection. And darn, Thanos is still there. And also he changed his mind. He’s not adding Spider-Man to his collection now. So there.

Spider-Man decides the thing to do is smash the stasis beam projector WITH HIS BODY.

So the Avengers wake up and immediately charge Thanos. While Spider-Man limply hangs half out of the machinery. Oh, and the Thing woke up by this point too.

That’s some quality Assembling! Good job, Spider-Man. Probably fracturing half of your bones was worth it.

Thanos summons his army of mooks and we get down to a real rumble.

Weird that apparently Adam Warlock will be needed to resolve this scenario. Thing and Thor seem to be thumping Thanos pretty effectively while the rest of the heroes keep the small fry off their backs.

And the other heroes are playing it very strategically. Captain Marvel is keeping an eye on the overall crowd composition so that one of the heroes can go and bust up any attempt to build up or consolidate a position.

Yeah, I’d say this is in the bag.

But just as Thor and Thing are still kicking Thanos’ ass and looking good doing it, Thanos eye beams Thing unconscious and puts Thor on the ropes.

Dangit.

Spider-Man regains consciousness, still stuck hip deep in some defunct machinery and realizes that he must Do Something. In fact, he feels as if everything depends on the decision he makes next.

In happy paradise green land, Adam Warlock is struck with a terrible migraine and realizes that the plot needs him for one last hurrah.

Spider-Man’s spider-sense spider-leads him to notice Adam Warlock’s Soul Gem, encased in a glass globe.

So obviously he should break that, right?

Yeah.

And with the Soul Gem freed from containment, Adam Warlock manifests as a naked fire man and proclaims himself the Ultimate Avenger.

(Was Adam Warlock ever in the Ultimate Universe? I can only think if he was, his re-imagining would have been endlessly disappointing.)

And Ultimate Avenger Adam Warlock (with kung fu action grip) could not rest while Thanos remains a threat to the universe.

And Ultimate Avenger Adam Warlock is so very, very tired and wants to rest. So Thanos will have to go.

So Ultimate Avenger Adam Warlock takes Thanos for granite because that’s just something Ultimate Avenger Adam Warlock can do.

Fuck you, I don’t have to explain anything. Its cosmic.

Which leaves just the cleanup.

Thanos’ army immediately surrenders.

Which is a good decision for them because they’re probably going to get released with no punishment aside from the hits they’ve already taken.

Spidey objects but Captain Marvel asks what he would suggest doing with them? Put them in Earth jail? That’s ridiculous, Spider-Man. You ludicrous radioactive Spider-Man.

I guess.......... space jail isn’t an option for some reason? They’re kind of accessories to the destruction of a star and conspiracy to commit another star murder.

When Jean Grey and/or the Phoenix did that it was a whole to-do but I guess its just okay this time because it didn’t personally inconvenience the Shi’ar?

Maybe Captain Marvel is just lazy and doesn’t want to do the considerable amount of paperwork it would take to arrest an army.

No Sam Vimes this Mar-Vell.

Perhaps realizing they were dicks before, the Avengers decide to actually have a funeral for Adam Warlock. They bury him on some random space rock.

And they leave his Soul Gem right on his grave for anyone to steal. WHICH HAPPENS AND CAUSES INFINITY GAUNTLET.

Geez, the Avengers. Geez.

Also according to his tombstone, Adam Warlock was only ten years old. He was a melancholic child.

Later, aboard the fake Sanctuary II which was apparently Sanctuary III all along and maybe you could have mentioned that earlier and prevented a lot of name confusion for me, personally.

Spider-Man mourns the loss of Adam Warlock. He didn’t know him that well but the universe feels much emptier without him.

And the Thing suggests they check to see if Sanctuary III had a coffee pot anywhere. SPACE COFFEE (do not drink in space).

And within the Soul Gem, Adam Warlock resigns himself to living in paradise free of any strife, problems or pain. Or darn. Well he’ll manage.

And the Thanos statue cries because Death doesn’t love him. And also petrification is often portrayed as a living death so he doesn’t even get to be with his crush.

Phew.

Two annuals back to back was a bad idea. And almost nobody is even going to read this today because I have almost nobody that even reads these on a non-holiday day and today is Christmas so people are probably going to be with families and singing to the Christmas raptor.

Well. Here it is anyway. The last stand of Adam Warlock.

And that’s the major thing to bring up.

This is Avengers Annual and Marvel Two-in-One Annual. A book about the Avengers and a book about the Thing and his amazing friends. But the story that spans these two issues is about Adam Warlock. The others are just along for the ride.

The giant cosmic space heads even say as much. Spider-Man is only here to get the real star of the show on stage. The Thing is only here because this is his team-up book (and because Spidey needs transportation).

Its kind of a tendency of Adam Warlock to make any story about him. Both in and out of universe. He’s kind of self-absorbed.

Whether you like these stories probably comes down to whether you like Adam Warlock. Because on this day the Avengers, Spider-Man, and the Thing took the backseat to the space messiah who hated to wear pants.

Other than that? Pretty good.

A good Thanos plan. An intentional downgrade from his plan to become god in terms of ambition. But possibly even worse because he planned to blow up every star just to get Death sempai-dono to notice him.

This is the end for Thanos for a while. He’s still a stone statue during the Death of Captain Marvel in 1982. Thanos doesn’t stop being stoned until 1990.

People that didn’t read Adam Warlock’s book probably don’t really get why Thanos was most scared of this golden brooder but I think turning into a naked fire man and turning Thanos to stone is context enough.

So happy and merry whatever. Next time I get back to the main book but we’re still going to have the Avengers storming a giant thing in space.

During this time in their lives, the Avengers just storm giant space things more often than typical.

[amynchan]

A Moment to Mourn, A Lifetime to Live

A Grayza fic I wrote because somebody *heknowswhoI’mtalkingabout* is a shipper and I’ve read so much Grayza fic that it seems absolutely adorable.

This can be seen as either romantic or platonic.  I like the romantic lens, but enjoy as you wish.  *^_^*

He spent most of the day looking for her.  Her quarters, the armory, even the spot by the river, yet none of them yielded the results he sought.  He had checked the bar and request board, both suspiciously devoid of any red hair. He asked around, but no one claimed to have seen her.  Hell, even Mira said she hadn’t seen her pull any of the requests off the wall at any time over the past few days.

The fact that she was deliberately hiding from being found irritated him.  If she were hiding, chances were that she either knew she was worrying everybody and hid away from it or she really was that out of it and wanted to mourn alone.  And he had been fine with that.  Everybody could understand that for the first month or so.

Now he was getting frustrated.  Everyone else may think that she was improving, but he knew.  He knew she wasn’t.

Suffice to say that by the time he found her holed up in the data storage room, he was hardly in the mood for the calm, rational discussion he had been seeking at the start of his adventure.

“Gray.  Are you looking for something?”

Do not grind teeth. Do not grind teeth.

“Yeah, you.  What are you doing in here?” asked the ice mage, setting his frosty gaze upon his friend.  The knight, as nonchalant as you please, glanced at a book in her hand.

“Strategizing.”

“Are you planning on taking a mission?  Strengthening the defenses?  Training?” asked Gray.  His eyes narrowed when she shook her head.  “Then what the hell are you strategizing for?  No one’s been able to talk to you in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy, as you can see,” stated Erza, making a sweeping motion with her arm. Surrounding her was an armada of information; books, scrolls, and various pieces of parchment all piled atop one another in some fashion or another.  Some of it looked as though it were ready to spill onto the floor with how haphazardly it had been stacked.  Gray read the title of the nearest book.

“‘Knighthood for Novices’?  Are you kidding me?   I thought you memorized this after your first week in the guild.  What else do you have here?  ‘First Fencing’, ‘The Art of Swordplay’, ‘The Code of Chivalry, second edition’?”  Each title brought more and more frustration and confusion to the forefront of Gray’s mind as he turned from the books to Erza’s poised figure.  “Don’t tell me you’re trying to learn how to fight all over again.���

“Don’t be ridiculous,” returned Erza.  “As I told you, I’m strategizing.”

“What do you need to strategize for that takes you all the way back to fighting for dummies? You’re one of the strongest fighters in the guild.  Glare at some of the newbies if you don’t believe me.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“They smell power and tremble before it like any good underling.”

“The new guild members are not underlings.”

“Sure they are. They’re just looking for a strong senpai to notice them.”

“I suppose that was a joke of some kind.”

Gray sighed, a fraction of his frustration having been filtered out through humor and honestly not up to grilling Erza for answers as he had been a few moments ago.  He turned his attention back towards the copy on the code of chivalry.  It seemed as though Erza had already gone through it; there were bookmarks on several of the pages.  Gray opened the book and the immediate chapter heading caught his eye.  He flipped to the next bookmark and a suspicion began to lurk in the back of his mind.  Two bookmarks later and it was confirmed.

“You feel guilty over what happened with Jellal.”

Erza flinched and he knew he’d hit the nail right on the head.  Of course, Erza’s reaction being due to what had happened wasn’t any new news, Gray had known for a while that it would take her a while to recover. But this wasn’t recovering.  This was hiding and regressing and after the hell he—the entire team!—had gone through to get her back, he wasn’t going to lose her to her own mind.

And he would have said so if she hadn’t started in first.

“I couldn’t save him,” agreed Erza.  Her hands clenched around the book she already held.  It almost looked as though she were trying to set it ablaze with the gaze she was piercing it with.  “I’ve trained my entire life to protect everything precious to me with everything I have.  So why couldn’t I save him?”

“Because there are some people you just can’t save.”  Gray glanced over a few of the lines from the novice book and almost wanted to scoff.  Most beginner books were about hooking naive minds and souls onto a path for the rest of their lives.  Only after they had been completely sold did they go over the muddy ethics of fighting.  Beginner books turned war into something glorious and a way to honor yourself and your country.  In reality, any war was an overinflated version of ‘my way is better than yours’ or ‘I want so I get’ or ‘he said she said’ with death involved.

It was a fact they both knew well, despite Erza’s retreat into the early days of clearly defined good and evil.

“Everyone should be able to be saved,” stated Erza in a quiet voice.  “I cannot give up on him so easily.”

“Better to give up on the past than to give up on the present and future, honestly,” returned Gray. He refused to look away from the defeated shell that was his friend.  “You’ve spent weeks trying to find out what you could have done differently, how you could have saved him.  But enough is enough, you’re wasting the time you do have.  You could be out there doing something with your time, but you’re in here focusing on what ifs and maybes that aren’t going to help anyone.”

“That’s not true,” said Erza.  Finally, finally she turned to glare at Gray.  He met it with equal force.  “Revision of technique is not a waste.”

“What you’re doing is useless and you know it,” challenged Gray.  Erza took a breath and he quickly intervened, ticking his points off on his fingers.  “When's the last time you actually trained the skills you have?  Or checked the security around the guild?  Hell, when's the last time you talked with Lucy or scolded me and Natsu?  We've had no less than three full-blown fights since we came back and you haven't said a word to either of us to save our strength or be vigilant for real enemies.”

He had her there and they both knew it.  Stubborn as ever, Erza refused to look away.  Gray matched her until he figured she was actually going to hate him if they continued.  It was easy to tell when the cogs in her brain were working because they rarely stopped, but he knew they were pulling double time to harness enough energy to remain angry at him.  Not because he wasn’t hateable, no…he knew for a fact that Erza could hate any aspect of him on command and just didn’t because that was the sort of person she was. She had to work to remain angry because she was so drained from mourning and hating herself for so long about something she couldn’t change.

And it was getting hard to watch.

“Look, I’m not telling you not to grieve and mourn, but you’ve got to move on.”  Gray set the book down where he had found it at the top of that haphazard pile.  “Let the past be.  Just… focus on the here and now before you lose what you’ve got and leave the beginning books for the actual beginners.”

Erza’s dry chuckle was perhaps the best he would get out of her for now.  She was still hurting and would for a while, no simple pep talk could change that, but when she ate dinner with the rest of the group for the first time in weeks, scolding him on his horrible table manners (as long as no one choked, it was fine if you ate and spoke at the same time!) and talking with Lucy about a mission she had returned from, he knew everything would be all right.

Hope y’all enjoyed!  *^_^*

[lifeisjustanotherstory]

W/c 28th January - a week in anecdotes and not-shower shower thoughts (pt 2)

Friday

You would have thought after 21 years in this country, I would have been tired of it. Over the novelty of huge deep exhales when the air outside is so cold that you release little clouds from your mouth, from deep within.

But no. 

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Four inches of snow back home and London is only wetter than normal. 

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Headed in as normal, early, and it was just me and Nick walking from the office to the restaurant. We must have looked quite the picture. 

He mentioned how he thought what Emily was doing was incredible. If you step back, it is. She’s 20, only just, working a full time job, doing hard exams, got a fucking mortgage sorted out AND a baby on the way. I don’t know (m)any 20 year old’s like her. 

We talked about living costs (extortionate) and about how it made sense for me to live at home, especially since I get on with my parents. I’m really glad I do - the amount of money I am able to save is a literal blessing. 

He hadn’t realised that I’d come straight from school. And…I found that interesting. I don’t look particularly old, but I must have that mature air about me.

Nick seemed to be in awe of school leavers - quote, “it doesn’t mean shit if you’re a school leaver or a grad here”’; I do the same work, I’ve just been on the Earth for less time/don’t have a degree. 

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The food at our team breakfast was delicious.

Shakshuka - eggs baked in tomatoes, peppers and onions, topped with a creamy Arabic yoghurt and grilled bread. Absolutely sumptuous.

Nick also urged us to try the banana jam, I chose to eat it with cinnamon brioche. It was rather nice, even when your stomach is at 105% capacity.

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Shaheen remarked that she’s spent more time at the office than at home this week. Lol, same.

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I know, I know, I shouldn’t have. But when you see your name on someone’s Skype chat, you sneak a peek.

Shaunna was writing to Shaheen, and I only managed to see the first line, but that was enough; “I really love Deepa.”. Okay, if that isn’t a Friday treat, what is.

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Shaunna and I were poring over the population, trying several ways to get it to tie back. Rohit sent us a few more details and we finally got it to work. Past 5pm on a Friday, which was a bit annoying, but work isn’t all sunshine.

When it did work, I actually giggled. An exhilarated giggle. You don’t know how it’s been, just waiting for this work. And now we were finally able to send out the sample.

I hope Shaunna doesn’t think I’m too weird.

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Drinks were so fun. I didn’t go to uni, and my friends are currently there/not home, so work socials are the mainstay of my non-family social time. I got speaking to Aytaj and we eventually got round to speaking French; she’s learning it as a hobby and I studied it for a long time. She accidentally told me that she was 85, instead of 25, and fell into me laughing.

Yes, there were grammatical errors (too much on my part for my liking) but we managed to communicate, and connect over it.

So the team headed to Beer&Buns after work, just 2 mins from our office. Buns were delicious and far exceeded my expectations - the fried chicken one was t a s t y and the halloumi one was pretty good too. I had a margarita slushie, which just tasted a bit like flavoured ice tbh. 

But of course, I did have beer too. On two different occasions. Firstly, we played sake bomb. A shot of sake (rice wine) was balanced on chopsticks above a glass of beer. After chanting ‘sake, sake, sake’ you tap the table, sake shot falls through and you down it all. I came first - with Tom, as we did it by sub-team and we beat the other people playing. It’s been a long time since I’ve done shots, but I haven’t lost my touch haha.

Not so lucky for foosball…teamed up with Tom again, against Dave and Aytaj. It was going great; our winning strategy - for the majority of the game at least - was me in midfield/attack and Tom in defense. On the opposing team Aytaj was in defense, and Dave on attack. Each time you won a goal, the other team members had to have some beer as forfeit. That was some refreshing beer (as it ought to be, considering the name). We were a goal ahead, our strategy a winning one. Then we swapped…and lost. 

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Saturday

Listening to “TOOTIMETOOTIMETOOTIME”, as I must have done tens of times before, and suddenly I noticed an extra layer to the music. It just added something special. How had I missed it all this time? I love finding new things about songs that I love, like this. 

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I’ve never lived through a national crisis. My parents have had a few in India, and I wasn’t in the USA at the time of 9/11. Similarly, I was in India at the time of the riots in London. Watching this documentary about Princess Diana and her death, seeing the country I’m currently residing in grieving together…it’s hard stuff.

Shouldn’t speak too soon though, Brexit is yet to happen.

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I really should classify this as Sunday, considering it is past midnight, but it’s that time when you still haven’t slept for the night…so it’s the day before.

Pip has just asked me to do a favour and I respond with “sure, as long as it’s not right now.” Her reaction is amazing. I have a reputation for sleeping early and waking up early, and she is, quote, “shook”.

She’s asked me to have a look at her boyfriend’s business school application, and sure, I like Nico and ofc Pip is my best friend so I’m not going to say no. But not today.

Before I turn my phone off I look at the clock and decide to conduct an experiment. It’s 1:15am.

“It would be nice to be up at 7:15am,” I tell my body clock.

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Sunday

Up at 7:12am. This is interesting.

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How have I not heard this song before? True, I only found it because it happened to play in a YouTube ad before the music video I wanted to see started to play.

I was hooked from the outset. Hooked by the hook, one could say. Malamente means badly in Spanish, as I eventually learnt, but the music transcended the linguistic barriers. It felt like Rosalía’s voice (described as liquid velvet, which is an apt description imo) was trickling down my back, into my skin. I don’t know what she is singing but I fucking love the way she says it.

Can I go to Spain now, please?

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Started to revise for AA. This is a lot of material, folks.

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Started to review Nico’s work…and I’m in a bit of a dilemma. He’s got the content there, some really good examples. I’m no business school application specialist but it seems just a bit too verbose.

Pip didn’t rope me in to correct his grammar, just to be a fresh pair of finance-y eyes. But part of me can’t not suggest any edits, since some things have become more glaring each time I read his essay.

SO. I’ve just decided to suggest a few bits, little things that might make a few sentences classier/neaten up the structure and help disguise the fact that English isn’t his first language. There. That’s a happy middle and at least now I feel like I’ve done something.

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For some reason, I thought it would be nice to take a step back into my Tumblr archives. Found some nuggets (not pigeon ones, Matt…), I tell you.

It’s intriguing to see how I used to think two, four years ago. Reading my thoughts of years ago was refreshing. Some parts of me have changed, but I think the essence of me has been the same all along. 17 and 19 year old me, pouring out her heart(s) on Tumblr, was…honest.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 4

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 2702

Author’s Note: Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you. Thanks to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do. 

@thoughtslikeaminefield​ , I hope you still love this as much as the first time you read it. I know I do.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 4

Kimber knows she’s staring, but she can’t stop herself. His fingers, rough and strong from years of the hardest work, brush circles over her wrists that send her pulse fluttering through her veins. So many emotions flicker behind his eyes, some of them mirroring her own, some of them alien and unreadable. So many years have passed, so much water under the bridge, as the saying goes. 

The thing is, he was completely right earlier. She could have called him, once she learned who he and his family were, once she found a way.

But he had left town with her phone number memorized. He was in a much more logical position to get in touch, and right away, at that. And he never did. She knows he had a good reason, a completely reasonable one that would make sense if she just asked him.

But she’s scared and drained and confused and more than a little ashamed, and she’s tired of making a fool of herself.

She drops her eyes before the tears fully form and murmurs a quiet thanks as she loosens her hands from his grip. Though walking away is not what she wants to do, she forces her legs straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a firm click. 

She’ll feel better after a hot shower. That’s all she needs, a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. They’ll figure this out tomorrow, and then Dean and his brother will ride off into the sunset, and everything will go back to normal. She’ll go back to her classes as usual, helping out the occasional hunter or scholar with some lore, and she’ll bury all these feelings behind her heart again, drown them so deep they’ll never dream of resurfacing.

At least, that’s the fairy tale she tells herself as the scalding stream washes the saltwater from her cheeks. 

She actually does feel moderately restored by the time she steps out of the bathroom. She feels a little ridiculous in Dean’s clothing. The sleeves of the t-shirt hang past her elbows, and the pants legs are rolled up several times to keep her from tripping. 

At least the waist has a drawstring, she thinks as she rounds the corner back into the room. She pulls the towel from her hair, shaking it out a little just as Dean looks up from his laptop at the small table. His mouth opens, eyes widening. She’s not sure because of the poor lighting of the room, but his face seems to color a little as his eyebrows lift.

She is suddenly, acutely aware that she did not put her bra back on when getting dressed in his white t-shirt that is probably not nearly as thin as it feels.

Dean clears his throat, turning back to his computer, swallowing whatever comments have entered his mind. Kimber can’t decide whether to laugh or blush even harder and settles for the third option of hanging her office clothes up so they can air out a little before tomorrow. 

With nothing else to do, she drops onto the edge of the bed gracelessly, feeling every minute of the last few weeks catching up with her. Uncertainty and fear claw at her, ripping away what little defenses she has left. The image of the mutilated doll flashes before her eyes, red paint splashed luridly on her favorite comforter. Her lungs clench, and she sags on the mattress. 

She presses her fingers hard against her face. Acid burns at the back of her throat, bitter and biting. Her fingernails are just beginning to dig into her scalp when she registers the click of the laptop closing. Half a moment passes, then the bed dips beside her. 

She doesn’t consciously decide to move; her body simply molds itself to his side as Dean slides his arm around her back. He turns into the embrace, his other arm gathering her tightly against him. His cheek comes to rest on top of her head. The silence between them is the comfort she needs, his warmth and solidity the anchor that keeps her from drifting too far into panic.

When he finally speaks, his words rumble through her nerves, settling heavy and soothing in her chest.

“We’re gonna get this son of a bitch, Kimber. I’m sorry they got into your house, but I’m glad I was with you. I…” She rises gently with his deep inhalation, pressed as she is against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

She hears what he isn’t saying, and her hands drop from her face, her arms slipping around his middle as her eyes close.

“Me, too, Dean.”

...

“That pumpkin pie was somethin’ else,” Dean murmured. His arms were folded behind his head as he stretched out on top of Kimber’s bedspread. He crossed his ankles, settling in like he belonged there. His thin t-shirt stretched across his wiry frame, jeans lying enticingly low on his hips, and she could just see a glimpse of pink toe through a hole in one of his socks.

A pleasant, off-balancing thrill skipped down Kimber’s spine, twirling through her stomach and making her head spin a little. Dean’s jacket was hung carefully on her desk chair, his boots lined up on the floor underneath, and his button-up overshirt folded neatly on the desk.

Her parents had gone to bed long ago, and she had snuck Dean in the back door. After their exhilarating but chilled stroll that afternoon, she’d decided against the treehouse. Dean had been amused but willing, although he’d had one stipulation that had nearly made her laugh aloud.

“We get caught and your folks kick me out, you’re bringing me your mom’s leftovers to school every day for breakfast. I’m not missin’ out on home cooking just because you can’t stand to be away from me.”

Now, seeing him so comfortable on her bed, like he just belonged...Kimber knew the smile on her face was on the goofier end of sappy, but she couldn’t help it. He was just so damned…

“Cute,” he said, smirking up at her. “I know what you’re thinking. And I’m not cute. I’m adorable.”

She sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation. “Fine, you’re gorgeous, adorable, vital, the absolute most. Now close your eyes so I can change.” Smirk still firmly in place, Dean dutifully closed his eyes. She knew, despite the short time she’d known him, that she could trust Dean to keep his eyes shut.

She spent a few seconds regretting the lack of any silky, dramatic nightgowns or cute, sexy little matching pajama sets. Oh, well; couldn’t have everything. She stripped quickly, tossing her school clothes into the hamper and slipping on her “Aaahh!!! Real Monsters” t-shirt. Thick socks and plaid pajama pants completed her night ensemble. 

That she had just been naked (however unseen said nakedness had been) in front of Dean Winchester had not escaped her. She licked her lips, cheeks warm, and turned slowly back to the bed. He lay still, chest rising and falling steadily, and she marveled, not for the first time, that he was here, in her room. Just for her.

Her pulse jumped, her lungs tightened, and for just a second, Kimber panicked.

“You can, uh...you can open your eyes. I’m gonna go brush my teeth; I’ll be right back.”

She fled silently down the hallway, brushed her teeth in record time, and then stared in the mirror. Her hair was just her hair, nothing amazing or horrifying; no point trying to fix that before bed. Maybe…make-up?

“Kimber. What the hell?” she muttered. “You’re not seducing him, just be cool. Jeez. You can’t wear make-up to bed.”

She splashed cold water on her face, scrubbing her skin dry with a hand towel more forcefully than necessary. She gave her reflection another once-over and took a deep breath.

“You’re his choice, too,” she reminded herself. “Just chill.”

She found him exactly as she’d left him, completely relaxed on the bed, eyes still closed. She thought for a moment that he might have fallen asleep. Kimber wasn’t sure if she felt more disappointment or relief.

“You left in a little bit of a hurry,” he murmured, eyes still closed, and she started. “Everything okay?” She almost put him off, could feel the brush-off on her lips, but his eyes slid open, pinning her on the spot. She got the eerie sense that he would know, that he already knew she was trying to put on a front, and she deflated a little.

“I’m nervous,” she finally admitted. The heat in her cheeks turned up a few degrees, spreading down her neck, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. “I’ve never...snuck a guy to my room before. I just...this is mostly new to me, but with you, I want...I don’t know.”

Without a word, Dean slid from the bed and crossed the room, his mesmerizing eyes never leaving hers. He stopped a few feet away and waited, his arms open. With the bed suddenly out of the equation, Kimber felt a hidden knot of anxiety untie in her chest. 

She let out a breath and stepped into his embrace, her arms circling his waist in a way that felt easy and right. Dean’s lips pressed a warming kiss to the crown of her head. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “This is your room, your space, but even if it wasn’t-” He paused, leaning back and brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Kimber, look at me.”

She did, and his earnest expression left no room to doubt his next words. It barely left room for breathing.

“ ‘M not here to make you feel uncomfortable or scared. I’m here because you want me to be. The second that stops, the second I make you feel something you don’t want, that’s it. Period. Does that work for you?”

His eyes, so plaintive and weathered in that moment, cut right to her heart. Never in her life had Kimber felt so safe, so protected, and so very sad. She couldn’t think of any words that lived up to the magnitude of what Dean had just said, so she simply squeezed him tighter, pressing her face against the side of his neck. 

“Can you stay?” she asked. She knew he had obligations, probably needed to get back to his brother or at least check in with his dad. She felt terribly selfish in her warm, safe house with her parents right down the hall. Still, she asked. 

“Yeah, I can stay for a while.” His smile, soft and open, laid her doubts to rest. They settled onto the bed, fumbling a little awkwardly to find a position they both liked. There was some bumping, mumbled apologies, until they finally sorted out a comfortable twist of limbs that didn’t set her heart beating out of her ribs or threaten to cut off blood flow to anything important. 

She relaxed by increments, her cheek resting on his collarbone. He hugged her close with his left arm, his right hand combing slowly through her hair over and over. The silence settled around them like a second blanket, soothing and heavy.

“What do you want to do when you finish school, Kimber? College?”

“Probably,” she murmured. “I don’t know specifically, but I like research.”

He snorted, and she poked him in the side.

“Shut up, you jerk, I do. And I like sharing the information. I like helping people. I don’t really want to be a teacher, but maybe I can find something where I can do all of that.”

Dean resumed combing her hair, having paused when she poked him, and they settled a little more closely together.

“Dean?”

“Mmm?”

She blinked slowly, sleep pulling at her eyelids. Her thoughts spun out languidly, losing their urgency as his warmth seeped through the thin fabric of her pajamas. 

“How about you?”

His answer came quickly, rehearsed and without thought. “Join the family business. Dad’s been training me for years. Don’t have a lotta choice, but I know I’ll be good at it. Was raised for it.”

Her fingers crept up, her eyes staying closed for longer and longer periods between blinks. She slid her thumb over his chin, just brushing the line of his bottom lip before sliding slowly up his jaw. 

His words weren’t emotionless, but they were automatic. There was so much he never said, and she hated to push him, afraid he would just leave or shut down, but…

“But what do you want?” She persisted, drowsiness interfering with her usual restraint. “Who do you want to be?”

He was silent for so long, she nearly gave in to fatigue. She drifted on the edge of unconsciousness, fingers stroking through the silky strands of hair behind his ears. She felt his face turn, his lips press against her wrist.

“I want...this,” he said. Even half-asleep, she couldn’t mistake the raw longing behind his words. “I want...I want to work a boring, regular job and come home to someone who missed me all day as much as I missed her. I want my kids to cannonball into my legs so hard they knock me over. I want…”

His words choked off, and she stilled her fingers against his cheek, waiting for him to continue.

“I want a house. No...I...when I was little, Dad would come home, and he would just...sweep Mom up sometimes, swing her around, when they weren’t fighting. Even when they were, he’d do it sometimes anyway just to get her to laugh.”

She felt his face shift beneath her hand, but his smile didn’t feel quite right, and she moved closer. His arm tightened around her back, and he smoothed the palm of his free hand down to cup her jaw.

“I want a home. I want to be a dad, a husband. I want a family.”

She felt childish, shallow next to the depth of his simple declaration. Dean wanted what she had, what she took for granted every day of her life. This was the first time he’d spoken of his mother, and though curiosity burned hot inside her, she didn’t dare ask further questions, afraid she’d break the spell of the moment.

Dean’s voice dropped until she could feel it more than hear it, his lips pressing softly against her forehead.

“I want to come home and hold someone until I fall asleep every night. I want to wake up to her and know that my whole day, every day, is gonna be just that, all over again.”

She lifted her face to his then, and in the darkness of her bedroom she could only just make out the barest lines of his features. Their noses brushed, his hand gently pulling at the back of her head, and their lips met. His cheek was damp under her fingertips, and her heart clenched. 

She pulled his head down, brushing her lips over the tears trickling down his cheekbones more by feel than by sight. Both his arms came around her then, pulling her against his chest as he buried his face in his hair. They breathed together, memorizing each others’ scents, heartbeats, rhythms as the night crept by. 

The moment didn’t pass so much as gradually relax until Kimber felt him shift beneath her, smoothly sliding her off his chest and down to the pillows. He kissed her temple, and her face automatically turned to his, chasing his lips. She felt him chuckle against her mouth.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I gotta go. Need to check on Sammy, make sure he got dinner, did his homework, all that mess. I’ll see you tomorrow. Walk you to school?”

She nodded, humming her agreement even as she blindly reached for him. Something soft brushed against her fingers, and she automatically pulled it down, cuddling against the fabric. 

“Hold onto that for me. I’ll get it back from you sometime.” She felt a kiss press to her forehead, and then the click of her door closing. She breathed in, Dean’s scent surrounding her as she slipped under again, his button-up shirt pillowed under her cheek and tangled in her fingers. 

…

To Be Continued...

[chelsfic]

Chapter 4/18 - Safety - Bucky Barnes x OC Soulmate AU

Masterlist

Summary: Soulmate AU! Bucky/OFC. Our soulmarks appear at the moment of our soulmate’s birth. The Asset’s mark appears in the Spring of 1987. The words imprinted into the skin of his forearm. “Please! Don’t hurt me…”

A/N: I wrote this fic over the course of 2017-2018 and it was originally published on AO3. Recently, I decided to do some light revisions in order to fix inconsistencies in the POV, some awkward diction and typos. Please note–I’m aware that a lot of people love this fic just as it is. This is not a rewrite, I won’t be changing major plot points and I’m purposely leaving most of the writing alone. Just sprucing it up. Since I wrote this before I started posting fic to Tumblr, I decided to take the opportunity of posting the revised chapters here as I edit them. If you got to the end of this A/N: thank you!!!

Warnings: Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Eventual happy ending

---

The Soldier leaped nimbly down the fire escape, his arm clamped firmly around the girl’s legs, securing her over his shoulder. He heard her let out little huffs of breath with each bump along the way and felt her hands desperately clutching the back of his jacket for security.

“Hey! You...oh, god, I don’t even know your name! You can’t just haul me off wherever you please. I’m a person!” she shouted into his back but he ignored her, hitting the pavement of the alley behind the apartment building and sprinting to the vehicle parked inside it’s entrance. 

She caught sight of the car as he swung her forward, opened the rear driver’s side seat and moved to stuff her inside. “Oh, no you don’t!” she struggled against him rather pathetically. The soldier felt a flare of aggravation and his instincts were screaming at him to just knock her out and be done with it. But the very thought of trying to hurt her sent a strike of pain through his chest and he ignored the instinct. It only took a few extra seconds to stuff her inside without violence and slam the door shut. Kind of like stuffing a prank snake back inside the peanut jar. 

Where the hell had that come from?

The Soldier shook his head as if shooing an annoying fly before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. He carefully pulled the car out of the alley and accelerated down the street. He heard the girl huffing and puffing in the back seat and glanced at her in the rear view mirror. She buckled her seat belt and folded her arms across her chest in an obviously defensive posture, turning her head to stare out the window and avoiding his gaze. He pointed his eyes back to the road and, after a moment, heard the tiniest sniffle from the back seat. His blood froze in his veins. Was she…? The Winter Soldier was not programmed to comfort damsels in distress. And the tiny secret self that still lived inside his head was horrified to contemplate that he’d made his soulmate cry.

---

Sophie sat in the back seat of the car, clutching her arms over her chest and trying to suppress the burning edge of tears that threatened to cap off this exceptionally horrid couple of days. She couldn’t stop the tiny sniffle and noticed that the man’s shoulders seemed to stiffen at the sound. She felt a constricting in her chest and the brush of his emotions against hers. Guilt. Well...good.

He should feel guilty. For manhandling her...for basically kidnapping her! She’d spent years pondering the nature of the words written on her skin and never once had she considered that the real danger might be from her soulmate himself.

“Where are we going?” she asked. He ignored her, removing a slim phone from the side pocket of his cargo pants and making a call. Sophie tried to burn laser vision holes through the back of his head while he waited for whoever he was calling to pick up.

Finally he spoke in that deep emotionless voice of his, “Target acquired….yes.” 

He hung up.

Excuse me?! 

“Um...did you just say ‘target acquired’? Referring to me? I’m a target?”

He glanced at her in the rear view mirror again. “You are...my soulmate.”

“Yes...I am!” she said with some indignation. “Why did you call me a target? Who were you talking to? Where are you taking me?”

Sophie watched as his face tensed in annoyance. Apparently he wasn’t used to people questioning him. Well...get used to it bud, I’m your true love. She felt humiliation as the tears she’d been trying to suppress suddenly spilled over. It was just too much. She’d been caught up in a gunfight, interrogated, and kidnapped by a man who was supposed to be her soulmate. She fell against the car door and sobbed angrily.

“You’re-you’re supposed to be a hero! That’s what the words mean, don’t they? You’re supposed to save me not kidnap me!”

His gloved hands tightened on the steering wheel and she felt the car accelerate even faster.

---

“You will present the target to your handlers at base 7-9, confirm.”

“...Yes.”

Base 7-9 . The Winter Soldier knew that location. He’d delivered many targets there for Hydra over the years. Located outside of D.C. it would be about a 5 hour drive. It was...a conditioning facility. A place they took valuable assets to break their will and place them under Hydra’s control. He’d personally assisted in...converting assets to Hydra. It was never a pleasant process. While the girl broke down in the back seat the soldier sat in silence, but inside he was experiencing a fury of pain and emotion. He wasn’t made for this. He wasn’t supposed to feel. But the bond with this girl wouldn’t allow his programming to suppress his feelings as usual. Instead his programming raged against the sudden tumult inside him. He felt like his head would explode but he continued driving. He needed...to think. He needed time to think.

He drove on until they made it to the city limits, finally getting on the highway for a few miles before stopping at the first available motel. When he’d neglected to respond to her hysterics the girl had settled down in the back seat. But he could still hear the ragged edge of her breathing indicating that she was crying and trying to be quiet about it. Again he felt the sour taste of guilt in his mouth. His life was suddenly more complicated than it had ever been. He pulled off the highway, parking the car at the very rear of the lot and killing the ignition. He took out his phone again and tapped at the screen.

Message: Stopping for the night. ETA: 1300

A response appeared almost immediately.

Message: Negative. Proceed directly to 7-9. Confirm.

The Asset stared at the screen for several seconds. The fingers of his metal hand tightening around the phone. The muscles in his back and shoulders went rigid with stress. When he felt the feather light touch of the girl’s finger tips brush his arm he very nearly startled. He turned his head slightly. Sophie had slid forward in the back seat and was leaning into the space between the front seats. She stared up at him, locking eyes. He took in her face, red from crying, her blue eyes looked glassy and tired. She stared at him with a sad kind of hope. It made him feel...awful. She didn’t speak, just looked at him.

The soldier cleared his throat, “We’re stopping for the night.” He powered down the cell phone and returned it to his pocket. 

Sophie glanced at the glowing sign for the motel and let out a shaky breath, “Okay. On our way to...where?”

“Let’s get inside first.” He opened his door and shifted in his seat to get out of the car. 

“Wait,” she hadn’t moved from her position. “What is your name? You’re my soulmate and I don’t even know your name.”

The soldier sat there for a long time, his brows furrowed in confusion. “I...I don’t have one.”

“What do you mean you don’t have one? Everyone has a name.”

“Not me. Let’s go.”

Tagged:

@watsonwise​

[whereisthefood123]

Previews, For whom do you stand for?

So I’ve been re-reading ‘For whom do you stand for?’ And I must say that I thought I was gonna feel the strong need to edit everything!

Now I’m surprised to see that I only want to make small changes in grammar and flow of the story.

Epilogues are almost done! Should be done soon if I set myself to write down for a couple hours more. I will need to revise them though hehe.

I’m thinking on editing the story (doing those small grammar changes) before posting the epilogues, so just hang on a little while.

Still! I will give you a preview of both epilogues! This goes for @jadeoccelot and @shadowtsukiyo who were the first ones to support me with this story and had showed me an incredible amount of patience. So thank you guys! And this is for you! (The previews wiill be under the ‘Keep reading’ link so I don’t spoil anything about the story to other readers)

[Haven’t read ‘For whom do you stand for?’ yet? Here is Chapter 1 on tumblr and here you can find the rest of the story through Ffnet]

Epilogue 1 (Have you met__?) Around 6k prior editing

“Well, I’m part of Fairy Tail, aren’t I? We’re all a little crazy.” Levy laughter was an amazing sound that Gajeel could never grow tired of hearing.

“Isn’t she something else, eh?” A foreign male voice said and surprised even Gajeel. His dragon slayer’s senses didn’t alert him about someone approaching them. This man had somehow made it to their table, sneaked behind Levy and was now leaning down so his chin was resting on top of Levy’s blue head, with his hands on her shoulders.

And nobody had even notice this until he spoke.

This man, still standing on his feet, looked like he was doubled over just to be this close to Levy, much to Gajeel’s discomfort. The iron dragon slayer growled menacingly and glared at the man in question.

Even Levy hadn’t noticed this man until she felt the sudden weight of his head and hands on her. She looked up (as much as she could, since the man was still pressing his chin on her head) to see who he was. He gave her some sense of security and she wondered if she might have met him before to be feeling this way. But when she saw his face that thought went out the window and she started to creep out by his proximity.

“Hey~” He said in a singsong voice as he looked down with a raised eyebrow and grinned at her, flashing his elongated canines mischievously.

Everyone looked at the man in confusion, trying to decipher if he was perhaps an acquaintance of Levy.

“EHH!?” Levy’s screech was all Gajeel needed to know the man wasn’t Levy’s friend so he stood up in a quick move and pushed rather forcefully the man away from the solid script mage.

Jet and Droy also stood up quickly and placed themselves between the unknown man and Levy, who had turned around in her seat to have a better sight of the stranger.

“Who the heck are you?!” Jet demanded and raised his fists angrily, ready to defend his friend.

At Jet’s right, Droy also raised his fists in a defensive way against the stranger. “Yeah weirdo! What the heck is wrong with you?!”

To Jet’s left, Gajeel was standing tall, chest puffed out to make himself look bigger, with a scowl in his face and crossed arms in front of his chest. His entire posture screamed out ‘you dare to come near her and I’ll bite your head off’.

The rest of the Fairy Tail mages were paying close attention to the man, to see if he was friend or foe and what could his intentions might be. They were ready in case he tried to do something that could be considered unfriendly-like.

With her friends as her first line of defence, Levy allowed herself to inspect the man in question a little more carefully, trying to give an explanation to the sudden sense of security he was transmitting to her.

He was a tall tan man, perhaps as tall as Gajeel but not as broad. Still, he looked well-built with his muscles showing on his bare arms as he flexed them and placed them nonchalantly behind his head. His light grey hair was messy, strands standing here and there, long enough to reach just below his ears and to cover his forehead, stopping just below his eyebrows. The tiniest ponytail poked out below his right ear. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt with a navy blue casual vest that looked a little too worn out, same as his brown pants and boots.

Levy noticed that even when Gajeel pushed the man with a little too much force, if you ask her, he just took a couple steps back but didn’t stumble in the slightest and seemed unfazed by the sudden hostility of the three male mages standing in front of him threateningly. He was standing with his arms behind his head, leaning on one leg while casually crossing one of his feet behind the other one.

Something caught Levy’s attention and she narrowed her gaze on the man’s right forearm. There was a small engraving that looked like a tattoo in hazel hue but wasn’t any guild mark she could recognize. Instead, it resembled a rune character.

The man saw her inspecting his forearm and smirked playfully. “What? Only one day and you don’t recognize me anymore. Eh, little one?” he said the last part in a language that Levy had only heard once, and coincidentally that occasion occurred the day before.

She stood up as quick as her injuries allowed her to and pushed Jet and Gajeel out of her way to get closer to the man.

“Hey, Levy!” Jet protested but she didn’t stop until she was just one step away from the stranger.

The man’s expression changed to one of curiosity as he saw Levy inspecting his features.

Due to the height difference, Levy tilted her head backwards to have a good look at him. Her big hazel eyes seemed to be analysing every little detail on the man’s face. She knew she had seen this man before and now that she heard him speaking Draconic, she was mostly certain about the man’s identity, but it couldn’t be true, could it? It was just impossible.

Then, she noticed his eyes. Emerald-green.

Of course. She thought and her eyes widened in realization and a smile appeared on her face.

“Ampago?” she questioned with barely contained excitement.

Epilogue 2 (Dragons from the Eclipse Door) At 3.5k rn with still so much to write down.

“Levy, we need to keep moving” Kinana said as the solid script mage remained standing on the edge of the hill, watching the city with fearful eyes. It wasn’t fair. Most of her nakama were in the war zone, fighting for their future, and here she was, running away from the battle.

Just like a coward…

“Penny for your thoughts?” It was Ampago who asked after several moments of silence from the bluenette. He stood behind her, contemplating the remains of Crocus while keeping a sharp eye for any incoming attacks.

“It’s not fair…” she said in a low voice

“War is never fair nor pretty” He stated matter-of-factly as he stepped beside the solid script mage.

“There must be something we can do… something I can do...” She tightened her fists in frustration, her fingernails dug into her palms from the effort.

“There is.” Ampago said and she looked up at him with concern in her eyes. He understood her unspoken question.

But what about the citizens?

He vaguely pointed back with his thumb to the group of mages from different guilds that had helped getting the people out of town. “They can keep up from here. Let’s get back and look for your boys.” He grinned trying to look unfazed by the situation but his emerald eyes showed seriousness and a hint of precaution to what they were about to face.

Levy nodded in agreement. Then, she turned around and walked to Kinana “We’ll head back. Please, get everyone as far away as you can and be safe.” She said with determination glinting in her hazel eyes.

“Levy…” Kinana was about to argue against her going back to the war zone, but just one look into the solid script determined expression convinced her against it. She nodded then and squared her shoulders. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe.” Ampago said nonchalantly when he stepped beside Levy. He jerked his head in the direction of the city and Levy nodded in acknowledgement. They started to jog towards the city and once they had put a fair distance between them and the fleeting citizens, Levy casted the spell for Ampago to transform into his dragon form.

She quickly climbed to the back of his head and together they soared to the sky in no time looking for the three male mages that had Levy incredibly worried

Thank you everyone!! 

WTF (Where’s The Food?)

[rinzi]

so this is just the beginning bit, and knowing my schedule, it’ll be months before i finish and upload this fic. but this is what i’ve started working on. it’s not s/tydia, despite lydia’s part in this. my intent is that it be an alpha!stiles steter fic. idk how much this scene will or won’t change in revision later

edit: idk how even the formatting did that im sorry. i copy/pasted a word doc. how does that do weird?

Stiles tapped his long fingers against the dash and watched the sun set even though it hurt his eyes.

"How soon after we get into town do you think we meet the monster of the week?" he asked with a sidelong glance at Lydia. Their monsters tended to last months, but he didn't dictate the language; he just used it. 

"I'm sure they'll give you five minutes to catch up with your dad first," she answered with a shorter glance, opting to squint at the road against the low sun. Its light made her strawberry blonde hair look like fire.

As far as Stiles knew, Beacon Hills had been villain-free since his last visit over summer break. It couldn't last. They'd been through quiet periods before. Eventually, something always went bump in the night.

"Five bucks says we don't finish dinner," Stiles said, not because he wanted something to fight, but because he could barely imagine his home town without monsters anymore. The nemeton drew in peaceful and violent monsters equally.

Lydia sighed. Stiles got the feeling she'd be giving him a look if she weren't driving. She had seen as many monsters as he, though she learned of them later. Stiles figured it balanced out since she was one of them, a banshee who could predict death and fight with her screams.

Dark clouds rolled in from behind them. They'd traveled with the storm for over a day now, and in under an hour, they'd ride into town with it like the Wild Hunt come back to claim the town that fought it off.

Lydia's eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror and back to the road ahead. She had the sun visor pulled down even though it couldn't help with the sun touching the horizon.

Stiles picked at the texture of the dash and tried not to ask what he really wanted to. Lydia had told him to stop, but it picked at his brain more persistently than his fingers did the dash. He switched back tot tapping.

"I still think we should mention it." He grimaced. "Not it it, just... well, sort of it, but just so they don't get the wrong idea."

"You promised you wouldn't be weird about it," Lydia chastised.

"This isn't weird. You've seen me weird." They'd known each other for years. Lydia had seen him beyond weird.

"It's not their business," she reminded him.

"What if they notice all on their own? They'll make it weird." Stiles wasn't sure how powerful werewolf noses were, not really. How long did a scent take to fade? Could chemosignals give away something their physical scents didn't?

"There's nothing to notice," Lydia assured him. "It was fun, but we agreed it's not happening again, not in town especially."

"What if Scott thinks we're dating and tries to be encouraging?" Stiles asked. "Do you know how happy he gets when he thinks I have a date? I've stopped telling him entirely."

"Is that why I have to listen to you pine after baristas, librarians, random passing strangers...?"

"Maybe." Stiles pouted.

"If Scott tries to say something, which he won't because he won't notice, we invite him to a threesome," she said matter-of-factly.

Stiles sputtered.

"That's exactly how Scott will react," Lydia said.

Stiles laughed. "If he agrees once he recovers, I'm down."

"Somehow, I'm not sur—" she broke off with a scream and slammed on the brakes.

The tires screeched. A man stood dark in the road against the last sliver of sunlight. His eyes glowed red. The sound of his roar drowned out the screech of tires but not the smack of the car hitting his body. The hood crunched inward. The werewolf flew back. The airbag punched Stiles in the face and block his view of the man landing.

Stiles fumbled at his seatbelt and grabbed his backpack and metal bat from the floor behind his seat. He scrambled out of the car.

"Are you okay?" he asked, though he slipped the bag onto his back and held the bat ready, just in case.

The alpha roared.

"I have healing herbs if you need them."

Lydia reached Stiles and dug through the backpack.

Stiles added, "Also not-healing herbs, but I'd rather—"

The wolf charged.

Lydia flung a handful of ground wolfsbane in his face and pulled Stiles back.

"I guess you don't want healing," Stiles said because he wasn't sure how to shut his mouth with his nerves going haywire.

The alpha looked like he needed healing whether he wanted it or not. Black veins stood out against his skin. His eyes were wide with more than rage and twitched manically in all directions. The sun had set, but by the light of Lydia's headlights, Stiles saw black veins running through the werewolf's eyes too.

The wolf tried to lunge again. Lydia screamed. The force of her voice pushed the alpha back. He pressed forward. Several paces away, they reached a stalemate, but Lydia would have to breathe soon.

Stiles dug out the mountain ash from his bag and threw down a circle to trap the werewolf. The alpha crashed against the barrier. Stiles felt the impact like tremors after an earthquake.

"What happened to you?" Stiles asked. "Do you need help?" He thought the alpha was frenzied, not attacking because he wanted to but because he had been driven beyond what he could handle consciously. If he was lucky, talking, offering to help, might calm him down.

"Is it poison?" Lydia asked as she eyed the alpha's veins. "I've never heard of disease that affects werewolves."

Stiles had small batches of the nine herbs separated out in his bag. He held one up. "Would this help?"

The alpha growled.

"Dude, we're in the know, and we can tell something's wrong. We'd rather help than fight," Stiles said.

"I don't think he can help himself." Lydia pointed to the alpha's mouth.

He had begun foaming at the mouth. It was marbled with inky black saliva. He smashed against the ash barrier. The ground shook. Stiles stumbled to his knees. With the next impact, the barrier broke.

Lydia screamed too late.

The alpha's teeth sank into Stiles' neck.

Lydia's scream tore the alpha from Stiles, taking part of his throat with him. Hot blood poured down Stiles' torso. He stood. He lifted his bat.

"Stiles," Lydia said, a warning, a question, a plea.

The alpha roared, but Stiles was too newly-bitten to have turned yet. His roar couldn't force Stiles to shift or fight. Stiles swung his bat against the alpha's face. It connected with a sickening crunch.

Stiles hadn't wanted the bite. He turned it down years ago.

The alpha pushed himself back up. Stiles swung again.

If Stiles had wanted to be a werewolf, every alpha Beacon Hills had would have given him the bite. He didn't want it.

The alpha set it's hand against the ground. Stiles smashed the bat against the back of its head to keep it down.

Stiles survived as a human for years. He got out of Beacon Hills. He went to college. He was set to enter the FBI training program after he graduated. And now he got bitten by a random, sick alpha. Not one of his friends, just some guy standing in the road.

Stiles smashed his bat down again, though the alpha hadn't showed any sign of getting back up.

"Stiles," Lydia whispered.

He kicked the alpha over and crushed his teeth. He swung his bat until, instead of a crunch, he heard a squelch.

"He's dead, Stiles. Please stop."

Stiles dropped the bat. He thought there was something he should say. Something he should do. Something he shouldn't have done.

He looked at the alpha's smashed in face and tried to feel regret. He was supposed to help people. He wanted to help people. He wanted to be better than this.

But he wasn't. The dead alpha's blood covered his bat. It had sprayed out over Stiles to coat his face, chest, arms, even his legs.

"I did this." Stiles dropped to his knees.

This wasn't the first time he killed, but the other had been half-accident. He had dropped scaffolding on Donovan, and a pipe impaled him. A long time later, Scott told Stiles the lie Theo gave about how Stiles killed Donovan, the lie that made Scott believe Stiles had gone too far.

It had looked like this.

Lydia knelt beside him. Her voice was breathlessly thin when she said, "You weren't just destroying his teeth."

Stiles opened his mouth but couldn't say anything.

Lydia pressed something against the side of his neck where the alpha bit him. She said, "The blood of red, not black. That's good."

When Stiles spoke, his voice shook, "Is Scott in town yet?"

"Not until tomorrow. Malia will be in the next day." She paused. "I should call your dad."

"What about Liam?" He and Hayden should both be in town. Corey and Theo too, though as chimera's Stiles thought they'd be less helpful. Peter was around somewhere, but he was a born wolf, not bitten.

"There's nothing he can do. The change takes time, right? Nothing will happen tonight." She looked back at the alpha. "We should take care of... everything else first."

They couldn't just leave the body. Forensic evidence would point back to them once it was found. The man had been hit by Lydia's car, taken a bite out of Stiles' neck, and been beaten to death with Stiles' bat. Stiles was covered in both their blood.

"Parrish could burn it," Stiles said.

"Deaton may be able to find what's wrong with him," Lydia said. "He bit you. What if he transmitted whatever was making him sick too?"

"The longer the body survives, the higher the chance of it being found. I can't..." He took in a shaking breath. "I can't claim self defense for this. It wouldn't hold up in court, not the way I... I..." He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. "We have to destroy the evidence."

"It was self defense," Lydia said.

"Does it look like self defense?" Stiles asked. "It doesn't to me. It won't to a jury."

"You won't face a jury," Lydia assured him. "Your dad is the sheriff, and we can destroy the body after Deaton performs an autopsy as easily as before."

Stiles ran his hands over his face. The motion was slick with blood.

Lydia pulled her phone from her purse and dialed. She set her free hand against Stiles' arm to calm him as she waited.

"Can anyone hear us?" she asked. "This is... private." She listened a moment and said, "I hit a werewolf with my car. He bit Stiles, and Stiles killed him. We need help." She was on the phone a while longer, saying where they were and answering a barrage of questions.

Stiles wiped his hands off on the back of his jeans and slipped his own phone from his pocket. He peeled off a wad of napkins Lydia had used to stop the blood flow and used the front-facing camera to study the bite. He took a picture, not sure if he would want record of the wound or not.

There was a gouge missing from his neck. Scrape marks along the edge marked the path of the alpha's teeth. It was too much of a bloodied mess to clearly see the muscle and sinew laid bare. It moved when he swallowed. Stiles barely felt it.

"I think I'm in shock," he said. He was supposed to feel it.

Lydia pet his hair and promised to make everything alright.

"He bit me," Stiles spat. "I never wanted to be a werewolf."

"I know," Lydia said. He'd never told her outright, but if he'd wanted it, all he would have had to do was ask.

"I didn't..." Stiles looked at the blood on his hands and arms, the streaks left on his phone despite his attempts to wipe his hands. "I think I'm angry, but I don't feel it. I didn't think about what I was doing. I just did it."

"I killed Valack," Lydia reminded him. He'd been nearby, though at a safe distance when it happened. She hadn't been herself. "You're not the only one."

"You couldn't have done anything else," Stiles insisted.

"Neither could you. Mountain ash didn't hold him, and he was trying to kill you, not bite you."

"We could have tried to herbs."

"How?"

"I had him down on the ground. We could have given him the herbs before he got up."

"Could we?" Lydia frowned. "He was an alpha, Stiles. He might have healed faster than we could move. We might have died in trying to save him instead of ourselves."

It was kind of Lydia to talk like this was something they did together. Maybe, given her power, it was something she let him do, but Stiles had done it himself.

"Look at him," Stiles ordered. "I didn't just kill him. I didn't just stop him from killing us." Stiles struggled to breathe. "I obliterated his face."

Lydia froze, staring at Stiles, not at what he'd done. Stiles felt it then, the heat behind his eyes. They were glowing like a transformed wolf's. He lifted a blood-smeared hand to see his claws.

Gently, Lydia pushed his hand back down out of sight. With her other hand, she turned his head to look her in the eye.

She said, "It must be faster because you killed him. You're an alpha."

"I don't have an anchor. I don't have a plan." Stiles tried to dim his eyes, but they only blazed stronger. He couldn't make the claws retract.

"You're shifted, but you haven't attacked me," Lydia said. "You're still in control."

"For how long?" Stiles growled. The vibration rumbled through his chest and throat.

"You can't hurt me," Lydia said.

"I could hurt my dad."

"Parrish and Deaton are coming with him. I think the group of us can handle one baby werewolf, even an alpha." Lydia sounded calmer than she smelled.

"I can't risk it," Stiles snarled. As fangs, his teeth fit together differently when he clenched them.

"The wolfsbane you brought. Could any of it put you to sleep?" Lydia asked, grabbing Stiles' backpack off the street.

Stiles flinched back from the bag, from the scent of poison wafting from it.

"Stiles, focus. Can any of this knock you out?"

"Green baggie." He bit his lip but stopped when his fang pierced it. "Make sure I'm away from humans when I wake up."

"I will," Lydia promised. She tossed the wolfsbane in his face.

Stiles sneezed and stumbled back with a snarl. "I'm still awake."

He grabbed the rest of the wolfsbane from Lydia's hand and tossed it aside with a roar. Blood welled on his fingers where his claws had raked a path across her skin.

"I have to leave," Stiles said, staring at her blood.

"Wait." Lydia stretched her injured hand toward him. "You... your phone. It'll die. Take your battery pack."

"Who would I call?"

"Scott will be here tomorrow, and he can help."

"I'm not one of his betas," Stiles growled, surprised at his own anger.

"A pack can have more than one alpha. We've seen it before." She reached into Stiles' bag.

Lydia lifted her hand from the bag and hurled ash at him instead of a battery pack. Stiles roared, but his voice couldn't displace ash. He hurled himself forward and crashed against the barrier. It gave slightly when he hit it.

"Let me go!" he screamed. His voice was deep and filled with inhuman vibration.

"We can figure this out together, Stiles. I just need you to breathe slowly. I'll breathe with you, okay?"

"I don't want to breathe with you," he rumbled.

She was afraid, for him, not of him. He smelled it on her skin. He heart beat faster than it would at rest, but slow enough that she was still in control. Stiles' heartbeat wasn't nearly so measured.

"It will be okay, Stiles." She was still trying to calm him.

Stiles rammed his fist against the barrier with a snarl. Mountain ash hadn't held the alpha. Scott had broken through it once, too. Wolves weren't supposed to be able to touch mountain ash, but Stiles hadn't touched it the first time he broke an ash line. He was transforming fast, but maybe it wasn't complete yet.

His fingers were still clawed when he held his hands in front of him, palms down. His hands trembled. He growled at them, but that couldn't make them stop.

Lydia reached over the ash to grasp his hands. He could smell her blood. It mixed with the blood already on his hand.

"Let me go," he ordered before she could try to calm him again. "Send Parrish after me to keep me from hurting anyone, but let me go."

Lydia pulled her hands back. "No."

Stiles screamed and hurled himself against the ash. "I can't hurt him. I already hurt you." He crashed against the barrier.

"Deaton needs to make sure you aren't sick too," Lydia insisted.

Stiles snarled.

Lydia raised an eyebrow, though her composure was only affectation. "You've already said that."

Stiles snapped his teeth at her.

"What can you bite from in there?"

Had she run out of arguments and meant to annoy him into submission now?

Stiles held up his hands again, palms facing the ash. He focused on the ash, tuning Lydia out. Mountain ash circled him entirely, resting in a thin line against the asphalt at the edge of the road. It was barely more than dust and worked because Lydia believed it would. Stiles had controlled it before. He could do it again.

Stiles separated his hands. The ash line broke.

He ran into the night. Behind him, Lydia screamed his name. Farther out, he heard the first hint of a police siren as his father neared.

[imwastingmylifeinhere]

Magnus Chase and the Obligatory Hogwarts AU Ch2

On oa3

Chapter 2, ladies, gentlemen and dear folks! Big thanks to @tearfulmelody for editing this. @alexfierrno

“Good morning,” Magnus greeted his friends as he sat down at their table.

The Hall of the Slain only had the four long House tables in the Start-of-Term Feast, End-of-Term Feast and special occasions like Halloween. On every other day, they were replaced by their much shorter counterparts and several circular tables that weren’t separated by house. Apparently, the four houses used to be much more competitive, and the staff thought that a good way to counter that would be to not separate students during meals, so as to encourage friendship between the houses.

It worked pretty well. Magnus and his friends wasn’t the only group of friends in school with students from different houses, not by a long shot. Magnus really couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if he couldn’t sit with his friends at breakfast, lunch or dinner simply because they were in different houses.

“Morning, Magnus!” Halfborn said as Magnus sat down. He was the last of the group to arrive, everyone else already seated and eating various degrees of a healthy breakfast. The most healthy one would be Sam, who’s breakfast was made up of mostly fruit. Halfborn’s plate, on the other hand, had so many sausages, pieces of bacon and fried eggs on it that looking at it was enough to give you clogged arteries.

“Did you sleep well?” Sam asked as she was spreading marmalade on a slice of bread. Sam was the one who took care of everyone else. She always made sure the other’s were getting enough sleep and eating enough. She was basically their mum, with T.J taking the role of the dad as the next most responsible member of the group.

“Yeah. It’s really good being back,” Magnus said. And sleeping on a bed with a roof over your head.

Halfborn made a bad siren noise through his mouthful of eggs. “Nerd alert!”

Mallory flicked one of her grapes at him. “Says the person who wanted to take all the elective courses. I don’t know how you weren’t sorted into Ravenclaw.”

Halfborn picked up the grape from where it had landed on the table after it bounced off his face and popped it in his mouth. “Because these babies can give mean punches in addition to writing great essays.” He took a silly bodybuilder pose and flexed his arms. They were pretty impressive.

Mallory rolled her eyes and popped another grape in her mouth, but her cheeks were as red as the apple Sam was eating and they all saw it.

“So, how do you like the Slytherin common room, Alex?” Magnus asked, partly to move on from Mallory and Halfborn’s flirting (they were so obviously in love, when would they get together?) and partly because he was really curious. The dungeons were pretty creepy.

And then, as an afterthought “Oh, and, uh, are you a girl today or a boy?”

“Girl. She and her,” Alex said, after a split second of surprise that someone actually asked. She had sat down just moments before Magnus came, and despite the others asking too, it felt surreal to go from what her family had been like to treated with respect.

“And the common room is really cool!” she continued. Her hair was green today again and the tie around her neck was hanging much more loosely than her parents would have ever allowed. “I mean, I thought you were kidding when you said it was in the dungeons, but it really is. And they have this big glass wall that lets you see into the lake!”

“That must be really cool,” T.J said. He was spinning his spoon between his fingers like he does with his wand. T.J was constantly a ball of energy and, and distracting as his masterful pen/wand/whatever-spinning could be, it was the only thing that could keep him relatively still.

“So who are your roommates?” Magnus asked.

“Mallory and Sam,” Alex answered.

“Oh, yeah, you’ve had an empty bed since Sadie left,” Halfborn said, looking up from his food long enough to talk.

“Who’s Sadie?” Alex asked, turning to look at Mallory and Sam. “You mentioned her yesterday but you didn’t tell me who she was.”

“Sadie was our old roommate,” Sam said. “She transferred to Ilvermorny last year after her uncle took custody of her and her brother. She was in second year.”

The four Houses had different systems in their dorms. In Gryffindor, they were separated in boys and girls and all the students of the same year slept together.

In Ravenclaw they had co-ed rooms of four, with two girls and two boys in each (it was because everyone had an equal right to knowledge, or something like that, if Magnus remembered correctly). It was also common to find rooms with students from different years in the same room if one year had an uneven number of students.

In Hufflepuff they had rooms of five with mixed years. Magnus shared a room with a sixth, fifth and second year. The seventh year that was in his room had graduated, so there was a new first year in the room now. This system was meant to build trust between students, as well as provide the younger students a sort of mentor and the older students a chance to revise when they helped the younger ones.

Slytherin had rooms of three separated by gender and, like in Ravenclaw, if there was a year with an uneven number of students, younger students could be roommates of  the older ones. That had been the case with Sadie.

“It’s a bummer she left,” Mallory said. She was buttering a piece of toast and she waved the buttery knife around as she talked. She didn’t hurt anyone, but she smeared butter on the table. “She was really fun. I’m sure you would have liked her.”

“Yeah, remember that time she put all the school’s owls in Helgi’s office?” Halfborn said.

“Oh, Helgi was complaining about the bird poop for days!” T.J said with a fond smile on his face.  Sadie had been a little devil but she was tons of fun.

Alex looked between the rest of the group and their smiling faces with that confused expression you get when you friends talk about an inside joke you’re not in on. She might not have met this girl they were talking about, might never will, but whoever could put dozens of owls in someone’s office had earned her respect.

“So what elective courses are you talking?” Sam asked Alex.

“Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies.”

“Muggle Studies?” Halfborn asked perplexed. “I had heard the Fierros didn’t like Muggles so much.”

Halfborn’s comment was met by a sharp elbow to his sides by T.J and another grape to the face by Mallory. “Dude, that was rude,” T.J said.

“It’s okay,” Alex reassured them. “My parents don’t like Muggles, that’s true. But I don’t live with them anymore and they have no say in what I choose to study either.”

Magnus averted his eyes from Alex and decided to look at his cereal instead. There was a sharpness to Alex’s voice, a coldness that let Magnus know that whatever had happened between Alex and her parents to make her talk like this about them wasn’t pretty and he shouldn’t bring them up.

Alex sighed and the tension left her shoulders. “Anyway, what are you guys taking?”

“We all take Care of Magical Creatures,” Magnus said. “We wanted a class to take all together and we all like it.”

“Except for Halfborn,” Mallory piped up. “He’s a year older so he doesn’t have classes with any of us. He chose to take it ‘cause he’s a nerd.”

Halfborn rolled his eyes at her. Mallory poked her tongue out at him.

“Mallory and I take Divination,” T.J said, ignoring his two friends obviously flirting with each other.

“I take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, like Halfborn,” Sam said.

“I take Ancient Runes with Sam and Muggle Studies,” Magnus said.

“Oh, so we have that class together,” Alex said. “Wait. If you all take Care of Magical Creatures, does that mean you, Sam and Halfborn take three elective courses?”

“Yep,” Mallory answered for them, popping the ‘p’. “We have a lot of nerds in our group.”

“Oh, did you get your timetables?” Sam asked. The other teens nodded and pulled their timetables out of their bags. They put them side by side on the table and examined them to see if they had any free periods in common.

“Seems like we all got two free periods together in Wednesday,” T.J said. “Right after History of Magic.”

“Thank Merlin!” Mallory said, slumping back in her chair. “Erikson’s lessons are sooooo boring!”

The small talk continued through breakfast, until Sam reminded them that they should leave soon so they’d get to class on time. Halfborn and T.J left to go to Transfiguration, while Magnus and the girls went to Defense against the Dark Arts.

DADA was taught by Professor Jack. His surname was Sumarbrander, but none of the students could pronounce it (and Professor Jack thought it was too long) so he insisted his students just call him Jack. (A lot of teachers at Hogwarts insisted on that, now that Magnus thought about it.)  It had seemed weird to Magnus at first, especially since a lot of his teachers in Muggle schools would scold students if they called them by their first names. A lot of times, Magnus didn’t even know what the first name of one of his teachers was. He had had the same English teacher for years before learning that his name was Henry.

Professor Jack was the Head of Gryffindor and he was one of the weirdest teachers at Hogwarts (then again, all of them were weird). He reminded Magnus of the best friend in coming-of-age movies, the one who was his friend’s wingman, called people ‘dude’ and cracked bad jokes. He didn’t focus too much in the theory in DADA, instead focusing on the practical aspect. According to him,

“You don’t defend yourself by having your nose buried in a book and memorizing a block of text!”

His lessons were a mess, to be honest, but a good mess. He was laid back and relaxed, especially compared to other teachers. He didn’t mind if students whispered something to a friend now and then as long as they paid attention to the lesson and understood what he said. There was always a constant buzz of conversation in his classroom and students were more comfortable around him, something he prided himself in. He was goofy, but he was a great teacher.

“Alright class, welcome to your first DADA lesson of the year!” Professor Jack said cheerily as sat on his desk. Not in the chair, no, on the desk. This is what Magnus meant by relaxed.

“Now, you might have noticed we have a new student among us,” he went on. “Alex, would you like to say something about yourself? For example, your hobbies or things that interest you.”

Alex got up from her seat next to Mallory. She was wearing the boy’s school uniform, Magnus noted. “My name is Alex Fierro and my pronouns are she/her unless I tell you otherwise. I like pottery and hiking and I hope I can try out for the Quidditch team.”

Alex sat back down after she finished talking. Magnus saw the other students sent glances at each other and whisper silently between them. It had been clear from last night that Alex had become the new hot topic of conversation at school. But then again, that was just natural when you had a rare new transfer student, especially one from an important family. (At least, Magnus had gathered that the Fierros were important. It sure seemed like that from what everyone was saying.)

“Alright,” Professor Jack said. “Now, this year we will learn about the Unforgivable Curses…”

The first few weeks of school went by smoothly. Magnus and the gang would go to their lessons and hang out together whenever they had free time. They’d study outside or in the library after lessons were over and they’d eat together in every mealtime.

The routine was nice. After how hectic that summer had been, it was so relaxing for Magnus to be back at school. To have to worry only about doing his homework and waking up on time instead of where he’d find his next meal. To be able to sleep on a bed and actually sleep peacefully, without having to worry about being robbed or attacked.

Felling normal again, felling like nothing had changed… it was great.

Some things had changed, though. For example, they were no longer a group of five, but of six. Despite the fact they had only known Alex for a week, it already felt like she had been their friend for years. She and Halfborn had stricken up a weird rivalry/friendship and would constantly compete; about who could run to class faster, about who could devour more potatoes at lunch, about who would look away first. Mallory, Sam and Alex had become inseparable, what with sharing a room and all, and they teased each other constantly. Alex would tease and joke with Magnus all the time too, and she’d join T.J when he made sarcastic comments.

Most of their free periods were now spent wandering around the castle. Since Alex was new, she didn’t know her way around the castle and it could be a pain in the neck to navigate it. Whoever had a free period with Alex was in charge of being her tour guide and showing her the various rooms and corridors of the Hogwarts castle.

That was what Magnus and Alex were doing right now. Alex and Magnus had just finished their Muggle Studies lesson with Professor Thor and Magnus was showing Alex around the west wing of the castle.

Professor Thor was a giant of a man with ginger hair and an unkempt beard. His surname wasn’t actually Thor. It was something in Norse that was difficult to pronounce, and since it started with ‘Thor’ everybody just called him that. He didn’t really mind, since he loved Thor from the Marvel movies. Professor Thor was the biggest fanboy Magnus had ever met. His lessons were pretty much just watching movies/TV shows and analyzing them. He though it was more effective to see Muggle culture in action rather than just read the textbook. ‘Analyzing’ them meant talking about fan-theories and shipping and whatnot.

At first, Magnus had just picked Muggle Studies because it was easy; he had grown up in the Muggle world after all. He took it again in third year because it was fun. They were just a bunch of nerds in there.

Magnus and Alex were walking down one of Hogwarts’ long corridors. To be honest, Magnus wasn’t sure he had been here before, but that didn’t deter him. He stopped in front of painting and suits of armor to give Alex a grandiose backstory, making up what he said as he went.

Alex had figured out that Magnus didn’t know what he was saying, but she didn’t really care. All his over-the-top moves and stories were fun and she was really enjoying it. She walked behind him, stroking her chin in mock thoughtfulness and saying fancy art stuff she had heard her parents say when they’d drag her with them to those dreadful art exhibitions. It wasn’t the painting or statues that she didn’t like; she loved those. But she couldn’t stand having to spend an entire afternoon around snobbish boring rich people that misgendered her all the time.

She was wearing the girl’s uniform today. Not that there was much of a difference, really. The uniforms were identical, save for the trousers or skirt.  That wasn’t a big deal either since girls could choose to wear trousers if they wanted to, though most chose to wear skirts.

The uniform that had been given to Alex when she got sorted was a boy’s uniform. That’s what she wore the first few weeks of school. She wanted to wear a skirt too, like the rest of the girls, but she had been hesitant. Wearing a skirt was what had gotten her hurt back at Durmstrang. It was what had led to her sleeping under bridges and searching for food in trash bins.

When she got on the Hogwarts Express, she had told herself that she wouldn’t care now. That she’d make it clear from the start to everyone who she was. And despite things having gone smoothly up to now, she was still scared.

“I’d really like to wear the girl’s uniform,” she had said one night. Sam and Mallory were setting out their uniforms so they’d put them on quicker the next morning (Mallory has a bad habit) and Alex was lying on her back on her bed. She hadn’t realized she spoke out loud and not in her head until Sam turned to look at her.

“You mean the skirt?” she asked. Sam wore trousers instead of skirts because they were too short for her.

Alex had tensed up. She hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud. “Yeah,” she answered hesitantly.

“They didn’t give you any, did they?” Mallory asked. “We can talk to Professor Sif to get you some.”

Alex raised her eyebrows in surprise. “She would do that?” Professor Sif was really strict. You better be quiet and pay attention in her class or you’ll get the scolding of your life and have so many house points deducted that you’d need to be a genius to get them back.

Mallory shrugged. “Sure. She let you room with us, so I don’t see why she wouldn’t get you a few skirts if you asked.” She plopped down on her bed and lay back against her pillows. Mallory had enough pillows on her bed for a dozen people to have a pillow fight.

“You can borrow some of mine until then, if you want,” she said casually as she searched in the drawer of her bedside table for her ‘phone’ (it was the weird rectangular thing that lit up but Alex didn’t know what it did).

Alex had jerked up. She sat up on her bed and looked at Mallory, who was swiping her ‘phone’ for some reason, with eyes as wide as dishes.

Alex’s staring made Mallory look up from the glowing object in her hand. “What? You’re staring at me like I just grew a second head.” After a second, her eyes widened in fear. “Oh my God, tell me I haven’t. Halfborn didn’t slip some potion in my drink as a prank again, did he?”

“What? No, no, you’re fine. It’s just… you want to lent me your skirts?”

Mallory shrugged again. “Yeah, as long as they fit you. They must fit you, you don’t look that much bigger than me.”

“You could take mine if you want,” Sam said. “I don’t wear them anyway.”

Mallory and Sam kept talking about whose skirts would fit Alex better and which boy’s size translated in which girl’s size. Alex stared at her folded hands on her lap, trying to will the tears away.

It’s too much, she though, this is too much. She wouldn’t have dared to tell any of her friends back at Durmstrang (not that she had any, at least not any real ones) that she wanted to wear a skirt. Even if she did, they wouldn’t have acted nice about it. Her parents had made it very clear what they thought of their son in a dress.

She never would have dreamed of having friends that would suggest she borrows their skirts.

But she did. She did and it was too much.

“Alex?” Sam asked. Alex had sniffed and the muffled sob that escaped her cause Sam to stop talking to Mallory and look at her. She put her hand on her shoulder worriedly. “Alex, are you alright?”

Alex sobbed again. She was pressing her hands on her lips to keep back her sobs but it didn’t work. Too much. It’s too much.

“Have you never worn a skirt before?” Mallory asked. Alex could feel the mattress of her bed dipping as Sam and Mallory sat down next to her.

Alex shook her head. Technically, she had worn a dress, not a skirt. And she never had anyone who was this casual about her wearing one.

“Do you want to?” Sam asked. God, Alex could practically feel the worry in her voice.

Alex nodded her head quickly. “I do,” she managed to get out between her sniffling.

“Are you afraid of wearing one to school?” Mallory asked quietly.

Alex shook her head. No, I’m not.

Then she nodded. I am. But I don’t want to be.

Alex felt a set of arms wrapping around her. Mallory. “It’s okay,” the redhead said. “It’ll be fine. If anyone says anything mean, I’ll beat them up! I’ll get the others to help too.”

Alex’s body was racked with sobs. Her shoulders were shaking and she kept hiccupping. Mallory’s words just made her cry harder.

When Mallory and Sam hugged her, Alex felt like her heart was bursting. It was as if her chest was filled with something warm and good and it made her feel so, so happy and it was too much.

“Thank you,” she whispered to them.

Once Alex had calmed down and Sam wiped her tears away like a concerned mother, Mallory jumped to her feet. She declared a slumber party and proceeded to throw pillows at them.  They fought and they fought and they fought until there were feathers all over the floor and Sam had to spell Mallory’s pillows back to normal.

They stayed up late, much later than they were supposed to, especially on a school night. Mallory put some music on her ‘phone’ (another strange thing that devise could do) and they danced and jumped on their beds. At one point, Mallory run down the hall to some other girl’s room and borrowed a bag of make-up. She and Alex attacked Sam and held her down as Mallory applied horrible lip-gloss and blush on her face. By the time they were done, they all looked like clowns, what with their lip-gloss stained all over their faces and the colors as mismatched as possible. The red lip-gloss on Alex’s cheeks formed a giant smile and Mallory said she looked like The Joker (whoever that was).

They then proceeded to making their wardrobes a mess. They pulled out everything and dressed up in the weirdest combinations ever. Sam was wearing a skirt over her trousers and her pajama top was tied around her neck like a cape. Mallory had one of their ties tied around her head and she walked around in her shorts and bra, with the scarf she dag out of the closet hang around her neck like a feather boa. Alex had on Mallory’s school skirt and her colorful socks on her arms like long princess gloves.

They fell back on Alex’s bed, laughing their heads off without making any sound. Their shoulders shook by their laughter and their mouths were wide open and smiling but they made no noise, clapping their hands like seals.

“Do you feel better now?” Sam asked, the first one of them to be able to talk properly after all that they did.

Alex nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.”

“No problem. Us girls have to stick together,” Mallory said. “I mean, we’ll stick by you when you’re having a male day too, but you know what we mean.”

From then on, Alex would borrow Sam’s skirts and wear them around in their room. Sam had suggested she does that to ease into it and be more comfortable with the idea. Every time she wore one they would be really supportive and tell her she looked good or that it suited her (Mallory wolf-whistled once).

It was today that she finally decided to wear it to lessons. Her heart was pounding like a drum inside her ribcage as she got dressed. She had looked at the mirror one more time before leaving the safety of their room, with a final thought of ‘Screw this, I’m not backing out now’.

She had been walking out of the common room with confidence (as much as she could manage) when Professor Sif stopped her. “Miss Fierro.”

Alex had stopped dead in her tracks. Fuck, she’s gonna call me out on my skirt. I spent all this time working up the courage and now I’m going to be humiliated in front of the entire common room.

But then her dread had turned into fear and she clenched her hands into fists. I’m not taking it off even if she gives me detention.

“Straighten your tie, Miss Fierro,” Professor Sif had said. “It’s crooked.”

Professor Sif had walked away, leaving Alex looking after her utterly baffled. That was not what I expected.

Strange behavior from Professor Sif aside, Alex had made it to the Great Hall feeling great. She had one of those song that Mallory had played for them  stuck in her head (something about being fabulous) and it was playing in her mind like a soundtrack (they learned about that in Muggle Studies).

The rest of their group had been just as supportive as Sam and Mallory. T.J had complimented her the moment he saw her and as they were heading to their Charms lesson, Halfborn walked in front of her to clear the way and yelled “Make way! Hot stuff coming through! And this time I’m not talking about me!” Magnus had complimented her too, after a moment of staring at her skirt. It made Alex feel a bit sad, that he might not be as okay with her as the rest of their group, but at least he wasn’t mean about it.

“And this is the armor of Sir Reinhart of Baltimore, who died from a humongous dump after eating his mother-in-law’s cooking.” Magnus was pointing to one of the various suits of armors in Hogwarts. He had made his accent sound as over-the-top and cringe-y as possible and his expression reminded Alex of a stuck up snobby butler (she had met her fair share of those).

“My, my, that must have been horrible,” Alex said, giving her voice the same snobbish air. She may have been imitating her step-mother, but no one could prove that. She saw a couple of students walk by from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t pay them much mind.

Magnus nodded solemnly. “It was, indeed.” He moved over to the painting close to the armor suit. It depicted a fair with people drifting around and having fun. There was a jester there, a Duke and a lady in a impractically huge dress who was getting drunk off of wine.

Magnus had just started explaining the significance of the painting, much to its residents’ amusement, when Alex’s face began to hurt. She could feel her skin splitting on her cheeks and warts erupt on her cheeks like volcanoes. It felt as if someone was pulling her nose from her face and stretching it like rubber. Her eyes burned and her vision blurred by tears and when she tried to wipe them away, it just made it worse.

“Alex? Alex, are you okay?” Magnus asked worriedly. He’ll admit, it was a stupid question, but what did you expect him to do when his friend’s face suddenly started mutating out of the blue?

Magnus was trying to think of something to alleviate Alex discomfort when he heard snickers. He looked up to see a couple of students, fifth years perhaps, practically cackling together. One’s hand was still on his wand.

“Did you do this?” he demanded from the boy. There was no reason to ask, really, because the answer was obvious. What Magnus wanted to know was “Why did you do that?”

“Why not?” the kid asked. The way he asked that made Magnus even angrier. There was no regret, no sign in his voice that showed that maybe he realized he fucked up and shouldn’t have done that. He sounded like he was perfectly content with the fact he had just turned another students face into a mess of pimples and warts with a nose as large as Pinocchio’s.

“It wasn’t enough that he went around asking to be treated as a girl on some days and as a boy on others, he had the nerve to wear a skirt to school!” The boy went on. “If he’s a freak like that it’s no wonder the rumors actually turned out to be true!”

“What rumors?” Magnus asked, though he wasn’t sure he had the patience to let the boy talk before punching him.

“That the Fierros disowned their heir, of course!” the boy answered. “I mean, it was bad enough he was an illegitimate child, but this?”

Alex didn’t speak. She stood behind Magnus, looking as if she wanted to beat those boys up and cry at the same time.

“Shut up,” Magnus growled at the boy. Actually growled. There wasn’t any other way to describe how he had sounded.

“Why? I’m just telling things how they are.”

Magnus was about to draw his wand and cast a hex on the other student when someone interrupted him mid-spell.

“What is happening here?” Professor Sif demanded. For someone as beautiful as her, she looked absolutely terrifying when she was angry. “Why is Fierro looking like that?”

Magnus pointed at the other kid. “He cast a hex on her!”

Professor Sif turned to the student. “Is that true?”

“He was asking for it!” the boy yelled, pointing at Alex like a five-year-old throwing a fit. “He came to school in a skirt!”

“I do not see the problem with one of my girls wearing a skirt,” Professor Sif said coldly. “Fifty points from Ravenclaw and detention with me for an hour a month.”

“What? But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“One hundred points. Now leave before I make your detention longer too.” She turned to the boy’s friend, who hadn’t talked at all during the whole thing. “As for you, twenty points from Ravenclaw for not stopping your friend.”

The boy walked away sullenly, his fists clenched by his side. He clearly wasn’t happy with this. Good, Magnus thought.

“Mister Chase, please take Fierro to the infirmary,” Professor Sif said. “I must go speak to their Head of House.”

Magnus nodded as Professor Sif left to find Professor Hearthstone. Alex was standing at her place, glaring holes into the floor. There were tears shining in her eyes and Magnus could tell she was fighting them down.

He reached out to take her and hesitated. He took he sleeve instead and tugged her along.

“Come on, Alex,” he said. “I know a shortcut to the infirmary. There’s not a lot of people there.”

Alex didn’t talk as they walked to the infirmary and Magnus didn’t either. She kept her head bent low the whole time and Magnus walked as fast as he could without running so he wouldn’t draw attention to her. He doubted she wanted anyone to see her like this.

After Nurse Eir applied a salve to Alex’s face that would get rid of the warts and spelled her nose to its original size, she allowed Magnus to stay with her for a bit, since their free period wasn’t over yet and, according to her, “You heal better when you have friends by your side.”

“Is your face feeling better?” Magnus asked. He was sitting on a chair next to Alex’s cot. The infirmary in Hogwarts didn’t have the same stark white feeling to it as any other hospital Magnus had gone to. He assumed it was because it walls were made from warm beige stones and not sterile white.

Alex gave a little nod but didn’t speak. Magnus saw her bit her lip, like she was trying to hold the words back, the way a dam held back the water. But the dam broke and the words spilled out like waves.

“You agree with him, don’t you?”

Her words were so fast, Magnus had to do a double-take. Her hands were folded on her lap so hard her knuckles had turned white.

“With who?” Magnus asked. Alex didn’t answer. “You don’t mean that git in the hall, do you?”

She nodded. She didn’t look up at Magnus when he spoke. Instead, she kept staring at her hands, at the bed, out of the window, anywhere but at him. Like she couldn’t bear to look at him.

Magnus’ eyebrows scrunched in confusion, as if you had just told him that the earth was a cube and the sun was a big lamp. Like what he was hearing was completely illogical. “Why would I agree with him?”

That’s when Alex finally snapped her eyes up to look at Magnus. “Oh, come on! I saw how you looked at my skirt this morning. You think I’m weird too!”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did! Don’t lie!”

“Okay, I might have stared but it wasn’t because of the skirt- well, no, it was because of the skirt, but not like that! I just haven’t seen you in a skirt before and you looked good! I was just surprised. Not that you looked good, that’s normal –“ Magnus stopped abruptly. He was rambling.

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” he said slower. “Same goes for Mallory, Sam, Halfborn and T.J. I’m sorry that boy said those things about you and if you give the signal they’ll have a hell of a week, but neither me nor any of the others agree with them. You are who you are and no stupid git has a right to tell you that’s wrong. It’s none of their business, anyway.”

Alex looked at him with something akin to amazement in her eyes. It wasn’t until Magnus stopped talking that he realized how strong his voice had sounded.

“Thank you, Magnus,” she said softly. “Sorry I jumped to conclusions.”

“It’s okay. And you don’t need to thank me. You joined our friend group and that means we are all ready to inflict our wrath upon anyone who has wronged you. We have several different options for you to choose from.”

Alex raised an eyebrow and giggled. “Really? Like what?”

Magnus smiled wide. “Well, let me tell you what is included on the menu…”

[tenroseforeverandever]

The Cupid’s Arrow (Revised Edition): Chapter 1

Characters:  Nine x rose; Original Character

Rated: Teen-Adult

Tags: Fluff; Angst; Humour; Aphrodisiac

Summary: Rose convinces the Doctor to take her to "Planet Valentine" for a lark.

Notes: For @caedmonfaith, who has told me this one of her favourite stories of mine. ((((hugs)))) darling.

I have been meaning to tidy this story up for a while now! What better occasion than this year's Valentine's Day. (No major revisions; just housekeeping.) The original will stand as it is, as part of my Domestic Bliss series.

Second half to be posted tomorrow!.(This revised edition will only be posted here, on AO3 and on Tumblr.)

Also read at: AO3

The Cupid’s Arrow (Revised Edition): Chapter 1

“Honestly, Rose! The things I do for you! Your Nan’s birthday!” the Doctor whinged.

“Well, you could just drop me off, and come back for me later…,” Rose nervously fingered her cheek, “but I wouldn’t mind the company. ‘S not exactly gonna be a wild party.” She rolled her eyes. “And it would be better with two.” She coyly bumped her shoulder against his leather-clad arm, and flashed him her Rose Tyler-patented tongue-touched smile.  

“I suppose…” he began, and Rose’s grin widened significantly. She had him: hook, line, and sinker. “But I’m not going to sit there and listen to some old biddies prattling on about their knitting patterns or what happened on EastEnders yesterday.”

“Nah, don’t worry, Doctor. We’ll lay low, yeah. And we can play that game.  You know, the one we played at that booooring convention on Mugwarf:  “Guess the Alien”. I’m sure loads of Nan’s friends could easily be mistaken for aliens. Very dangerous, old ladies are… There’s one – oh my God! – I swear she’s a Raxicori… um Racico… Slitheen! I’ll be lookin’ for the zipper, I will!”

“Hmmph,” he grumbled grudgingly. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Rose Tyler,” he performed his dance around the TARDIS console flipping switches in a seemingly random sequence as she watched, bemused, “I will never quite understand the human proclivity to commemorate certain dates! You lot and your need to compartmentalize everything into neat, little categories!  A lot of fuss over nothing, if you ask me!”

“Yeah, well we like it,” she proclaimed.  “Gives order to things. This travellin’s excitin’ and all (I love it, Doctor!) but it gets so… timeless sometimes, yeah. Now and then I feel like I need somethin’, you know… real to hold onto… to keep me from goin’ spare.”

He responded by grabbing her hand, entwining their fingers. “You have me.”

“Yeah, I do,” she beamed up at him, stunned by his rather significant little statement, and pressed her cheek gently against the cool leather of his sleeve, breathing in the comforting scent of him.

“Hold on tight, Rose,” he warned as, still gripping her hand, he flipped the final lever that sent the TARDIS spinning wildly through the vortex.

--oOo--

Several hours later, hands swinging, linked between them, they walked back to the TARDIS from the Tyler flat, chattering cheerfully to one another. “Blimey, Doctor! I nearly weed myself when old Tessie pinched your cheek and told you what a handsome young man you were!” Rose burst into gales of laughter. “If she only knew!”

“Oh, laugh all you want, little ape.” His expression suddenly sobered. “I’m just relieved Jackie didn’t have a go at me.” He subconsciously lifted his hand to his cheek.

Rose just laughed the louder, taking advantage of his insecurity. “I swear Tessie fancies you! And it’s nearly Valentine’s Day, Doctor,” she sing-songed. “Maybe she wants you to be her Vaaaalentine, yeah? What d’ya think, Doctor? She’s nearly your age and all!”

“You can shut up now, you!” he reproved with a growl, dropping her hand.

Rose felt her heart sink at the loss of the strong, reassuring grip, an enduring symbol of their friendship since the first day they had met. She was silent for a long moment, her mood turning sullen. When she finally spoke, it was in a sour tone: “Now there’s a rubbish celebration…” The disagreeable subject fit rather well with her change in mood.

“What’s that?”

“Valentine’s Day! One human date we could very well do without commemorating!” she huffed, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“Why’s that, then? Ricky forget to bring you chocolates and flowers?” he taunted, a possessive smirk curling his lips. He reached for her hand again, and gave a disgruntled snort when he found it absent. Rose kept it pointedly tucked in her jacket.  

“It’s jus’, ya know, it sets people up with a lot of false expectations. It’s forced.  It’s fake. And all the pressure: what to give; how much to give; and who really wants chocolate and roses and dumb poetry anyway? And, then, when you don’t have someone to celebrate with… it’s so lonely, yeah.”  She pulled her hand out and linked her arm through his, her lips twitching up a little when she heard him release a self-satisfied sigh.

“And to think, your lot created a planet entirely dedicated to Saint Valentine and his day.”

“No way! You’re takin’ the mick! Really?”

“Oh yes, Rose. You intrepid little humans, you forge your way out across the galaxy, bringing all of your traditions and customs with you. There must a special planet for every Old Earth holiday, and then some! Species from all around come to partake in human traditions! It’s a huge tourist industry. Just imagine!” He pulled out his key to open the TARDIS door, and let Rose step in ahead of him.

“You’re serious?”

“Yup!”

“Prove it.”

“What? Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Nope. You?”

“Of course not, Rose. Time Lord, remember?”

“Well then, Time Lord… take me to this Valentine’s planet.”

“Thought you hated Valentine’s Day.”

“I do. But this might be good for a lark.  Could be fun: people watching. Guessing what their relationships are, yeah.  Married; first date; newly-weds. Like that!”  

“Rose Tyler, you and your games! Alright, then, you asked for it.” He strode to the console and began to set the coordinates. “But I’m warning you. Stay away from love potions and aphrodisiacs of any kind. Let me taste anything you plan to eat. My sensitive taste buds can detect any of them, and,” he grinned cheekily at her, “my superior physiology can neutralize them in record time!”

“You really think you’re so impressive, don’t you?”

“I am!  And most importantly, no wandering off. All I need is a lovesick Rose Tyler on my hands. Bad enough as it is, sullying the TARDIS with all your domestics: trips home to see Mummy; grocery shopping; laundry…”

“Oi, you invited me! Twice!”

“All I’m saying is that I want you to be safe, Rose.”

She gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “I know, Doctor. Let’s go, yeah?  I’ll be careful, promise.”

--oOo--

Rose poked her head out the TARDIS doors. “Doctor, this is soooo cheesy! Raining rose petals? Really?”

“Not too late to turn back…” The Doctor peered out distastefully at the red, pink, and white glitter that was Planet Valentine.

“No chance! This is brilliant!” She grabbed his hand and dragged him out into the shower of drifting petals. Letting go of him, she twirled around ecstatically in wonder. “Doctor, this may just be enough to make me see Valentine’s day in a whole new light!” She stopped spinning to face him, and found him with an incongruous grin brightening his face. She swore his eyes actually twinkled at her. “W’at? W’at is it Doctor?”

“Oh, c’mon, you.” He switched rapidly to a more surly expression, as was customary when he had been caught looking at her. “Let’s get this over with.” He took her hand again and directed her to what looked like the main street, filled with throngs of creatures representing species from all across the galaxy, although the majority appeared to be human… or human-ish.

Rose observed most of the planet’s visitors walked around in pairs, although a few individuals strolled about, either procuring gifts for a significant other or perhaps seeking companionship.  Then she saw something remarkable: “Doctor? Those blue, glowing people over there… do you see them?”

“Those are Trinitarians, Rose. Their skin begins to glow like that at the peak of their reproductive cycle. Truly beautiful species.”

“Yeah, they are,” Rose sighed in awe at the tall, slender, willowy forms whose skins seemed to dance with shimmering blue radiance. “But there are three of them? Do they need three to reproduce?”

“Blimey! Aren’t you perceptive? Clever!”

“No need to sound so surprised.” Rose couldn’t help but feel miffed by the Doctor’s double-edged compliment, and let it show in the tone of her voice.  

She was aware of the Doctor glancing warily down at her as he forged ahead on the topic of the Trinitarians: “There aren’t many species that need three participants for procreation, but they do. There are a handful of others, too. Mind you, it’s not the most complicated mating system out there. Now, take the Spredifriat-mwooguds from the Delta-Frimori Sector! They–”

“Blimey, that must be a difficult relationship, yeah? Imagine how hard it is, even for us humans. I’ve been searching for ages just to find one decent bloke out there. I can’t imagine how complicated it would be if I needed to find two!” She nestled into his arm again, suddenly needing the comfort of his presence.

“C’mon. How about some hot chocolate?”

“You buyin’? ‘Cause I don’t have any credits.”

“Yeah, ‘course. Still owe you for those chips, don’t I?  If I remember correctly, there’s a little shop just down the street that makes the best hot chocolate in the galaxy. They even put heart-shaped marshmallows in it!”

“So, you come here often, then? To the Valentine planet… the planet of loooove,” she ribbed him.

“Very funny.” He crossed his arms defensively over his chest, and glowered at her. “It just so happens that I’ve had a sweet tooth… in the past. And if you want a chocolate fix, ‘The Cupid’s Arrow’ is the place! They specialize in exotic chocolates from around the universe. Bon-bons and fudge and… ah, but, you mentioned earlier that you didn’t really care for chocolate. I’m probably just wasting your time taking you there.”

“I never said I didn’t like chocolate!” Rose blurted. “Just think they’re a rubbish Valentine gift, s’all.” She flushed at the sight of the smug grin that spread across his face. “Oh shut up and get me some of that hot chocolate. And just for givin’ me that cheek, you can spring for a nice, big piece of fudge, too.”

“Done!”

--oOo--

Hand in hand, they walked into the shop. The décor was flamboyantly tacky: walls, ceiling, and floor painted in a trompe-l’oeil chocolate bar motif. Tables for two hovered on micro-gravity platforms, showers of heart-shaped confetti sprinkling down in a twinkling column over each red and white laced tablecloth. Ultra-high definition holographic cherubs darted around the tables, shooting little holographic arrows at seated customers. Against one wall was an enormous display cabinet with the largest assortment of chocolate sweets Rose had ever seen. Several customers were buying the confections to take away in shiny heart-shaped boxes wrapped in extravagant glittering tulle ribbon.

Rose fought to supress the giggle that threatened to erupt from her throat. “Oh, this place is just so… you!” She broke into howls of laughter, unable to hold in her mirth any longer.

“Just you wait, Rose Tyler,” the Doctor responded with his see-how-clever-I-am smile. “When you taste that hot chocolate for the first time, you’ll understand why I am able to put up with all this. I’ll be waiting for the apology.”

“You’ll be waitin’ a–” Her tart remark was cut off when a tall, wispy alien with purple skin, and a towering, domed head approached them.

“Table for two?” He spoke in a high-pitched, reedy voice, accompanied by a distinct roll of his emerald-green eyes. “As if it would be anything else around here,” he remarked disdainfully.

“Yes, please!” the Doctor chirped, seemingly oblivious to the Maître-d’s acerbic comment.

Rose goggled as the Maître-d’ punched some codes into a touch screen device and led them to a table that descended, confetti stream disengaged, ready for them to board. He pulled a chair out for Rose, and then one beside her for the Doctor. “Please place your order from the menu on the touch screen in the centre of the table. When you wish to disembark, just notify me by tapping the red heart at the top of the screen. Enjoy your stay at ‘The Cupid’s Arrow’. Please leave smitten.”

“Oh, we’re not together… not like that,” Rose announced, sitting down. “Just mates, yeah.”

“Pffffft,” the Maître-d’ hissed, “of course you are. Just look at the two of you! Just like every other couple that comes in here. Sickening really,” he added under his breath.

“Excuse me?” Rose bristled at him. She felt the Doctor tense up in the chair next to her.

The Maître-d’ gave a thin, squeaky gasp, “My sincere, apologies, Miss!”

“’S all right, mate.”  She forced herself to relax and smiled warmly at him. “Sounds like you need a vacation. What’s your name, then? I’m Rose, and this is the Doctor.”

“Hello!” The Doctor waved cheerily.

“I am called Zoorgraps. Please enjoy your refreshment. In just a moment, your table will ascend, and you may place your orders.” His expression, Rose noted, still seemed perturbed and angry, but maybe that was just the way his species was. “If you’ll excuse me…” he whiffled, and drifted off to greet another couple at the door.

Rose opened her mouth to comment on Zoorgraps’ attitude to the Doctor, when she suddenly found herself gripping the sides of her chair in momentary shock as the table began to rise up off the floor. She glanced at the Doctor, a little peeved at his nonchalance, and quickly schooled her features to one of casual indifference. The confetti curtain (holographic also, she noted) resumed its descent around the table. She tried to pass her hands through it and was startled when a mild buzzing resistance impeded her.

“Forcefield,” the Doctor smirked at her, “to prevent us from tumbling to our doom.”

“Oh, well, that makes sense.” She flushed at her naïvety and quickly changed the topic. “So, what are you having?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.”

“What? You’re going to watch me stuff my face? I don’t think so! Please, Doctor? Anyway, I thought you said you had a sweet tooth.”

“Yeah, not so much this time ‘round.” Rose was perplexed by his choice of words, but immediately dismissed it to a place at the back of her mind as he continued to speak. “But, I suppose a banana hot chocolate with whipped cream would provide a nice boost of energy.”

--oOo--

While the Doctor placed the orders, Rose became engrossed in observing the customers at surrounding tables. “Look at those two, Doctor! What ya think? They’re way beyond first date. I bet they just got engaged! Oh, my God! They’re feeding each other!” She began to laugh, wrapping an arm around her stomach in a hopeless effort to control herself. “Definitely.  Engaged! Or about to be…”

“I dunno, Rose,” the Doctor looked up, having finished placing their order, “I think they might be beyond engaged.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Because Rose,” he gestured with a nod of his head at the couple in question, “while he’s feeding her with one hand, the other hand is occupied in a much more entertaining activity.”

“You’re havin’ me on! Oh – my – God!” Rose felt the heat of a blush redden her cheeks as she glanced under the couples’ table. “Well that explains why she looks so dreamy and flushed, then. I am officially upgradin’ their status to newly-wed!”

“That seems more appropriate, I’d say,” he agreed, infuriatingly unflustered by the activities at the next table.

“’Course, could be anything… they’re probably just randy, or this could be... normal behaviour for the, what was it? 47th Century…?” Rose’s attention was (thankfully) soon diverted by the arrival of a tiny flying droid. Its body was a sparkly fuchsia, and its heavily lashed eyes were bright red, heart-shaped deely-boppers. Rose sputtered in shock as it delivered their food, confirming their order in a sultry voice.

The Doctor chortled at Rose’s bemused reaction. “It’s all jus’ a lot to take in, ya know,” she stammered, “what with Mr. Happy Hands and the wife sittin’ next door, and Lou-Lou the Love-Bot delivering the–” She was interrupted by a muffled, impassioned cry from the woman at the next table, causing Rose to roll her eyes in an attempt to affect disdain and indifference.

The Doctor simply chuckled harder. “Keep up, Rose! I thought you’d be over the culture shock, by now,” he teased mercilessly.  

“Shut up. ‘S not like that stuff didn’t go on ‘round the Estate, but it wasn’t done out there for everyone to see: usually down some dark alley… or on the dance floor at one of those seedy clubs. And the robot’s just daft! Besides, you’ve had nine hundred years to get used to all this. I haven’t even had nine months!”

“Still, Rose…” He gulped down his mug of hot chocolate in one swig. “Oi, what’s goin’ on down there?” he asked, responding to the noise of shouting rising from below.

Rose craned her neck to give her the best view of the floor of the restaurant through the confetti forcefield. “Looks like our friend, Zoorgraps, has gone completely bonkers, he has! Right cheesed off about somethin’. He’s natterin’ on about how unfair life is, havin’ to work here. Doctor, he’s getting really worked up… Doctor?”

Rose looked across at the Doctor. He was leaning on his elbow, chin in his palm, gazing at her dreamily. “Doctor?” her voice rose in alarm. “Earth to Doctor…” She waved her hand in front of his face.

“Right here, Rose. Don’t worry, love, I’ll never leave you.”

“Right comforting, that is! Not quite relevant, though, Doctor.  Wait… did you just call me ‘love’?” She felt a strong prickle of concern rush over her. “Doctor, could you answer me a question, then?”

“For you, my Rose, I would do anything.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that… Did you happen to detect an aphrodisiac in that hot chocolate of yours? Just guessin’… on the off chance… that you did, yeah?”

“Oh, yes! There was enough potion in there to make a Geruhundian Greehog fall in love with an Ooktee.”

“Thought so.” She wrinkled her nose in trepidation. “And your superior physiology…?

“Still superior, but that was a rather large dose... You know, that’s what I love about you, Rose! So observant! So beautiful… and not just for a human.” He snatched her hand from where it lay across the table, pressing his lips to the back of it.  

Rose shivered, and quickly turned away from his piercing stare. She was about to suggest that they get back to the TARDIS post-haste, when she became aware of an enormous commotion, not just from Zoorgraps at floor level, but also taking place in the air all around her: it seemed the holographic cherubs were continuing to fly about, shooting arrows at customers, but the arrows were no longer holographic recreations. They were very real and very dangerous.