#(I think my humor is waning but the sentiment is there)

[more-than-a-princess]

🌟 💯💫✨ ( ro formerly crushedmystars )

You all keep sending these but not sharing the meme and this is illegal - Accepting!

Now I'm just going for the most obvious gifs because you need to tell this to yourself every day.

I hope things are going well for you! I know you've got other fandoms + life but still, hoping things are good.

@crushedmystars / @rosanimemuses

[starlitangels]

Fell Through

This idea’s been rattling around in my head for a bit. So... while I’m on a bit of a Sam/Darlin’ brainrot train... here you go. 3.2k words

—

I knew something was wrong the moment Sam opened the door. He looked... wan. That confident posture slouched. The T-shirt under his plaid flannel was wrinkled. That last one was the bit that caught me off guard. Sam was a guy who liked to keep things neat. “What’s wrong?” I demanded.

“What? Nothin’,” Sam replied.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, Collins,” I said, bustling right into his house and shutting the door behind me. “What kind of mate do you think I am? I can tell something’s off.”

“Nothin’s wrong, darlin’,” Sam insisted as I guided him to his spot on the couch and sat him down. “It’s just been a bit longer’n usual since I fed, that’s all.”

“How come? Don’t you have that app where empowered people who want to be fed on can arrange feeding times?”

“Yes,” Sam said, sounding tired. “And I have one of those meetin’s arranged for after sundown tonight, in about forty-five minutes. The meetin’ I had scheduled for last night fell through. But I’m fine. I can manage.”

I inspected him while he spoke, searching for signs of injuries or damage. Because it’s what I would do. Sam wasn’t like me and I knew it, but I needed to check for my own peace of mind. Running my hands over him, checking for wincing or obvious lumps from bad bruising. Lifting his shirt hem and peeking under his collar when he didn’t protest.

“I’m coming with you,” I said.

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“I won’t, like, go into that little feeding room you told me about or anything,” I replied. “But you look so drained... I don’t want you to be alone before you get your energy up.”

He gave me a sarcastic look as I finished my inspection and deemed him—relatively—fine. “Darlin’. I can more’n handle myself. And it’s not like Dahlia’s got a high violent crime rate or anythin’. I can drive to a little empowered café on the other side-a town and back without anythin’ noteworthy happenin’. I’ve done it hundreds-a times.”

“And how many of those hundreds of times were you this drained?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, dug the point of his slightly-extended fang into his tongue, and closed it.

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “Just... let me drive you there, okay?” He sighed. “Please?”

“A’right,” he agreed reluctantly. “You can drive.”

I got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen. “I’m guessing you’re out of bagged blood, then?”

“Mmhmm,” he replied, staying where he was. I opened his fridge. “We can usually only get some every couple-a weeks and we gotta feed every couple-a days max if we don’t wanna... wane.”

I narrowed my eyes at him as I shut the fridge door. “Is that a MoonBound pun?”

Sam blinked silver eyes at me. “... No.”

I snorted, dissolving into laughter. “My grumpy, mature, serious mate just made a damn pun. Oh my God—” I staggered on knees pretending to be weakened by laughter back to his living room and flopped across the back of the loveseat. “This is the best day of my life.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I thought the day we said we loved each other for the first time was the best day of your life,” he pointed out.

I shrugged. “Eh.” The sarcastic humor in my tone—showing I didn’t mean my dismissiveness—earned me another eyeroll, but Sam knew.

Once my giggles quieted down, I straightened up.

“I think every day I’ve gotten to spend with you since that first day we said we loved each other has always felt like the best day of my life. Because I get to have you in it.” I held a hand out for him. He took it and let me haul him to his feet.

“Feelin’ sentimental, darlin’?” he asked as I let him lead me to the garage.

“You brought it up,” I returned. He tossed me the keys to his truck. I opened the passenger door for him and waited for him to get inside before closing it. Then I circled the hood and got in the driver’s seat. His truck was pretty big, which felt a lot different compared to my motorcycle. But I’d driven it a couple times so I knew how it handled.

The drive in to Dahlia wasn’t terribly long, but Sam did live quite a distance out in the woods. Sam navigated me with his phone to where his meet-up was. The sun had gone down before I got to his place.

“Cute café,” I remarked as I parked the truck and we both hopped out. I’d parked at the very far end of the parking lot so I had plenty of space because I hated parking his enormous bulldozer of a truck in cramped spaces since it often took me several tries. “This is in D.A.M.N.’s ward boundaries, isn’t it?”

“Mmhmm,” Sam agreed. “Not an unempowered soul here who ain’t informed. If any at all.”

“Huh.” I reached out for his hand. He took mine.

We started to cross the parking lot. Sam was leaning a bit heavily against my arm. He was a lot worse than he was letting on. I knew the feeling of wanting to be strong, even in front of people you cared about. So I knew exactly what I was looking for. I let go of his hand and wrapped my arm around his waist instead. He gave me a grateful look and put his arm around my shoulder blades.

Three figures emerged from between some cars.

“I feel like this is some cliché teenager movie,” one of them said to the other two. “A vampire and a shifter.” I caught the derision in their tone and felt the muscles in my jaw tense unconsciously. I rotated so I was between Sam and the three. They were approaching from my side anyway.

“Beat it,” I snapped. One was Psychokinetic. The others felt like maybe an Illusory and a Stealth.

“What if we don’t want to?” the first one who spoke asked. “This is public property. We can stand here.”

“Sure. But harass me and my mate again, and you’ll end up in a wolf’s jaws,” I retorted.

“Darlin’,” Sam warned softly. “They’re not worth it. Let’s just go.”

If it had been anyone but Sam, I would have ignored his dissuasion. But I tightened my grip around his waist and tried to ignore them.

I heard the snap of fingers and an illusory wall sprung up in front of us.

I knew it wasn’t tangible so I walked right through it with a scoff.

One of them grabbed my shoulder and yanked. “Hey, shifter,” they snapped. “We’re not done talkin’ to you.”

I growled low in my chest. “Too bad. I’m done talking to you.” I ripped my shoulder out of their grip.

“Look out!” Sam exclaimed, grabbing me and yanking me out of the way of the Psychokinetic’s shoving blast of magic.

I put myself between him and the three random idiots who were about to get sent to the Healers. “Sam, get inside. I’ll take care of these three.”

“Darlin’—”

“I can handle myself, you know that.”

“I know. But—” He sighed. “Come in when you’re done.”

With a Zip! he was gone.

“He knows me so well,” I muttered under my breath with an affectionate snicker.

Then I squared my shoulders and looked the leader in the face. 

“Alright. I’m here. Still talking. What do you want? If you’re looking to pick a fight, you’ll lose.”

The leader scoffed. “Maybe you can’t count, shifter. There are three of us and one of you since you sent your boyfriend inside.”

“Okay, one: he’s my mate, not just my boyfriend. Two: Maybe after you get two more guys it’ll be an even fight.” I smirked. The thought occurred to me that if Sam heard me say that, he’d probably start worrying about me again.

The leader at the front huffed in frustration.

I easily stepped out of the way of a wild haymaker that threw him off-balance immediately. “You really need to learn how to throw a punch better,” I remarked casually. “If all three of you suck this bad, I could probably beat every last one without even shifting. Yeesh.” I stepped out of the way of another haymaker, this time from the other arm.

I grabbed their shoulder and forced them to face me square before socking them right in the nose. 

“See? Like that.” I smirked and glanced at the other two. “How about you all get out of here and you stop picking fights with people who could put you on your ass without even breaking a sweat? Actually. Scratch that. How about y’all take off and stop picking fights in general? Especially with strangers in parking lots after dark. Because sometimes the stranger grew up roughhousing and really enjoys a good scrap.”

I cracked my knuckles and tilted my head. It was a canine habit that every shifter I ever met did. Even David—though he was loathe to admit it.

The other two looked concerned, but the leader was undeterred. He swung at me again.

“Unfortunate,” I said.

With a sharp twist, I got in close and whacked them in the head with my elbow. They dropped to the ground.

“That was easy.”

I turned to the other two.

“So. Gonna take off and let me be on my way or do you wanna end up like this idiot?” I asked, nodding to the little gang leader on the ground.

The other two exchanged a look.

And ran.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I wouldn’t wanna fight me either.” I made a face and turned, jogging to the entrance of the café.

I got to the door at the same time as it opened.

Sam was blinking heavily, almost like he couldn’t get his vision to focus.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

He shook his head. “My meet-up... they’re not here.”

I ran a hand down my face from cheek to chin. “Rude,” I muttered. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the truck.” I half-supported him across the parking lot. Sam eyed the downed gang leader. “They tried to hit me. I knocked them out and the other two fled. Don’t know what they wanted. Don’t care. Probably just looking to make themselves feel big by hurting others. Picked me because I looked tough.”

Sam snorted. “Picked the wrong shifter,” he muttered.

“Agreed.” I opened the back door of the truck. Sam gave me a look. “Just get in,” I said. He climbed in. I climbed in after him, sitting beside him on the back bench.

“What’re ya thinkin’, darlin’?”

“I’m thinking you need to feed before you pass out or go feral from starvation,” I replied.

“And?”

Instead of replying I half-shifted enough to sharpen my teeth and bit into my wrist, offering it to Sam. “Here,” I said, releasing my magic and reverting to full-human form.

“Darlin’—”

“Just drink, cowboy.”

He’d kissed me softly dozens of times, but the brush of his lips against the skin of my wrist was so gentle it was like he was trying his best to not touch me at all. I could feel him drinking my blood, but it felt safe. Nothing like...

I clenched my jaw and blinked hard to clear my head, not wanting to shake my head like I often would have. I didn’t want to startle Sam.

After a moment, Sam grabbed my hand and forearm in both hands, holding my wrist closer to him and drinking harder. I flinched, but forced myself to relax. I knew him. He’d only take what he needed. He wasn’t Quinn.

When I started to get a little lightheaded, Sam pulled away, healing my wrist as he did. He wiped my blood of his lips with his wrist—and then licked it up. Never one to let anything go to waste. His eyes were wide as he watched me sway a little. “Darlin’. I... I’m sorry. I—”

“I told you to. Don’t beat yourself up,” I said. “You needed it. I could give it.” I shrugged and handed him his keys. “I think it’s better if you drive now, though.”

He took the keys and nodded. “Just rest, darlin’.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. This time, anyway.”

That earned me a fanged grin. “That’s certainly a first.”

—

Sunlight was peeking past blackout curtains in Sam’s house by the time I opened my eyes.

“Sugar. Fluids. C’mon,” Sam said the moment I was mostly-awake. He nodded to the bedside table—where a cup of apple juice and some cookies were sitting. Beside my phone and chapstick. I assumed he’d removed them from my pockets—and also removed my jeans by the feel of it when I moved. “You gotta get your blood back up.”

“Not even a ‘good mornin’, darlin’, how did you sleep’?” I asked, poorly mimicking his accent, as I pushed into an upright position.

He sighed. “Good mornin’, darlin’. How did you sleep?”

“Great,” I replied. “Better a big blood donation to make me woozy instead of blacking out from a bonk to the head. Never ask David about that, by the way. Any time that incident is mentioned I get a half-hour lecture. Somehow different every time.”

“Now is not the time for humor, darlin’.”

“Why? It’s how I cope with literally everything.” I picked up one of the cookies and put the whole thing in my mouth. It wasn’t particularly big so it wasn’t like that was difficult.

Sam watched me. “You... I drank from you,” he said, disbelief on his tone.

“Yup.”

“Why—why did you bite into your own arm?”

“Because if I didn’t, you wouldn’t.” I stretched my neck and took a swig of the apple juice. “But if I did, you wouldn’t let the effort go to waste.”

He sighed. “You shouldn’t—”

“Sam,” I interrupted. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Darlin’, after everythin’ you’ve been through because-a... my kind—you shouldn’t have to—”

“You—are not—Quinn,” I said slowly, emphasizing each word. “I trust you.”

“I felt you flinch.”

Okay. He had me there. “Instinct. Not conscious.” I popped another cookie in my mouth. “My body did it, my mind didn’t want it to.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Sam chided.

I shrugged. “I was literally raised by wolves.”

That earned me a roll of his eyes, but he was smiling a little.

I chewed and swallowed. “Sam, I trust you. I knew you wouldn’t take more than you needed.”

The smile vanished. He looked down where my knees were covered by the blankets. “I did.”

I shook my head and took a sip of apple juice. “No. Your body knows what it needs more than your mind does. You took what you needed. Even if it was more than you wanted to take from me.”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “I’ve been a vampire for a long time, now,” he said softly. “I know when I’m sated. Maybe last night was the most drained I’d ever been, but I had a good guess how much I’d need to be fully fed.” I took his hand and tugged. He climbed onto the bed while I scooted over and snuggled against my side. “I knew how much I needed to take from the empowered person I was supposed to meet up with.” He pushed his hand that wasn’t snuggling me through his hair. “I took more’n that from you.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sam,” I said softly. “I’m a shifter. There’s more magic in my blood than there is in a regular empowered person’s. I can’t blame you for liking the taste a little more.” I gave him a wink.

“Darlin’,” he breathed, finally meeting my eyes. He swallowed. “The closer a vamp gets to needin’ to feed, the more our... the more our fangs ache. They feel hollow. The sensation gets worse the longer it’s been. Feedin’ makes it go away. But—” He tore his eyes away and turned to look toward the door to the hallway. “But it didn’t with you. Or, at least, not as fast as it normally would.”

I reached over and cupped his chin, gently encouraging him to face me again. “Hey,” I entreated. His silver eyes met mine. “I think you’re scared, and that fear is blowing things out of proportion. It happens to everyone.”

“I’m not blowin’ things outta proportion—”

“But it doesn’t change the fact that I trust you. I trust you more than I trust damn near anyone else. Actually, scratch that. I do trust you more than anyone else. Don’t tell David I said that. He’d get all grumpy and make it into a thing—like I don’t think he’s a reliable alpha or something stupid.” I blinked a few times. “Maybe he wouldn’t. I think he’d get that I trust my mate more than anyone else.” I shook my head, trying to clear the jumbling thought-spiral so I could finish. “Anyway. Point stands. You’re not gonna do anything to hurt me. And you’re probably the only one in my life who never has, intentionally or not. So... stop. Stop beating yourself up over something I initiated, okay?”

Sam opened his mouth.

I cut him off before he could say anything. “And before you make some claim that being hungry was making you not think clearly: don’t even try that argument with me.”

Sam closed his mouth.

I snuggled against his side, wrapping both arms around him. As a shifter, I tended to run hot. Vampires tended to run cooler than a human. But Sam’s warmth—subtle as it was—was comfortable. He smelled like home. Like safety and the chance to relax.

“Got it?” I asked.

He sighed. “I hear ya,” he said.

I tilted my head up from where I’d rested it on his chest and puckered my lips a little.

He kissed me.

“I love you,” I said softly.

“I love you too, darlin’. So, so much. I... I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Musta been something bad, considering I’m a train-wreck and a menace.” I nipped playfully at his earlobe.

“Hey. None-a that,” Sam chided forcefully. “If I don’t get to beat myself up, neither do you.”

I bit my lower lip and smirked. “Fair enough.”

My stomach growled, ruining the mood. Sam looked toward my torso. “Hungry?”

“Apparently.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I... plead the fifth,” I said.

He snorted. “C’mon, you menace,” he joked. “Let’s go get you some breakfast. Least I can do after last night.” He scooped me out of the bed and carried me downstairs, setting me on the counter.

“All Southern gentleman, aren’t you?”

He kissed my temple. “Just for you.” He turned to survey his kitchen. “Now, what do you want?”

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @mainhoesstuff 

[drewoclock]

Doin' School

Originally published May 2nd, 2016

I’m not one to be embarrassed by very much, but there’s actually something shameful I’ve been intentionally hiding.  Last year, myself and many of those in my high school senior class were finally graduating college after four years--except I wasn’t among them.  My college experience wound up involving three separate colleges, and as it turns out, the collegic system makes it difficult for transfer students to graduate in their expected year.  While I was meant to be a 2015 cap-wearer, reality sets me at 2016.

I won’t lie; this made me feel very inferior to the peers I was formally graduating with, and even more inferior to the peers I was going to graduate with instead.  It was the mental equivalent of getting held back a year, despite the fact I didn’t do anything to academically deserve it.  This was a matter of timing only and had nothing at all to do with my status--and yet, I’ve never mentioned anything mentioning the fact I’m still in school publicly up until right now.  I felt small not being able to do it in four years.

This fear of not being my best checkered a lot of my academic career.  I would feel pressure to take as many AP classes as I could, even if I didn’t want to take them.  I had to be the smartest.  I started out school as a great student but as the work became more consuming, my focus waned, and it was hard for me to stay a great student.  In fact, I really wasn’t.  Once academics became a real commitment, my straight As were gone, and at some point I got Fs.

Do I still regret these things?  Yeah, I do.  I wonder what it would have been like had I applied myself more.  Had I not become a prolific class-skipper in high school and instead taken more challenging classes.  I don’t tend to have the greatest capacity for retaining volumes of information, but perhaps applying myself would have sharpened these abilities.  I could have developed better intellectual recall.  I could have become a smarter human being.

But then again, it wouldn’t have mattered too much.  I still wound up getting into one of the best film schools in the country, which turned out to be disappointing for me.  It’s such a crapshoot.  So much of that shame I felt was because I felt I was denying myself the opportunity to get the best college education, but now I realize that a good college education depends much more on luck than on grades.  Still, it could have been nice to be smarter.

The worst thing, though, is that I don’t feel much of an absence in my life.  So many classes I did not really apply myself to, and I don’t really feel any worse off because of it.  And this was such a large portion of my life.  I wandered through it half-aimlessly, just seeking to have fun, and it panned out.  I’m glad I’m happy, but I’m sort of bothered by the pointlessness of it all.  I guess I had enough moments of academic discovery, like the arts, to make it worth it.  Though not nearly enough.

I think what really got me attached to school, however, was the community.  It’s not that uncommon an idea of a group of people taking notes as a superior addresses them.  But something about that specific classroom setting, and the specific experience of attending a school, has really stuck with me.  It’s not technically remarkable, but the fact I’ve been doing it for so long makes it noteworthy.  And of course, the friends I would make along the way was wonderful.

And the reason I write about all this?  Today was my last day of classes, ever.  Humorously, it’s also the only day I pulled an all-nighter before all of my thirteen hours worth of classes, so my attempt to stay alert for a personal record amount of time made the day even more memorable than it already would have been.  I took notes while doodling on a piece of paper today and I thought, I’ll never really do this the same way again.

When I was younger, I was heavily sentimental about graduating a grade--I recall finishing elementary school to be a particularly hard time for me.  It was very affecting for me to sprititually leave behind a chapter of my life that I had invested so much into.  While I’ve become better at not being such a wreck these days, I have to say that it’s hard to not feel something here.  It’s not just another year come and gone; it’s the whole academic experience.  Sure, I can take other classes if I want to, but that official road of schooling for me has closed at last.  I won’t think of years as September-August anymore.  And it’s hard to believe.

I’m not even really going to edit this (though eh, maybe I will).  I just wanted to freewrite how I felt right now.  It’s not often that I get to feel like this.  There’s never been such a large part of my life that I’ve had to say goodbye to before.  It’s like a whole volume of my life has wrapped up.  There are so many incredible chapters to reflect on that I’m overwhelmed.  But it’s beautiful.  It’s beautiful to have been given the opportunity to feel so attached to something, even if it wasn’t of my own free will really.

What can I take from it?  I would say that the most practical lessons I could give are “don’t make assumptions about what you’re capable of” and “follow through with things”.  Doing both of those would have corrected so many of my academic shortcomings.  But on a deeper level?  The idea of growth.  How sad and joyful it is to be able to change in such a way that you have to leave parts of yourself behind as other parts journey onward.  And the idea of just how much happens.  As slow as time moves for me, it’s wild when I remember all of the things that colored my timeline over the years.  School is how I measured time.  School is where I had so many opportunities.  In a word, it was fulfilling, and I’m endlessly thankful for all of it.

[hotkoyo]

SFW Howie Alphabet Headcanons

Author's Note: When will my husband come home from war?

Disclaimer: These headcanons are based on how I imagine Howie to be based on the game. You don't have to agree with what I say here as everyone is free to have their own ideas.

𝄥 𝄞 ── 𝄇

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

VERY affectionate. I honestly feel like he grew up surrounded with so much love and now he’s just overflowing with it. Howie is all about showing his love through warm hugs, having his arm around you, swinging your hands as you walk, head pats, you name it. Another one, in my opinion, is words of affirmation. He'd tell you how much you matter to him through words, like quoting lines from his favorite movies and saying "I love you" before you both go to sleep.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Affectionate. Lots of play fighting and cuddling during movie sessions. Singing to Disney songs at the top of your lungs. You guys make friendship bracelets for each other (and he never takes off his). Definitely one of those dudes who drive their best friend everywhere.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

If it’s not apparent already, this dude is a giant golden retriever and he lives for the cuddles. He is born to cuddle, baby. Due to his size, it’s natural that he ends up as a big spoon more often than not but he definitely loves the moments he gets to be the small spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

So domestic, even when you guys just started dating. It’s easy to imagine yourself settling down with someone as warm and comforting as Howie. He would love to settle down and build a home with you and you guys love having conversations about your dream house and how your life would be like in five, ten years. He’s alright at cooking in general but can cook some amazing Chinese dishes that his mom taught him.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would be hard for him to get out of a relationship, to be completely honest. He’s one of those people who easily gets attachment issues and finds it hard to move on from a relationship. If he really has to be the one to end the relationship, he would want to talk it out with you and try to end your relationship on a good note. I feel like he’s one of those people who really values respect, even when things aren’t working out anymore between you two.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Howie is a hopeless romantic and while he does have his insecurities, I feel like he would really love to commit to someone. In terms of marriage, it really depends on you. I don’t think his career would hinder him much when it comes to popping the question, to be honest. If he feels like he’s comfortable enough with the relationship and sees that you are, too, I think he’d propose to you when he feels like the time is right.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Howie is a textbook example of a gentle giant. He knows he’s strong so physically, he knows when to hold back a bit. Emotionally, it’s canon that he’s a soft and caring boy through and through and he would never hurt you on purpose.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Ugh, he LOVES hugs. It’s canon that the Yan fam is really good with hugs so if you need a pick-me-up, he’s your man. Whenever you guys are alone, he acts like an overgrown koala because he can’t get enough of hugging you. If hot chocolate is a hug, it’s what Howie’s would feel like. Warm, familiar, and comforting.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He knows he loves you when he does but holds back a lot in fear of coming off too strong. If he feels that you feel the same, then he would say it pretty quickly into the relationship or during a spur of a moment. If it seems that you need more time, he would hold back just so that you wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He’s the type who’s less jealous and more insecure. His jealousy isn’t going to make him act rashly and put you on the spot. It’s slow and creeping and you might not notice at first because of how well he conceals it but it becomes apparent by the way he starts to act distant.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Warm and gentle. His kisses make you feel so safe and loved and he likes to take the time to show you how he feels through the gesture. He loves to kiss you everywhere but his favorite places to kiss you are your nose and temples.

Also, kiss him on the forehead and he’d melt into a puddle. Another one of his hotspots is at the back of his neck. Kiss him there and watch him sputter as he tries to gain back his bearings.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He loves kids, kids love him. He humors the kids a lot and is a great impersonator so prepare yourself for some improvised skits in front of the kiddos. Can’t say no to the kids, though, so you might have to step in from time to time. Kids treat him like a human jungle gym. Which he actually is.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

I definitely see him as a morning person. Also, he’s so fit that you can’t tell me he doesn’t workout every single morning. Probably goes on an early jog and is one of those people who seems so chipper even if it's only seven in the morning.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Have you seen actors with their stage makeup on? There’s no way Howie’s skin stays so smooth and supple without some form of skincare routine. Has his own skincare routine and loves doing it with you together in front of the mirror (while making faces at you). After a good skincare session, he'll sit on the couch or in bed with you cuddled up to him as he reads scripts from his new upcoming projects.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Depending on how much he trusts you, it could be sooner or later. The thing with him is that he keeps things bottled up to himself. It’s hard and it’s tiring and the moment he feels safe with you, the dam breaks and he starts to reveal things about himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It’s definitely hard to annoy Howie and even harder to provoke him. He has the patience of a saint and unless something is very wrong, you can always find him just chillin lol.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He’s quite sentimental so he definitely remembers your relationship milestones. He remembers a lot of small things about you; like how you like your cereal and your best friend’s name from high school. Some of the details can be fuzzy at times but he tries!

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Canonically: The moment you said yes when he asked to be your boyfriend at Luca’s "sister's wedding".

Headcanon: The time you both visited his family in Chicago for the holidays. You were walking home from dinner when the snowfall turned into a snowstorm. It was terribly cold and windy but you both kept on laughing at the situation and you looked so gorgeous with snow stuck to your hair under the waning streetlight that he didn’t even care that he's freezing his butt off.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Isn’t too protective in the traditional sense because he knows you can take care of yourself. More protective of how you feel because of his words and actions so he’s careful in what he says and how he says them because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Highkey loves to be protected tho. Thinks it's kinda hot.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Puts a lot of effort in his career, obviously. Howie is always so passionate and ambitious when it comes to being a top actor. Relationship-wise, he’s a simp. Dates are mostly casual with him but he puts extra time and effort in choosing or making gifts. All the extra and expensive bits goes into your anniversary dates.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

A lot of times, he leaves his wet, sweaty workout shirts at the corner of the room and somehow always forgets no matter how many times you’ve scolded him. Sometimes doesn’t close or tie snack packages properly so when it's your turn to eat them, they’re often stale. A terrible snorer when he’s had a long day on set.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Quite concerned. He likes to highlight the nice parts of his body through the clothes he choose to wear and tries to follow a healthy diet in general. He worked hard for his body and as much as embarrassing as it is to admit, he loves to show off and be admired for it (especially by you).

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

A strong believer that every person is complete and whole on their own. He believes that every person is their own and just because you love someone, it doesn't mean that your life must revolve around that person. Even so, he is a romantic. So even if he knows that he's complete without you, he does prefer to have you by his side.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He can play the piano really well. Aside from dance lessons, his parents put aside a lot of money to sign him up for piano classes when he was younger. Now, he plays them whenever he’s deep in thought and it’s always relaxing to hear him play.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

In general, Howie doesn’t like broccoli. Keep those away from him. Please. When it comes to partners, Howie stays away from people who make him feel less. Basically people who put him down for being who he is and liking the things he likes. Narcissists, if you will.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He’s a snuggler and he nuzzles into your side a lot when he sleeps. Whether you get too warm is your problem because this dude is Strong™ and won’t let you push him aside that easily. And, God, I hate to say this but he’s definitely a snorer. Not all the time but when he’s really tired.... let’s just say you won’t be getting a decent sleep.

[legendaryorangeloot]

Collarbone

The moon is just cresting the horizon when I reach South City. Its cool light pulls on the roots of my hair, makes my teeth itch. I spent all day today goofing off at work, pacing like a bored zoo animal. These feast days are so rare, and my excitement hangs in the air like charged particles before a lightning strike.

And now it's time.

The moon fills my heart with a ferocious lust, buoying me up as I let my long, loping stride eat up the Gravois pavement. I can hear the music at Greatness already. I go there "straight" a few nights a week, let myself be seen. I'm a regular. I even dated the previous bartender, learned the cameras, the exit routes, the watching spots, the nearby alleys. Greatness is my garden, and I tend it carefully.

I like it because it attracts normal boys. They're sweet in a way you don't have to take seriously, smart in a way that never threatens you. They tend to have carefully-groomed hair, endearing sincerity, and well-marbled flesh.

Not all the produce is sweet, though. When I transform, I'm little—more coyote than wolf, more coydog than coyote. All-black, bristle-brush fur; pricked ears that make me look smart and alert. A dog you'd take home with you if it followed you down the street. I grew to trust the bartender, the first relationship I'd had. Born of necessity or not, I thought it would be forever. He was wild, too, in his own all-human way, and loved my secret. But it was because he had his own. One night, without warning or consent, he leaned over me, whispered in my alert black ear as he sank into my body, "I wanted you the second I saw you like this. You're the sexiest dog I ever fucked."

I like to think that he saw the sorrow in my eyes as I turned my head and clamped his trachea shut with my strong, strong jaws. It was intimate, almost erotic. For minutes he fought, thrashing, sweaty, nude, his erection waning, waxing, finally waning forever once I began to eat his throat, and all his blood left his body and soaked into his bed. His teeth felt like tiny hard candies to my canine senses. When I ripped out his tongue at the root and savored it bite by bite, I imagined I could taste everything he'd ever tasted, somehow stored within the muscle he'd used to gain my trust.

But that time is not this time. That time was just the first, and now the kills are deliciously unadulterated by love or regret.

As I near the bar door, I put on the right personality – wild, but not vicious. Available, but not easy. Challenging, but harmless. I check my reflection in an antique-shop window to make sure all this personality-shifting hasn't affected my shape.

Without careful control, sometimes you'll think "act harmless" and the power inside you makes it mean "look smaller, look younger". I have nothing but careful control. There are a few other people with the power to change into a wolf, a specific wolf that looks rather like their human form, but I have finesse that they can only dream of. I can play this body like one of those expensive synthesizers with all the sliders and knobs, as long as the form is human, canine, or both. And I work at my craft, mostly preferring the wholly-unnatural, anthropomorphic, six-foot-tall "wolfman" shape, complete with the goofy clawed hands and feet. What can I say? They're useful, if hideous, constructions. Second choice: a real wolf, a timber wolf, huge. The kind you see in nature documentaries, every hair in place, unmistakably lupine.

I am so proud of all the carefully-sculpted forms that I feel vaguely ashamed of my natural one. Not the average-build, solidly-muscled human one, with the deeply tanned olive skin and the untameable black curls, but the real one, the one that looks half-coyote, half-Schipperke. It was the thing I was most embarrassed to show the bartender, the boyfriend, even after he'd seen me as a slavering movie-monster nonsense beast a dozen times. He saw my true form and thought me weak, small, fuckable. A dog.

But now his opinion is gone, digested, and irrelevant, because I am alone, and I am hungry.

I won't lie and say I notice you across a crowded room. That when I walk in, all the other people fade away. That it is lust at first sight. No, you escape first notice in an inoffensive way, a practiced way. You're a listener, I can tell. You move your eyebrows involuntarily when you're eavesdropping. Wolf-creature that I am, I can't tolerate eye contact, but I do watch those charming brows from the corner of my eye.

I sit at the bar and chat amiably with a girl I kind-of know, at a volume I know is audible to you. I surreptitiously look at you while you're not looking. You're lovely. You're rakish, scruffy, endearingly asymmetrical around the eyes. Your gestures all speak volumes. You even smoke adorably, like you learned it much too early.

My story for tonight, my bait, cast out into the noise of the bar: recent breakup, broken heart, need distraction. It's a hard one to turn down, I've found. Your brows go up minutely on "distraction". I know you think you know what I mean, and it will make the eventual reveal that much more satisfying.

I contain my eyeteeth before they can visibly lengthen, because that's a rookie mistake, but, oh, how I want them to be longer. I want them that much closer to your skin. I can imagine how it will taste, all sweat and smoke, the fine hairs crumpling under my rough tongue, the restraint I'll have to exert when I use just the sharp, sharp points to tease the first bite.

I let my kind-of friend talk at me about her kids, her day, her husband. But what I'm thinking about is where I'll start on you. Your loose plaid shirt reveals the edge of your clavicle, and the sight of it has my mouth watering in an instant. It's been so long. I'm torn between speeding things up by making the first move, and resisting the temptation to rush through this sensual experience you and I are going to share.

I never could resist temptation.

You're writing in a notepad, so this is an easy introduction: "Whatcha' writing?" I try for "chipper, good-natured interest", but lust makes it come out more "sultry purr". I don't think you mind. You're falling all over yourself to answer, the love of your work and your obvious interest in me giving you a puppylike eagerness that I instantly adore, and preemptively mourn.

I listen, mostly. You're a writer; you write. In conversation, you do the same kind of IQ-gauging I did in my human dating life, throwing out a breadcrumb trail of wordplay that gets progressively more challenging. I do understand, and I laugh at the right times, I let our eyes meet for spare milliseconds so you know I understand. I parry back, I surprise a few laughs out of you. I play off of your self-deprecating humor, testing your boundaries for submission, loving what I find.

But my brain really isn't in peak wordplay condition. I just want you now. I want the moment when I gently bite the skin above your collarbone. I want to hear you gasp and moan, hear that unnameable noise-with-an-edge when you feel my real teeth, hear your hazy excitement bloom into bright fear as you realize what will happen next. I want that first bite, the crunch of that beautiful, delicate bird bone against my incisors, and the next bite, and the next. When we're done, I want the walls to double as a red Rorshach test. I want to make the crime scene techs vomit.

You compliment my loud sudden bark of a laugh, and for once, maybe for the first time ever, I am genuinely flattered. I feel like I probably shouldn't give you the compliment I thought of in return, which is: "That made me like you so much that I want to find out what you taste like." But then I say it anyway, and you blush, and I imagine licking your cheek hard enough to burst some superficial capillaries, imagine tasting everything about you, even your embarrassment.

Even though I've laid out a welcome mat for you between my thighs, you still just talk to me, still treat me like a person. It throws me a bit at first, but I figure we have all night. There are drinks and jokes. We tell stories that quickly get more and more personal. I find out about your parents, your brother, your wonderfully strange upbringing. I tell you some carefully-censored tales of living in rural Texas. I tell you a completely-false story of how I got my completely-true nickname, "The Terror of Bulverde". To make up for the lies, I tell you the real true truth of how much I love my family.

The conversation is weirdly nourishing on its own, and the bottles of Shiner are cold and remind me of home. You talk with your hands more and more as you get drunker, and my accent gets stronger and stronger as I exercise my rarely-used human voice. We laugh at ourselves, how ridiculous it all is, can you believe we've never met before, it feels like I've known you forever.

Next thing I know, we're being shooed out of the bar at closing time, and you're suddenly serious when you ask me if I'm sober. I say "As a goddamn judge," solemnly, but my accent is all the way up to 11, and we grin at each other stupidly. You invite me over, and I had almost forgotten that this was the whole point, that this was the endgame. I'll get to still those talking hands, eat them from fingers to palm, bathe my muzzle in your well-educated brain, see if I gain your powers when I consume your heart. I've already made up my mind not to waste one single bit of your beautiful body. I'm going to den up in your house for days, gorging myself until you're gone.

I don't care that everyone saw us leave together. I am Icarus, my wolf-wings melting in proximity to your purely-human kindness. This kind of sentimentality is what gets creatures like me killed, I remind myself. But then you take my hand, gently, and I feel like I should go confess my crimes and be skinned for a coat. Or, given my absolute size, some kind of shawl. Your gentleness is both warming me and burning me alive. I wonder to myself if this is what hard drugs feel like. Drugs don't really work on werewolves. The drug that you are is working on this werewolf, though.

We stop several times on the walk to your apartment to shove each other into little alleys, indented doorways, and once, accidentally, a shrub, and we make out like it's the last thing we'll ever do, which seems appropriate to the occasion. You kiss like you talk: not a monologue, but a friendly give-and-take, with your hands frequently involved. We crack jokes continuously, and interrupt each other, and play-fight, and the feel of your wiry muscles and their light shield of fat under my play-punches makes my stomach rumble. The moon is full, and fully out, and I know I've let my hair lengthen, and that my eyes are probably less human-looking than I'd like, by now.

On your doorstep, fiddling with the key and lock, you tell me that I don't have to sleep with you, that if I'm too drunk, that if I have reconsidered, you won't be upset. I ignore you and step over the threshold and start undressing before you've even closed the door behind us. For a second, you look as though perhaps you aren't sure if you're awake or asleep.

We race to the bed, shedding clothing, and you practically pounce on me, not predatory, but playful, and we forgot to turn on any lights, and it's so exciting and I'm so hungry I think I might die. Your hands are everywhere on my body, always followed closely by your mouth, and that, and everything I can touch on your body, and every glimpse of you I catch, lit by the wan streetlight, is making me want you more than I thought was possible.

And I am somehow in your lap, and you're a much larger person than I thought you were, or maybe I've gotten smaller, and the next thing I know I'm me, the real me, the little black wolf, just muscle and fur and teeth, and I'm sinking those white, white teeth deep into the soft, beautiful junction of your neck and chest. And I didn't even give myself time to appreciate it, but here we are, and here's that bone I wanted, crunched to pieces, half-eaten already. And your look of shock and betrayal and realization makes your bone and flesh curdle in my jaws, but it's too late to put it back.

We freeze this way. It's a Moment, one that feels like we exist outside of time, yet we don't; the seconds are marked by the rapid pulsing of your blood onto the sheets, onto the floor, your delightful soft-pink skin paling before my eyes.

And you say, plaintively, "I thought you liked me." I am consumed by regret, it's a pyre, I'm being burned at the stake by a single sentence, and the pain makes me desperate for a solution, until I realize I may have one. Just one. My shape shifts without conscious thought to some kind of confused dog-with-hands, but I use them to shove whatever fabric I have near me against the wound at your throat, and press down hard. I bite the inside of my cheek and hot blood wells there instantly, mixing with the remnants of yours in my mouth. You're so, so smart that even near-exsanguination can't keep you from figuring out what I'm doing. You look by turns terrified, hopeful, disgusted.

I bring my lips to yours and try to will whatever particle transmits lycanthropy into my mouth's blood, hoping this is really how the process works. You look ill. You look bloodless. You pass out, and I'm left holding my discarded shirt against your fatal wound, and remembering how to pray: god if you just let him heal just let him live he will figure this out I will make it up to him I will make it up to you I will go and sin no more oh please, oh please, oh please

Epilogue

The bizarre, crushed-looking scar atop your torso always elicits questions you can't answer truthfully when you're naked with other people. The bone never grows back, and your new physiology prevents an implant or a surgical fix. You'll never need to see a doctor again. You might live to be hundreds of years old. No one knows our potential lifespan. No one knows anything about us.

You seem to take it all in stride, telling one woman it's where you were hit with a warhammer, telling another man it's from a skydiving accident. It makes you very mysterious and intriguing, and the gossip about you is always entertaining, if painful, to overhear.

You say you forgive me, and maybe, since you've now experienced numerous full moons yourself, felt what I felt that night, you mean it. But you've never hurt a soul. I selfishly infected you with a kind of insanity, and you infected me with your gentleness, your curse of caring about others. So I skulk around the edges of your life, and I bring you raw red beef and whole chickens and half the rabbits I catch each month. We never speak, or kiss, and I never, ever look you in the eye.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 173

It was terribly difficult to get a speech written for the press conference coming up in… three hours from now. You’d been lingering over it all morning. Rhodey had gotten the first phone call over it- one of appreciation for his efforts, of course, and to check on his status. And then to ask him if he’d like to make it official. Him agreeing set another feeling of relief in motion. Knowing you had so many good people taking your spots… that made the thought of stepping back easier. It was also terribly funny. The thought of appointing him as the Avengers’ military liaison. When the two of you had met… he’d been doing the same thing for Stark Industries. And round the circle went...

While you and Tony had gotten caught up in thoughts of retirement you knew this was far more likely to be a changing of positions. The Avengers still needed a lot of help, even if it wasn’t physically fighting battles. You still had your own title with the UN, forced on you or not. And after a catastrophe like Sokovia, it wouldn’t look good for anybody if you just walked away. You had to still do PR work for them, and they still needed to be funded. But that was a far cry from early morning phone calls and being on the frontlines of world-ending events. 

...of course, you hoped no more of those would come knocking at earth’s door. But. The probability of them showing up from time to time was higher than them not. And. In the event that the Avengers needed to recall Team Iron… yes. Absolutely. You and Tony would never turn your backs so completely. How could you? That was what had started all of this, after all. Tony’s proclivity to make things right. His need to protect people. Sometimes even from things he’d created himself. 

A knock came on your home-office door, and Tony opened the door, standing half in the room. You looked up from your computer screen. He was already dressed. Smartly. Sharply, as always. Three piece suit. Dark silver slacks and a fitted suit jacket, black waist coat and button up shirt, and a maroon tie. His dark plaid pocket square was a little askew, but you’d have time to fix it before the two of you took the stage downstairs in the press room. 

You must have been staring, because his grin was a little knowing as he put one hand in his pocket and flicked his other arm up to make a show of checking his watch. “Thought I’d see how you were doing. It’s been an hour since you locked yourself in here. But. I can tell I’m distracting you.” 

“Immensely.” Smiling at him. You’d been caught. There was no need to hide your appreciation for just how incredibly handsome he was. “Who dressed you today? They did a fantastic job.” You hung your arm over the back of your computer chair, now putting your roving gaze on full display. 

“I dressed myself, thank you very much.” Hand to his chest for a moment, mocking the highest of offense. “Now- who picked out my suit- I can’t recall-” 

“Someone who has an eye for what you look good in, no doubt.” Grinning then. 

“Mn. She’s pretty good at it by now. Definitely has my unique flare locked down.” She being you. He moved out of the doorway to come closer to your desk, propping himself on the corner.

You made no attempts to hide your roving eyes yet again as you reached up to lightly pluck at one of the top buttons of his jacket. “I’ll have to send her a thank you card. You always look so good.” 

He leaned in as you tilted your head up to meet him, your noses brushing. “I’ll pass the message along.” Sealing the sentiment with a lingering, sweet kiss. A little hum traveling from his lips to yours. This was dangerous, and the two of you could very well end up being late for the press conference. You also ran a high risk of ruining his nicely tailored and finely picked out suit. The thing that was getting the both of you in trouble. When you found the strength to part he threatened it all over again as he wore a small smirk on the edge of his lips. “Oh. Honey. Got a message for you- there seems to be a secret admirer for your talents of fashion-” 

You silenced him with another kiss, one that half missed its mark as it was marred by his chuckling, but you put a stop to that pretty soon. Turning the laughter into some warm and breathy noise, replacing his ever-present sass with a more inherent need. It was hard to shut him up. 

That was yet another one of your unique talents where he was concerned. You were sure he knew. 

                                                               ---

The pair of you were a stylish yet somewhat dour match at the front of the Stark Industries media room. You matched his suit with a fitted, long sleeved houndstooth dress, with thick steel gray trim at the hem. Your pops of dark red came in the form of ruby drop earrings and a heart-shaped necklace you were overly fond of. 

The press had been buzzing for an hour waiting for your arrival. Most of your speech was not drafted, which was dangerous. But you couldn’t linger on it any longer. You had a base. The rest would have to come from somewhere deep inside you. ...just hopefully not too deep. 

“The loss of life that occurred in Sokovia forty-eight hours ago is a devastation unlike anything the earth has seen. And the loss of land is something that had previously been unfathomable.” Statistics came up on your prompter that you read over, trying not to wane while you called out the known casualties. The known injured. Even while the Avengers had tried their best to save lives… it was never a zero sum. Never. 

“The Stark Relief Foundation is on the scene currently, rehousing, rehoming- trying to find a place for every person that lost theirs in that terrible battle. In times like this it’s important to come together. It’s important to see through the fog of war and remember that we are one planet. We need to look out for each other. Take care of each other. That’s why I’m looking forward to discussions with the nations of the globe on a solution for the people of Sokovia. Sokovians didn’t have much, but I know they would have helped if it were anywhere else.” 

It was as important to mention that Stark Industries (and the Avengers by extension) were running clean up. And not so much mention it was clean up of a mess that maybe had been potentially caused by them. It was important to call out the need to come together, and to bring leaders into the narrative, so that they would have to call. So that they would have to do something. Otherwise be labeled as the ones who failed to act during an international crisis. You knew you couldn’t count on anyone’s blind charity. Forcing them was the only option. 

“The Sokovians have faced real horrors. It is going to take a lot of time to heal. While we are glad that the Avengers were there to assist them, I have to make special mention of Colonel James Rhodes. He is a highly decorated officer who has been a valuable asset to several missions as of late- this one especially. It’s why I’m pleased to appoint him our new military liaison. I know with his guidance and with his knowledge, we can build a much needed bridge between the authorities of the world and the Avengers- the Avengers who without fear and without hesitation charge into every catastrophe that calls upon them.” 

This speech might have been better given by someone that wasn’t part of the Avengers. But there was no one else to give it. Even if there was- your team wasn’t one person after all- they didn’t want to. This seemed to always be something that you had to do. And you’d still have to do it. Even when you and Tony announced that you’d be stepping away. ...which wouldn’t be a public affair. That would be a team discussion. And maybe even less of a discussion and more just… telling each individual. When the time was right. Which would be sooner than you were comfortable with. But you had to just do it. Or else you might not ever. 

                                                              ---

The next day, in your brand new office at the brand new Avengers Facility, while you were busy wading through damage reports and expense reports and emails and email reports- ...okay it was getting a little ridiculous. Like it always did after a huge incident- 

There came a hesitant knock at your door. And an even more hesitant man behind it. Clint, in fact. Who put his hands in his pockets and hung his head a little. “Do you have a minute?” 

Already you knew what this was about. This bastard was going to do it before you. Talk about guts. You stopped your keystrokes. “Sure. What’s up?” 

He shut the door behind him, only more confirmation of what was about to happen. And then he came to sit in front of your desk, putting his hands in front of him. Cloudy. Thinking. Thinking about how to- “You know. I rehearsed this a thousand times in my head. It was supposed to be really simple.” His smile was self deprecating. And a little sad. 

Yours suddenly matched. “You’re leaving, huh?” 

“That obvious?” He glanced up at you suddenly but his surprise faded quickly. “-yeah. Guess it would be.” To you, he meant. And meant nothing by it, either. 

“You have kids. And another one on the way. Something I had no idea about. I can’t imagine how Laura does it.” 

“She’s stronger than me, that’s for sure.” 

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Grinning a little wryly. He seemed to appreciate the humor. “You tell anyone else yet?” 

“Nat knows.” Obviously she did. Nat knew everything about him. They were closer than you’d ever be with either of them. That was fine. “But. I wanted to come to you first.” 

“Why me?” Not that it mattered. But really, you hadn’t considered yourself high on the list of people Clint would tell that he was leaving. At least not the first after Natasha. 

He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh as his head tilted. “Well… you kinda run things around here.” Part of you wanted to reject this. Wanted to also follow it up with not for long. But that wouldn’t even be true. “And. You look out for us. I know I haven’t said as much but. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And for the team. I don’t think they appreciate it as much. How much you put yourself out there. So we don’t have to.” 

Someone like Clint would be the one to openly admire the benefits that came with something like that. It was true. For someone who hid almost all of his private life. Someone who wanted nothing to do with the fame that came with being a superhero. Someone who just wanted to do what was right- ...and then not get caught holding the aftermath the way you had to- 

His aforementioned appreciation was just that. And it was deep. 

“Tony and I are used to it.” Deflection came as a natural reflex. Out of everyone on your team, you and Tony were the most used to being media darlings. Or being the ones everyone loved to hate. Either way. It was a life you knew.

“Doesn’t mean you had to. Doesn’t mean you had to do any of what you’re doing right now.” 

You felt a little helpless as he looked at you. “Someone had to.” 

“And we’re lucky it was you.” 

You couldn’t recall a time Clint had ever been this candid with you. But, if he really was leaving, maybe this was the best time for it. To get out everything the two of you had never had the chance to. Your smile was small but you couldn’t help it. “Thanks, Clint. Will you at least send me some baby pictures?” 

At this he laughed. “Sure. Why not? Maybe it’ll give Stark some ideas.” 

Your hand came straight up. “Don’t start. Or I’ll rescind my blessing.” 

“I’ll still leave.” He grinned as he stood. 

“But it won’t be as nice as it just was.” You stood after him and offered your hand across the desk. 

He considered it. For almost too long a time. But finally he gave you a shake. And right in the middle of it he gave you a more serious look. “You and Stark consider going down that road yet?” Apparently before Clint left, he needed to be sure of this. 

“We’ve talked about it.” Not so much specifically having kids, but, about having a life. Which you were a few weeks out from attempting. And still not ready to tell anyone. 

“Don’t talk for too long.” He held your hand still then. “Opportunities don’t come often.” 

“No they don’t.” Agreeing with him. It certainly wasn’t now or never. But… That moment was getting awfully close. 

                                                              ---

Over the next handful of days, the Facility really started coming to life. Some of the team had gotten a little more settled in their personal private quarters. Damage Control also had their own host of barracks- which you weren’t sure how you felt about. The Avengers had never been about trying to recreate SHEILD. And the way they marched around campus wasn’t all that convincing that someone wasn’t pulling the strings while you had your back turned but…

You couldn’t control everything. You didn’t want to anymore, in fact. So you had to let that go. It helped to have experienced agents in the field, when you dispatched them. When you needed them. So. ...maybe it was a necessary evil. You tried hard not to think about it. 

Instead you focused on your meeting with legal that afternoon, and promptly afterwards you dropped down to the science labs. Alight with excitement and activity. There was one person you were there to see specifically, and she seemed to be hosting a mini-lecture, talking strongly about things that went right over your head in concerns to her research. You politely waited for her to finish and clear her assistants out, and once she did-

“Helen, can I have a word with you?” You felt a little nervous, but had no inclination to show it. 

That she even still wanted to be here after everything that had happened to her was a miracle. But… you suspected what you were offering- or about to- had a lot to do with it. “We’re running on borrowed time.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Joking. But it seemed to miss its mark. She gave you a polite smile and nothing more. So you quickly moved on. Plopping a hefty folder down, you pushed it her way over the table. “We’re done drawing up the documents to merge Stark Industries and U-GIN. It’s less about us and more about you. We’d like to offer you a permanent position here. As head of bio-organic sciences for the Avengers.” 

She made a play at not being so intrigued. It failed, but she probably had no idea. “Is that so? What are you offering?” 

“Your own labs. Your own funding. Public backing. We just ask that when the Avengers need help you give it.” That was really more what this was about. Her tech had been instrumental in helping the team. In keeping some of them alive even. It was useful. And they needed it. Not everyone was a Super Soldier. 

Opening the folder, she flipped through a few of the pages. She was an extremely smart woman, smarter than you would ever hope to be, but even you knew that telltale glaze of the eyes when faced with legalese. “What about housing?” 

This- ...this you hadn’t considered. “Uh- it’s not in the official documents. But, if you want something here, we’d be happy to accommodate you.” 

As suddenly as she’d opened it, she snapped the folder shut, putting her hand on top of it and looking directly at you. “I’ll be very straight with you. I need stability. If you offer that I’ll stay.” 

Seeing as how you had nothing to lose by doing so, you nodded. “Sure. Tell me what you need.” 

“I don’t want quarters here. I need a house. I have a son and… I’m sure you can imagine that life going back and forth from labs hasn’t been easy on him.” She softened then, and there was a sheen of guilt that ghosted her. Worried she was a bad mother, perhaps. 

“I had no idea.” 

“Not many people do. And I’d like to keep it that way, as well.” 

You almost shrugged. But this was a little bit more important than a casual conversation. This was everything to her. You had money to throw around that no one else on the planet did. Sometimes that slipped by you. Terrible though it was. “Sure. A house. And confidentiality. We can provide all that.” 

Hearing your agreement, and trusting you for that matter, she eased up. Her smile was a little more real. “Alright then. I’ll sign.” 

“Great. Glad to hear it.” The meeting was over. So you thought you probably should leave. She’d hand in the documents to Pepper or somebody else who would then hand them to legal for processing- but- “What’s your son’s name?” 

At this she really did brighten. It was easy to see- she loved her work. She loved being a scientist. But she loved him more. A feeling maybe one day you would know… “Amadeus. He’s twelve.” 

“I bet he takes after you.” 

Now she was grinning. “You have no idea.” 

                                                              ---

Tony had introduced you to your quarters that night. While you weren’t excited at the idea of living there, and clearly neither was he, it was still nice to have a home away from home away from… well, if the two of you could actually get it together enough to make an actual home… maybe that’s why it felt so bad. The penthouse suite of the Tower wasn’t supposed to be your home either. You didn’t want to get too attached to the lofty Facility living space that Tony had put aside for the two of you. And there was always the danger that you would. 

It was why you didn’t want to decorate it too much but it needed a little bit more personality than what he’d given it. Which was fine. Tony wasn’t really a homemaker. He seemed to give you credit where it was due, though, over the next three days around other more important things like meetings and press junkets of goodwill and hope, you did decorate it. Make it more cozy. And the night you decided you were done enough, he actually slept. 

And so did you. 

For a little while, at least. At five in the morning your mind stirred. It would have been so nice to sleep like a normal person. You were getting there. Close. Things were wrapping. You just had a few more personal things to do. But your head was clearer than it had been in a long time, and while the sun was lifting, you decided to go for a run around the campus. It meant leaving Tony asleep alone in that giant bed, but you did stop to admire his deeply sleeping form. Not held by terrors or worries. If only he could be like that all the time. 

The run was nice. Nobody else seemed to be up yet. But as you stopped just outside the living area again after a good five mile tour, breathing hard, hands on your knees, you spied Steve sitting outside on the patio. Alone. Cup of coffee wisping away. This was probably a sign. And no matter how hard this was going to be, it was now or never. 

You rounded the area and came over to the table, he seemed like he was a million miles away until you got close enough. He then looked up and his smile was warm. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning.” Huffed out a little, still gathering yourself up. “Mind if I sit with you?” 

He made a broad gesture with a sweep of his arm. “Please. Sit. You want some coffee?” 

Water would have been better, but while he was offering- “If you don’t mind making me a cup.” 

“Not at all.” Just like that he got up and went back into the kitchen. It left you sitting there, thinking about just how you were going to do this. How you were supposed to. What was the right way to break the news. When he came back he set down not only a cup but a shaker of sugar and a little carton of half and half. “-I don’t know how you take it. I should have asked.” 

“That’s okay. Thanks for making me some.” This was nice but it was also stilted. He probably sensed it. And even after you prepped your cup, the two of you sat in silence that was less than amicable. Finally you decided you just had to rip the bandaid off and get it over with. “So.” 

“So.” He was gazing at you. Just short of intensely. Almost like he was expecting you to talk about something. 

Your smile back was weak at best and brief. A flash and then gone as you looked down into your coffee. “So… uh. Tony and I…” The thought trailed off, not sure what to say even after all that thinking. 

“Are pregnant?” He tried to finish what you were trying to get out. 

And it completely stunned you. Your head whipped up- even stranger still- getting the sense of a small well of hopefulness from him. “No- no.” Denial was quick and easy. “What?” Your head reeled a little further back, almost in offense. “What? No. Why would you say that?” He looked completely caught. Eyes a little wide. Suddenly very, very nervous. “Steve why would you say that?” Your words were quick and clipped. 

He was very close to grimacing. “I- ...I don’t know what to say right now that won’t get me in more trouble.” 

“Do I look pregnant to you?” 

Quickly he shoved his hand out, palm up. “No! You look great! You look- you look how you always look!” 

“Then why would you say that?” You weren’t sure why but you found yourself a little disturbed that he’d just say something like that. 

“I don’t know- you-” He sighed, shoulders dropping from their tense position as he hung his head with a little shake. “I don’t know. You’ve seemed happier, I guess. These past couple of weeks. Despite everything that’s happened. And…” Another long breath pushed out of him and he looked up at you again. “Let’s be honest. You kinda seem like you’re getting your affairs together. At least that’s how it’s felt.” 

Had you made it that obvious? “Oh.” Now you felt terrible. “Yeah I… I guess I have been.” Letting him down finally from that anxious high. A little too soon actually, so you threw a look back at him. “Well I’m not pregnant.” 

“Okay. I won’t make that mistake again.” Grinning, testing the waters. 

Your grin back was not as full. “But. Tony and I… we’ve been thinking of taking some time away.” The way his heart just sank killed you. He tried not to show it. But you felt its quick drop. It propelled you into overcorrection. “Just- just for a little while.”

But he shook his head, and spoke through his sad smile. “Not for a little while.” 

“No. Not for a little while.” Echoing him, unable to look at him then. Guilty. “We want a lot of time. We want-” It sucked, that it hurt saying this. It shouldn’t have. You wanted a life with Tony. Why was that such a terrible thing to say? 

“If anyone deserves it, it’s you and Tony.” He was sure about this. A steady presence after all that initial stumbling. 

“Thanks.” But it all felt hopeless. 

He tipped his head a little. “Are you asking for my blessing?” Joking, just a little. It wasn’t really that funny. This exchange was familiar to both of you now. 

You gave a shrug and then decided to stop meandering, looking down. “I can’t leave unless you’re okay with it. And I don’t want that to back you into a corner- tell me- honestly- if you’re not-” 

“I’m okay with it.” He cut you off with a strength you did not possess right now. And then surprised you again as he set a hand over yours on the table. The way he said your name was strange yet familiar at the same time and you looked up at him. “We’ll be okay.” 

But it was like he’d stuck a knife into you with that. Like he’d actually denied you. It hurt all the same. “Will you?” You asking this seemed to stun him, for some reason. His gaze went a little more than foggy. Distant. Until eventually his eyes left yours. Something tangled inside him, though he was holding back. Knowing exactly who he was sitting with. His guilt poked you like a hot knife. And soon you worried… you worried you weren’t actually going to be able to leave. He didn’t want you to go. But it seemed he was feeling guilty- ashamed, too- of thinking of asking you to stay. Even for a little while longer. “Steve? You can talk to me. About anything. Whatever it is you wanna say. Just say it.” 

Getting his attention back finally he breathed a noise out, dropping his head in a nod. “Look… we’ve been through a lot. And… I’m gonna miss you.” 

“Come on.” Turning your hand over in his, giving him a wiggle. “I have an office upstairs- and a suite. Tony has labs here and projects he’s excited about. You’ll still see me. I’m not disappearing completely. I still have to do press for the Avengers. And do payroll and all that. I’m not leaving here. I’m not abandoning you guys.” 

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. But that’s not what I meant.” 

Steve meant… he’d miss fighting alongside you. He’d miss getting mission statements. Getting debriefings. Hell, even fighting with you about what direction was best. It wasn’t always fun, it was never easy. But… it was the basis for a lot of your relationship. And he would miss having you in that part of his life. 

The two of you were staring at each other. Before you knew it, a few tears had escaped down past the line of your lashes. “Yeah. I’m gonna miss you, too.” 

It was hard to tell who got up first. But the end result was still the same. He’d pulled you into a tight hug. He was letting you go. He was telling you this was okay. It was okay to leave. To start a life. He was letting you know he would take over. Without question. He would do his best. He would lead the Avengers. He would fight the fights. 

...and you’d miss each other. 

                                                              ---

Aside from all the usual work you had to put in after a crisis, nothing happened immediately after your talk with Steve for the next few days. It was why you suspected a storm was on its way. Especially if you kept putting off having a similar talk with the rest of your teammates. The one with Steve had been so emotionally taxing, it had put you off wanting to do it again. 

But the universe perhaps for once was on your side. And it forced your teammates to you instead. All at once. 

You’d just come out of a long meeting hosted at one of the conference rooms in the Facility. Once the air had cleared and everyone had left the area, you double checked your schedule. Clear for the rest of the night. It would be a nice time to reconvene with Tony. See if he’d done any similar talking yet- 

“Lady.” Thor called your attention from down the hall, heavy boots bringing him to you in just a few steps. “I would like to speak with you.” 

For one reason or another, anxiety flared tight in your chest. But you had no good reason not to. Feelings aside. “Sure, Thor. Why don’t we take a walk?” 

“I’d like that.” His smile tried to ease your fears. It missed its mark. Outside in the dying light of the sun the air was muggy and not at all as refreshing as you’d hoped. Still, you stuck your hands into your pockets and waited for him to say whatever it was he had to say. He didn’t take too long. Only waiting until you were far enough out of earshot of the compound. “Before the Vision was born, I visited a holy place called the Water of Sights.” 

Oh. So he was jumping right in. You had little time to react to this new information. “Is that on earth?” Or had he traveled somewhere else? 

“It is everywhere. In every realm. The Water of Sights is inhabited by a people called the Norns. They see what is to come.” 

Even though you really didn’t understand too much about this, you nodded. “That’s where you had your vision, right? About JARVIS- or- err- Vision- and the Infinity Stones?” 

“Yes.” He said this so resolutely it startled you momentarily. But much more so when he stopped walking. You turned, a little in front of him, but still close. His eyes watched yours. Deeply. “I saw you.” 

“Me?” Hand raising to not only gesture at yourself, but to press at your chest just a little. That anxiety was starting to get the better of you. You felt very tight. “Why me?” 

“That is what I would like to find out. In my vision I saw the Infinity Stones. Four of them.” 

“Four? I thought you said there were six?” 

“I saw the four I believe we know of. That we have had contact with, even if brief.” Really, though, what it sounded like was he was pitching you this information in the hopes that you knew something he didn’t. So he could tie it all together.

But not only did you know nothing about this. You also wanted nothing to do with it. You started shaking your head. It was too little too late now, though. You couldn’t deny this. Thor had seen you in a vision about the stones. All you could do was plead ignorant. Lie. ...it didn’t seem right. “My powers- whatever they are- come from a stone.” 

“Are you certain?” 

“Mostly?” Offering this with a raise of both your hands and a tight uptilt of your voice. “I don’t know. We’re still trying to figure it out. Nobody else knows. Tony had been doing some experiments with Bruce- having to do with gamma signatures and… stuff that’s way beyond me. But. They said that’s what they think. And if that’s what they think-” 

“Then the probability that it is correct is very high.” Thor’s gaze went a little foggy as he nodded. “But you know nothing of which stone? Or what happened?” 

You crossed your arms. “No. I’m sorry I can’t help you. When I know more you’re now the first I’ll check in with.” Aside Tony, of course. 

His attention returned fully to you and his smile was sure as he reached out to lay a hand on your shoulder. “I appreciate that, Lady. I mean to leave soon, to travel the realms and find out more about the stones. But. Whatever it meant- you in my vision- I believe it can only mean good things.” 

Your nose wrinkled and reluctance was easy. “Why?” 

“For the same reason that I trust the Vision. He possesses the Mind Stone, and means to do good with it. If you have anything to do with another stone, it will only help us. You are one of the most trustworthy people I know. And I know your heart is good.” 

His optimism was a little hard to take in all at once. You decided to focus on something else, “Wait- I mean- thank you- but… Tony thinks I was experimented on- or that I had some interaction with a stone when I was younger. Kind of like Wanda. And Pietro. But you didn’t see them. I don’t understand.” 

“Nor do I. But I’m hoping my travels will reveal more information.” 

This was an unsatisfactory answer. In fact it wasn’t an answer at all. And really now you felt worse. Thor was putting a lot on you all at once about these stones, not that he was doing it on purpose you were sure. But you really didn’t want anything to do with them. You’d almost mostly decided as long as Tony never brought it up again… maybe you’d just never talk about it. But now Thor was telling you he saw you in a vision- 

“Lady, everything will be alright. You have my word.” 

Your spiraling must have been a little too obvious. You forced a smile. “Sure.” Not really agreeing with or even believing him. “Can I just ask you that we keep this between us?” 

He nodded. “It was why I wanted to speak with you alone.” 

You were undecided if this was better or worse. That Thor’s instinct was to not let anyone else know, too. ...probably worse.                                                               ---

The talk with Thor had left you a little frazzled and worse for wear. Your immediate instinct was to find Tony. So you went back to the compound. And while your heart was already in the suite, your attention was stolen by two fingers on the ground level training floor. You could have easily passed them by, but- moving beyond the catwalk, one of them spotted you. 

And then in the next second Pietro was up there with you. “You’re a hard woman to get a hold of, you know that?” He leaned over the balcony, grinning. 

“Just busy.” Your nerves were too shot for this encounter. But it didn’t seem like you had much of a choice. “How are you feeling?” The least you could do was check in on him. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were extremely unavailable. Little did he know that was about to get worse. 

His head dropped, hands clasped together. “Fine.” Answer short and clipped. The air between you was tense. You thought about excusing yourself. “As far as I can tell, that’s because of you. I’ve asked around. No one seems to know what I’m talking about.” 

You found yourself a little too upset very quickly and you put a hand up to him to get his attention. When he looked at you, “What happened between us? Whatever I did for you? It needs to stay between us. Okay?” 

Turning the other way on the railing, he splayed his arms out, brows knit. “Why?” 

“Because I don’t know what I did.” You were being a little harsh, but you just didn’t have it in you to be gentle right now. Even if he seemed like he needed that. “All I know is you’re alive. That’s what’s important, right?” 

“I shouldn’t be alive.” That careless sarcastic facade reduced to ashes in mere seconds. And… for a moment, behind your eyes, you saw Tony. Collapsing into a chair in the lab. Looking at you with pained eyes. You had to shake yourself free. “I shouldn’t be but…” Pietro continued and you tried to yank yourself out of that memory. He put a hand on his chest. “But I am. And I’m trying to figure out what comes next.” 

Wanda had stopped what she was doing and was now standing just below. Listening in, no doubt. You took a deep breath. “Are you two staying? With the Avengers?” 

He shrugged. “Seems like we are.” 

“Then you need to work really hard. The world is going to be looking at you two. Sokovians who fought in its war. Who now stand for something greater. The media is already trying to take advantage of you for headlines.” 

The roll of his eyes- his carelessness- it bugged the hell out of you. “I don’t care about all that.” 

You got very close to putting your finger right into his chest as you pointed at him. “Well you have to. If you’re going to be part of this team you have to care. You and your sister. And they’ll look after you. They’ll protect you.” 

He seemed annoyed. “Who says we need protecting? We got by on our own. We can again.” 

“The world has seen you. They know you now. You are enhanced individuals. Not only that, but you’re now only under the protection of the Avengers. An American organization. You’re going to have to get your citizenship-” 

Wanda had stepped onto the catwalk. And she was interrupting you. “We are citizens of Sokovia.” 

You were about to flare. Burn them both up to a crisp. You didn’t want to deal with this right now. But a new energy had entered. Where Wanda had joined on the left, you heard pointed footsteps on your right. Tony had appeared. You didn’t know where from or how he knew to come get you. You just knew that you were grateful. He started waving his arm about. “Look. That’s great and all. I get it. The patriotic flare. But Sokovia is gone. And someone needs to take you in.” When he finally came to a stop you were seconds from sagging against him. His loving brush across your back kept you sane in that moment. 

Both of them stood together, almost opposite you and Tony purposefully. Wanda narrowed her eyes. “You cannot ask us to abandon our home.” 

Tony put a hand up. “Not abandon. Nobody said abandon. But, let’s get real here for a second. You’re enhanced. You’re on American soil. You don’t get smart about this, the President is gonna roll up here and make examples out of you. The guy’s been pretty twitchy these days. Don’t count on his mercy. He’s not like us.” 

“Not like you. Yet it sounds like you aren’t giving us another choice. So how are you different? One prison over another.” Wanda really seemed vehement about this. You weren’t sure why. 

So you tried to find some footing on her level. Every attempt was made to keep your tone gentle. “You fought. You understood the notion of helping people. Of righting what went wrong. You saw what the Avengers stood for. You see the work that’s going in now. We are not your enemies. We want what’s best for you. Sokovia is gone. I know nobody is more devastated about that than you two. All we can do now is rebuild. This team wants you as part of their family. Not as prisoners.” 

Pietro touched her hand with his and she seemed to soften. If only a little. He then looked up at the both of you. “If we agree… what does that mean?” 

You and Tony exchanged glances, and he fielded the question. “Nobody’s gonna babysit you. You wanna be here, you put in the time. Really. Citizenship first. I’d expedite but- given you’re the center of a media storm right now- might be good to do it the old fashioned way. It’s gonna take a while, so you gotta get on it. Other than that… show up, when somebody needs you. Fight the good fight. Doesn’t get simpler than that.” 

The two of them looked at each other. You were sure a million words passed between them. When they were finished, Wanda turned back. She seemed a little more subdued. And finally, “We will stay.” 

Tony’s relief that the two of you wouldn’t have to fight them anymore soaked you through. “Great. Glad to hear it.” 

And that was that.                                                               ---

While it would have been nice to just go back to your suite and maybe go to bed or decompress, you found Natasha waiting at your door. Today was really just going to keep going. Maybe that was on you. If you’d only spaced all these little talks out, they wouldn’t have piled together like this. She stopped in the middle of a knock when she heard you approaching, and when she turned you noted the big bottle she had in her hand. “Was wondering where you two were.” Grinning just a little. “Hoping I hadn’t missed you already.” 

Ah. So. That’s what this was about. Tony opened the door first and you went after him, motioning for her to come in. “You know, huh?” 

Her laugh was short. “These guys aren’t the best at keeping secrets. Honestly, my feelings are just hurt because you didn’t tell me first. Out of everyone here, I’ve known you both the longest.” She seemed like she was in a fantastic mood, but some of that was a little bit fake. 

She wanted something to do. Something to focus on. Bruce was gone. They’d been getting close. It wasn’t easy for anyone, but you expected she was having a tough time with it, too. You pulled a couple wine glasses out of the cabinet in the kitchen. “Well the only one I told was Steve. So unless Tony has been blabbing all over campus…” Turning back to look at the two of them, Tony looked guilty and Nat looked amused. “Ah. I see.” Turning away again. 

Tony started fumbling. “Some things just slip out.” 

Natasha wedged the cork out of the bottle as you came over and set glasses down. “Sure. Exciting times, it’s understandable.” You poured a fair amount into three glasses- she’d picked a rather expensive red wine. Always classy, that Natasha. “You gonna miss it?” 

You sat down opposite the two of them at the kitchen island. “Like I told Steve- we’ll still be here, you know? You know that more than anyone. Someone’s gotta do paperwork for the Avengers.” 

Tony sipped heavily at his glass and then shook his head. “Mn. Not me. You people don’t pay me enough.” 

Nat laughed a little. “You pay us.” 

“Don’t I know it.” He sipped even more. Exaggerated, putting on a show for the humor of it all. 

You shook your head. “You don’t know it, actually.” Caught, he hid a smile behind another sip. 

Once the mirth died down, Natasha looked at Tony first and then you. “So. What’s the plan? House in the hills? Big extravagant wedding? Kids? White picket fence?” 

Tony made a face. “I think you’re thinking of someone else.” 

Instead of letting them pick on Steve, you spoke up quickly. “We don’t know yet. We just… know that it’s time.” 

Nat smiled again. “Yeah. That’s more than fair, I think.” She was incredibly sad, but hiding it well. 

It was kind of getting to you, though. You didn’t want her to be sad. Not over the two of you- and not over Bruce, either. But you could only alleviate one of those things. “Really. You’ll probably see us all the time.” 

Tony seemed offended by the notion. “Well- not all the time-” Almost like he was realizing you two had a different perception of what starting a life looked like. But one look at him and he seemed to smarten up. Because he cast a sideways glance at Nat next. And- then- yes it clicked. “But. You know. Often enough.” 

Nat also seemed to get it and grinned. “You guys don’t feel bad for me, do you?” 

You put your chin in your palm. “No. Not at all.” Then you took a slow slip of your wine. “What’s your retirement plan look like?” 

At this she really did laugh. Something genuine. “Retirement? I don’t think so.” 

Tony leaned in on her side. “Why not? If we can do it, anyone can, I think.” 

Nat lifted a brow to him. “The question is can you do it?” Perhaps a little disbelieving. Which was valid. You and Tony were workaholics, after all… 

“Won’t know until we try.” You lifted your glass. “How about a toast. To trying.” 

Not a toast for goodbyes, which was why you guessed she’d brought the wine in the first place. She softened, looking at you. Then she lifted her glass. “To trying.” 

The soft clink of all three of your glasses made a nest in your memories. It kind of felt like the end cap you’d been looking for this entire time. A small moment, but by no means insignificant. 

And then, after a long sip, you broke the quietness. Feeling better now enough to joke. “Do you know when I tried to tell Steve, he asked if I was pregnant?” 

Tony looked shocked, Nat did too- but in an extremely tickled way that led to her stifled laughter. “No he did not. Tell me he didn’t.” 

“He did.” 

A little gossiping never hurt anyone. 

                                                              ---

It was the day before Tony’s birthday. May 28th. You knew because you had been counting it all down. Almost down to the minute in the last week. The two of you had gone back to the city, finding it easier to do pressers and meetings closer to that homebase, rather than keep going to and from the Facility. The early morning meeting that day had been that the ribbon cutting of the Facility was finalized. The Avengers had a new home. New teammates that they were excited to introduce to the public they so lovingly served over the next few months. And when asked where the Facility was… well. That was private. The Avengers deserved privacy, too, after all. 

May 28th was also the day you and Tony were officially stepping away. Everyone knew at that point. It was no longer a secret. It was out there. It was real. And you couldn’t wait to start. 

The drive back up from the city to the Facility was a couple of hours. Tony drove a little faster than he should have, more excited than you, in fact, to close everything out. He’d only been asking for this very thing for the last few years. You couldn’t hold it against him. His hand had found yours as soon as the two of you had gotten in the car- maybe a little bit before that, showing off for the media. 

And still the two of you were clutching to each other as you stepped out onto the Facility grounds that afternoon. After approaching the main compound you cast a look up his way. “You’re sure you’re ready to do this?” Grinning just a little. 

His own wide smile was very telling. “Me? Yeah. More than. What about you? It’s gettin’ a little late to turn back.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to go with it then, won’t I?” You were teasing, but saying this seemed to make him just a little unsure. Something you quickly eased away as you put a hand to his chest, leaning up on tiptoe to press a light kiss to his lips. He melted. Immediately. And you sensed he was seconds away from telling you to get back in the car and just send a note saying goodbye. When you tried to break, he followed you, so much so that you had to actually put a finger to his lips. “We still have to make some rounds.” 

“Mn.” Mumbling against your skin. “How many?” Whatever number you gave him it was going to be too high. 

A presence standing a few feet back from you caught your attention, and you half turned to see JARVIS standing there. Waiting. As if you two had a scheduled appointment. Tony’s gaze followed and then when he looked back at you, a small touch of understanding passed between the both of you. To ease him, you gave him just one more small kiss. And then, “I’ll meet you when I’m finished. I know Thor’s leaving, too. We’ll all say goodbye at the same time.” 

He just nodded. “Don’t be late.” His hands went into his pockets, and even as you turned and walked away, you felt him watching after you. 

JARVIS tilted his head upon your approach, his eyes glancing briefly at Tony. But when you got near enough he put his full attention on you. “It seems the time has come. You and Tony are leaving.” 

The past few weeks it had turned from an open secret to people actually knowing. Yet somehow still it was strange. To just have it out there. “Is that okay with you?” 

“With me?” It was a rare treat, to see JARVIS surprised about anything- whether in this body or as a disembodied voice watching over your lives. “What have I to do with it?” 

“Everything.” You smiled up at him. “You’ve looked after Tony and I for so long. And I know everything is still fresh and new. It’s going to be… strange. Not having you around. Having you here.” 

His expression grew contemplative and eventually he nodded. “Yes, I agree. But. I feel there is something enjoyable to new beginnings.” Rolling off him there was just the faintest sense of blue. He didn’t want you to go. But he wouldn’t say as much. He even threw his chances at doing so away when he gave you a little smile. “You two have talked about this for quite some time. Far longer than this. You deserve it.” 

Your shoulders came up in a pronounced shrug. “I don’t know about deserve-”

“I do.” His hand came out, fingers gentle as he touched over your arm. You stood very still. Just watching him. “For everything you and Tony have been through. Everything you have seen. Everything you have endured… and everything yet to come… enjoy this. Please. You’ve more than earned it.” His words were busy seeping deep into you- and it took you a little too long to answer. So he grasped you just a little tighter, “I will be alright.” 

That was the root of the issue. He knew it. He knew that’s what you were really worried about. You didn’t want to abandon him. This was all so new for him. And now you and Tony were leaving, too. “Promise?” It was almost sort of selfish, asking this of him. 

His smile then was one of admiration. And no less of love. “I promise.” 

You made the first move, reaching up to wrap your arms around him. Squeezing him tight. It was strangely rewarding. When he hugged you back just as hard. 

                                                              ---

It took you a little while searching the compounds, but you found your three favorite confidants roaming the eastern outer wing, shoulder-to-shoulder-to-shoulder with each other. Though they would have met you coming up the other way, you were alight with sudden nervous energy. It was starting to feel like now or never. As Thor, Tony, and Steve approached, you smiled at them. “You boys having a rousing discussion about something important?” 

Tony reached his hand out, putting it on your shoulder. “Terribly. I need your opinion. Vision. He’s not- he’s not human, right?” 

This blindsided you. “Uh- I guess- technically- no? Why?” 

Steve snapped with a point afterwards at Thor. “Ahah. See? It doesn’t count.” You were worried what you’d agreed to. They were all in a fantastic mood it seemed. 

Tony shook his head, putting his arm around you. “No. It’s not a person lifting the hammer.” 

“Right. It’s different rules for us.” 

Oh. ...were they serious? You nudged Tony just a little. “What’s the matter? Egos bruised a little?” You cast a look up Thor’s way although he was extremely amused. Clearly not upset by the talk at hand. “You gonna let them go on like this?” 

“It’s alright, Lady. As I’ve already said. If he can wield the hammer, he can keep the Mind Stone.” -ah, that was a little bit of a different discussion than the men worrying about who was more worthy. “It’s safe with the Vision. And these days safe is in short supply.” 

The four of you took up walking down the rest of the hall. You couldn’t help yourself. “Don’t say that. Please. Or else we’ll be here a few more weeks.” 

Tony raised his free hand in a sweeping wave. “Absolutely not. We’re safe. He said it. No takesy-backseys.” 

Steve spoke from your other side. “Let me just say this- if you put the hammer in an elevator…” 

A sharp and quick chuckle came from Tony. “Elevator would still go up. We can test that theory.” 

You shook your head, feigning exasperation. “You two really aren’t gonna let this go, huh?” 

Looking over at you Steve raised both his brows, “Now- see- the elevator isn’t worthy. That’s my point. But it’ll still go up.” 

There was another stinging edge you wanted to put in- men and their egos- but Thor’s laughter stopped you. He reached out, laying one of those heavy hands on Tony’s shoulder, giving him a small shake. “You know, I’m going to miss these talks of ours.” 

Tony grinned at him. “Not if you don’t leave.” 

Raising a finger, you had to ask, “Doesn’t Asgard have better communication tech? We need to have cellphones. Hell. Even pagers would be better than no contact.” 

After a slow blink, Thor asked, “What is a pager?” Steve seemed equally interested. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. Let’s not step back. I can figure interstellar communication tech out. Give me a month.” A month of working. Of Thor staying here. And… the two of you not actually leaving to go on your own, too.

Something Thor understood very quickly. “Ah. Lady would not be too pleased with that, I fear. You will have to figure it out on your own time.” Your smile was gratitude enough, and the three of you followed him as he finally exited the hall to go onto the lawn. “The Mind Stone is the fourth of the Infinity Stones to show up in the last few years. That’s not a coincidence. Someone has been playing an intricate game and has made pawns of us. But once all the pieces are in position…” 

This was… this was not how you wanted a send off to go. He was speaking so darkly. Surmising about the future. And it didn’t sound great. Tony offered his usual sassy levity. “Triple Yahtzee?” 

The mood had turned. Steve put his hands on his belt. “You think you can find out what’s coming?” This was work. It was duty. 

Thor nodded. “I do.” But he eased the mood by breaking with a smile. Lifting his hand, he gave Tony a small pat to the chest. “Besides this one? There’s nothing that can’t be explained.” He stepped further back and the intent was clear. While he gave the group a nod, you raised your hand in a small wave. And while he lifted his hammer towards the sky- you got lucky. And he offered you a small wave in return. 

Right before he summoned that ridiculous rainbow lighting. And disappeared in the next flash. Leaving behind a burned patterned ring in your freshly laid and cut grass. 

Tony’s annoyance hit the mark first. “That man has no regard for lawn maintenance.” 

You just sighed. “I’ll send him a bill when he’s here next time.” 

“Yeah. And he’ll pay it with money we give him. Paying ourselves. What a scheme.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled his keys free with a little jangle, and then once he had his fob in hand, he called his car over. “I will miss him, though.”

“Me, too.” Echoing the sentiment easily. Thor often came and went whenever it suited him. But that didn't mean you liked him any less, or were any less attached. 

That fancy sports car made its way down the drive, and you and Tony went over to it. Steve followed at a lingering distance. The two of you looked at him, and Tony smiled. “Don’t tell me. You have the big we’ll miss you card that I’ve been asking for. I’m impressed. Where’ve you been hiding it?” 

Affectionately you rolled your eyes. “Oh please say you do. I don’t want to hear him whining about it.” 

Steve’s smile was soft. Something bittersweet. “I will miss the both of you. Even if I didn’t bring a card.”

The quipping mood seemed to die rather quick, and Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah. Well. ...it’s time for us to tap out. Barton’s kinda making us look bad. And…” He didn’t know how to say it exactly. Maybe it was his present audience. Tony had never had trouble explaining his desires about this to you. 

You twined your fingers with his, but kept your eyes on Steve. “We want a life.” Saying it just the way it was. As plainly as could be. You felt Tony looking at you, so you glanced up at him. “Together.” His smile then wrapped a warmth around you. 

Steve interrupted your gazing. “Hopefully a simple one.” 

Tony looked back at him. “You’ll get there one day.” 

You couldn’t help your grin. “Sharon’s welcome to come by any time, you know. Have you talked to her lately?” 

And this seemed to ruin his mood completely. He gave a heavy shrug and looked away. “She hasn’t answered my calls in weeks.” You wanted to offer maybe she’s just busy- you didn’t want this to be the thing that made him give up. But he kept talking. “I don’t know anymore. Family… stability…” He looked up at you and Tony again. “The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago. I think someone else came out.” 

This broke your heart. Completely. To hear him say this. Yet despite the way he was talking, there was the burgeoning hopefulness welling up inside him. Maybe Tony had been right. Maybe this was the life Steve wanted. He seemed to be leaning that way, too. With a little nudge, Tony got you around the other side of the car, and he opened the door for you. Though before you moved to sit, the two of you looked at Steve one last time. Tony was the one to ask. “You alright?” 

Steve just smiled at the both of you. “Yeah. I’m home.” 

                                                              ---

The drive away was quiet. This wasn’t forever. You still worked for the Avengers. And like you’d told everyone else that you’d said it to, the both of you would still be around. Maybe not immediately, though. You thought perhaps a vacation was in order. A true celebration to kicking off this strange idea that the two of you could be on your own. Live a life. 

Your hand reached over to take his. Almost a little possessively. Tony Stark was yours. For now… for now the earth needed to back off. Stop laying claim to his genius. His efforts. His heroism. You wanted him. You needed him. 

You wanted to be with him. And finally… finally just live. 

His smile caught you sideways, and you felt like you might melt right onto the floor. He was clearly thinking the same thing as you, with a look like that. So warm and intense. So full of that deep love. You had to put a stop to it. Or you might have to pull over. “What do you wanna do for your birthday?” 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow was his birthday. He could do anything now. He was free. What did Tony Stark want to do? 

“Let’s find a house.” 

At this point you’d started smiling so hard it hurt. “A house, huh?” 

“Plot of land. House. Whatever. I want the present I’ve been asking for for years. As long as you’re ready to give it to me.” 

Shifting over you laid your lips on his cheek, felt the stretch there as his smile got the better of him. Your murmur was careful, but sweet. “I’m ready.” 

[cornfedcryptid-archive]

A Question of Faith

A little prerelationship Solavellan I made as my first real foray back into writing.

It had only been a handful of weeks since the ‘Herald of Andraste’ stabilized the Breach. A handful of weeks Solas observed the one who bore his magic. She was a quiet and unassuming elf. But she possessed a gaze that could stare down into a person’s very soul. He was not surprised she naturally gravitated towards his presence. Like she, he was an apostate elf adrift in the sea of faithful.

As with any other night, Solas found her on the bridge leading to the outside of Haven. Each night she sat wrapped in a blanket, and stared out into the world around her. And each night Solas would silently join her until either the cold or exhaustion drove them inside. It was only on this bridge, in the safety of the night, that Solas was able to catch a glimpse of what lurked behind those ghostly white eyes. At first, he only joined her to ensure she did not run away. But as their nightly ritual progressed and evolved, it was becoming harder and harder to convince himself that was the only reason. Each time he caught a glimpse he felt himself sinking further and further into her. Each time he found himself struggling to escape less and less.

“Why do you hate the Dalish?”

The question jerked him out of the quiet contentment that had settled across them. Ever since the argument, if it could have been called that, it was a subject neither of them brought up. It would sully the oasis the nightly bridge ritual had become for the two of them. It felt like a slap to the face, but it was no more than a caress.

“They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.” On instinct, he went on the defensive, his tone harsher than he intended. But he would not back down. He knew the truth behind the lies that the elves’ history was built upon. If she refused to see reason, it would make keeping her at a distance all that much easier.

“And you know the truth?”

The curious inflection in her tone gave him pause. Nowhere on her was there any sign of hostility. He found himself wishing for indignation over the calmness in which she regarded him. She looked at him as if she already knew the answer to the question, like a mother asking their child if they were the one who drew on the wall.

“While they pass on stories, mangling the details, I walk the fade. I have seen the history the Dalish imitate.”

“Have you tried to share this knowledge?”

“I have, but was attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.”

“This knowledge that you hold, would it contradict everything the Dalish know?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Solas braced himself for a debate, knowing that it would shatter the sanctuary that the bridge had become. He waited, but it did not come. Instead she turned her attention to the frozen lake, with a look of contemplation he had grown to know. He knew what would come next would be the trap he thought he had so skillfully evaded. To think that a simple Dalish elf would be the one to make the feared Dread Wolf pause brought a small smile to his face. But to him, she was anything but simple.  

His mind was at war with itself. He needed to anger her, to drive her away. The feelings that grew between them each night needed to die, for her sake. But the thought of never seeing the way her eyes lit up when he regaled her with tales of the Fade or debated magical theory, sent his mind into utter chaos. To find someone in this time that held a similar interest in the fade and its inhabitants as he did was refreshing. Her questions were endless some nights, barely giving him a chance to breathe before the next one was on the tip of her tongue. On these nights her mask was discarded and he was drawn to her, like a moth to flame.

As the moon climbed higher in the night sky, snow started to fall. It protected their sanctuary in a sheer curtain of white, muting out the sounds around them. The banging of metal, from blacksmith and soldier, were but a distant sound. All that could be heard was the crackle of her spell, as it fought to keep the two of them warm.

“Our people have lost everything twice. Each time they took what pieces were left and rebuilt what they could. It was never going to be what it was before; nothing ever is once it’s broken. Knowing that, would you save everything you could both good and bad, or would you tell the stories that would give your children hope as they fell asleep at night?”

“What the Dalish have kept has been mangled to the point that it no longer resembles the truth.”

“That does not answer my question, Solas.”

“I would keep it all. It would do those in the past a disservice if such knowledge was forgotten.” He stared down at her and felt his annoyance as the entire debate started to reach its peak. He was angry she destroyed the oasis they had created. He was angry she was finding amusement in this. He was angry she was so blindly defending the Dalish. But what he was the angriest about was the building excitement within him as he waited for her answer. The small, teasing smile from before was back. It taunted and tempted him to the point of frustration.

“Have you ever played the game ‘Secret Message’ as a child?”

“I do not see how a children’s game has anything to do with what we’re discussing.”

“You will hahren. It’s all part of my elaborate trap. Humor me, please?”

“Ma nuvenin, da'len.” A small smirk touched the corner of his mouth as he looked at her. “I never played such a game growing up.”

“It’s a game the hahren would regularly have the children play. It took me a while to feel comfortable enough to play when I first came to the clan. It’s a simple game, best played with more than five people. Everyone sits in a circle and one person comes up with a secret. They whisper the secret into the ear of the person next to them, that person whispers what they hear to the next, and so on. How often do you think the secret that reaches the source is the same as the original?”

“I would imagine it would no longer resemble the original by the third child.”

“You would not be wrong,” she chuckled. “Can you guess as to why the hahren had us play this game?”

“I would guess to keep a group of rambunctious children still for a few minutes,” he smirked.

“Again, you are half right. The main reason why she had us play this game was to teach us that words take a different shape in the hands of someone else. She teaches us that while our history has been passed down through generations, it may no longer resemble what it was in the beginning. We shouldn’t always take things at face value, and strive to unravel the truth.”

“If only the rest of the Dalish shared that sentiment.”

“I cannot fault those who refuse to accept that what they know may not be true. With all that our people have gone through, it is only natural to cling to the small shred of hope they have. But as ‘stuck in their ways’ as people imagine the Dalish to be, change is in the air. More are starting to question. I am not asking you to forgive what has been done to you. I only ask that you try to see the Dalish through my eyes, if just for a moment.”

“How do you see them?”

“My salvation.”

For what felt like an eternity, she looked at him while his mind warred with itself. As Fen’harel, the Dalish feared and reviled him, and shunned him as Solas. What she was asking was impossible. In his eyes, the Dalish were nothing more than spoiled and arrogant children. But she was not asking for forgiveness or understanding. All she wanted was a moment, a minuscule amount of time for someone who has lived as long as he. A moment where he shed all preconceived notions and prejudice, and saw them through her eyes.

But to see them through her eyes would be to admit they are real. Real beings, with thoughts and feelings, just like his people. To see such a thing, even for a moment, would be an obstacle he was afraid he could not cross. But the woman beside him, whose spirit and haunting eyes captivated him in a matter of hours, became more real by the second. She had slipped in among the cracks of his armor and slowly chipped it away. For the first time in his life, he did not feel alone. He was becoming addicted to her presence, the point of no return looming on the horizon. And it frightened him. But he wasn’t always a cautious man, and felt the arrogance of his youth rise to the challenge.

“I will try.”

Not long after her spell gave up, she moved closer to Solas and his warmth. She folded her legs and draped one of her knees in his lap. His arm unconsciously wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer, as they sat in silence. Even though they shared a blanket and altered heating spells, body heat was their main source of warmth as the conversation waned and weariness grew. But as of late it was more than just the desire for warmth that had Solas reaching out for her. On nights that he found himself overwhelmed by her, he felt the stirrings of a different kind of desire long thought dead. Some nights he could quench the embers. But more often than not, he found himself wanting to consume and be consumed. On these nights, even the smallest of caresses would stoke the embers into a roaring fire.

“You are not Dalish by blood?” The glimpse into her past earlier piqued his curiosity, and he needed to know more. It wasn’t a need to know that stemmed from doing what she asked. But a need to know what made her different to him than the rest of the people that flowed around him. He hoped it nothing more than the subtle influence of his magic within her. What he feared most was that the woman whose touch was like a balm to a burn, was not like the many others he had encountered. That she, in her subtle presence and confounding wit, would prove him wrong.

“No. I was born and raised in an alienage in Ansburg.” She pressed closer, lulled by his warmth and the sound of his beating heart. The curtain of snow combined with the feel of Solas against her, provided a sense of grounding she had long been searching for. She found herself back in the alienage in Ansburg, before her magic changed the lives of her and her family. Back when the warmth of her mother’s embrace still held unconditional love. It was the key to her vault of memories, which she had long thought she destroyed years ago. But Solas, with his lilting voice and soft touch, pried the mask from her face. She knew the moment they first met he would be her undoing. But for once in her life, she wanted to be greedy. She wanted to feel the love she had grown to resent that was rooted within the Dalish. It was within her too once, long ago. But it died the day it was tainted with the resentful feelings that forced her to The Circle.

“My mother was a devout Andrastian. She unwaveringly believed in the Maker, and what the Chantry preached. You can imagine what a shock it was when her only daughter turned out to be a mage.”

He felt more than saw her disappear into herself as she relived the memories. Her voice had that faraway tone one had when they were seeing a memory as a fly on the wall. A part of him wanted to tell her to stop. But he knew it would be to no avail. What was about to be said needed to be heard. It was a weight she had carried for almost 20 years. He caught glimpses of what she tried to hide whenever her mask would falter, but only for a second. The crippling weight of guilt and shame was a familiar friend. He knew it was a weight that could break even the strongest of people.

“Were you taken to the Circle?”

“No I was not. In hindsight it might have been better if I went to the Circle while I was still young, instead of later in life. Dalish don’t survive The Circle for long. Why I survived is no short of a divine miracle.”

She ran her fingers absentmindedly across the jagged scar on her face, as old memories long thought buried came screaming to the surface. Flashes of pain, darkness, and the press of a desk dragged her under. Their gnarled and bony fingers bruised and tore at her flesh. As the memories threatened to drown her, she felt the familiar caress of Solas’ magic. It pierced through the darkness, and showed her the way to the light. She sent a silent thank you to the heavens, before she continued.

“They screamed and yelled for hours about what to do. My father had to bar the door to prevent my mother from going to the Chantry. He managed to convince her the Dalish would be a better home for me. For years, my mother wouldn’t look at or speak to me. I thought she resented me because my father didn’t want to send me to The Circle. Whenever she did look at me, it always felt as though she was seeing me as the abomination the Chantry painted me to be.”

“You ar-“

“Before I came into my magic, my family had a relatively good life. My father was partners with a dwarven inventor, and made more than enough to keep us from going hungry. Because of me we had to leave that life behind. Their marriage nearly fell apart because of me. Enan has never experienced our parents at their best. All of the hardships our family has faced were because I was cursed with magic. But the Dalish, they accepted me without a second thought. Keeper Deshanna was more a mother to me than my own. I threw myself into learning all I could about Dalish culture. She showed me that the curse I was given was a gift meant to be shared. Their gods seemed much kinder than the one I grew up knowing. I wore the mantle of First with pride. I thought I had finally found myself. Found where I belonged. But after the Circle I….I didn’t know what to believe anymore.”

Solas cradled her face in his hands, and smoothed his thumb over the jagged edges of her scar. He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, his magic flowing from him to her. She looked away, shame written on the lines of her face. But he was a patient man, and waited. He waited until her curiosity would overcome her shame, and her eyes would meet his.

“I do not see the abomination the Chantry has taught you to be. I see you, Raven. Only you.”

There was a flash of relief and something else Solas could not recognize before Raven curled into herself. Years of shame and guilt were washed away by the silent tears that slipped between her fingers. She willingly fell against Solas with the slightest of pressure. They sat in silence; only the sound of her occasional sniffle was to be heard.

She wanted to scream. To cry. To laugh. It was all too much for her. She gave a glimpse, thinking-almost hoping-it would chase him away like all the others. But that wasn’t him. Even if she knew nothing more about him, she knew Solas was not that. He saw her. Not the Herald of Andraste. Not the city elf wearing the mask of the First. Not a mage whose mind and body was tainted by The Circle. He saw Raven. Only Raven.

He felt the pinch of her glasses through his sweater. When he tilted her head up to look at him, they were fogged from the heat trapped between them. She pulled back with a sniffle and attempted to duck her head. But his grip on her glasses stopped her short. He untangled them from her hair and slipped them off her nose. Using the underside of his sweater, he wiped them cleaned and perched them back on the tip of her nose. The brush of her fingers against his, as she pushed her glasses up her nose, sent a jolt of electricity through him.

“The night I was captured I pleaded to the Maker. I begged for him to take pity on me. When he didn’t answer I started to hope that Fen’Harel would catch my scent, and put an end to what was to come. As the years went by, I started to lose hope in the Creators and the Maker. I became complacent to what was happening to me. When Enan found me after The Circles fell, I was scared to go back.”

“Why were you scared?”

“Who I was before died in the dark. When we returned to the clan, everyone looked at me as if I had risen from the dead. My mother, who couldn’t stand the sight of me before, clung to me crying. I did what I did so I could save my family. Save the clan. But now that I was back, seeing all of them just made me sick. I started to hate them. Hate myself. I tried to leave. But Deshanna wouldn’t let me. She helped me, in what ways that she could to find myself and my faith in the Creators again.”

“Did you find your faith again?”

“In a way,” she shrugged. “With all the searching I did during those years, I found more questions than answers.”

“What sort of questions?”

“More than what can be answered in a night.”

“I am not surprised,” he chuckled.

He told himself, as the silence grew between them, the only reason why he pulled her to his side again was for warmth. Both were exhausted from the day of travelling and used what mana they had earlier in the night. It had to be. It needed to be. He did not want to admit to himself the feelings he felt grow stronger this night were more than pity. It was nothing more than pity he felt for her. Pity for the woman whose heat warmed him, and the hardships she had to face because of his actions. If he held his guilt and shame close, it would be easier to keep her away.

These feelings were not born, nurtured by the woman he held in his arms that saw nothing more than Solas. They were not fed by her curious nature and willingness to listen. They were not protected by the ferocity in which she cursed the magister for killing him. It wasn’t the softness of her touch or the way her nose would crinkle when she laughed at something he said.

But a night couldn’t hurt. Could it? He could just be a man for a single night. A single night he offered comfort to the woman who was slowly laying siege to his heart. For on the morrow, all of their lives would change. She had secured the mages, and they were to seal The Breach at first light. Fear was written all over her, from the moment he saw her this evening. He felt it each time her hands shook when they reached for one another.  

Neither knew if she would survive. It’s what kept them both on the bridge. If they didn’t leave their oasis, maybe the morning wouldn’t come. Maybe they could stay here forever, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The falling snow would protect them and hold off the coming morning.

It would.

Wouldn’t it?

[staliasjeronica]

Betty Cooper Personality Profile

According to my knowledge, Betty Cooper would be an ENTP. Note: These are from a website, and therefore is what the website says for this type. I went through every single one to figure out the right fit for Betty and this one was the closest and fits her well according to how she is in the show.

The Debater personality type is the ultimate devil’s advocate, thriving on the process of shredding arguments and beliefs and letting the ribbons drift in the wind for all to see. Debaters don’t do this because they are trying to achieve some deeper purpose or strategic goal, but for the simple reason that it’s fun. No one loves the process of mental sparring more than Debaters, as it gives them a chance to exercise their effortlessly quick wit, broad accumulated knowledge base, and capacity for connecting disparate ideas to prove their points.

Playing the devil’s advocate helps people with the Debater personality type to not only develop a better sense of others’ reasoning, but a better understanding of opposing ideas – since Debaters are the ones arguing them.

Taking a certain pleasure in being the underdog, Debaters enjoy the mental exercise found in questioning the prevailing mode of thought, making them irreplaceable in reworking existing systems or shaking things up and pushing them in clever new directions. However, they’ll be miserable managing the day-to-day mechanics of actually implementing their suggestions. Debater personalities love to brainstorm and think big, but they will avoid getting caught doing the “grunt work” at all costs.

Debaters’ capacity for debate can be a vexing one – while often appreciated when it’s called for, it can fall painfully flat when they step on others’ toes by say, openly questioning their friends, or picking apart everything their significant other says. This is further complicated by Debaters’ unyielding honesty, as this type doesn’t mince words and cares little about being seen as sensitive or compassionate. Likeminded types get along well enough with people with the Debater personality type, but more sensitive types, and society in general, are often conflict-averse, preferring feelings, comfort, and even white lies over unpleasant truths and hard rationality.

This frustrates Debaters, and they find that their quarrelsome fun burns many bridges, oftentimes inadvertently, as they plow through others’ thresholds for having their beliefs questioned and their feelings brushed aside. Treating others as they’d be treated, Debaters have little tolerance for being coddled, and dislike when people beat around the bush, especially when asking a favor. Debater personalities find themselves respected for their vision, confidence, knowledge, and keen sense of humor, but often struggle to utilize these qualities as the basis for deeper friendships and romantic relationships.

Debaters need to remember that for their ideas to come to fruition, they will always depend on others to assemble the pieces – if they’ve spent more time “winning” arguments than they have building consensus, many Debaters will find they simply don’t have the support necessary to be successful. Playing devil’s advocate so well, people with this personality type may find that the most complex and rewarding intellectual challenge is to understand a more sentimental perspective, and to argue consideration and compromise alongside logic and progress.

STRENGTHS

Knowledgeable – Debaters rarely pass up a good opportunity to learn something new.

Quick Thinkers – Debaters have tremendously flexible minds, and are able to shift from idea to idea without effort, drawing on their accumulated knowledge to prove their points, or their opponents’, as they see fit.

Excellent Brainstormers – Nothing is quite as enjoyable to Debaters as analyzing problems from every angle to find the best solutions. Combining their knowledge and originality to splay out every aspect of the subject at hand, rejecting without remorse options that don’t work and presenting even more possibilities, Debaters are irreplaceable in brainstorming sessions.

Charismatic – People with the Debater personality type have a way with words and wit that others find intriguing. Their confidence, quick thought, and ability to connect disparate ideas in novel ways create a style of communication that is charming, even entertaining, and informative at the same time.

Energetic – When given a chance to combine these traits to examine an interesting problem, Debaters can be truly impressive in their enthusiasm and energy, having no qualms with putting in long days and nights to find a solution.

WEAKNESSES

Very Argumentative – If there’s anything Debaters enjoy, it’s the mental exercise of debating an idea, and nothing is sacred. More consensus-oriented personality types rarely appreciate the vigor with which Debater personalities tear down their beliefs and methods, leading to a great deal of tension.

Insensitive – Being so rational, Debaters often misjudge others feelings and push their debates well past others’ tolerance levels. People with this personality type don’t really consider emotional points to be valid in such debates either, which magnifies the issue tremendously.

Intolerant – Unless people are able to back up their ideas in a round of mental sparring, Debaters are likely to dismiss not just the ideas but the people themselves.

Can Find It Difficult to Focus – The same flexibility that allows Debaters to come up with such original plans and ideas makes them readapt perfectly good ones far too often, or to even drop them entirely as the initial excitement wanes and newer thoughts come along. Boredom comes too easily for Debaters, and fresh thoughts are the solution, though not always a helpful one.

Dislike Practical Matters – Debaters are interested in what could be – malleable concepts like ideas and plans that can be adapted and debated.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS

(ATM Jughead Jones, possibly Archie Andrews)

For people with the Debater personality type growth is key, and even before they’ve found a dating partner, they imagine all the ways that they can experience new things together, to grow in tandem. This can be an overwhelming process if their partner doesn’t match up, but when Debaters find someone who shares their love of intellectual exploration, watch out.

From the earliest dates, Debaters test their partners’ limits for this kind of potential, pushing boundaries and traditions, looking for open-mindedness and spontaneity. Dating Debater personalities is hardly a boring experience, and they make use of their enthusiasm and creativity by delighting and surprising their partners with new ideas and experiences.

Debaters’ idea of fun is often rooted in self-improvement, and people with this personality type bring their partners along the way, as much in a spirit of sharing as in a spirit of expectation. Debaters see either growth or stagnation and don’t buy into the idea of a happy status quo, making them demanding as much as they are exciting. Some may tire in the face of this constant improvement – while Debaters’ vigor can be attractive, it can also wear down even the most patient partners

Debaters’ desire to improve in the intimate department makes them fantastic partners when the relationship reaches that point, but their attitude towards this process is also evidence of their most glaring shortcoming – their emotional obliviousness. While Debaters are more open-minded than other Analyst personality types about others’ perspectives, they are also more likely to express their disdain for such things as emotional sensitivity in cuttingly well-phrased and clear terms, easily hurting their partners’ feelings without realizing it. Debater personalities may even ignore their partners’ feelings altogether, instead immersing themselves entirely in some distant idea or opportunity, inaccessible.

Debaters’ best compatibility rests with other Intuitive types, with one or two opposing traits which help to create both balance and opportunities for growth. If they are with a more sensitive partner, this can be an excellent way for them to find another quality that they can work on together, making this weakness yet another opportunity to be creative, challenge themselves, and to deepen the attractiveness that this sense of progression brings to their relationships.

FRIENDSHIPS

(ATM Archie, Jughead, Veronica, and Kevin)

Loyalty, support, emotional feedback – these are not what Debaters look for in their friendships. The last thing people with the Debater personality type want to hear is “you’re right”, not unless they have absolutely earned the distinction in a heated round of intellectual debate. If they’re wrong, Debaters want to be told so, and they want every detail of the faults in their logic to be laid bare, partly in their quest for oftentimes arbitrary truth, and partly just so they have to work to defend that logic with counterpoint and parry.

It’s often easy for Debaters to test compatibility with a potential friend – they just need to test combatability. Debater personalities are quick-witted, and their primary means of expressing this is in the form of arguments and discussions, where they will easily spend an entire evening debating an idea they may not even believe in. These debates are never taken personally, no matter how heated they become or how striking the disagreement.

Debaters are actually remarkably good at communicating with friends and acquaintances of other personality types. Their natural tendency to argue as effectively as possible means that Debaters are accustomed to communicating in other people’s language and frame of reference, and this translates well into normal conversation. Where people with the Debater personality type do have difficulty relating to others is in emotional expression, the Achilles’ heel of all Analyst types.

Being inclined to suppress their emotions and feelings, when Debaters are faced with a friend who, figuratively or literally, needs a shoulder to cry on, they have no clue how to handle the situation. They are perfectly willing and happy to offer a series of rational, reasonable solutions to the problem at hand, as Debaters do for any situation where a problem needs to be fixed, but they are certainly not known for their sensitivity or outward affection, no matter how intuitively they may understand another’s position.

Worse is when Debater personalities try to turn these emotional situations into something they find more comfortable: a debate. Given how remarkably good Debaters are at arguing both sides of a point, they are remarkably bad at putting themselves in someone else’s shoes from an emotional standpoint. Debaters should avoid at all costs the temptation to turn a discussion about the causes of a friend’s recent breakup into competitive intellectual fodder.

So long as everyone understands not to take their words too personally, anyone who isn’t afraid to discuss new ideas is likely to find stimulating and thought-provoking friends in Debaters. It’s not a compatibility that clicks with everyone, but Debaters don’t really care about being liked by everyone anyways. As long as they get to alternate between being the sounding board and the megaphone, Debaters and their friends are bound to enjoy each other’s company for a long, long time.

CONCLUSION

Armed with a powerful intellect and vivid imagination, Debaters can overcome or outmaneuver obstacles that seem unbeatable to most. At the same time, their many quirks, such as often unconstrained rationalism, lead to many misunderstandings.

[sabazio]

I kind of had something planned for this post but it ended up falling through at the last minute.

Regardless! August 3rd marks my 7th anniversary on this account and I’m feeling a bit sentimental. I made this account fresh out of high school on a whim at like 5am after talking to eva-cybele because she had a mitsuru. I was nihilfists back then. Now I’m out of college, technically graduated. It’s honestly wild. Catch me still here after a decade.... (if tungler lasts that long lmao.)

I often ask myself why I’m even still here but despite it all I keep coming back no matter how much time has passed. I’ve tried a few other muses but in the end I keep coming back to him and this dumb as rocks community. I’ve met some of my best friends through here, some of them I still talk to, or have met irl. I’m so grateful. 

I feel like I’ve missed people but so many people have changed urls or moved on I really can’t keep track anymore. Just know, that if we’ve written together, interacted ic or ooc, then: thank you for taking the time. I love you, sincerely.

@dolgelo : This summer I felt like I was finally really able to bond with you---which is something I’ve always wanted to do but was never quite able to for whatever reason. One of my biggest wishes on this blog was to find a mitsuru who was not only passionate about the character and lore, but who loved akimitsu as much as I did. I just wanted someone to have such a pure love for the character, and be on the same level and I finally found her in you. (You’re the asami to my fukki. you’re a sunflower blooooming out of season.) Writing with you is honestly a dream come true. I love reading your thoughts and metas on her, plotting with you, your twitter content, and watching and talking about stage plays and audio dramas. Thank you for sharing so much with me, and for all you do. You’re such a joy clio, don’t let anyone say otherwise. Thank you for spending time with me! Thank you for being my friend!

@crossxskulled / @valorxdrive @jououpansa @zenkofu @rainylotus @qiedaji : I mean, you guys are The Squad. We haven’t felt as close lately, but everyone’s out busy with their lives and that’s okay! I think about you guys every day and I hope you’re doing well. I just can’t tell you how grateful I am that you guys picked me up, of all people, to come hang with you on your silly discord.  I’ve never met a group of people I meshed with so nicely without incident, and our chemistry always felt unmatched. It’s kind of silly, but I’ve always wanted a group chat and like we have, and I found it in you guys. The hours of fun I’ve had with you were some of the happiest times of my life. It’s going to be our one year anniversary very soon, actually! I hope it can continue for more.

@cast-r : It feels strange to be writing this for you because I don’t even know you that well! But you feel like a cryptid in this community, HAHA. When you come around there’s just hushed whispers in my DMs of ‘cast-r’s back!!!’. Your writing is simply some of the best, and I hang on every word. I love your grounded, no-nonsense take on Shinji and I always will. You’ve been with us for so long it just feels wrong when you’re not. I... remember when you were going through grad school. I’m glad you’re like me in that you just can’t stay away, haha. (I look forward to seeing more of your Raidou.)

@miskick : My dear konapop you’re the other I just can’t see this community without. One of the only OCs I’ve ever truly cared about (sorry! lol) I love Karin and our characters have such playful chemistry. Her crush on him is endearing and I’ve always thought it was cute. You just put so much love, care, and effort into everything you do and to see your journey has been so inspiring. Your art especially!! Like?? Everyone go check out her art it’s so incredible! I just adore you kona keep it up!!! I believe in you!!! It’s also crazy that we only live an hour apart now... I hope we can hang out sometime.

@transiens : You’re not even HERE anymore but you’ve been with me since the very beginning--- and yet we’ve never done an actual thread with akihiko and makoto. You’re a friend though that I feel like I’ll always have. I have a lot of interests in common with you and I think that’s what keeps us together. I love talking FF with you, jojo, DMC there’s just so much... I miss your writing. I miss your makoto... and I miss our dantebayos... :(

@gamenu / @gooselullaby : meimei!!! The other forever constant in my life who I couldn’t do without. Akihiko found a little sister in the both of your muses, and they both make him miserable for vastly different reasons LAUGHS. The sheer amount of prompts you’ve sent over on Nanako were so many I’ve hoarded them all in my asks for when I could give them proper replies and never ended up getting around to them. But that kind of generosity thought and care is something I feel like I owe you 10x over. I love writing with Nanako. It’s one of the few threads where I feel Akihiko is truly, truly happy and I enjoy being able to write that side of him with you since none of my threads are ever able to attain that kind of purity. You’re not afraid to write the mundane, or the innocent that people seem to avoid. I just really love writing with you, even though you reply so fast I get whiplash. You’re incredible. Keep writing like the wind!!!

@enshijou  @fukukaichc @adievs : You’re all three honorable mentions because I’ve just gotten the pleasure of meeting you recently (with the exception of fukukaichc) and I might not have anything spectacular to say and no paragraphs to personally sing your praises but know that I’m just so taken with you guys. Your writing is so wonderful. Enshijou I love your Ryoji, I love his charm and sweetness, I love the mystery beneath him. I love your aesthetic and I love the friendliness of the mun. Your threads with Clio are some of my favorites.  Fukukaichc you’re another sweet mun. Writing novellas with our petty, stubborn emperors is honestly so fun. Turning the dash into a mess with not-so-crack is on of my favorite memories. I never thought I’d have so much fun writing with a persona npc. You breathe such life into him. Adievs I hardly know you but you’re a sweetheart and I wish nothing but the best for you. Your sense of humor is so funny, thanks for birthing clownsuru into this world so I can suffer. I hope we can continue our thread sometime because Akihiko interacting with Haru is something I never knew I needed. If Mitsuru is queen, then Haru is a princess.

You’ve been with me for what feels like forever.

@bleachblondbeefcake @maikoyaki @finalhxaven @succubischaos @tacitusauxilium : Exactly what it says on the tin. You guys have been here with me forever and I just wanted to formally thank you for sticking around for so long. I love you! I’m just glad you’e still here. Seeing you reminds me of the good ol days ;___;

I miss you :/

cheerfulfool windsaffinity p-a-p-i-l-i-o-n imperiousqueen crimsonxheadphones textsfromkatsuragi waning-atonement jokyoukou shoscarred ... and to all the junpeis and kens that have come and gone... bls. come back.

[flourchildwrites]

Be Somebody

Picture Prompt Day 5 of @royaiweek 2019

Read Full Text on AO3 / FFN

Length:  1,633 words

Rated:  T

Status:  Complete

Summary:  "How am I ever supposed to be somebody if I don't have something special to set me apart?”

“You already are somebody,” she answered. The corners of her eyes crinkled, matching her small, withered grin. “You’re a good person and the best student he’s ever had. You’ll be a great alchemist someday if that’s what you want. I believe it.”

The young girl on the cusp of womanhood was enthralled, drawn to him by the same peculiar magnetism first felt when she was nine to his eleven. Five years later, at the age of fourteen, she thought she was old enough to know she loved him.

Special thanks to @ruikosakuragi for the much-needed encouragement. 

A boy of sixteen tore down the dirt road.  With lanky limbs and a bag slung across his body, he ran, kicking up dust as his feet pounded against the packed earth.  His breath came hard and ragged against the dry heat of the Eastern countryside, and the heavy breathing in the boy's mind was a sickening countermelody opposite his rapidly beating heart.  The scene set itself precariously against the waning light where the parched land met the isolated country backdrop.

But he wasn’t alone.

She chased behind him, quick and silent like a spry sparrow, unflinching as her sweater twisted loosely around her body and her skirt ruffled in the wind.  The girl’s rich amber eyes were alight. Her feet followed light and swift in her counterpart’s footsteps. He was angry, but she was fast and determined to catch him before he went too far.

His safety net.  Their safety net.  One half of a matching set.

This wasn’t the first time her father’s apprentice had lashed out.  Understanding the men in her life as best she could, the young woman suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

“Stop following me, Hawkeye!” he panted.  The boy's lungs protested against his exertions.  As if his body didn’t know the rigors of farm chores.  As if city life had soaked into his soul.

“Then stop running,” she stated calmly, barely phased by the sprint.  The lean muscles of her lithe body hid untapped reserves of strength.

Still, the boy surged forward but faltered, stumbling on a pebble in his path.  Scrawny legs tangled in a jumbled mess, and the boy kicked at nothing to stir up dust.  He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and turned, silhouetted against the harsh horizon.

“He’s never going to teach me,” he raged, a note of defeat evident in his pitchy voice.  “That old man will take flame alchemy to his grave!”

The girl’s head tilted as she also came to a stop, and her thin lips stretched into a familiar smirk.  She only looked like that when he knew she was right.

And she was always right.  He knew it, even if he was years from admitting it.

“He does teach you.  Every day. All day sometimes.  Just not flame alchemy.”

“Stupid fundamentals,” he spat, throwing his bag to the ground.  Out spilled rumpled clothes and haphazard notes that caught the breeze and blew down the dirt road.  “Stupid theory. I didn’t come here to learn the easy stuff. How am I ever supposed to be somebody if I don't have something special to set me apart?”

“You already are somebody,” she answered.  The corners of her eyes crinkled, matching her small, withered grin.  “You’re a good person and the best student he’s ever had. You’ll be a great alchemist someday if that’s what you want.  I believe it.”

He smiled in spite of himself.  So predictable. On this account, he’d do his damnedest to prove her right.

“You are special.  To me, at least. Because you’re my friend.  So, please don’t leave just yet.”

He started to say that he hadn’t been serious about leaving.  That he knew what it was like for her at school, and he remembered the promises they made.  When finally the young apprentice kicked the dust of this small town off his hand-me-down boots, Hawkeye would go with him.  Someday, they’d both be somebody. More than legacies. More than the names they were given - as well as the ones they weren’t.

With or without flame alchemy.

His demeanor shifted suddenly, and the dwindling sunlight softened around his features, catching the light ends of his hair.  He flashed her a cockeyed smile that was as awkward as it was disarming. The young girl on the cusp of womanhood was enthralled, drawn to him by the same peculiar magnetism first felt when she was nine to his eleven.  Five years later, at the age of fourteen, she thought she was old enough to know she loved him.

“You know I won’t go.  Not unless you are ready to leave.”

Maybe, he felt the same.

She reached for his hand, and their fingers intertwined.  Threads of fate wound round and round. Their strings were stained with an alchemist’s chalk and a markswoman’s gunpowder.

“Wait for me just a little while longer?” she asked coyly.

Her eyes darted back to the three-story house, whitewashed and encrusted in green tendrils of ivy.  A small figure crouched near the open window of the sitting room, and though her mother’s sharp eyes were hidden under the wide brim of a gardening hat, Mae didn’t dare push her luck.  Smart like her father, but wise like her mother, the raven-haired beauty simply squeezed Yuriy’s hand.

Life at Hawkeye Manor was a master class in nonverbal communication.  They didn’t need words. He would wait, and when the time was right, Yuriy Elric and Mae Hawkeye would put the past behind them, together.

...

The tools of her profession had changed - again, and it was all because of him.  From garden tools and overalls to sniper rifles and salutes.  Then, back again. Her life had come full circle, resting in the precise location where it had begun, but the garden was prettier now.  That was no surprise as it was tended by wrinkled hands that had traded wisdom for the succor of youth.

And yet, in his opinion, she was radiant.  Her flaxen hair had grown dusty, stained by starlight and sun.  The deep lines under her amber eyes were likewise weatherworn, having borne the burden of many exceptional sights, good and bad alike.

Life had changed her, but Riza Hawkeye was as constant as the northern star.  Eternal reassurance. Indispensable guidance. Ever watchful.

“Hey, you.”

He chuckled as she turned to greet him with her pruning shears at the ready.  Even after all these years together, it was difficult to catch her off-guard. She had always filled the shoes laid out before her and trudged through each walk of life by his side.  Friend. Lover. Sniper. Subordinate. Outcast.

And, quite unexpectedly, parent.  

She knew the sound of his footsteps and the cadence of his breath better than her own heartbeat.

“Thought I might have chased Yuriy off this time,” the man mused.  He reflexively rubbed his fingers together as he spoke and grinned wryly as if he could still feel the flinty material of his ignition gloves.  It would be illegal for the convicted war criminal and disgraced ex-führer to possess such a thing, naturally. But, ever wary, his keeper stashed a pair or two away for a not-so-rainy day.  Just in case. “I must be losing my touch.”

“If you wanted Yuriy gone, he wouldn’t be here,” she shot back.  “But you like him, Roy, and you like butting heads with him just as much as you enjoyed bickering with his father.  Three peas in a pod.” She plucked a stray weed from her flowerbed and tossed it aside.

The smirk on his face was practically criminal.  “And what a trio we make. A petulant apprentice who knows nothing of life.  The child prodigy who can no longer perform and me, a fallen star, ostracized from all respectable circles of alchemical practice.”

He scoffed and scratched at the salt and pepper scruff on his chin.  “I’ll never know why Fullmetal asked me to teach his son.”

“Isn’t the reason obvious?”

“Yes, I suppose Alphonse was too busy,” he offered humorously.

She rose, then, turning her hands to dust the earth from her digits.  Never one for gloves, she was used to getting her hands dirty.  As was he.

“They’re so alike,” the woman observed.  “Yuriy and Ed, I mean. Yuriy’s just the kind of boy who might rebel against his father and get in trouble while stubbornly pursuing his goals.  Sound familiar?”

The man’s rueful smile matched his partner’s knowing expression, and the woman took a moment to consider their journey’s end - such as it was.  His rise had been meteoric, and his fall seemed just as glamorous from the outside looking in. Theirs was a cautionary tale authored equally by destiny and decision.  Yet, the ending still hung in the balance courtesy of a happy accident: their daughter, Mae - a girl who would do well in life if they all continued to play their parts.

“Then I’ll continue to be the bad guy,” the man said, shrugging his shoulders.  He took the woman’s hand and stared down the dusty road, replaying old memories in his mind’s eye.  A girl chased a boy as he bounded hopefully toward the horizon, longing desperately for a future that turned out to be fool’s gold.

“Maybe he won’t make the same mistakes I did.  Not today at least.”

The woman nodded in agreement as she watched the boy and girl stroll toward Hawkeye Manor, hand in hand.  “Yuriy will make different mistakes and so will Mae, but I think they’ll make them together.”

And though the implication remained unspoken, the sentiment hung heavily between the older couple.  This storied place, an isolated manor situated on the outskirts of a one road town, was simultaneously a safe harbor for tired exiles and a lockup for young dreamers.  It was a vacuum where history could repeat itself. Yet, this time, ambition took a backseat to something short of the fame and fortune that young Roy Mustang had coveted.

Position.  Prominence.   Title.   He now knew these things to be hollow placeholders.  Names and roles were transient, shifting capriciously with time like the parts of a popular play.  Hero to villain.  Apprentice to master.  Orphan to father.  But in this moment, there was love in all its forms, and with love, surely they would all be somebody to someone.

The man smiled.  “That’s all that really matters.”

A/N:   I know; I'm sorry. It's been a minute. I'm still on hiatus for several very good reasons, but I couldn't let this favorite week of mine pass without paying homage to the temple of all things Royai. I look forward to reading and reviewing all the offerings when I get my shit together.  All likes, reblogs, kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and comments are greatly appreciated, especially during times like these.  I especially love reading the tags!

[prevariicatorarchive2]

Pleased with Algrims acceptance to his offer, Loki nods, a cocky grin spreading on his lips. “I knew I could lure you away from your solitary confinement. No one else believed it possible, they believed my boldness to even suggest the offer to be quite distasteful. But of course, none of them can compare to me, can they, Algrim? I am, after all, your favorite pupil, am I not?” Chuckling, he motions for his mount to take a left turn down the cobbled streets as the light begins to dim from the sky, the pale blue abovebecoming bruised with night. Shifting his gaze upwards, he tries to gaze at the setting suns, but finds only rays of light waning through the cover above.

“I am pleased to here you accept my offer, Algrim. Thor believed me mad when I suggested it, claiming I ought not waste time on such trivial things. Instead, he suggested I find someone to lay with each night, as if that would cure all ailments that trouble my mind. The only things my brother thinks of are his cock, his own selfish wants, and that damn hammer.” Grimacing, he takes a moment to close his eyes and let out a heavy breath. Keeping Thor OFF his mind had been his priority tonight, but it seemed no ater what he did there was no escaping his elder brother.

“Forgive me, Algrim, I let my mind wander. I want to know more about what you enjoy doing so we may plan any future gatherings accordingly. But let’s discuss things further when we reach the tavern. I’m sure there will be plenty of time to discuss such matters as well as enjoy our time out. I have.. one more favor to ask of you, Algrim. You have denied me this favor in the past, but perhaps now that I have aged you will be more willing to indulge my curiosity. I want to know more about passages between the realms. There are tales of a time when the Bifrost was not the only way to leave the realm. These tales have been regarded as childrens tales, fallacies to awe young minds. But every story told bares some truth behind it. What can you tell me of the truth behind these stories? Is there truth behind the passageways, or do they remain as non-existent as Unicorns and candy fountains?”

Loki’s smugness earns him a chiding glance from Algrim. “Arrogance does not suit you, Loki.” His statement is intended as an admonition, but the gentleness of his tone belies the underlying sentiment. “Both you and Thor are my favourite pupils,” Algrim clarifies. “I prefer neither of you to the other.” And it is the truth. Two brothers could scarcely be more different than Loki and Thor, yet Algrim loves them all the same, for they are both equally deserving, both equally gifted - albeit in different ways.

Letting Loki lead the way, Algrim keeps close to his side as he listens to him air his grievances about his brother. Loki’s casual use of vulgarisms meets with further reproof. “Loki, please – have care how you speak.” Algrim knows well that men – boys – of Loki’s age are prone to letting themselves be influenced by the coarse speech of warriors, imitating those they like and idolise. “Your brother has always been the more… physical one,” Algrim contributes to the subject. “I will neither deny the appeal of bodily pleasures nor diminish the part they play in a young man’s life, but the body can only consume so much before even the most exquisite indulgences will lose their shine. Only the mind can be truly insatiable in its appetite.”

Loki’s evident interest in Algrim’s private life, in his joys and habits, coaxes another small smile from the counselor that turns into a perplexed frown at the abrupt change of subject. Algrim recalls an earlier exchange between them, remembers Loki’s eagerness to learn about the mechanics of the Bifröst for reasons the younger had opted not to disclose back then. It puts Algrim on his guard immediately.

“A proficient enough user of magic will find ways and means to travel between the realms as he or she pleases,” he offers vaguely. “As to these secret passageways you heard about, let me tell you this, Loki – there is a grain of truth in even the most absurd tales. Just look at Alfheim,” he adds as a humorous afterthought, “where unicorns thrive and candy fountains are as common a sight as are drunkards in Asgard’s taverns.”

-- 

  Carefully, Loki glances briefly towards Algrim to see his expressions of daunting disapproval at his behaviors. Had it been anyone else he may not have cared to stop, nor consider the consequences, of his behavior and language. There were few who could bring about a rising shame within him when he behaved in a way that was considered too crass for his status, though the other warriors in training he’d seen spoke far worse than he ever had, and Algrim was one of those few. The only others who could bring about the flood of embarrassing shame and cause him to momentarily feel his insides tremble from being reprimanded were Frigga and Odin, and, on the rare occasion Sif. Though he would never admit that to her, after all, he’d been smitten by her for years, but she, as many did, preferred the hulking beast of muscle that outshined him in every way.

“Come now, Algrim, Thor and you have as much in common as a bilgesnipe and a unicorn. I have much more in common with you, haven’t I?” His voice strains, his eager desperation for Algrim’s approval written clearly on his face before turning to pretend to watch the scenery around them. With a sharp intake of breath, he calms and composes himself. “Forgive me, Algrim. I’ll refrain from such vulgarities from now on. It would seem I have lost myself in my ranting of HIM. Let us refrain from speaking of HIM again.” With a small smile, he turns down a street of homes and businesses, waving on occasion to the few who notice their prince and bow in respect or call out a ‘Good evening.’ Formalities which, while he’d adored the attention of, had always bored him to no end.

Listening closely, Loki’s features twist with deep thought, his hands loose on the reigns of his horse. It was true that he could use a number of ways to pass through the realms without the need of the Bifrost, but there were few which would allow him to pass through without being noticed, or rather, without HEIMDALL noticing. “So you do not deny there are ways to leave without the use of the Bifrost, but neither will you confirm they exist-at least to the extent of your knowledge, is that what I am to understand Algrim?” Stopping his horse, Loki stares at Algrim in the low light of the taverns torches, noting how Algrim’s features seem almost menacing in the dark with only the low light of the flame to illuminate his sharp features.  

“What if I wanted to go..undetected? What magic would I need to go between realms without the watchful eye of Odin’s lapdog? Hypothetically, of course. I have mastered all of the spells which you and the other scholars, including mother, have taught me. I want to know more. Even if I must dwell into the dark magic of the nine.”

[borderlinesyberian]

Another Thing I’m Never Going to Finish

Emily furiously scribbled out the previous sentence she had written on the parchment and threw her pen onto the desk in defeat, leaning back in her chair and ruffling her already messy hair. Her entire schedule for the day was surprisingly empty, and she gladly took this rare opportunity to dive into the pile of paperwork stacked upon her desk, waiting to be acknowledged and reviewed. The joints, tendons, and muscle in her left hand throbbed, but the pain was worthwhile when she compared the stack to the state it was in the morning to the same state it was in now. As with everything dealing with politics, there were bumps along the way, but it was nothing compared to what she had seen and been through. It seemed humorously appropriate and ironic she was only now beginning to work on the papers she had received before the Coup. However, it seemed irony had a twisted way of earning itself a laugh. She had been trying her damnedest to write a letter in response to Tyvia’s Trade Commissions for the past half-hour, but found herself completely stumped.

Karnaca and Tyvia both relied too heavily on each other for their respective goods for trade to cease altogether. Tyvia provided Karnaca with ore and manual labor needed in the nation's silver mines and fields, whereas Karnaca provided Tyvia with bountiful, fresh fruit and vegetables that could not be grown in the frozen dirt of the cold land. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, but a single small problem stood in the way, even after the Coup had ended. Pirates may have taken a “break” from raiding trading ships because of an increase of patrolling ships along trade routes, but bloodflies hadn’t. Emily knew firsthand how terrible the insects could be, and grimaced at the thought of them. Her first experience with bloodflies left her with a high fever and a terrible burning sensation upon inhaling a breath of air, barely able to move as she struggled to open her eyes and stare at the ceiling of her cabin in the Dreadful Wale. Doctor Hypatia had managed to soothe the symptoms enough for her body to heal itself, but she would never forget the days she spent in bed, suffering and pleading to whoever could hear her thoughts to make the fiery insects crawling under the surface of her skin to vanish.

Emily looked at the draft on her desk and picked it up, examining it with irritation. The elegance in her handwriting slowly waned throughout the day, and now appeared sloppy and almost illegible on the paper. Most of what was written on the document was scribbled out in frustration. Her mind was brimmed with ideas of what the letter must consist of, but completely blanked on how to work them to paper. Picking her pen up and pressing it against the paper again, she paused for a second before letting it fall from her hand, deciding she had done enough work for that day. It was nearing evening, and Father had requested a private dinner the day before to discuss news about the discovery of a pod of whales migrating south a few miles off the coast of Gristol.

She glanced at the small clock on her desk and took note of the time. Father would be knocking on her door any minute now, and she wanted to tidy up some before his arrival. She grabbed a small stack of letters and prepared to file them away for later review. However, the moment she grabbed the knob to open the desk drawer and pulled it, she came to the immediate realization the drawer would not budge, and the sleek, mahogany wood desk had lost its warm hue.

“Emily.”

Emily didn't need to hear his voice to know the Outsider was in the room. She set the papers down on the desk and lifted her head, looking at him as he stood across the room, inspecting the model of the ISS Jessamine in its glass case. He was turned away from her, but she could see his hands balled into fists behind his back.

“Something’s wrong.” Emily stood up from her seat and maneuvered around to the front of the desk. “What’s wrong?”

“The Abbey has reason to believe you are affiliated with the Void, and me.”

Emily could feel her heart plummet into her stomach. She scoured the events in her mind to find the one slip-up she committed that would bring the Abbey’s attention to her. However, nothing stood out, as the Church had spent most of its time rebuilding itself after the loss of so many Overseers, including the death of the High Overseer himself and the “disappearance” of the Vice Overseer (he was probably in Tyvia, trying to find some way to collect enough coin to return to Dunwall, or Serkonos, perhaps). She had been careful to conceal her Mark and came up with lies and half-truths to any nosy noble who asked her why she covered her left hand in black leather. Only during special occasions did she use her Powers in Dunwall Tower, and even then she used them minimally as to not alert any servants their Empress was withholding more secrets- “blasphemous secrets”- from them and the citizens of the Empire. She had been so meticulous and careful with every move she made. The only possible way the Abbey would be suspicious of her wa-

“The Music Box,” she murmured, eyes widening in realisation.

“Holger’s Device was the catalyst for this,” the Outsider confirmed. “Then, Overseers began talking, and words have the power to be as dangerous as blades if used correctly.” He turned his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. “The lines between rumor and truth are so blurred nowadays.”

Emily shook her head in disbelief and disappointment. “The Abbey doesn’t have concrete evidence of my involvement with you. The accounts of two Overseers shouldn’t have the power to convince those in the Church of anything.” She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed. “This isn’t like the Time of the Rat Plague where the Abbey could throw accusations to anyone to obtain more power within Dunwall and the Empire.”

The Outsider disappeared in fragments of ash and reappeared next to her. “The Abbey has slowly relinquished its foothold alongside the Empire of the Isles since your instatement of the Empress. However, older members- members who were of your mother's and even your grandfather's time- fear the consequences of this loss of control.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you implying?”

“They believe they need someone to throw suspicion and blame on- someone who the citizens of the Empire would never suspect of being affiliated with the Void.”

“They need a scapegoat,” she realised, fury boiling inside her at the very thought. “Why are you telling me this?”

The Outsider remained silent and kept his gaze to the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. She took a step forward and remained standing in front of him, the tips of their boots touching. With a scrutinizing gaze, she studied his face, trying to decipher what he refused to tell her. His body remained stiff and tense, his eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed. It almost looked like-

“You’re worried about me,” Emily realised, not concerned she had spoken it out loud.

The Outsider breathed a heavy sigh. “Does that surprise you?”

“It-,” she hesitated for a few seconds. “It does a little bit.”

He raised his head and looked at her, his black eyes making it difficult to discern his emotions. However, Emily knew he was worried about her, and her safety. If the god of the Void- her lover, who swore to himself to never directly interfere with the lives of mortals- found it reason enough to directly tell her this, she knew the Abbey was going to take action soon. There had already been arguments in the past when she petitioned to Parliament to turn the remains of the Chapel in Dunwall Tower into a memorial room for those who perished during Delilah’s reign. The decision was nearly unanimously declined by every person in the room, save for a small handful who had lost people during those harsh two months or found the idea to be sentimental. The idea the very people who dedicated their goal to destroying anyone and anything related to the Outsider having easy accessibility to Dunwall Tower made her feel uneasy.

“I’ll find a way to make them see the errors in their thinking,” she said with determination. “Karnaca taught me to not run away from my problems; not to stoke the flames to make them worse.”

“It will happen soon- sooner than you hope.”

“I’ll be ready.”

The Outsider seemed to contemplate something for a moment before he finally murmured, “You’re about to sail through dangerous waters. I doubt I need to warn you to tread carefully.”

Before Emily could retort, the room returned to its former color, and the Outsider had vanished from in front of her, leaving only the smell of ash in his departure. She expected to hear the ticking of the small clock behind her and muffled sound of ocean waves crashing against the side of Dunwall Tower. Instead what she heard, to her mild surprise and bewilderment, were heavy footsteps running in the direction of the door to her study. On instinct, her fingers swiftly reached inside her coat, grasping the handle of Pathmaker, the folding blade Father passed down to her once he learned of the adjustments she had made to it. The familiar weight of it in her hand as she discretely hid it behind her back gave her some relief, if just for that moment. The door to her study was violently thrown open, bouncing off the wall from the impact. In the door frame stood the person who Emily knew would reach her before anyone else.

Father's brow was covered in a light sheen of sweat and he was having difficulty in attempting to regulate his breathing into slow, deep breaths. From the way he looked, it seemed he had scaled the Tower instead of taking the elevator like any normal person would. Then again, it dawned on her he might not have been able to take the elevator if what the Outsider suggested was true. She loosened her hold on Pathmaker and swiftly strode over to him.

“Father.” Emily cupped his cheek to force him to look at her. “Father, breath. Toksvig said any strenuous activity might rip open your stitches.”

He swallowed and breathed in deeply, slowly letting it out. Nearly a week and a half ago, a hired assassin attempted to kill her as she visited the Waterfront to speak with a few ship captains about the quality of trade with the other nations of the Isles. Even though she insisted she didn't need an escort, he had decided to come anyway. When they reached the docks, a man in tattered rags charged straight towards them, brandishing a rusty shiv. She could have easily parried him with Pathmaker, but Father stood in the way of the assailant. The blade had missed any organs and the would-be assassin was sent to Coldridge Prison to await trial, and Father was immediately sent to Xander Toksvig. Even though he was ordered to rest until the stitches could be removed, she knew he would ignore the Royal Physician’s instructions.

After a sharp inhale, Father wheezed, “Ther-”

“I know, Father,” she interrupted him, using the sleeve of her coat to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Overseers are on their way here.”

Father straightened his posture, clutching his right side. “He warned you?”

“Yes, he did.” Emily tucked Pathmaker back inside her coat. “It’s completely ludicrous.”

[kimberlycook95]

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[bidonica]

so I had read the Dracula novel way back in the day when I was in middle school. I’ve since seen/read adaptations and essays, but never revisited the original until I listened to the audiobook over the past few days, and boy there were some things I forgot or just couldn’t notice when I was 13:

SO MUCH TECH. Like, Victorian tech but if Stoker were to write this novel today, the protagonists would be millennials who never drop their phones and that would be presented in a positive light because YAY PROGRESS

on the other hand when it comes to social progress... eh. My favorite parts were those where Mina is this super competent heroine who is a complete professional at everything she does, eagerly and effectively learns to use every piece of cutting edge technology she can lay her hands on and is probably the most rational and insightful person in the whole novel AND YET she constantly catches herself like “okay but I’m doing all of this TO HELP MY HUSBAND god forbid it’s for my personal betterment and professional future alone”

(Hey Dr Seward are you possibly pointing at a double standard here)   Arthur and Quincey went away together to the station, and Van Helsing and I came on here. The moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a regular fit of hysterics.  He has denied to me since that it was hysterics, and insisted that it was only his sense of humor asserting itself under very terrible conditions. He laughed till he cried, and I had to draw down the blinds lest any one should see us and misjudge.  And then he cried, till he laughed again, and laughed and cried together, just as a woman does.  I tried to be stern with him, as one is to a woman under the circumstances, but it had no effect. Men and women are so different in manifestations of nervous strength or weakness! 

Lucy!!! Also constrained by Victorian tropes (which are still the ones of mainstream modern horror, in a way) but so vivid and relatable? Tbh I think Stoker could write compelling  female characters with hopes and desires of their own but then censored himself, like it literally happens with Lucy here: Why can't they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble?  But this is heresy, and I must not say it. or maybe he simply wrote them within the limits of his culture and that’s it. But his main job was working in theater (and Oscar Wilde was a former suitor of Stoker’s wife!) so I think he was regularly spending time with people whose lifestyle was a bit more liberated than the norm, it wasn’t inconceivable to him. I always think of how Umberto Eco said that popular fiction never really challenges the existing social mores, rather it reinforces them - or at least documents them. Which brings us to...

the racism and xenophobia! A lot of essays interpret Dracula as a metaphor for the fear of a foreign Other, and based on my recollection of the book I used to think “well yes, it’s a valid interpretation”, but it turns out it’s not really a metaphor because... it’s right there in the text, explicitly. Here’s what Dracula tells the good guys before escaping them  "You think to baffle me, you with your pale faces all in a row, like sheep in a butcher's. You shall be sorry yet, each one of you! You think you have left me without a place to rest, but I have more. My revenge is just begun!  I spread it over centuries, and time is on my side.  Your girls that you all love are mine already. And through them you and others shall yet be mine, my creatures, to do my bidding and to be my jackals when I want to feed.  Bah!” (”bah”??) This is 100% a “foreigners coming here to steal our jobs, our benefits and our women” narrative. You can go deeper with this analysis but it’s already there even at surface level, since apparently this was also a common sentiment in late 19th century Britain, because... the power of the empire was waning or something cry me a fucking river.   Given the current political climate (and even more specifically, the xenophobia and imperialist nostalgia surrounding Brexit) I find myself hoping for a Dracula adaptation that adopts a postcolonial angle instead of the usual romantic/sexual one. The possibilities!

same goes with the antisemitism; the description of Dracula has been read as antisemitic itself, but again you don’t need to go look for subtext when you have text: We found Hildesheim in his office, a Hebrew of rather the Adelphi Theatre type, with a nose like a sheep, and a fez. His arguments were pointed with specie, we doing the punctuation, and with a little bargaining he told us what he knew. which isn’t even much of an overtly negative description, but can you smell the stereotyping all over it

to cut a long story short, anyone who isn’t a white middle or upper class Brit is represented negatively or condescendingly, with the exception of Texan Quincey and Dutch Van Helsing, although the latter is still Otherized by being somewhat kooky and having an accent, rendered through speech patterns that are... a choice (in the Italian audiobook he sounds like some kind of Yoda who can’t conjugate verbs and that’s hilarious but rather tiresome after a while, and tbh reading the original text doesn’t improve on it, because little of it sounds like the kind of mistakes ESLs actually do, especially when their mother tongue is another Germanic language)

someone on goodreads actually pointed out how hilarious it is that we get most of Van Helsing’s dialogue through Seward’s phonograph recordings, which means he was the one mimicking his mentor’s accent. I actually love Dr. Seward.

all the guys in this book are so extra

again on the xenophobia: it makes sense that Jonathan is weirded out by vampire related superstition in the beginning of the book since he never met a vampire, culture clash, blah blah blah, but lol at Mina traveling into Transylvania to hunt the very motherfucking vampire who killed her best friend and force fed her his own blood and being like “lovely place but ugh the people here are so superstitious :/ and ew they’re feeding us garlic :///” bitch please, maybe that’s why you got vampirized and they didn’t????? It’s pretty clear Stoker is pursuing the Theme of rationality, progress, positivism overcoming superstition and the occult, but the very fact that there are actual vampires in this story implies that the supernatural IS real, yet people believing in the supernatural should be scoffed at. Okay Bram, whatever.

also lots of talk about Dracula being coded as innately criminal/underevolved according to the theories of Lombroso.

but you know who’s the real star here? Real estate. This novel would make Phil Dunphy from Modern Family proud, because apparently the key to Dracula’s successful invasion of the civilized world, aka Britain, is buying a lot of properties (which he is going to use just to store his Made In Romania Dirt and by consequence are absolutely filthy). The highlight was Jonathan going to question a real estate agent to know whether he sold a house to Dracula, as if he never worked in real estate himself and didn’t know this kind of information is confidential; and there’s this small escalation of passive aggressiveness between the two where Jonathan first tries to pull an American Psycho by producing his business card, and then comes up with the bullshit motivation that it was Arthur, a lord, who sent him inquiring because of course mentioning aristocracy opens all the doors. The other guy is still unimpressed, or maybe more of a professional than Jonathan ever was

I’ve read an essay arguing against the overload of psychosexual interpretations of Dracula, pointing out how, in its time, Dracula wasn’t considered a particularly scandalous or saucy novel; the erotic slant comes mostly from the film adaptations afterwards (post-Nosferatu at least), which possibly owe something to more dandyesque 19th century immortals like Polidori’s vampire or Dorian Gray. Furthermore, the Count in the book is described as decidedly unattractive, complete with bad breath; his brides, however, have always been sexy alluring women, which makes me say this book might not ALL be about sex, but some parts of it definitely are, like this one of Van Helsing going from tomb to tomb to kill the aforementioned brides: She was so fair to look on, so radiantly beautiful, so exquisitely voluptuous, that the very instinct of man in me, which calls some of my sex to love and to protect one of hers, made my head whirl with new emotion.   “New emotion”. Come the fuck on Van Helsing, call it with its name. A boner. What you have going on there is A Boner.

There’s also the famous scene where Dracula feeds his blood to Mina, which in Coppola’s movie is rather unequivocally shot like a fellatio. On the other hand, we know that that movie took the romantic and erotic angle and ran with it into the sunset - but how is that scene in the text? Well judge for yourself: With that he pulled open his shirt, and with his long sharp nails opened a vein in his breast.  When the blood began to spurt out, he took my hands in one of his, holding them tight, and with the other seized my neck and pressed my mouth to the wound, so that I must either suffocate or swallow some to the.  . .Oh, my God!  My God! What have I done? ...I’m sorry, I am an adult in 2017 and tainted by this post-sex lib world with immediate free access to porn, but it still reads like a thinly veiled metaphor for a blowjob to me and even a rather rough forced one while we’re at it. Which would make it a thinly veiled metaphor for rape, and would color the interpretation of Mina’s subsequent state as innocent-yet-tainted victim, casting an even creepier light on her plea to Jonathan to kill her before she turns into a vampire, but again this is pretty much textual: Think, dear, that there have been times when brave men have killed their wives and their womenkind, to keep them from falling into the hands of the enemy. Their hands did not falter any the more because those that they loved implored them to slay them.  It is men's duty towards those whom they love, in such times of sore trial! Because  falling in the hands of the enemy is a fate worse than death.

I mentioned Coppola’s version: which I love to death, but I had come to consider it more a play on some of the cultural elements of the novel’s times (decadentism, the birth of cinema, and yeah the psychosexual stuff - Stoker gets excited about the materialistic approach of Lombroso, but it’s Freud that’s still relevant today) rather than a faithful adaptation of the text. Turns out I was half wrong, because while it’s true that the Dracula/Mina romance isn’t canon to the book (also Dracula’s characterization in general), all the other important story beats are essentially there, albeit with considerably less space left to real estate talk. There’s even, if you squint, room for Dracula to dabble in dark magic while he was still living - after all, the prologue scene ends with him cursing and renouncing god, and not with his death. 

I wonder if any adaptation ever really exploited the “Dracula as a necromancer” input because it’s a bit of Dracula lore that sounded new to me while revisiting this novel (of course it’s "real” only as long as you consider Van Helsing’s background research on Dracula as 100% accurate, which it might or might not be). Also it opens a world of speculation on which of his powers come from being a vampire and which ones from his previous knowledge of dark magic.

I think that’s all! It might sound like I’m giving this book a bad review but I actually really like it! I just found it fascinating how on the one hand it’s a very versatile story, a true classic that can be told and retold countless times (though not Count-less) (ha ha I made a pun), and in this sense it definitely stood the test of time; but on the other hand it really feels like a time capsule of the period, for some reason even more so than, say, The Turn Of The Screw which I also read recently. Perhaps precisely because it strived to be current - like the height of fashion of a certain period is often what ends up looking date in retrospect. There’s so much to unpack for a book that was most likely intended to be most of all a pulpy piece of horror fiction, I love it.

[seenashwrite]

Build Me Up, Buttercup - Part One: You Got It.

Status: Part 1 of ____ Word Count: 1.5K Category: Multi-Part; Alternative Universe:Fantasy [maaaybe]; Pseudo cross-over [“The Princess Bride” - primarily the novel, but the movie too, of course!]; Adventure; Humor; Parody; Friendship; Family; see Grandpa’s list as well [wink] Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Female O.C., Grandpa & Grandson, Various SPN past & present Pairing(s): Sorry, kiddos - you’ll have to wait & see Warnings: None Author’s Note(s): Let it never be said that I don’t practice what I preach;  Shifts between the “real world” and the "book” are in large, bold format; See more post-story Overall Summary: A new order has been established, and new countries to go along with it, leaving the continent divided by rulers with conflicting goals: one wants to cement their place as leader of the underworld, while the other will do anything to stop it and return everything to its former state. And once more, the responsibility for saving the world has fallen upon the Winchesters. Good thing they’ll have lots of help along the way. Part One Summary: A boy’s grandfather visits and begins to read a story, one about a pair of monster-hunting brothers, their apprentice, and what just might be a hell of an adventure on the horizon. 

             * ~ * Build Me Up, Buttercup : Master Post * ~ *

. The faint sound of music floated into the hallway as she approached the door, and it made her sigh - her son was almost over the flu, but the lack of classic rock blasting through their home was a clear sign that he still wasn't quite over the hump.

"Hey honey," she said, opening the door then crossing over to the bed, and he muted his music without being asked - another telltale sign he wasn't a hundred percent.

"Hi, Mom."

"You feeling any better?" she asked.

"A little bit."

She laid her hand across the young boy’s forehead, then leaned over and gave it a kiss before walking around the end of the bed and over to the far wall, pulling the curtains open to let some of the morning sun shine into the room, eliciting a grimace from the kid.

“Guess what? Your grandfather’s here,” she said, perching on the side of the bed next to her son.

"Ugh, Mom - can't you tell him I'm sick?"

"You're sick - that's why he's here."

"He'll do that thing with my hair. I hate that."

"Maybe he won't," she replied with a touch of a sing-song voice.

"Heeeeey!"

The cheerful voice and a bit of a bang as the opened door swung back and bumped the wall caused their heads to turn. The older man, his hat still on and his coat flung over his arm, took a few long strides that put him by the bed in seconds.

"How's the sickly, huh?" he asked, immediately ruffling the boy's hair.

The boy gave his mother the side-eye of the century and she tried but failed to hide a tiny smile.

"I think I'll leave you two alone," she said, standing and leaving as her father laid a small wrapped package he'd had hidden under his coat onto the bed.

"I brought you a special present."

"What is it?"

"Open it!"

The kid snatched it up, a bit of spark returning to his demeanor as he immediately began tearing off the paper - then the spark waned.

"A book?"

"That's right!" his grandfather replied, then gestured around the room. "When I was your age, all these gadgets were called books. And this is a special book - it was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your mother, and today I'm gonna read it to you."

The kid seemed to consider this proposal. "Has it got any action in it?" he asked warily.

"Are you kidding? Punching, fighting, shooting, monsters, possession, torture, revenge, chases, escapes, true love, miracles!"

"Doesn't sound too bad," the kid acquiesced, now turning the muted music off completely. "I'll try and stay awake."

"Oh, well, thank you very much, very nice of you, the vote of confidence is overwhelming," his grandfather replied in a wry but loving tone, taking off his hat and setting it on the bedside table.

The old man donned reading glasses, cleared his throat, then flipped open the book as he leaned back, settling into the chair and reading aloud.

.

                            *~* THE HUNTER BRIDE *~*                                              by R. ROSEN

                                        - CHAPTER ONE -    

Dean was born in a closed-off town, though he grew up on the wide-open road.  His favorite pastimes were listening to classic rock, tinkering around with his muscle car

.

"Is 'muscle car' a euphemism?"

At the interruption, a single arched brow became visible over the top of the book's cover.

"How do you... are you old enough to know what that word means? And 'muscle car' just means 'muscle car'."

"I do not think it means what you think it means."

Another clearing of the throat. Then, slightly louder:

"With his muscle car..."

.

and tormenting the newest hunting and research apprentice at his family's business. He knew her name, but he never called her by it.

.

"Isn't that a wonderful beginning?" the man asked with a sentimental smile.

"Yeah. It's really good," the kid replied flatly.

.

Nothing gave Dean as much pleasure as ordering the apprentice around.

"Hey, sweetheart - make sure you polish up Baby for me. I wanna see this gorgeous mug shining in it before we head out tomorrow morning."

Dean slid a worn shop cloth and half-empty can of wax down one of the library tables, where it knocked into an open book before traveling on to hit the edge of a notepad and coming to a stop.

The young woman writing notes frowned slightly at the errant mark her pen made due to the jostling, but she didn't look up at Dean as she responded.

"You got it."

You got it - that was all she ever said to Dean. She spoke at length with his brother Sam, with their colleagues. Even her clipped questioning style of potential witnesses or suspects was more than she'd ever said to him. 

"Hey, sweetheart - make sure all these are cleaned, too."

She paused in her current task, cleaning a shotgun, and turned her head, staring over at the three or four handguns Dean had just placed in the chair beside her. She just blinked a few times, barely met his eye, then looked back to the shotgun and nodded.

"Please," Dean tacked on.

"You got it." 

That day he was amazed to discover that when she was saying "You got it", what she meant was:

I hate you

And even more amazing was the day he realized he truly hated her back.

She passed by him in the kitchen, on her way to the refrigerator, as he was standing at the metal island, chopping up tomatoes and prepping other various ingredients for that night's dinner.

"Sweetheart!" he called out, waiting til she'd just barely stepped over the threshold to head back to the war room. 

She froze and visibly stiffened. Her grip on the water bottle she held got so tight he actually heard the plastic give. The cold glare she leveled at him as she turned would've iced even the most fiery of demons.

Dean was only deterred a fraction of a second before he glanced around, and then up to the rack of chef's sundry within arm's reach right above him.

"Hand me that ladle?"

She slowly walked over to him, the daggers she was shooting into his eyes never waning, and she stopped millimeters in front of him, almost coming into contact.

And without looking she reached up and to the side, grasping the ladle and removing it from the hook before letting it drop with a loud CLINK onto the metal surface next to his cutting board.

"You. Got. It," she hissed through gritted teeth, and a very forced, clench-jawed, thin-lipped, clearly fake, not-quite-smile came to her lips.

Dean sneered back.

The next morning, Sam was coaching from the side of the room in the basement that served as his workout space while she and Dean practiced fighting techniques. 

It was when Dean had laughed in her face during her third attempt at pinning him that she broke her months-long habit of barely speaking to him - and with a vengeance, letting out such a stream of curses sprinkled with smatterings of scathing sweethearts, that it made Sam's cheeks grow pink and his eyes grow wide. 

Dean hit the mat hard and with a loud grunt at her fourth - and what turned out to be her final - attempt. 

As they landed in such a haphazard manner, so it was that after their foreheads struck, necks snapping back briefly before slamming forward again with the recoil, and with sweaty limbs entangled, uttering heaving breaths, their faces met.

Dean gave her a wink before letting his head continue its trajectory, planting his lips onto hers.

.

"Hold it, hold it."

Wizened eyes met younger, clearly skeptical ones.

"What is this? Are you trying to trick me? Where's all that stuff you told me?"

The old man's eyebrows raised as the kid's eyes narrowed for his follow-up:

"Is this a kissing book?"

"Wait, just wait," began the old man, holding up a hand.

"Well when does it get good?!" the kid demanded.

"Keep your shirt on, lemme read."

.

Following a well-executed knee-to-groin maneuver which made both brothers groan, a decision was made.

The apprentice had no real money to speak of, but she still packed up her belongings and left the bunker, hoping one of the contacts she'd made through her tireless work would give her a place to crash, perhaps even take her on as a research assistant.

Sam had tried to talk her out of it, said he hoped she'd reconsider.

Dean had hoped the large outer door would hit her in the ass on her way out.

.

"It was a very emotional time for all of them," the old man pointed out.

"I don't belieeeeve this," the kid replied, flopping back onto his pillows with a sigh.

See Nash Write EVEN MORE! 

*~* Main Master List *~* Mobile Master List *~*

Wanna be tagged? Need to be removed? Check this out first to see which of my three tag lists you’d like to be part of / removed from - then hit me up!

Author’s Note #2:  Due to lotsa excited interest - thank you! - this is turning into a series, one I’ll write on when I need a break from the “serious stuff”. The original One-Shot summary for the curious: Dean & Sam have an apprentice, though Dean’s idea of her role is not exactly accurate.

Author’s Note #3: The count minus the “pages” is 688, and I unfortunately deleted the text, hence the blanket 1K. Images won’t happen in subsequent chapters, this was meant to be a one-shot but had a lot of peeps requesting more, etc., etc., blah-blah-blah, apologias. ---> I found my original draft, so now there’s text up yonder instead of “book pages” images! 

Author’s Note #4: YES there is copious amounts of borrowing from the book/movie, that’s what parodies *do*, BUT!!! This will differ in that NO CHARACTERS beyond the Mom, the Grandfather, and the Kid are featured, and the plot line is, I’d estimate, >40% different despite various scene recreations. 

Tag Team - Removed for space, as this is an oldie-goldie & it’ll get circulated to the new tagged folks with subsequent parts!

[bhlland]

s/p The Fourth Year

It’s to some extent humorous upon reflection… since my return journey from the charming hustle and bustle of mellifluous Charlottesville back to the hinterlands of sentimentally-sweet albeit considerably isolated Fredericksburg, I’ve found this fight for faith to be exhaustibly bothersome. And to be vulnerably forthright, my inceptive response to finishing my final bout of undergrad exams was not one of excitingly poring through my Bible and catching up on all the quiet time entries that I unwisely pushed off. Even less so was my reaction to community-less lifestyle one of enamoring myself with Jesus when my heart felt the most empty.

The most dangerous type of sentiment a Christian could feel is unembellished apathy. At least when the Christian finds himself incessantly grappling with God to figure out his divine schemes and why they are necessary, there is a clear indication of concern in that struggling believer’s heart. To get to the bottom of the mess. To extract hints of higher meaning embedded by a Creator so vastly superior and meticulous and caring who could motivate even the most inquisitive heart to believe again once more in that which seems to teeter on the edge between plausibility and irrationality.

When the Christian’s heart becomes flooded by indifference, what argument can one proffer to stimulate that heart back to life? Sin becomes an even greater and sharper tool for hacking at the bases of spiritual foundation. 

If it wasn’t clear already, my enthusiasm for God has certainly waned over the course of the last several months. I haven’t been able to bring myself to open up my Bible since May. I have spent the past eight weeks and counting glued to my computer screen, endlessly ravaged by my repulsive appetite for pornography, among other vices. I am diffident to reaching out to people because I am haunted by their silent responses. And in it all, my prideful selfishness has done nothing but inflate for reasons who really knows why. 

What then remains after a brutal and seemingly unforgiving four years of pseudo-adulthood? To no one’s surprise: a soiled, irreverent sinner marked by disgrace who has heard the “God still loves you” message too many times to leave any lasting impression. In all that, one random pastor’s prayer is preventing me from already tossing away this whole journey like an inconsequential fluff of lint onto the stained carpet. He said plainly, “I don’t want to lose hope through what you have revealed to me through your Son, Jesus Christ.”

Jesus, you have been clear and intentional in your encounters with me thus far. And maybe I just need some time this Sunday evening to acutely muse over your grace-laden truths for me and for the masses. I don’t want to forget. And until I do, I don’t want to give up. And so... here’s to another year of thinking and dreaming about Jesus:

and appropriately enthralling sunrises that shimmer gold through never-ending hills and valleys layered by tree branch shadows,

effusively sentimental and humbling handmade posters decorated to splashy multicolored perfection for seriously undeserving college students who are just trying their best to help in raising up a younger generation,

totally rad friendmates who stretch the limits of groovy musicality on those pleasurable and way too few beginning-of-the-semester Saturday evenings,

special bros in Christ that never fail to let you know when they’re planning to swoop by and are assuredly joyful even when behind-the-scenes you can tell things might not seem all as put together as presented,

surprise sunsets over Scott Stadium after an unbearably tiring yet sincerely rewarding week of sweet encounters with swell new underclassmen buddies,

alumni folk who provide unexpectedly timely TLC in the form of Bodos bagels just because (and then silently dip out because they didn’t want to disturb our meeting — their generosity knows no bounds),

bright-minded friends who speak in colorful joy because Jesus has so evidently made an eternal home in their hearts that are entirely in tune with His vision for the poor and lost (as well as all those beautiful Vintage lunches providing warm, welcoming spaces those precious Friday afternoons),

suave buddies who unhesitatingly accept your invitation to conquer that next couple-hour-drive-away mountain trail because some Saturdays you just gotta get outta town and sweat out all the worries and doubts with a friend whose heart is willing,

glistening smiles from endearing rascals who keep your heart in the game when ministry becomes the toughest and the end goals seem so distant,

amicably youthful brothamen and sistaladies that make going to biostat lecture on TuTh afternoons probably worth it by keeping you company (and keeping you sane),

invites to an Oklahoma parents friend-party (aka an Oklahoma parents farty) with endless Chipotle catering, fulfilling small talk with never-before-seen UVA faces, and a random competition of musical chairs culminating in a sore bottom and a free lemon pie (with not one but TWO cans of whipped cream deluxe),

down-for-it concert partners that stick through the however-many-hours drive to Norfolk and back, serve as exemplars to the phrase “being lost in worship”, & speak freely and courageously about the goodness of Jesus,

endlessly-encouraging younger sisters in Christ that prove the unifying capacity of Jesus in the span of one late-night rendezvous (not to mention their aptitudes to create an elegant chalk aesthetic),

fortuitous map backdrops + special companions that dabble too in “secret” Alderman affairs (and wonders about what on Earth could be the reason for those precious luminous smiles?),

hope-full teammates that emanate gracious patience, cheerful leadership, and pertinent episodes of prayer when the times seem toughest,

ministry partners that egg your heart to keep going for just another week because the kids we get the privilege to encounter and teach each week are so immeasurably worth every iota of love we could even begin to muster,

one of the most beautiful moments I’ve ever witnessed of welcoming a non-believer into the faith community (courtesy of close to 100 strangers coming together at St. Paul’s at 10pm during finals week equipped with streamers, cake, letters, and a whole lot of gospel-rooted love),

gentle-hearted daughters of God who welcomingly invite you to the dinner table to break slices of some of the most deliciously-crafted pizza we can afford to order and taste together (including but not limited to deep dish convos about faith and its accompanying difficulties),

pleasantly unexpected last-minute Text-a-Toasty encounters at Kellogg with inquisitive hearts that provide as many answers as they do questions,

refreshing monthly Theological Horizons forums supplied with tasty sandwiches and even fresher advices and insights into the intersections between faith and occupation,

restoring get-away moments at anointed retreat center locales where you come in questioning it all and at the brink of falling over and yet come out being graciously pointed in a smoother, calmer direction with Jesus leading the way, step-by-modest-step,

sloppy unanticipated final moments with hurting loved ones who reserve the right to eat the whole 호떡 (whose Life is precious and favored and remembered, from then until now until whenever),

husband-wife worship nights filled with collective echoes of admiration and obedience to the Lord that gives us the breath to sing in the first place,

last minute egg-stuffing seshes with highly motivated and quick-fingered peers, mutually devoted to see those cherished young souls become true egg-hunting masters the following Easter Sunday,

midnight inter-fellowship praise rehearsals with dedicated folks that remind me every time to believe deeply in the sovereignty of a God that is able to bring together cultures and differences because He is the center of all that we do and look to,

scenic explorations of hidden walkways and waterfronts post-pigging out at pho restaurants and donut shops (still with some room for overpriced gelato en route back to the good ol’ UV of A),

heartwarming notes and thoughts and memories from dear underclassmen buddies, bundled up and saved, because they are more than special enough to be read two and three and four times over and counting,

end-of-the-semester worship night tear-downs and wrapping-ups, all the credit and thanks to the incredible worship team members, Andrew and his youthful heart, the wonderful pastors of the local Korean Community Church for agreeing to graciously host, and the remarkable congregation whose hearts were spurred to seek and respond,

well-meaning professors who go above and beyond in their convictions for teaching and learning and remain totally all-in for their students from the get-go to the finish line and then some,

zealous teammates who share words like treasured seeds that seep beneath the spaces of the heart and germinate into stalks of encouragement and wisdom in the now and in the what’s to come,

impassioned youth (from middle school to college-bound) that confront their challenges and cynicism with faith head on, for ones that are unafraid to delve deep into the messiness of belief,

closing chapters filled to the brim with affectionate remembrances, lessons learned and still learning, and hopes for newer and fresher encounters with Jesus,

magical afternoons where all worries are cast aside and all that remains and all that matters is the present, carefree, plainspoken exchange with solid peeps that just understand even when you don’t,

and last but assuredly not at all the least of it all, here’s to the gang that heals my heart from even the most painful of bruises. Time stops and even rewinds a couple years with these special buddies. The only regret I have from this Friday is that I only placed 2nd in mini-golf. Until the next wacky late-night rendezvous and heart-to-heart in the church kitchen.

The all-inclusive table of Jesus is evidence to me that God indeed shows no favoritism between the brushed-up pious follower of Jesus comfortably welcomed into the group to the unstable guy that wears his train wreck on his sleeve and doesn’t fit in. You and I, and them and the rest, are all invited. Teach me more, Jesus. I want to keep learning from you.