#but it seems doable? for the rest of my life?

[elibeeline]

Its uni season and im once again debating online courses i cannot afford

[no-onah]

Is this a safe space lmao

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 8

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader 

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 5,000 Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort and feels, alcoholism lol

Part 8: Long Distance

Sam stayed back at Bobby’s while Dean accompanied you back home, now that it was no longer a crime scene. When your dad finally got off of work, he greeted you in the living room with relief in his eyes and a warm hug.

That warmth diminished when he noticed Dean standing behind you.

“Dean’s a friend of Bobby’s,” you explained. Dean introduced himself and shook Jack’s hand.

“Yeah, wanted to make sure she got here okay,” Dean added.

Jack scrutinized him as they shook hands. Maybe he suspected that you and Dean weren’t telling the whole truth, but Jack seemed to accept things.

For now.

“I think we’ve got frozen pizzas for dinner if we don’t want to order out,” you said. You went over to the kitchen to check, but without you realizing, that brought you right to the spot where you were assaulted just two days ago. 

The blood had been scrubbed off the tile floor. There were still small, suspect stains in the grout, though. You looked up and saw your reflection in the microwave. It wasn’t unlike that night, when you had looked up and seen your bloody face, then looked down and seen Danny Schmitt lying dead on the floor.

You flinched when a hand came to rest on your shoulder. It was Dean, and you gave him a small grateful look. You briefly covered his hand with yours, but you took a breath and forced yourself to move past the spot, and continue toward the fridge. 

Jack watched the small moment between you and Dean. Dean knew that Jack had caught it, while you remained oblivious as you puttered around in the kitchen.

The three of you made somewhat painful small talk while waiting for the pizzas to cook. When it was done, Dean helped set the table and you cut out the slices. Jack took an opportunity to grab a beer and approach you.

“So why’s Skater Boy still in my house?” Jack asked. You could only assume he meant Dean.

“Dad, please don’t be rude,” you warned. 

“You seein’ him or something?” 

You set down the pizza cutter and gave Jack a pointed look. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Dean could hear you and Jack talking from the dining room. He took issue with your dad’s phrasing. It was a little more than “seeing,” but at least now he understood what you’d been talking about with your dad. The guy was a hard-ass. 

So Dean would go along with however you wanted to play this. It was only fair. 

The problem was, this mostly left you to keep the conversation going once the three of you sat down to eat. For forty-five minutes you did your best to fill the silences, but Jack was a man of sparing words. 

“So yeah, I should be able to finish my thesis in time. I’m looking to have a job lined up after I graduate next semester, but the only thing I’ve really been seeing is teaching positions,” you explained.

“Teaching’s acceptable,” your dad said, after finishing his second beer. “And doable, for you.”

You glanced at your dad with a telling press of your lips. 

Dean understood your annoyance. Doable for you? 

What was that supposed to mean?

“Well, I’m not sure I want to teach,” you said. “I’m thinking of applying to the natural history museum here in Sioux Falls.”

“And do what, dust off wax mannequins?” Jack remarked. 

You set down your glass of water a bit too hard. “If you’re going to say something, say it.”

Jack gave you a look of exasperation. “I’m just sayin’. You went to college without a real plan, now it’s bitin’ you in the ass. And it ain’t been cheap—”

“For you it has, because I put myself through college,” you countered. 

“What I’m saying is, now you’ve limited yourself—”

Jack actually reminded Dean of his dad in a lot of ways. But he had a feeling this man didn’t know his daughter very well. Dean wasn’t normally one to meddle in things that weren’t his business, but you were stressed out enough. He didn’t like the way your shoulders were tightening. He could feel your upset through the soul bond, and your eyes were dangerously close to frustrated tears. 

He touched your knee beneath the table and looked over at Jack.

“Look, maybe we could just take things down a couple notches here,” Dean suggested. 

Jack turned to him with an angry frown. “Now would be a very good time for you to butt out. Dean, was it? Matter of fact, why don’t you get the hell out of my house—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” you shouted. You clenched one fist on the dining table, the other on your knee beneath the table.  

Both men looked at you with mixed reactions of surprise. 

You turned to your dad. “The difference between you and me is I pursued what I was interested in. You went after what you were good at.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jack asked, after his shock wore off.

“Nothing,” you said. “But neither is what I did. I’m proud of where I am so far, what I’ve accomplished. I’m sorry if you don’t think that’s worth much, but I do. You don’t have to agree with my choices, but you can at least respect me.”

Silence fell across the table.

Secretly, Dean was proud of you, and he tapered down a smile. He knew you sensed it when you glanced at him.

“I respect you,” Jack said, pulling your attention away. “But I’m still your father.”

You shook your head. “You don’t, Dad. If you did, it wouldn’t be so hard to tell you that I’m not dating Dean. He’s my soulmate.” 

Once again, shock made the air tense. Jack’s eyes were open wide, looking from you, to Dean, and back again. His brows furrowed.

So Dean, ever the tension breaker, offered you and Jack a resigned grin. He pointed to his and Jack’s beer bottles, which were empty. 

“Well,” he said, “I’ll get the whiskey.”

When your father’s shock finally wore off, he had plenty of questions for Dean. About where he lived, his job, his life in general—most of which Dean couldn’t answer honestly. Jack was a police detective by trade. As such, he was a perceptive man who knew he wasn’t getting the whole story, but eventually you cut off the inquisition.

You showed Dean up to your room, where you two were able to get some privacy. 

“I’m proud of you,” he said, once you both sat on the edge of your bed. “I could tell that, uh…that conversation with your dad was a long time coming.”

You nodded, but you couldn’t quite smile. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied. 

Tomorrow. You sighed, but you also tried not to let him sense your darkening emotions. Instead, you sat up straight and gave him a decisive look. 

“Okay, then I’m staying with you at Bobby’s tonight,” you said. One more night together.

Dean’s lips raised into a grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

You spent that night mostly playing cards with Sam, Dean, and Bobby as they taught you how to hustle poker. You drank and ate and laughed, and at night, you and Dean continued to learn each other’s bodies.

In the morning, you hugged both Sam and Dean goodbye. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized again while he held you. “I’ll call you later.”

Holding back your tears, you nodded and kissed him one more time. He tucked a finger beneath your chin to keep your head up. You tried at a smile, which he appreciated. 

Then Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala. You watched them leave, and Bobby laid a supportive hand on your shoulder. 

The next year was torturous for you both. 

Dean updated you after various hunts. Not on a regular schedule, but often enough. Sam started calling now and then with historical questions—some you could answer off the top of your head, and some you actually put in some effort into researching. Dean didn’t like it at first, but soon he started calling you for information himself. 

You were smart, quick on your feet, and realistically, a convenient resource since you had access to a university library. You enjoyed it though. You were happy to be helpful to them, but you also liked the research. Often they were interesting topics in the mythologies of different cultures (if you took out the whole hashing and slashing of innocent people and monsters out of it). 

But that part too was gratifying; you felt like you were helping them save lives, in whatever small way you could offer.

You also visited Bobby more often. It was your last semester of college and he helped you with your thesis, actually giving you good notes. Dean, bless him, was encouraging, but really only helped you with the movie references. Bobby actually gave you feedback on your writing and added tidbits to the historical aspects as well.

You learned that Bobby was actually really smart. Maybe that was where you got your affinity for history and language arts.

One day though, your uncle noticed that you weren’t as into it as usual. You had a half-drunk beer in your hand while the two of you working in the living room—on the final draft of your thesis.

Bobby had asked you a question about a certain line, but you hadn’t heard him. 

“Hey, you awake over there?” he asked. Jolting in your seat, you looked over at him apologetically. 

“Sorry, what?”

Bobby smiled wryly. “Let me guess. Dean ain’t called you?”

You shook your head. “I talked to him yesterday. They’re investigating a cursed painting in New York somewhere.”

“So what’s with the face?” 

You shrugged. “Nothing.” 

After you didn’t give Bobby anything to go on, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Okay…”

You two spent an extended moment in relative silence, where only faint music from the radio played in the background. Plus, the occasional turning of pages from Bobby’s book.

“It’s just,” you started to say. Bobby closed his book with an expectant look on his face. 

“I’ve waited twenty-four years to find him,” you said. “Twenty-fucking-four. And now I still have to wait. How long will it be until I can start my life?”

“Well first of all, you’ve been living your life long before Dean,” Bobby pointed out. “You have your own thing going, and right now, so does Dean. When he finishes dealing with his past, he’ll be able to start thinkin’ about his future.”

That was fair, you considered. It made you feel a bit immature when he put it like that. Nor was it realistic of you to expect Dean to drop everything else in his life for you…

You and your uncle had gotten closer over the past few months. So you felt you could ask him something that had been on your mind for a long time.

“Feel free to ignore me, but, about Aunt Karen…was she your soulmate?” you asked. 

 Bobby looked over at you after sipping at a fifth of whiskey. He seemed reluctant to even say her name.

“She was,” he admitted.

You knew this would be a sensitive subject, but you took a chance. “What happened to her, Bobby?”

At first, he was quiet. You just waited to see what he would say, if he was willing to trust you. After a short while, slowly, he told you. 

She’d been possessed by a demon. 

Not one exactly like Sam and Dean were hunting, but close enough. However, Bobby didn’t know then what he knew now. 

She’d been coming at him with a knife, and before he realized what he was doing, he was defending himself with the same knife. But she just kept coming. It took your father, Jack, to pull her off of him. And Rufus, who had been tracking the thing, broke into Bobby’s house and exorcised the demon.

Then, a black spirit drained out of Karen’s body. She had enough awareness to look down at her three stab wounds before she fell to the floor. Finally, she bled out.

She was gone before either Jack or Bobby could get her to a hospital.

Jack had reluctantly helped cover up the scene by saying she’d suffered a psychotic break and attacked her husband. Bobby’s case was self-defense.

You could relate to that, at least. 

By the end of his story, you were trying in vain to stifle your tears. When you were able to speak, you asked another question.

“Then…why does Dad hate you so much if it wasn’t you fault?” 

“Because I killed her. My own wife, my…” Bobby sighed, a heavy, sharp exhale. “His baby sister. I can’t blame him.”

Because he still blamed himself. In the end, it was blood all over him and the body of his soulmate in his arms.

You didn’t know how to comfort him, but you tried. Still silently crying, you rested your hands on his arm while he couldn’t quite bring the whiskey back to his lips. 

When you graduated in May, you didn’t expect Sam and Dean to come. You’d told them about it, but when the ceremony came and you stood on that stage, you didn’t see the brothers in the crowd. You saw your dad, Bobby, some of your colleagues from the university, and a couple of your best friends from high school.

You forced your disappointment down and accepted your diploma with a smile. You were now finished with school, complete with your master’s degree in Greek and Roman Studies. And in two weeks, you had a job lined up at the local museum. You would be giving exhibit tours, and you already had a script you had to memorize by your first day. 

Maybe it was basic, but there was a path for growth there for you. In a few years you could work yourself up to museum curator! 

The point was, you felt it was a step in the right direction.

Later at home that night, your dad congratulated you while you cut up the cake he bought for you in the kitchen. He set a hand on your shoulder, subtly asking you to pause what you were doing. You turned to him with a smile.

“I’m proud of you, darlin’,” he said. “You’ve got drive, and you did what you set out to do…so much of you reminds me of your mom that way.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes. Thinking about your conversation with Bobby a few weeks ago, you looked at your dad a bit differently. You had compassion for him. Like Bobby, Jack had lost his person. He was just a man who couldn’t let go.

“I get why you have a hard time remembering Mom,” you said. “Now that I have Dean, I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost him.”

But it was still a monumental fear. Every day that you didn’t hear from Dean between hunts could be nerve-wracking when you thought about what he was doing. Especially when you didn’t know how much he left out for your sake.

So when Jack nodded, you looked up and saw rare emotion in his eyes. 

“How’s Dean?” he asked. 

“He’s on a job in South Carolina,” you lied, and felt a twinge of guilt doing it. “Severe rat infestation.”

“Okay. And he couldn’t take a couple days off the rats to be here today?” 

Your lips pursed at the question—mainly because it was the same one you had. You just didn’t want your dad to know that.

“He’s working hard,” was all that you could think to reply. You knew it totally didn’t convince your dad, but you handed him a slice of cake to shut him up about it.

Later in your room, you laid out your cap and gown on your bed. You debated keeping them in your closet, or just donating them. It wasn’t like you were ever going to wear this again. 

Hey, beautiful.

You gasped when Dean’s thoughts startled you. You whipped around and there he was in your doorway, dressed in his usual jeans, shirt, and leather jacket combo. He smiled and held a bouquet of flowers for you.

“Congratulations, Professor,” he said. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you went to him. You actually almost bowled him over by jumping into his arms. 

“Whoa!” he said with a laugh. He gripped your thighs tight around his hips but lost a few steps, crashing against the wall and disturbing some of your frames. You both laughed and kissed deeply. 

After a while, you slid back down to your feet and he stroked your cheek in affection. He offered you the flowers again, and you accepted them with a pink blush. They weren’t just basic roses. Most of them you couldn’t name, but there were daisies and large orange flowers, thin springs of small white and green ones, white and red flowers that greeted you with soft blooming petals. 

“Thank you, these are beautiful,” you said. 

His smile fell. “Sorry I’m late.”

Your excitement dimmed, but you shook your head. “It’s okay.”

Dean noticed your cap and gown on the bed and gestured to them.

“Mind modeling that little number for me?” he teased.

Your mouth twitched. “What, really?”

“Yeah, why not? I wanna see the full package of the college grad.”

With another little blush, you obliged him. After setting down the flowers on your dresser, you slipped on your large, silky graduation gown first, then the cap. You adjusted the tassel so it wasn’t directly in your face. Then you grinned and struck a pose for him in the shapeless gown.

“Real sexy, huh?”

Dean smirked. “Absolutely. College girls are always sexy.”

You laughed and dropped the pose. Both of you sat down on the bed while you took off the cap. Dean fixed your frizzy hair as a result.

“Well, officially I’m not a college girl anymore,” you pointed out. “I’m starting at the museum soon, I think I told you.”

Dean nodded. “That’s okay. Hot nerds are even better.”

You giggled and took his larger hand in yours. “Where’s Sam?”

“Chillin’ at Bobby’s.”

“Ah…you saw my dad?”

“Downstairs. Wasn’t exactly happy to see me,” Dean said. “I, uh…I am sorry I couldn’t make it to the big ceremony.”

You shook your head with a smile. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

Soon, you fell into the pull of him as he guided you into a kiss. You held his face in your hands, and he tugged you into his lap. 

“Up for a sleepover?” you asked between heated kisses. Though it was difficult to think at the moment, Dean hesitated. 

“What about your dad?” He groaned when your nails dragged down the back of his neck. You gave a nipping kiss between his neck and shoulder. 

“You can be quiet, can’t you?” you said against his skin. Normally you wouldn’t dream of doing this when your dad was in the house, but it had been months since you’d seen Dean. Months. 

One of your hands moved down between your bodies to palm at the growing bulge in his jeans.

“Well,” he said with a grunt, “I’m always up for a challenge.”

He left you on the bed, just long enough to get up and lock the bedroom door, before he all but tacked you back onto the bed and made you squeal. 

Meanwhile, downstairs, Jack heard your bedroom door click. He sighed, trying his damnedest not to think about what might be going on upstairs. 

He could storm up there and break down the door (like he was itching to do). You might be an adult, but this was still his house… 

But he also didn’t want to disturb the newfound peace he’d found with you today. 

Time for a drink, he decided. He grabbed his keys and headed out to the nearest bar.

Jack loved his town. He’d lived here most of his life, met his wife here, started a family and a career and all the rest here. But there was only one good bar, and that meant he was liable to run into his brother-in-law, AKA the town drunk. 

Jack spotted Bobby down at the end of the bar with a young man, dark-haired and likely in his early 20s. Jack knew that your Dean was staying at Bobby’s house. Jack also knew that your Dean had a brother, Sam. This dark-haired beanpole was most likely him.

Jack didn’t know much about Dean, or his family, but he wanted to. He wanted to know more about the man in his daughter’s life.

So instead of heeding his instinct to sit at the bar alone, he made his way all the way down and greeted Sam and Bobby civilly. 

“Your Dean’s brother?” Jack asked. Sam’s handshake was firm as he nodded. Jack detected the strength behind that loose-fitting flannel.

Hmm, not so much a beanpole, Jack thought.  

“Yes, sir. I’m Sam,” he replied.

Jack nodded at their whiskey glasses. “Let me buy another round.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Bobby said.

“It’s all right,” Jack said. “I’ve got it.”

Bobby wasn’t sure what Jack was aiming at. They hadn’t spoken directly in a few years. But he could assume it had something to do with Dean dating the man’s daughter.

Jack turned to Sam and asked mild, probing questions. He learned that Sam had gone to college: pre-law at Stanford. He had been all set to go to law school and become a successful lawyer. Sam sounded like the kind of guy Jack would’ve preferred you end up with.

“But instead, you became a traveling exterminator,” Jack said. “What happened there?”

Dean had evaded this question before, but Sam told him something different.

“Well, uh, to be honest…something happened that kind of derailed things,” Sam said. 

“Which was?” Jack asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Sam met his gaze steadily, but Jack saw something deep there, held behind polite bar conversation. 

“My girlfriend died,” he confessed. 

Jack set down his bourbon on the counter. A tendril of guilt licked down his spine for pressing. “I’m sorry.” 

Sam nodded. “After that, I spun out for a while…but Dean, he didn’t let me crash. He got me back working with him on the job. Something…constructive. It kept me going.”

Jack considered that with his glass back up to his lips. 

“After my wife died, I had my work and my daughter,” he said. “That’s it. That’s my life. It’s honest.”

Sam inclined his head. The conversation continued from there, on and off while they drank. Bobby interjected every now and then, but he kept nursing his second whiskey.

Eventually though, Sam bowed out with one last shake of Jack’s hand and a pat to Bobby’s back. It left the two older men to finish their drinks.

“They’re hunters, aren’t they? Like your friend Rufus,” Jack said. 

Bobby glanced at him. Then he sighed.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But they know what they’re doing.”

Jack shook his head. Goddamn hunters.

But the more he considered his brother-in-law, your conversation with him earlier resonated in his mind. 

“I get why you have a hard time remembering Mom,” you had said. “Now that I have Dean, I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost him.”

Jack looked over at Bobby. As much as he hated to admit it, they were living the same life, more or less. He’d just had you to keep him somewhat anchored. Approaching sane and respectable. Bobby had been alone.

“It doesn’t get easier, does it?” Jack asked. 

“What doesn’t?”

“Life,” he replied. “Without her.”

Bobby paused. Once he realized what Jack was really saying, he sighed once again.

“Nope,” he agreed. 

“I don’t know Dean Winchester,” Jack said. “You do. Should I be worried?” 

“He’s a good kid. Got some rough angles,” Bobby conceded. “But you’ll never find a more loyal man in Creation. He’d break his own neck before he’d hurt that girl.”

Jack nodded. “Good. Saves me the trouble of breakin’ it for him.”

Bobby chuckled and finished his whiskey. Jack ordered him another.

Bobby looked over at him again. “Thanks.”

Jack nodded. They drank in companionable silence until the bar closed.

The next morning, you and Dean stood outside your house on the driveway. The Impala shone next to you in the bright day’s sun. Soon, you’d have to watch the car peel away. In a way, it was harder the second time.

Dean held your cheek and kissed you nice and slow. You knew he could sense what you were feeling right now, but you tried to hold it back from your connection as much as you could.

You let your hand drift down from his shoulder to his chest, over his heart. 

I love you, you wanted to say. It was poised on your tongue, but you were afraid of being the first one to say it. Maybe it was silly, but you wondered if you had gotten attached to him more quickly than he had to you.

Meanwhile, Dean sensed your anxiety and worry, but he didn’t hear your thoughts and insecurities that you were holding back. So he just chocked it up to the fact that he was leaving. Guilt nagged at his heart.

“I’ll call you,” he promised. He always promised to call, and he always did. This time, it just didn’t make you feel that much better.

But you still faked a smile and bent to grab the bagged up containers you’d put together for Sam and Dean. It was some homemade chicken parmesan and garlic rolls, which would probably last for all of a couple of hours, knowing Dean.

“Share with your brother this time,” you reminded him. Dean smirked and took the bag from you. 

“No promises.”

The next few months were spent with you and Dean each focusing on your jobs. You talked on a frequent non-schedule basis: phone calls on your lunch break, on your commute before or after work, between Dean’s hunts, on long drives across state lines. 

When you didn’t have time to talk, you sent emails. Yours were often longer and more detailed than Dean’s, but that was just how he spoke. Direct and to the point, albeit with one or two dirty jokes thrown in. 

Sometimes all you two had time for was a brief text here and there. Dean would wish you a good morning. He’d tease you, asking what you were wearing. 

“Yoga pants and a ratty old shirt,” you’d replied once. 

He’d said: “Hmm, yoga pants.”

You laughed. “You’re ridiculous. I’m literally eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s right now.”

“Ooh, what flavor?”

You’d rolled your eyes. The only thing that distracted his dirty mind was his stomach. 

Sometimes you would send him a new song to listen to (which he would complain about, if it was anything past 1989).

But then that day came.

That dreaded day when Dean didn’t answer your call. It wasn’t just that he didn’t answer right then. You had finished your last tour of the museum for a class of second graders and were walking out to your car. It wasn’t unusual for Dean to hit you back later if he was mid-hunt. 

So you waited until the evening without a response. A warning bell trilled in your mind, but you tried not to get worried just yet. You decided to text him. 

Hey, just checking in.

You went to bed that night still waiting for his reply. 

Then the morning came, and you went a little crazy. You called him twice, then Sam. 

When Sam didn’t pick up, that little bell in your mind was a screaming fire alarm. It was a Friday though. You still had to go to work. 

So you got ready for your day as usual, though even your manager Jerry noticed that you were distracted. You had been working at the museum for around six months now, and you had proven yourself to be a dedicated worker and enthusiastic about your work. So Jerry knew when you were having an off day.

“You all right?” he asked. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you said. “It’s nothing.”

“Okay, well, you’ve got another tour in five minutes,” he reminded you, before he tsked and rushed over to a group of teenagers who were messing with the neanderthal exhibit. 

You sighed. The moment you thought about checking your phone again, it rang in your pocket. 

Quickly you checked who it was, your eyes widening. You answered, “Sam? Is everything okay? I’ve been calling—”

“Listen,” Sam said. “I…I need to tell you something.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you heard his tone. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good. 

“What happened?” you asked. 

“We found our dad,” he said. “And the demon.”

You gasped and moved to a corner of the museum for some privacy. “You did? That’s…that’s great! But what—”

“We got into an accident,” said Sam. “My dad and I are okay, but Dean, he’s…”

Your breath stilled in your lungs, even as your heart started to pound.

“Where are you?” You started toward the back offices to grab your purse and fished for your car keys. While Sam told you the hospital and the city, your heels clacked on the shiny tile as you booked it to your car. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Jerry asked. 

You put Sam on hold for a moment and said, without hesitation (and tears in your eyes): 

“I’m sorry, I have a family emergency. My boyfriend just got hit by a truck.”

AN: Aaand another cliffhanger. But I'm sure you know where this is going next...

2.01 "In My Time of Dying," in which the reader finally meets John Winchester, but she could end up losing Dean for good this time.

(Also, there are just a few more chapters after this. I promise I won't go through the entire show lol.)

To keep reading: PART 9

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

@curlycarley @buckywenal24 @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @irgendwas122 @deans-spinster-witch @dogbarkbark4445 @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @happygoodvibe @theonlymaninthesky @spnexploration @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @imagineteller1ller1 @icequeen1371 @mininjageek @tiredqueen73 @bitchwitch1981 @abbigaleelizabeth @ohgodthebogisback @where-the-river-bends @loveprof6 @thespnlover

[csuitebitches]

Book Review: Book 1: Stop People Pleasing (a 9-part series by Patrick King, “Be Confident and Fearless.”)

I’m reading a 9-part series by Patrick King, “Be Confident and Fearless.” His books talk about becoming assertive, saying no, not people pleasing anymore and being confident. Generally, such books are quite generic but I found his take on the subject interesting. His techniques to handle certain situations seem to be quite doable too. His techniques have been highlighted in bold.

Book One: “Stop People Pleasing”

A people-pleaser is worried about rejection. They have a need, as we all do, to be accepted and treasured—to be loved. But in people-pleasers, this need is amplified to the extent that they will bend over backward just to not lose that love or acceptance. This is more invalidating than giving an honest opinion.

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In reality, people-pleasers continued promises and inaction just tick their friends off, as it becomes apparent that they are willing to be dishonest and only say what people want to hear.

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They’re not really doing what they do to improve someone else’s life—they just want to feel more positive about themselves.

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Living under the limitations of our own viewpoint, we tend to think everyone in our circle is looking at and judging how we look and behave. At most, maybe a couple of people are paying attention to most of your moves, and they’re likely people you’re already close to who are supposed to know you better than anyone else.

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When you’re so consumed with the perceived needs of others, you’re not paying yourself any attention. You could be overlooking or ignoring things you need to do to take care of yourself.

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Avoiding confrontation for fear that it might only make things worse ironically results in the very outcomes it’s meant to deflect. The absence of confrontations doesn’t mean your relationship is all healthy, and the presence of confrontations doesn’t mean your relationship has gone to the dogs.

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The BLUE model is a specific CBT strategy developed by PracticeWise to help counter negative thinking. BLUE is an acronym that stands for the kind of extremely negative thoughts you should recognize in yourself when they do pop into your head. “B” stands for blaming myself, “L” is looking for bad news, “U” means unhappy guessing, and “E” represents exaggeratedly negative thoughts.

-

What many people-pleasers fail to see is that sacrificing so much of themselves in pursuit of serving everyone else around them is sabotaging their very capacity to continue being there for others when it truly matters.

-

Rejecting an invite is not the same as rejecting your friend and that prioritizing your own peace of mind by just settling into a restful weekend is totally okay.

-

Ask yourself, “What are the things I do to be happy?” or “What are the core beliefs I have about my worth as a person?”

-

Exposure therapy is the process of deliberately placing yourself in situations that cause you fear and anxiety. You’ll need to immerse yourself in your feared situations in a gradual and progressive manner, starting from situations that cause the least anxiety and later advancing to those that cause the most intense feelings of fear.

-

Creating your fear hierarchy. The fear hierarchy is an ordered list of situations that elicit your fears and anxieties.

-

The first habit we must develop is the habit of self-awareness. We don’t understand why we people-please, and we’re not aware when we’re doing it.

This begins with questioning the motives for your actions: “Why exactly am I going out of my way for this person?” “Do I genuinely care for them, or am I just afraid of what might happen without them?” “Would I be doing this out of free will, or am I doing it for someone else?”

Take note of the moment you’re starting to feel internal resistance. When that happens, stop everything and question why you’re doing it.

-

The second habit to cultivate is the habit of personal autonomy. An autonomous person knows what they truly believe and why they believe it. But the differences that you’ve valued your own opinion over that of others. Or you’ve at least valued it equally and not by habit put your own opinion as inferior to that of others.

-

That’s why it’s important to get into the habit of expressing yourself honestly. The more you communicate where you stand, the more people will know where you’re coming from (and what your limits are). After all, people can’t read minds, and to expect others to know what you want is an impossible task.

-

Remain strong under pressure. When you stop people-pleasing, you will face some angry reactions. It’s not necessarily their fault because you have conditioned their expectations. But this is where you must not fold under pressure, like you previously would have. It only takes five seconds of extreme willpower, and it gets easier every time thereafter.

-

How to set boundaries:

1. Determine your core values

2. Change yourself and only yourself. You dont control other people

3. Set consequences of someone else breaking your boundaries. Write down the boundaries you have, the actions others might take that trespass those boundaries, and exactly what you will do when they’ve violated your boundaries.

4. Communicate your boundaries to others in very exact terms. Make sure everybody’s very, very clear on what your limits are.

-

If you tell yourself “I can’t,” you’re simply reminding yourself of the limitations you’ve set for yourself. You’re creating a feedback loop in your brain that tells you that you can’t do something that you would normally want to do.

When you tell yourself “I don’t,” you’re creating a feedback loop that reminds you of your power and control of the situation. You’ve given yourself a line in the sand that takes the situation out of your hands. Your choice was premade to say no and thus you can stick to it more easily.

[jinkookspencil]

Helloooo how are you????? Could I plz request for a jungkook drabble where he and his gf spend an evening at a funfair...so stuff like them going on scary rollercoasters together...feeding each other typical funfair snacks...and ending their day on the ferris wheel with kisses (cliche i know hahaha)... also I saw how you wrote that you have been feeling down recently...Wish you better days :))))

hi!! tysm for requesting! this is adorable and unintentionally reminded me of the speak now taylor swift album, i listened to it as i was editing <3 and thank you for your words/wishes/concern - my mental health has been…. rocky but at the very least, I’m in a better place mentally than i was when you submitted this. and it took a whiiiiiiiiiile to feel better so it took a while to do anything and write this (sorry) - but better late than never! i hope you like it!! <3 

wonderstruck | jjk

jungkook convinced his fearful girlfriend to try out a rollercoaster at the funfair...

tags + wc: jungkook x reader (f) / fluff / one-shot / established relationship / clean / ~1.5k

“If I do this, you owe me a churro,” you say, looking up at the rickety death trap looming over you.

“Done,” Jungkook smiles, kissing you on the cheek. He forcefully pulls your hand from your own grasp until he’s able to hold it, giving you reassuring squeezes and pep talks throughout your short wait in the line to the rollercoaster cart. With your hand still in his, he pulls you to the very first cart.

“Oh fuck no,” you protest, trying to pull him away to another cart, but failing. He barely moves an inch.

“Baby, baby,” he giggles, succeeding when he pulls you closer to him. “The front is less scary!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Ask him!” Jungkook points to the attendant, who merely nods in response, hiding his annoyance that your resistance held up the visitors loading onto the ride. 

Reluctantly sitting on the cold piece of metal, Jungkook could see the terror in your eyes as reality sets in when the safety bar is pulled down against your bodies. 

“You good?” he peeks, trying to read your face and think of any possible way he could calm you down. Jokes, a kiss, ill-timed dirty whispers, and flashing his abs always did the trick - but none seemed appropriate or doable then and there. If all else fails, he hoped his smile could do something.

“If we die…. we die together. There’s something beautiful in that…. right?”

Jungkook smiles when your eyes finally land on him, and he sees most of your fear fade away, replaced by what he could only assume was love, if not comfort. Either way, it meant the same. Whether his smile was what did it or not, his happiness only grew.

 “There is. Pretty dark, baby, but… there is. I mean, I do want to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

The smile on your face was too brief. The cart is jolted onto its tracks, and Jungkook is deafened and delighted by the sound of your screams and calls of his name, which last all the way through the track until the cart comes to a complete stop once again. 

Peeking at you at once, he tries to conceal his amusement, yet it shines through along with his concern. “Are you okay, baby?” he asks with raised brows, a hint of a smile, and wide eyes as you catch your breath.

“….I think I can do that again,” you murmur. 

Laughing, he throws his head back against the headrest. “I knew you’d love it. Let’s go to another one, the scarier ones. I’m not letting you settle on this one.”

“Deal, Jeon Jungkook,” you say. The metal bar whizzes away from you and Jungkook hops out of the cart just as fast, holding his hand out for you to hold as you jump out after him. “But only if you hold my hand like this whenever you can, alright?”

“You don’t even have to ask.”

Jungkook kisses your hand before you can take another step, holding you tight as you whizz and weave through the crowds. 

“Wait, Jungkook! About that churro….”

+

“It all seems like toys from up here. Not scary at all, actually.” 

Looking over the funfair far below you, each ride, stall, and booth was now lit up in an array of neon colors and flashes. Distant screams and carousel melodies are faint from so high above, people seeming small as ants, pixels on a computer, or, he guessed, miniature toys as you described it. 

“I knew you had it in you,” Jungkook giggles, kissing your cheek and pulling you tight against his chest, not caring that it was practically impossible for you to be any closer. Already caged into his body, you rub your head in the crook of his neck, taking off your matching animal headbands to better fit against him. His other hand only leaves your thigh a couple of times to grab the occasional handfuls from the popcorn bucket resting on your lap. “There’s nothing you can’t do, honey.”

“I think that statement applies to you, Koo,” you giggle, gesturing towards the third-wheel accompanying you on your compact Ferris wheel seat: the giant plushie he’d won you at a game booth. “I nearly took the guy’s eye out trying to win it. And you beat me at the duck shooting game and that stupid guessing game.”

“Well, first of all, you won this,” he begins, showing you the cheap plastic watch on his hand, “- at the ring toss, which is notoriously difficult. Don’t sell yourself short. And you could easily win the guessing game, too, you know? It’s just physics! It’s not so hard to guess how much candy was in the jar!” Jungkook ignores you rolling your eyes.  I’ll give you the others, though. Darts is a skill I mastered in the dorms…. and I was going to let you win the shooting game but I won before I even realized I was in the lead. I guess I just have a good eye.”

“Well, obviously. If you didn’t have a good eye, you wouldn’t be with me, now would you?”

Jungkook chuckled heartily at your comment, and considering the way you moved your back and snuggled in position, he was sure you’d felt the laugh escape him through his chest against your back. He couldn’t help it - he loved seeing you all confident. “Well, obviously. It’s the perfect set of eyes, actually - it has a secret power, too. Want to know what it is?”

“If you see the future, then you probably missed a very cool job opportunity of opening up a booth here.”

“Make that two secret powers, actually. One for each eye!” Jungkook is too excited at his sudden idea, sitting up to face you directly and make sure you were following along and listening to every word. “This eye,” he begins, pointing to his right one. “This eye acts as a compass. It led me to my soulmate. That day we met, I noticed you the moment you walked into the room. I know it’s a compass pointing to my soulmate since I’ve been unable, and unwanting, to take my eyes off you ever since.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to tease Jungkook’s cheesy words, but you know his words to be true - it was always hard to ignore both his gaze and the rush you’d feel whenever you feel his eyes on you, always lingering for far too long. 

“You were right about the other eye. The left eye sees the future. My future.”

“And what do you see in your future, O’ Mystical Jungkook?” you tease, widening your eyes and waving your fingers.

“I see you.”

Jungkook’s tone is serious, yet it doesn’t stop a shy smile from appearing on his face when he sees the same on yours. 

“Exactly where I should be,” you reply. “A mysterious, traveling fortune teller I’d met as a child told me that I’d fall in love and spend the rest of my life with another clairvoyant.”

“Then I guess I’m in the right place, too,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Before you could nod in response, his lips are on yours, and his arms pull you close to him once again. You don’t pull away from one another until a loud boom sounds out from behind you, alerting the two of you to the sudden visual of colored sparks lighting up the brighter night sky. Jungkook always loved fireworks. Every time, the sight of a colorful sky was always so enchanting… but was even more so was the love of his love right beside him. Captivated, he takes in every wonderstruck expression on your face, every burst reflected in your eyes, and every second. Yet he held himself there, resisting the urge to spill out his heart and kiss what enchanted him most, to take in the scene a moment longer. It was practically a scene from a movie or a fairy tale ending, too picture-perfect to forget. Jungkook could wait patiently to do what he wanted to - certain he’d have the rest of his life to do so…. yet no ride that day gave him the same burst of adrenaline as the second you pulled him by his collar and kissed him soft and slow with the same certainty of an eternity together. 

[sweaterkittensahoy]

hello!! for prompts because i saw the absolute banger of a reply you had to a very pretty very scarred hambone:

hambone/brady? either postwar during the VE day celebration crazyness/quiet moment together

Or!! Prestalag ofc pilot/bombardier goodness where hams just an absolute rat of a man and but hes bradys bombardier damnit nobody touch him

Okay, so I don't prefer to write stalag fic, but this image hit me like a bus, so I am making an exception:

Ham's face and neck hurt when it gets cold. There's no way to wrap himself up enough that it doesn't hurt. The scar on his neck throbs, but it's not that bad. The one his face, it aches every moment of every day, throbbing and sparking and even sometimes giving Hambone a twitch at the corner of his mouth. The Stalag doctor said he probably had nerve damage, couldn't guess if the pain will ever stop or get better.

Most days, Hambone just deals with it. They've all got aches and pains. He's not special. But some days, when the pain really gets high, that's when the twitch starts, and Hambone can't forget for a second that he's scarred. In the Stalag, he's nowhere near the worst off, but he wonders what he'll do after they're out. Who wants to be around a guy with a scar like this and a twitch to match?

Brady climbs in next to Ham, bringing his blanket with him. "Come here," he says.

"Fuck off," Hambone hisses.

"Come fucking here," Brady repeats. He's leaned against the wall, arm lifted so Ham can curl in.

Hambone sighs and scoots over, resting his unmarked cheek against Brady's shoulder as Brady tucks both their blankets around them.

Brady runs his fingers through Hambone's hair, then slips his hand lower, brushing his thumb back and forth over the scar on Hambone's cheek. He digs in a little by Hambone's ear, pushing down hard until he touches the corner of Hambone's mouth, then sweeps him thumb up nice and soft from Hambone's mouth to his ear.

"You're alive, Ham," Brady murmurs, repeating his little massage on Ham's scar. It helps. Relaxes the tissue and makes the twitch settle. Diffuses the pain to some extent, which makes it easier to deal with. "You're alive, and I'm glad about that every goddamn day. I know you don't like the scars, but I do. Because as long as I can see them, you're alive."

Hambone tucks in closer, slipping an arm around Brady's middle. He's thinner than ever, same as the rest of them. That he has the energy to take care of Hambone seems impossible. "What am I gonna do when we're out of here?" he asks. "I know my face wasn't great before, but now--"

"Hush," Brady says. "You know what you're gonna do. You're gonna get a haircut and a good shave, and then you're gonna put on a brand new, clean as can be uniform, and you're coming home with me and charming the whole fucking family. And if your scar hurts everyday, I'll do this everyday. Okay?"

Hambone hates that he needs the reassurance, but it's cold and he hurts, and they're hungry, and the war just keeps going and going. "Maybe I'll grow a beard," he says to make Brady laugh.

"You promised you wouldn't until I could," Brady says. "And I don't think I ever will."

"The sacrifices I make for you," Hambone says, and he shifts his mouth to kiss Brady's thumb as it touches the corner of his mouth again.

"We're getting out of here," Brady says. He tilts Hambone's head up so he can kiss his forehead. "And we're going to live our best life, you and me. And I will kiss your scars three times a day and tell you I'm glad you have them."

Hambone closes his eyes and breathes deeply as Brady works his scar again. "Okay," he says. "That sounds doable."

[lhoandbehold]

What Does a 100 Hour Work Week in Animation Feel Like So I saw (and commented on) this post remarking on the working conditions on the new Spiderverse film which were less than stellar. I'm not surprised, I was literally talking to animator friends about how it seemed like it was a tough project even as the trailers were coming out. But I think we see news like this break all the time - ah a game got delayed. Don't worry. "Oh the dev team is working 90 hour weeks until it comes out". Red Dead Redemption infamously had a manager brag about 100 hour weeks. Some members of the team on Sonic the Hedgehog did 120 hour weeks to update the model to something with much less human-looking teeth. It's all very abstract. So I thought I might provide a little insight into how different workweeks feel for me. For context, I am an able-bodied high functioning person who is, by all accounts neurotypical, but who still struggles with overstimulation and needs a lot of therapy. If I feel this way, then imagine how someone disabled is faring under the same conditions, and consider how much of a barrier of entry this really is to the industry. Disclaimer: I'm going to be describing a not great work/life balance from a practical point of view. I work a lot. I try not to. I don't always get it right. Please don't think of what you're about to read as how you 'should' be working in the industry. Whenever possible, insist on your rights to rest and live a life outside work.

40hr week - What would be considered a standard workweek. Animation is a thinking heavy job, so I’m usually tired at the end of the week, but I do still have energy to see friends, do personal work, go for walks, work out. I would prefer a shorter week but it’s doable.

50hr week - Probably my personal average if we’re being honest. This is not always due to the animation job itself - for financial reasons, I usually have small sidejobs next to full-time employment and the hours add up. This week works alright so long as I plan them well. Mealpreps, using google calendars to make sure I'm carving out time for workouts, cleaning and a bit of rest.

60hr week - I have spent a lot of months this year pushing 60 hour weeks and let me tell you, I don't like it. I'm tired. Social life and personal projects go on the backburner. I'm less delighted, less inspired. I still work out, but less. Wrists begin to tingle, shoulders sometimes get more sore than I like. If I fail to mealprep I end up spending so much money on prepackaged lunches. I'm processing stress in my dreams, so I often wake up in the middle of the night and lie awake. Light brainfog starts kicking in. I'm more sensitive to things not going my way because I just don't have much energy left to problemsolve anything that isn't work.

70hr week - This is when I personally start considering a schedule to be 'crunch'. For some the number is higher and for some lower, but for me, a 70hr workweek starts to really fray me at the edges. I have time for work, the commute and sleep, and not much else. I try to get in workouts where I can, to avoid my RSI flaring up too badly. I am no longer seeing friends. I am no longer drawing for myself. I'm not reading books. Maybe I watch a youtube video over dinner. It's not a state I can (or should) sustain for very long. 80hr week - This is where I'm hitting my ceiling. I have done this on rare occassions. My personal max is 85 hours of work in a week, and the personal record of maintaining it was 4 weeks, and those weeks were a shitshow. Cannot recommend. Towards the end, my shoulder was on fire and I had recurring headaches. I was doing all of my stretches and still managing the gym, and somehow it was never enough to soothe the RSI symptoms I can otherwise usually manage. The should injury I got during that month still haunts me to this day.

And I cannot stress enough, I never made it to those famed 100 hour weeks. I honestly don't know how anyone manages anything above 60 for an extended period of time. I know people sleep under their desks to avoid commuting time cutting into work hours, but i just feel like the brainfog would render me incapable of making anything good or even passable.

[hlficlibrary]

hi babes. do you have any grumpy!harry/sunshine!louis recs? or just some where louis is rlly silly and harry very serious. thank you, angels<3

Hi, anon! I do have some like this for you! I think these are what you're looking for...

Nailed By Louis by haztobegood

It had started as a joke, just two months earlier. Louis had tried to make recipe from HarrySizzles Instagram account. It looked doable: no strange ingredients, no scary kitchen machinery. Just a simple layered lettuce salad. The result had been catastrophic. His friends had laughed so hard at the disgusting appearance of his salad, and after a few drinks, Louis had been convinced to start his own Instagram to track his food failures.

Lock On by thinlines / @thinlinez

“Sure you don’t wanna do this? It’s fifty pounds a throw, my man.” The alpha winked as Louis froze before turning slowly back to face him. The twinkle in Liam’s eyes meant that he knew Louis had taken the bait. “Fifty pounds?” Louis exhaled as Liam nodded, holding the water balloon further out. The smaller alpha swallowed thickly. “Why didn’t you say so?”

In which a missed water balloon throw might have led Alpha Louis to the world's most difficult omega.

Staring Across the Room by @allwaswell16

Harry Styles has a great life. He’s a children’s librarian at the New York Public Library, he’s got wonderful friends, and he loves cooking, green tea, yoga, and his collection of bow ties. He doesn’t mind that his life seems a little structured, maybe even a little boring. But when Louis Tomlinson joins the library staff as the new Installation Coordinator, things become a lot less predictable. Louis gets under his skin right from the start, bossing Harry around, making noise during story time, and eating the last cupcake in the staff lounge. Louis may be almost offensively attractive, but Harry will not be succumbing to Louis Tomlinson’s charms, even if the rest of the library staff have.

[kylesvariouslistsandstuff]

As expected, great haul for DESPICABLE ME 4, animation is #1 yet again at the domestic box office and will likely be next week. If so: 5 weeks in a row, a run in animation that had only opened back in 2016, when FINDING DORY and THE SECRET LIFE OF PETS - a Pixar and an Illumination - held the top slot back-to-back for 5 weeks.

No wonder Pixar loves the mid-June slot and Illumination always nabs the 4th of July frame.

DESPICABLE ME 4 landed a little above DESPICABLE ME 3's unadjusted opening weekend take from 2017, $75m estimate, with $122m for the five-day. Already more than doubled its $100m budget, too. Illumination's always smart with those. With little else in terms of family stuff, DESPICABLE ME 4 kinda has the rest of the summer to itself. THE WILD ROBOT and TRANSFORMERS ONE pretty much walk us into autumn, so I expect good legs for this film, maybe even challenges $300m stateside.

Either way, expect a fifth one to be announced, lol. Still plenty of juice left in this tank, for sure. At my theater, the audience response - of all ages - was pretty enthusiastic. Average moviegoers really dig these movies, they're a "just right" sort of combo of silliness and "warm fuzzies" for them. Slapstick also lands, if done well enough, too. They're a bit like Tom & Jerry in that regard, you don't have to fret translating that for any age group or anyone around the world. "Yellow thing hit other yellow thing. Funny."

But going by how big the MINIONS movies opened, I think it's clear audiences just really like those chittering yellow tictacs. I wouldn't be surprised if MINIONS 3 goes forward first, or instead of DESPICABLE ME 5. But really, it was Gru and the girls that launched everything to begin with, so I expect both to happen. As long as Illumination uses some of that moolah for more original stuff, I'm fine. It looks like they don't have a movie out next year, so the spring 2026 release of MARIO 2 will be the follow-up offering. Still would love to know what's going on with projects like BIG TREE, and... That Pharrell Williams project announced way back in like 2018...

INSIDE OUT 2 only took an estimated 47% dip against DESPICABLE ME 4, and is not only now up to $533m domestic (not too far from MARIO's $574m haul last year), but it's ready to surpass INCREDIBLES 2 worldwide. To be Pixar's highest-earning picture... All-animation wise, it's also now below CG LION KING ($1,663m), FROZEN II ($1,453m), MARIO ($1,361m), and FROZEN ($1,280m, w/o re-releases)... I think it has a legit shot at topping MARIO at the very least, not sure if LION KING '19 and FROZEN II are doable, though.

Anyways, yeah... Animation to the rescue, it seems. The summer box office got a boost from the so-called kiddie cartoons... But let's also not leave out BAD BOYS 4, and of course DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE is gonna do big numbers, but after a fairly dry May, it's these two livening things up. Whereas THE GARFIELD MOVIE, now at $244m worldwide (against a $60m budget, sequel announcement definitely imminent), was a quieter affair...

Still, it goes to show that when it comes to animated movies...

Sequels are still the bona fide blockbusters, while the reasonably-priced "original" (or untested/untried IP) movies aren't.

Ideally, that's great.

Animated smallies should be commonplace, they shouldn't all be expected to be $500m-and-up behemoths (I've only been screaming about that for years)... Problem is, while everyone else is okay with that nowadays, Disney still isn't for some reason, and they still pump $150-250m into their pictures - across both of their flagship animation studios. They really got to adjust there. Expecting a sci-fi adventure to outdo ELEMENTAL by a wide margin is either an ambitious bet, or an incredibly short-sighted decision.

Disney is pretty much why we're here with animation, and right now, they gotta get with it. INSIDE OUT 2 is saving their day at the moment because it's a sequel to a beloved movie that made big bucks in a much different world, a much different marketplace. Ditto the original MOANA, whose sequel is sure to make an ocean-full of bucks this coming holiday season. The original INSIDE OUT, if made and released recently, could've possibly struggled. And if it did, that would be blamed on it being "too autobiographical".

Disney needs to course-correct there, not by watering down their movies. They too can ride this new wave with everybody else, and maybe find a new way through it...

[five-rivers]

Life's Great Lie 14

AO3

“I guess,” said Sam, “the good thing is that we were planning on going to the Ghost Zone anyway.”

“You were what?” asked Maddie.  She looked sideways at Stark.  “It was my understanding that the problem had to do with aliens.  Not ghosts.  Not our area of expertise, but of course—”

“We’ll beat up anyone that messes with our kids!”  The statement was emphasized by the sound of the bazooka cocking. 

The effect was slightly ruined by Sam’s knowledge that the sound was an entirely unnecessary addition Jack and Maddie had built in.  A flip of a switch could disable it entirely. 

“Ow!” yelped Jazz. 

“Well, if our doctor hadn’t just been zapped into a hell dimension, you’d be getting better care,” said Romanov.

“And if your arrow guy didn’t shoot me, I wouldn’t need medical care.”

“I said I was sorry!” said Barton, who was doing some kind of wrist exercises now that he was no longer tied up.  “I was being mind controlled.”

“Stuff you do while being overshadowed doesn’t count!” agreed Jack. 

“I don’t blame you for shooting me,” said Jazz.  “I am judging you for the whole unsecured interdimensional portal thing and missing the obvious Nazis.”

“They’re not that obvious,” said Romanov. 

“We are wasting time,” said Thor.  “Open your portal to Helheim and retrieve Banner so we can continue our search for my brother.”

“That is the reason Dr. Banner was brought on board,” said Romanov. 

“I’m not sure we do need to search for him,” said Jazz.  “It’s something I’ve been thinking about.  The things Danny wanted from us, I mean.  I’m sure Sam and Tucker have, too.  But, Mom, Dad, you remember the ecto-converter?  How much power could it…”  She shook herself subtly.  “How much power could it extract from a level seven ghost?  How many places can produce that much power?”

“A level seven ghost?  Where would Loki even—” Maddie cut herself off.  “Oh, right.  Phantom.”

“Danny,” corrected Sam.  

Maddie sighed.  “He’d need a power plant.  For a portal like the one he’s creating…”  She trailed off. 

“Didn’t you guys make a portal in your basement?” asked Barton. 

“The Ghost Zone’s different!  It’s always around us, right next to us, even now, and it’s chock full of energy!  Once it connects, it’s—Well, not easy to make it self-sustaining, but it’s doable!” explained Jack.  “But his portal, it goes somewhere in this universe.  Somewhere really far away, right?”  He looked to Thor for confirmation.

“I believe that to be so,” agreed Thor.

Jack pumped his fist.  “Yeah!  So, Loki’s gotta get some power to punch through that difference!”

“But the reason HYDRA and SHIELD wanted the Tesseract in the first place was the power it could produce,” said Captain America.  “Wasn’t it?”  He shot Romanov and Barton a look that wasn’t quite a glare. 

“Oh, yeah, Mr. America, sir!  That thing has loads of power!”

Captain America pointed a finger at Jack.  “Don’t call me that.  It’s Rogers.  Steve.  Even Captain America.  But if the Tesseract has power, then what—"

“Think of it like a potential barrier,” said Stark, who was tinkering with a piece of his armor.  “Or activation energy.  Or, if that’s too scientific for any of you, needing to heat something up, put energy in, before it burns, puts energy out.  Which is technically activation energy.”  He jerked his head sharply to one side.  “So, that checks out.  I don’t suppose he told you where he was going?” he asked Barton. 

“Not really.  The last few days are a bit…  Blurry.  And I didn’t need to know.  What I didn’t need to know, I didn’t ask about.  I mostly remember Loki and Danny arguing about it.  One of the places was apparently pretty heavily populated.”

Natasha paused.  “Fenton—Danny was arguing with Loki?”

“Not real arguments.  More repeatedly stating his opinion.  But he did seem… different from… the rest of us.”

“Well, knowing that might help us rule things out,” said Maddie.  “Beyond that, we can eliminate anything too inconsistent, like wind power.  Probably not hydroelectric, either.  Nuclear?  Coal?”

“I don’t know,” said Stark.  “That doesn’t seem like Loki.  I mean, far as I can tell, there was no reason for him to be walking down the street in the middle of Amity Park.  He was grandstanding.  Whatever he’s doing, he wants to be seen doing it.  He wants an audience.  I know the type.”

“Because you are the type?” asked Romanov. 

“Ha ha, very funny.  I might be a narcissist, but Loki, Loki’s a full-tilt diva.”

“Stark.”

Stark waved Thor off.  “Yeah, yeah, I get it.  He’s still your brother.  But we’ve made him run twice, now.  How’s he going to react to that?”

“Loki has never liked losing.  But then, neither of us has.”

“He wants to beat us.”  He pointed a screwdriver at Thor before turning it on Maddie.  “He wants parades, he wants flowers, he wants monuments with his name plastered—”  He froze. 

“You thought of something?” asked Jazz. 

Stark rubbed his hand over his mouth.  “He’s going to Stark Tower.”

“Great,” said Jazz.  “So we can get going!”

Maddie nodded and turned to the control panel to punch in coordinates.  “But don’t think we forgot what you were saying about going to the Ghost Zone, young lady.”

“It’s not like we were going to hide it from you,” said Sam, exasperated.  “We’re going to go fight an army, right?  So, we’re going to need an army.  We have contacts on the other side, or at least Danny does.”

“I don’t think introducing ghosts to this situation is the right thing to do,” said Maddie. 

“Come on, you can’t think that all ghosts are evil after—”

“Danny’s not a ghost, he’s a unique case—”

“Wow, I can just imagine that conversation going well.  ‘Danny, we only think you’re half evil—”

“Sam!” snapped Jazz.  “That’s not necessary.  Mom, I’ve met some of these people, and if we don’t manage to stop the portal from opening, and everyone on the other side can do stuff like what Loki did when he was fighting Tucker, we’ll need back up beyond a bunch of people with guns.  No offense.”

“None taken,” said Captain Rogers.  “I agree.  We should notify the local police and National Guard—”

“About what, an alien invasion?” asked Stark, whose work on his armor had become notably more frantic.   

“Well, we can’t exactly tell HYDRA.”

“Wait, wait,” said Barton.  “That was real?  That was a real thing?  SHIELD has been infiltrated?”

“Yep,” said Romanov.  “Not the news you wanted?”

“Not really, no,” said Barton. 

“The army,” said Captain Rogers.  “They’re reliable?  You can really get them to come?”

“At least some of them are,” said Jazz.  “The Far Frozen, Dora’s people, the Greeks.”

“And even for the unreliable ones, a lot of them used to live here.”  Tucker shrugged.  “They might still care enough to help.”

“Then we need them.  Dr. Fenton, Dr. Fenton, will you be able to build a portal?”

“Between the porta-portal and the rest of what the kids brought, we should be able to make a stable portal if we start now,” said Maddie. 

“Actually, we don’t need to do that,” said Tucker.  “Not for this part, anyway.  Might need it later, for the actual army.  Can I have my staff back now?”

Romanov frowned deeply, but swung the long, thin bag off her shoulder. 

“Thank you.  I can send a few of us straight to the Zone.”

“Are you okay to use that?” asked Jazz. 

“I can handle it,” said Tucker, notably not yet opening the bag.  “I didn’t go full megalomaniac when I was fighting Loki in Amity Park.”

“You tried to bite me,” said Iron Man.

“I’m sure that’s a common problem,” said Sam, dryly.  “Who’s going?”

“I was thinking me and Val,” said Tucker.

“I will join you,” said Thor. 

“The Ghost Zone isn’t for everyone,” warned Sam.  “It takes some getting used to.  And you kinda need to be able to fly.”

“I can fly, and while I am sure you are both fine warriors—” he inclined his head towards Tucker and Val “—returning Banner to this realm will require strength.”

“Isn’t anyone going to ask me if I want to go?” asked Val.

“Don’t you?” asked Tucker. 

“Sure, but…”  She swallowed.  “Jeez.  This is really happening.  Yeah, I’m going to go.  How do we do this?”

“Just stand near me.  Uh, Mrs. Fenton, where will your portal be in the Ghost Zone?”

“We’ll try to put it near our home portal,” said Maddie.  “But we don’t have a lot of experience with placing portals in specific places in the Ghost Zone.  There hasn’t exactly been a point.”

“Oh!  I’ve got an idea!” exclaimed Jack.  He dove sideways, making Barton jump out of the way and opened a cabinet under one of the dashboards.  “You can use this!”  He chucked a blocky item at Tucker.

“The Fenton Finder?”

“Upgraded!”

“We added a feature to find the Ops Center after it got lost last time,” explained Maddie.  “The signal should be able to work through a portal.”

“Okay,” said Tucker, “got it.”

“Great,” said Captain Rogers.  “You three go.  Fentons, you build the portal—”

“One of us will have to keep the Ops Center on track.  Our autopilot isn’t that good.”

“I can do that,” said Jazz.  “And Sam can tell the rest of you guys what you can expect from fighting Danny.”

“I’m not telling you how to kill him or anything,” warned Sam.  “But his powerset and how to manage ghosts in general…  I can do that.”

“Cool!” said Tucker.  “Now that we’ve agreed on that, can we go now?  You do need to get closer to me, Mr. Thor.  Great.  Now let’s hope Egyptian magic and Norse magic don’t explode on contact or anything like that!”

Val did a double take.  “Wait, what—”

Sand swept over the three of them, leaving a thin layer on the floor. 

Sam clapped her hands together.  “Okay, let’s get started on Ghost Fighting 101!”

“Aw, I want to do Ghost Fighting 101…”

“We’ve got a portal to build, Jack.”

“Oh!  Yeah!  Gotta love portals!”

.

“… And those are the basics,” finished Sam. 

“The basics,” repeated Natasha.  “Okay.  The basics.”

“Hey, fighting people who can turn invisible and intangible isn’t easy,” said Sam, “and Danny’s our heavy hitter.”

“I don’t suppose you have any arrow-type things?”

“I don’t know, but I can take you to the armory.  If you promise not to shoot Jazz again.”

“You’ve got it.”

“And after that, we should all get some rest,” said Captain Rogers.  “Some of us have been awake for over twenty-four hours.”

“Not like an extra hour is going to mean much,” said Stark. 

“You’d be surprised,” said Captain Rogers.  “Soldiers learn to sleep when they can.”

“We’re not soldiers.  These kids we’re relying on?  Especially not soldiers.”

“Hey, it’s us or HYDRA,” snapped Sam. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.  I have to work on this, anyway.”  He rapped his knuckles against the faceplate of his helmet. 

.

“Wow,” said Sam, sitting in the copilot’s chair, “that was tiring.  Who knew that assassins were so obsessive about weapons.”

“Literally everyone,” muttered Stark.

“Yeah,” said Jazz, “that tracks.  Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Stark snorted.  “If anyone is sleeping, I’m a teetotaler.  We saw capsicle go thataway, and no one with that kind of expression on their face is sleeping.  Drinking, maybe.”

“You are a teetotaler, though, aren’t you?” asked Jazz. 

“What?”

“I mean, I know you used to always be in the paper partying, but given everything, I know you’re more responsible than to get drunk when you have direct access to some of the most dangerous weapons in the world.”

“There’s a huge gulf of difference between getting drunk and having drinks now and again.”

“Welp!” said Sam, before Jazz could reply.  She did not need to be in the middle of Jazz trying to expand her ‘billionaires I have interrogated’ list.  “I’m going to go see if anyone is sleeping.”

She walked out of the control room.  The Ops Center was surprisingly large, all things considered.  Or maybe not surprisingly.  It had more or less doubled the size of Fentonworks.  Greater emphasis on more. 

Now, if she were the one sulking around, where would she go?

Observation deck, probably.  Assuming she knew it existed.  She walked through a couple more doors and slid down a ladder.  Sure enough...

Well.  She had wanted to talk to him. 

“Captain Rogers?  Are you okay?  I thought you wanted to sleep.”

“You know,” said Captain Rogers, staring down out the window at the rapidly passing countryside, “one of the first things I used the internet to look up was how the war went.  SHIELD told me, but the joke about military intelligence, that’s an old one.  Books had more.  Went to my own museum exhibit.  Figured out the internet.”  He shifted his hands slightly on the rim of his shield.  “I didn’t like the Neo Nazis, wanted to…” 

“Kill them all?” asked Sam. 

“Something like that.”  He smiled at her, thin and tense.  “I understand why they’re not all in jail.  I don’t like it, but I understand it.  I can… live with it, most of the time.  There’s always going to be bullies.  HYDRA, though?”  He shook his head, not turning his gaze from the window.  “I thought… I really thought we had gotten them.  It just feels like all of it was for nothing.”

Sam shifted her weight, tapping her foot behind her.  “My great-grandparents were from Germany,” she said.  “I’m Jewish.  So, yeah.  Kind of a do the math thing.”  Captain Rogers turned to look at her and she shrugged. 

“Miss, you don’t have to—”

“You’re right, I don’t have to.  But I am.  They, um, they didn’t get out in time.  But they still got lucky.  Sort of.  They were caught about the same time the Kreischberg Facility needed more laborers.  Slaves.  Test subjects.  So, they got sent to Austria.  It’s how they met, actually.  You know, other families have cute stories, but-- Never mind.  They were—The one time I heard it from them, it sounded like they were on the operating tables when you came in.”  She paused to swallow.  “From the beginning, everything you did, it wasn’t for nothing.  If it was, I wouldn’t be here.”

The captain looked up at her. 

“Just, you know, something to think about.  And you really should take your own advice.  Get some rest.”

.

Danny craned his neck, gazing up at the glittering expanse of Stark Tower from the safety of the alleyway.  He’d never seen a building this tall in person.  It was honestly giving him a little bit of vertigo.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Selvig, with a chuckle.  “But that’s nothing to what we’ll have in the next couple of hours.”

The part of Danny that was Fenton giggled along with Selvig.  Phantom, however, was hoping his friends got his messages, such as they were.  Danny as a whole… He had mixed feelings.  Obviously.  “Yeah, I guess not.” 

Loki’s hand dropped onto Danny’s shoulder.  “Enough talking.”

“Right,” said Danny, letting invisibility and intangibility wash over all three of them.  “Let’s go.”

[autisticlenaluthor]

Hear me out.

What if they all say 'fuck this shit' and decide to leave their respective news outlet/papers to band together and create their own independent thing? With Grace's knowledge, Lola's social media skills, Kimberlyn not being afraid to be behind cameras and wanting to prove her worth withoug having her political views being criticized for (possibly) leaving Liberty Direct News, and with Sadie's drive for good old fashioned journalism?

They would be an unstoppable force! The more I think about it, the more it seems doable. The only thing that wouldn't align here is Grace, I don't think she would have a reason for that big of a shift, but maybe she'll have her eurêka in the remaining episodes... 👀

i LOVE this theory and oh my GOD I hope it comes true!!

in the beginning of episode one, we see them all holding hands together, right before sadie gets arrested. i believe it's at the presidential election? now I'm thinking about them having all been in on something together and their outlet potentially doing something sketchy or some information about them getting out that leads to sadie's arrest.

i fully agree they would work so well together. they each come with a unique skillset and background and their differences would make it so there isn't a huge amount of competition for one role. i also think having kimberlyn being a part of their outlet, with different views from the rest of them would be extremely beneficial. it brings in a whole new audience and like you said, takes away the stress of criticism if she were with another network.

as for grace's motives to leave - I could see it having to do with annie. although I don't see her quitting her job, maybe some kind of arc where she realizes she wants more control over her life and her career, so that she can mend some of her personal relationships?? that could push her to working with the other girls independently, but idk how in character that is for her, as of right now

[mixelation]

speaking of time travel, here's a random adventure from my tobirama/oc soulmate fic. time travel inside of time travel

It started the way many Senju family disasters started, with a large bottle of sake. 

Shizune had unearthed it from one of Tsunade’s hidden stores, and Ren had managed to steal it from her in turn. She’d poured Tobirama a glass when he’d refused to put down the ongoing research ethics board policy review. Then three glasses later, she’d somehow coaxed him out into the moonlight flooding the engawa. 

“Here’s how you guarantee no one’s going to fuck anything up,” Ren slurred, waggling her eyebrows at him. “We invent time travel. Then, we know nothing we’re doing is too fucked up because– because–”

Tobirama squinted at her as she struggled with her words. “Because our future selves would stop us?”

Ren slaps the single sheet of wood that made up the Senju family engawa. “Yes! If you really cared about the future, you’d help me–”

Tobirama drains the rest of his cup. There is already sealing paper out in the next room, from a different project Ren had gotten frustrated with and abandoned earlier that afternoon. Time travel seemed like something she’d have a much higher success rate, as she’d already done it once. 

Alcohol was the root of many Senju problems, as it destroyed wisdom while leaving all cleverness perfectly intact. That was to say, “invent time travel to prevent disaster” seemed like perfectly fair logic to Tobirama, and also completely doable. 

Two hours later, Tobirama was in the Hokage’s office, and Ren was falling on top of him. 

“Ah…” Hashirama says, blinking up from his desk.  

Tobirama is on the floor, knocked off his chair by his soulmate and feeling deeply disoriented. He can feel the hum of Hashirama’s chakra clear as day, still young and strong, and of so many old faces he’d never thought he’d see again. He blinks. It’s the middle of the day and he’s no longer drunk. He’s in his old body. No, his… young body. 

He’d managed to catch Ren when she’d crashed into him, and she blinks down at him. Her eyes are a little crossed and her elbows are digging into his ribs. She's also in a younger body, but Ren hasn’t been born yet in this time… perhaps the jutsu had tried to resolve a paradox, and it had had strange effects?

“Are you okay?” Hashirama asks, peering over the desk Tobirama has in the corner of his office. Hashirama’s voice is casual, but his chakra is tense and Tobirama can feel the telltale curls of chakra in the walls that could bloom into trees at any moment. 

From Hashirama’s point of view, Ren had just spontaneously appeared in their office and knocked Tobirama out of his chair. They’re lucky Hashirama hadn’t outright attacked. 

“It’s okay,” Tobirama says, carefully rolling Ren off of him. She seems out of it, her pupils too wide for the light. “She’s with me. Experiment gone…. odd.”

“Uh-huh,” Hashirama replies, but he does relax. 

“I think it went really well,” Ren says, waving vaguely in Hashirama’s direction. “Hello, I’m fuckballs.”

Hashirama’s face lights up. Tobirama buries his face in his hands. 

They explain the experiment. Hashirama’s eyebrows raise further and further up his forehead as they go. Tobirama’s future life is… complicated. But Hashirama knows him well, and so “my other half broke time and space, and then I broke it right back to get here” seems perfectly reasonable to him. 

When they’re done, Hashirama cocks his head to the side and asks, “So then how long are you planning to stay?”

Tobirama pauses. He blinks. Horror creeps up his spine, as his sober brain realizes that they absolutely do not have a plan to return. 

His thoughts must be painfully obvious, because Hashirama leans conspiratorially into Ren, who’s propping herself up on Tobirama’s desk, and says, “So then you really did get him drunk?”

She leans right back into him and in a stage whisper replies, “I got him so drunk.”

Hashirama tosses his head back and laughs, full and loud, and the shock of it nearly makes Ren keel over. Tobirama catches her before she teeters too far off balance. 

“I know I’m sober again because I’m in a different body,” Tobirama says. “Why are you still drunk?”

“Oh, I’m almost definitely poisoned,” Ren says brightly. She holds up her arm to reveal a small but nasty cut along the backside of her forearm, which has gone green around the edges. “Behold!”

The grin slides off of Hashirama’s face, even as Ren assures them it didn’t kill her before and it wasn’t going to kill her again. 

They haven’t agreed on who they’re going to reveal the time travel conundrum to, if anyone, and that means not calling random assistants or healers in without a conversation first. Fortunately, Hashirama himself is an accomplished healer, and so Tobirama ends up being the one to step out of the office to fetch water and clean bandages. 

Normally he wouldn’t want to leave Ren alone in an unknown situation while she was injured and her wits compromised. But Tobirama would trust Hashirama with his life, and so he very confidently steps out into the hall. 

Hokage tower is still partially under construction, and there’s hastily put up boards covering large chunks of the walls. Tobirama feels oddly out of his element, walking the familiar path down to a breakroom and kitchenette set up on this floor. He remembers thinking this was a wonderfully modern space, to store food and get fresh water without a well, and to have a gas stove for tea. He also remembers, years from now when he’s Hokage himself, a younger kunoichi remarking that his life would be much improved if he’d just get with the times and drink bagged tea. 

He’s pretty sure that the current iteration of this room keeps a refrigerator stocked with bottled water. Under his own tenure as Hokage, he’d had a young and cocky chunin whine at length about the old-fashioned ice box. 

There’s an older shinobi already making tea. Tobirama hasn’t thought about this man in years, and the nods he offers him is stiff. The man smiles back and says a generic, respectful greeting but doesn’t otherwise demand Tobirama’s attention. 

Good, Tobirama decides, opening a cabinet where they keep first aid supplies. He feels weirdly out of his element, and he doesn’t want any surprise conversations right now. 

The Hokage’s office already has its own first aid kit, but Tobirama pulls a few clean bandages to restock. He then finds a pitcher in another cabinet– chipped and probably someone’s donation, rather than bought new for the office, like most of the glasses and the two tea kettles in the room– and fills it with water. Someone has brought in hand-made sweets, and he grabs a few of those and an apple. 

When he gets back to the office, Ren is seated on his desk while Hashirama’s hands glow green over her arm. Hashirama is telling Ren a very detailed story about Tobirama licking a frog and poisoning himself when he was ten. Ren looks up at him with laughter in her eyes, even as they’re glassy from the effects of poison. 

“Here,” Tobirama says, interrupting Hashirama’s impression of whatever he’d said when high off of frog toxins. He pours water into a drinking glass. “Stay hydrated.”

“You’re really making mountains out of molehills,” Ren says, even as she accepts the glass. “I’m pretty sure I just had a fever for a couple days over this.”

“Better safe than sorry!” Hashirama booms. 

Tobirama has nothing else to do to help, so he watches his brother carefully smear a salve Mito had lovingly packed into his first aid over Ren’s arm and then bandage it tightly. Tobirama is sure Ren would make fun of him, standing over her with both arms crossed and brows furrowed like a strict teacher, if she weren’t distracted quizzing Hashirama over the salve’s contents– alliums for their antimicrobial properties, honey for wound-healing, and some herbs for analgesic purposes and to improve smell. 

Ren really does look like she’s just staggered off a battlefield. She’s obviously younger, without the soft laugh lines just beginning to take root in her face, but she’s thin and lithe in a way that screams to Tobirama too many nights in the field and not enough nutrients. Her clothes are loose, patched with brand new frays from battle, and there’s mud on her knees and a blotch of blood across her midsection. She has no apparent pain besides her arm, though, and he assumes the blood is someone else’s.

The cut on her arm is clearly from blocking a kunai. Why weren’t you wearing arm guards? is a chastisement on the tip of Tobirama’s tongue, but he already knows the most likely answer. She simply wasn’t provided with them. 

He remembers a story she told about never having shoes that were the right side and having to make them stick with chakra, and his eyes drop to her feet. Her sandals are indeed too big. 

“Here,” he says, holding the apple out to her. “You should eat too.”

Ren wrinkles her nose at him, and Tobirama reflects that perhaps it is a bit humiliating to have your introduction to the past to be injured and having people trip over themselves to help you. Fortunately, Hashirama breaks any tension there might have been by grabbing one of the sweets and shoving it into his mouth. 

“So are you spending the night?” he asks, mouth full. 

Tobirama is forced to admit that they had essentially no plan for what they meant to do in the past. They’d simply wanted to see if they could do it, and they’d picked a time of peace to prevent the urge to get involved with things. 

In other words: yes, they're spending the night. 

“No ominous warnings of wars to come?” Hashirama asks, squinting down at Tobirama. Tobirama had gotten used to being the tallest in the room, with his brother gone. 

“No spoilers,” Tobirama tells him. 

It’s tempting, though, to grab his brother’s arm and sequester him off to make moves to prevent tragedy. But he knows there’s a risk of making things worse. It’s not worth it, at least not when he and Ren still don’t know exactly how time travel works and what the dangers of introducing paradoxes are.

If they figure it out… there will be all the time in the world.

Tobirama tilts his head at Ren. “What year is that body from, anyway?”

Ren blinks a few times and pats herself down as if looking for clues. In the end she holds up her bandaged arm and says, “I think this happened when I was twenty. March, I think.” 

When she says the actual year, Hashirama’s eyes bulge and he shoots Tobirama a disapproving look. 

“Such a young bride, younger brother,” Hashirama tsks. Ren snorts. 

“It’s okay,” she says, “the time travel evened things out.”

“Come,” Hashirama says, hopping onto the balls of his feet with the energy of a teenager. “Mito is about your size. She will have clothes to borrow.”

xXx

Ren tries and fails to contain her open curiosity as they walk through the Konoha of old. It’s certainly smaller, but compact enough it feels just as busy. The streets are dirt and unpaved, and most buildings are still actively under construction. The trees still give off the air of being old growth, and she wonders if this is Hashirama’s strange jutsu or the Senju preoccupation with trees had moved them to leave some intact. 

She gets a few looks, but no one pays much attention to her when she’s firmly sandwiched between Tobirama and Hashirama. This, she thinks, is fair. She wouldn’t gawk at her either. 

The Senjuu complex is the same layout as before, but crawling with more life. She can feel that there’s even little children running around inside. Ren thinks there’s less wiring in the walls, but she’s glad the indoor plumbing is still firmly in place. 

Hashirama pauses at the gate and shoots Tobirama a nervous glance. “What do you want to tell Hisako-san?”

Tobirama frowns, and his lips part in confusion. Then his eyes widen in horror. 

“Little brother,” Hashirama breathes out, matching Tobirama’s horror but also looking like he’s fighting back a laugh. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“Who?” Ren asks. “Who’s Hisako?”

Hashirama’s eyes widen with understanding, and then turns his whole body away, covering his face with one hand as he goes. 

Tobirama grits his teeth. He looks unhappy, but in a way where he’s clearly aware the fuck-up is entirely his own. 

“Hisako is…” He pauses. He shifts on his feet in a way that seems uncharacteristically nervous. “My wife.”

Ren stares. She waits for the punchline. 

“We had the marriage annulled after eight months,” Tobirama assures her. 

Oh, so there was no punchline. 

“Eight months?” Ren hears herself squeak out. She’d known Tobirama’s family had tried to set him up with a series of increasingly disastrous brides-to-be, because as the second son of an important family, Tobirama was both prime marriage material and also apparently completely insufferable. But he’d never mentioned… ”Eight months?!”

“I forgot,” Tobirama admits. He sounds both ashamed and frustrated, and his face is mean and grumpy as ever. “We never consummated it, so it didn’t seem important–”

“Oh, Little Brother,” Hashirama groans, and Ren half-shrieks, “Eight months!”

Hisako greets them almost as soon as they step onto the engawa. She’s a pretty woman, soft and curvy with the heavy steps of a civilian, wrapped in a kimono nicer than anything Ren has ever owned. Despite her hair being pinned up perfectly and her lipstick being immaculate, there are bags under her eyes. She has a certain desperation about her, greeting Tobirama with overly formal language even though they’ve been married six months. 

Tobirama spares her no affection, and says, “This is Ren. She’s my soulmate. Don’t ask any more questions.”

Hashirama does a sort of microscopic grimace, but he doesn’t chide Tobirama for being the worst husband on earth. He’s probably too used to him. 

“Er, I know this is awkward,” Ren hedges. “I hope we get along.”

She gives Hisako her friendliest smile, and Hisako only looks mildly like she wants to scream. 

“Hisako-san,” Hashirama says gently. “Ren needs some new clothes. Don’t you think she’s about the same size as Mito?”

Hisako tries and fails to smooth over her frazzled expression. She leads Ren further into the house. 

“Will you be staying with us long?” she asks Ren, sounding very stressed. 

They had decided Hisako probably needed to know Ren was Tobirama’s soulmate to explain why a strange woman would be glued to Hisako’s husband. They did not decide whether or not Hisako needed to know about time travel. 

“I’m not sure,” Ren says delicately. She feels really, deeply bad for Hisako. 

Mito is seated at a desk in her room, calligraphy brush in hand when Hisako opens the door, getting down on her knees to do so like a proper lady. 

“Yes, my husband sent word,” Mito says, smiling tightly at Ren. “Why don’t you leave us, Sister?”

“O-oh…” Hisako stammers out. “Alright.”

Hashirama, by whatever shinobi art he’d sent a message ahead of them, had chosen to fill Mito in on the time travel thing. She’s very no-nonsense, tossing open her closet to pull out items of clothing, holding them up to Ren’s face with apparently the intended purpose of finding a good color for her. 

Ren and Mito might be the same size, but Mito is all delicate pale pinks and vivid red hair. They do not look similar in the least. 

“Do you have anything…” Ren trails off when Mito turns sharply to her. “Um, I don’t really wear kimono very often.”

“Really?” Mito asks, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s less common in my time…” Ren explains, halting and awkward. Mito’s clothes are beautiful. Ren would just be so uncomfortable. 

“I have some kunoichi clothes,” Mito offers, turning away from her closet for a trunk. “Are you really sure you’d prefer them?”

Mito’s battle-ready outfits involve a lot of actual armor, both metal or leather. She seems scandalized when Ren offers up the idea of just wearing the cotton bottom layers. 

“Wear the kimono for today,” Mito decides, “and I will ask some of my cousins for other options.”

Ren turns her back to change, and Mito abruptly lets out a laugh, unrefined and barking. Ren freezes, thinking maybe she’s being mocked but then Mito wheezes out her soulmark: “Your timing is shit. Leave it to my little brother to be just as rude as fuckballs.”

She laughs again, clear and filled with good-will. Tension melts out of Ren’s limbs. Mito is Hashirama’s soulmate. She might come off as an overly serious person, but she’s perfectly equipped to put up with Hashirama's exuberance. She can deal with Ren being a little weird.

“What on earth is this?” Mito asks when Ren discards her mesh undershirt. It clunks to the floor louder than it probably looks like it should, being laced with metal. 

“That’s what most people wear instead of armor in my time,” Ren answers, slipping her arms through the sleeves of a dark purple kimono. Next to her, Mito dips gracefully to pick it up. “Although that one got repurposed a bit.”

Mito sets the mesh shirt aside to help Ren arrange the kimono on her body and tie a matching lavender obi. It’s not nearly as uncomfortable as Ren was anticipating, although she wouldn’t want to fight in it. 

“It’s not an undergarment, then?” Mito asks, turning back to the mesh shirt. Her eyes glimmer in interest. “May I show my husband?”

“Uh,” Ren says. She has no idea how her shirt could be that interesting. “Sure?”

The Senju brothers are having tea on the engawa, overlooking the gardens. Hisako sits nervously next to Tobirama, and she hops to her feet to fetch cups for Ren and Mito the moment they appear. 

“Darling, look,” Mito says, holding up the mesh shirt. With Hisako having left, she says, “This is what armor is in the future.”

Hashirama seems equally fascinated. Tobirama rolls his eyes affectionately. 

“Does it work?” Hashirama asks, rubbing it between his fingers. 

“It’s more like a trade-off,” Tobirama says, very authoritatively even though he has largely rejected any new fashion trends. “It’s not as protective as full armor, but it allows for easier movement.”

“Why is this fabric different?” Mito asks, reaching over her husband to point at two strips of gray fabric going up the sides of the shirt. 

“Oh, usually you have to get them well-fitted,” Ren explains, “and I… didn’t have that option.”

Ren had, in fact, pulled that particular shirt off the corpse of a kunoichi she’d killed herself. She remembers because she’d circled back specifically because she’s thought the woman her size, and that she could maybe get some clothes she didn’t have to take in or out. She’d been wrong. 

Hisako comes back with a new steaming pot of tea and two more cups and a plate of dried fruit, and she gets paler and paler as Ren talks about peeling a shirt off a dead woman and then being mad it was too small. The actual ninja nod along, unbothered, and it occurs to Ren that not only does she have no idea how to talk to civilians, neither do any of the other people here. 

God, I must really sound like I wandered right out of the Warring Clans era, Ren thinks, running the pad of her thumb over the stumps of her missing fingers. Usually village-born ninja were a little more surprised by her complete lack of regular supplies, but Tobirama had told her his family had suffered through some of the same problems. 

(Just, you know, with familial love and dependence on one another, and not a crabs-in-a-bucket feeling of desperation.)

“Resourceful,” is Mito’s only comment on the matter. She holds the shirt up again, eyeing the way the fabric moves. “Can we see if it really works?”

“If you can fit into it,” Ren replies, “I would be happy to throw things at you.”

Mito laughs again, although outside of the privacy of her room she makes an attempt to be dainty about it, covering her mouth. 

“Um, Ren-san,” Hisako titters out, seated folded perfectly. “Tobirama-sama said you were unwell, so I made a medicinal blend…”

Tobirama-sama? Ren thinks. She knows some people call their family by such formal titles, but she wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face trying to call him that…

“Thank you, Hisako,” Tobirama says, lifting his cup to his own lips. 

Tobirama’s tone is clipped and dismissive, which Ren knows from experience is just what his casual tone sounds like, but Hisako wilts ever so much. Ren wonders if they’ve ever had a real conversation. She wouldn’t be surprised if twenty-something year old Tobirama was too socially unaware to think to engage with someone else. 

When they’ve drunk and eaten, Hisako gathers their cups and shuffles off. Ren makes the conscious choice to thank her and smile, but Hisako doesn’t look any less stressed. 

“Ren took over the garden,” Tobirama says conversationally. Or, at least, conversationally for Tobirama, which means he sounds like he’s interrupted your conversation specifically to tell you off. 

“Do you like flowers, Ren?” Hashirama asks, an indulgent smile spreading over his face. 

“Edible plants, mostly,” Tobirama answers for her. “Ren likes practical plants.”

The garden as it currently stands in front of them is indeed mostly pretty flowers, with only a small portion set aside for an herb garden. Tobirama didn’t want to word it like she thought growing flowers to have flowers is pointless though!

“I like flowers too,” Ren protests, pushing one foot forward to nudge Tobirama’s thigh. “I’m still waiting on sunflower seeds, remember?”

“Can you not eat sunflower seeds?” Hashirama asks. 

“No, she didn’t want the edible kind,” Tobirama replies. “She got fixated on rumors of a variety used as an antimalarial–”

Ren feels her cheeks go pink.

[thievinghippo]

Hippo's Writing Year in Review 2023

Hoo-boo. This was not the productive writing year I hoped it was. I had surgery in February (goodbye gall bladder, thank you for your service) and that just really seemed to knock a lot of wind out of my sails for the entire year (and the BG3 came out...)

For prosperity's sake, here are all my previous writing reviews: 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022

I only wrote 96,199 words in 2023. That's the second lowest total I've had since I started keeping track. That being said, I posted a lot. Here are some highlights!

of a mingled yarn - My Time at Portia series featuring seven fics, mostly starring my builder Lettie and her complicated love life

An Object in Motion - Sonya's alphabet fic! It's complete!

For Keeps - a fake dating Logan/builder AU

Iron and Satin, Silk and Steel - my gae'zel alphabet fic

2024 plans behind the cut!

You'll notice that at the top are two original romance ideas. I've been talking about writing a novel for ten years now, and never actually done it. That changes in 2024. I have an idea that I like a lot. Characters I find interesting and it's time to put my money where my mouth is

Then the rest are fanfics. In various stages of completion. I even included Scattering Grief, because I would love, love love to actually finish it. I don't know if I can in 2024, but I can start. And maybe actually get there in 2025

I had intended to sunset the SDV fic, but I read what I had written (about 16k worth) and it's actually pretty good. Good enough that I wanted to know what happens next, so it survives the axe

Lessons is my Wangxian blowjob fic that I need to finish. I refuse to let it hit the 3 year mark. I have maybe 5k left to write, so it's completely doable!

Then we've got gae'zel, which I'll try to write 2 chapters a month so it should be done by the end of the year. Then last but not least is my Miguel series, from My Time at Sandrock. It's going to end up being a series like of a mingled yarn, so involving a number of different length fics and featuring different couples at times. Since I'm not sure how many at this point, I kept it all under one project

This year, I'm not gonna make goals. I never seem to hit the ones I want, so I'm gonna be a rebel this year. I want to write. Hopefully lots of original work with fanfic as my happy place. But at the end of the day, as long as I'm writing, I win :D

[mooifyourecows]

I’m about to move cross country for college, what do you think helped you the most in your cross country move? I’m feeling really unsure about the college I’m going to but I want to go I just don’t feel like it’s good enough for ME ya know. Like I could go somewhere better but this school has everything I want, it’s just a lower level than I want ig. 🤷‍♀️ idk man

I dunno if you're looking for more practical information like "bring your social security card and other important documents you might need" or what but since you seem to be having tumultuous thoughts about the idea of the actual moving and leaving behind your old home, let's talk about that.

I think a super important thing to remember is that nothing is permanent. I feel like when we were younger, all the adults made everything seem so set in stone, right? Like you have to make every important decision about the rest of your life while you're a teenager and once you've locked that in, there's no going back. Even the idea of buying a home, getting married, etc was touted as this big uber vital step that you absolutely CANNOT fuck up or else next thing you know you're thirty and living in your mom's basement and a total deadbeat and nobody takes you seriously, womp womp

But the opportunity to change your mind and do something else never stops coming to you, no matter what you've done, no matter how old you are, no matter where you've gone. You always have the chance to do something different.

If you marry someone and realize you don't want to live the rest of your life with them, you can get divorced. It's not a shameful act. You shouldn't make a habit out of it, because yes, hardship can come hand in hand with something like that, but it is possible. It is available.

If you buy a house that you realize isn't good for you/you can no longer afford, you can sell it. You don't have to keep it forever. You're not given only the one chance to buy a house so you have to wait and be picky to make sure it's THE house. There's no such thing as your "forever home" unless that's the home you WANT and have the means to stay in forever. If you have the ability to buy a home, you can just do that. And then sell it and move somewhere else. It's a PROCESS, lemme tell ya, but it's doable.

If you choose one career path and later decide you hate it or it's not living up to your expectations you can just quit, and find a new path to follow. It might be difficult starting from the bottom again but you can do it. You don't have to choose just one job to do until retirement. Be an accountant for five years, then go into aviation, then mow lawns for a bit, babysit, write the next hit novel, become a pharmacist, then manage a Kohls. Do whatever. Whenever. Until you're ready to be done with it all.

If you go to this college for a bit and decide that it's not the right fit, you can just go to another college. You can move to another place. You can start over. Or start in the middle if you're able to carry over things from your last experience. It's never too late to do that kind of thing. Don't stress yourself out about whether or not you made the right decision because these decisions are so easily remade. Go to this school, do the base level and then if you think you need more, go do more. It's admirable to have degrees from multiple schools. It's impressive to have many accolades. There's no such thing as too much school. No future employer is going to look at your resume, see you did 8 years of school instead of 4 and think that it's a bad thing, like you're a flip-flopper who doesn't know what you want out of life.

Don't be scared to make big decisions. Five years ago, the thought of leaving my home state was unthinkable. When my brother would encourage me to consider moving somewhere new, I was adamant about how there was no way, no how i could/would do something like that. Then I made a spontaneous decision to buy a house i only saw online and move 1,600 miles away from my home town and everything i've ever known and I don't regret it. Not even a little bit. Even the things that i miss are overshadowed by how much better I feel here.

You can and should make big decisions about your life! And then make them again and again and again until you're finally in that place that you feel comfortable and happy to call your life. I know that it's expensive and wildly unfair how difficult it is for people who aren't insanely rich to be able to do those things but hey, I believe in you.

Don't let your doubt about "what if i did this instead" ruin the path you're on right now. Maybe in two years, you won't even want to pursue the career you're considering right now anyway. I haven't met a single person who stuck with their first plan right out of high school. They all changed their minds or fell into a newfound passion or opportunity.

It's not lost or wasted time. Cherish every moment. Even if you're going to change your mind in a year or two, there's still value in what you're doing right now. You're experiencing things that are unique to these choices you made. You're going to meet people you wouldn't meet if you went to that other school. Take advantage of that

And have fun!!!! You should always be having fun! Whatever your age or what you're doing in your life, find a way to have fun. Do something stupid and silly. You are going to a new place, with all new people. You can be whoever you want there! You can completely change your style or your personality. Go see new things! New nature, new architecture. Learn some stuff, not just from your school, but from the environment, the locals.

I believe in you and I hope you have an exciting and wonderful time in your new place in the world. Sorry if this answer is totally not the kind of information you were looking for, it's been like 3 years since I moved so I've mostly forgotten all the small details about that process lol. Get your address changed at the post office. Get a new ID soon after you move. If you don't have a car, look immediately into public transport and how you can access it. Learn to care about the weather because chances are, it's gonna be different and strange and suddenly relevant. Look up local plants/insects/animals so you know what you're dealing with in terms of irritants/pests/possible encounters. Get a new doctor and have a check up. Etc, etc

And good luck!

[what-big-teeth]

Avatar of Lust (Asmodeus)

Monsterlover!MC is gender neutral.

[ Part 1 (intro) ; Part 2 (Lucifer) ; Part 3 (Mammon) ; Part 4 (Leviathan) ; Part 5 (Satan) ]

Please note this is an 18+ blog; do not follow if you’re younger than 18.

Living a normal life as a human had its ups and downs, stress included. So suddenly being spirited away to the Devildom as an exchange student didn’t help your stress levels. At all.

Lucifer as the eldest tried to use strict rules to help you adjust with mixed results. Mammon, the chaotic greed-driven demon he is, wasn’t much help although he tried. Levi…was Levi, but adopting the hermetic lifestyle wasn’t doable. Books and cats could only do so much in the face of uncertainty (sorry Satan). And your body could only handle so much sleep and food at a time, unlike the twins.

Without a solution, your sleep schedule suffered and the issue started to chip away at your grades. Before you could even think of how to phrase your apology to Lucifer, he suddenly stopped you in the hallway of the massive House of Lamentation one night.

“It seems your relocation to the Devildom is affecting your ability to concentrate. An…oversight…which Lord Diavolo has not yet noticed.”

(You silently wondered how much it pained him to admit that.)

“After my brothers offered their suggestions, I decided one of them may be able to help.” And that’s how the routine of visiting Asmo before bedtime started.

Face creams, skin scrubs, moisturizing masks; the number of beauty products Asmo gushed about made your head spin.

But once he and you were able to settle onto a simple yet effective nighttime routine, it became a comfort. It was something you looked forward to, a process you controlled. And you’d be lying if the gentle scents of camomile, lavender, and ylang-ylang didn’t calm you. 

So every night, without fail, you’d knock on Asmo’s bedroom door and be whisked inside for a mini pampering session before bedtime. And at the end, Asmo would provide a platonic “good night” cuddle. 

But tonight, his door remained firmly closed after you knocked.

“Asmo? Are you there?” When you received no response, you pressed your ear against the white, lacquered door.

The sound from inside was faint and watery. Yet unmistakable. The sharp hiss afterward cut you to the core. “Asmo, are you alright? Have you been crying?”

A sniffle. “Oh, hello darling.” His muffled voice, devoid of its usual playfulness, barely reached your ears. “I was certain that silence charm would work, but…”

But you both knew demonic magic didn’t affect you normally like other humans.

“Asmo, are you hurt? Did something happen last night at the Fall?”

No lower-ranking demon could ever measure up to the fifth lord of hell. But as you soon came to learn, because of your humanity and soul, they’d still try. Even die in the attempt. If only for a chance to get at you.

“C-can you let me in?” The growing knot in your throat grew tighter, heavier. “I need to make sure you’re alright.”

“…You always worry about others instead of yourself. That isn’t good for your health or your skin, dear.”

You giggled at his gentle chiding, your ears making out a light sigh from him and a sharp click. The door’s lock. “You can come inside…but I don’t expect you to stay.”

You turned the knob without hesitation and went in. A heavy humidity slammed into your face, dampening your skin and pajamas. A quick glance confirmed his massive tub was filled to the brim with steaming, scented water. Chamomile to be exact. You ignored the stickiness clinging to your skin. 

Asmo sat in his massive bed, horns present with his perfect skin blotchy and his eyes rimmed with red. The sight almost drew your attention from the chelicerae framing his lips. His arms and torso were bare, leaving his large, bat-like wings visible but his lower half…

A pair of large, pink grasping pincers protruded from his hips. Eight, long legs of the same color rested at his side as a segmented tail tipped with a black stinger lay flat and curled behind him. 

The gradation of color from his scorpion half to his human torso blended perfectly in a seamless, gorgeous way. While you tried to notice more, a sharp hiss diverted your attention. You reached out, hands at the ready. He gently took yours in his, being careful of his black claws.

“You’re not scared? Careful, darling, or  you’ll make me swoon~! But then, that wouldn’t be so bad—!”

Asmo hissed, his body tensing. The keratin of his left pincer had cracked without warning. But his hold on you remained impossibly gentle. 

“But maybe not now,” he eked out with a strained smile.

“What can I do to help?” 

Asmo’s flushed face deepened as his mouth opened and closed a few times. As cute as he was speechless, you tucked the sight away for another time.

“I’m just molting, darling, nothing serious. I should be done in about four hours or so.”

“But it hurts, right?” You gently squeezed his hands, claws be damned. “Have your brothers helped you before? Stayed with you?” 

The fifth born took in your words, what you hoped he saw as want in your expression. His chelicerae clicked softly as he glanced away. 

“They haven’t. I never wanted anyone to see me…”

“Not looking like ‘The Jewel of the Heavens’?” That was two times you’ve left Asmo speechless; a new personal record. You giggled, moving your hands to cup his face.

“Oh Asmo, everyone has their off days. Some more than others.” You tilted your head a little to the side to refer to yourself, feeling glad when he caught on. “You’ve been there for me when I needed help getting used to the Devildom. So let me be here for you, if you’re okay with that.”

His features wavered and nearly crumpled altogether, but he steadied himself by placing his hands onto yours. Then he truly smiled.

“You should be careful, dear. I may find a way to keep you here all to myself.”

“Knowing Lucifer, he’d find out sooner than later and have a fit,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So you’d better make the most of these next few hours, Romeo.”

Three for three; you were on a roll! And was that a light blush, too? Happy to have the last word during your banter, you grinned at the fifth born. “So, what can I do to help?”

The molting process, as you learned, left Asmo drained of energy. This affected his other bodily sensations like hunger and thirst, making them non-existent. The only thing he needed now was constant warmth, humidity, and time (“and you as well, darling~”).

So you took up the responsibility of ensuring he was comfortable. That the bathtub was filled and scented perfectly, that the temperature in his room was just right. There were a few moments where he’d quietly inch his hand towards your, which you gently took. And every time, he’d glance away with a little smile.

Four hours later, the process was done. With a new softened shell that had yet to harden, Asmo could barely keep his eyes open or his head from drooping. Knowing how keen he was to stick to his skincare routine, you stepped into his bathroom and gathered everything you needed. 

You weren’t surprised when he drifted to sleep during the process, reclined against a huge mountain of plush, soft pillows at his back. And with his face cleaned and his skin moisturized, he looked much healthier. Thank goodness. 

Not wanting to disturb his rest, you started scooting off his bed. But a soft touch to the back of your hand stopped you.

“Stay? Please?”

Those shy words were more than enough to convince you. With your hands still joined, that’s how you ended up spending the night in Asmo’s room.

Which he was all too happy to croon about the next day. 

The tension during Saturday’s breakfast steadily built to a crescendo as Asmo fawned over you and sat as close as possible. He nuzzled his dewy cheek against yours with bright, almost lovestruck eyes. 

“…And the dear didn’t want to leave my side! They had to tend to their own needs a few times, of course, but they came rushing back immediately after! My own personal knight-in-shining armor!”

Even Beel was losing steam while chewing his food. He looked ill. With a familiar twinkle in his eyes, Asmo looped his arms around your shoulders with a coquettish smile.

“Well,” he said, “my knight in very appealing nightwear.”

All hell broke loose. 

The others began swearing up a storm, screeching about unfairness, chastising Asmo, all while Beel painfully swallowed his previous bite. Asmo deftly dodged the cow-printed pillow hurled at him with deadly precision. You were pretty sure Belphie would’ve used a chair instead if Lucifer weren’t present. 

Still, the fifth born carried you away from the chaotic fray in his arms bridal-style, blocking your view and appearing oh so very pleased. 

“I’m their first man! Me, ya hear?!” “Mammon, I will personally rip out your throat if you don’t shut up!” “Oh yeah? Try it you little—”

“Asmo, you bastard! …Why couldn’t it have been me?!” “...I can’t believe I’m not as hungry as before.” “You’d better sleep with one eye open from now on motherf—“

“THAT’S IT!” A defining crash, the splintering of wood. Then silence. From the sound of things, Satan got to use a dining room chair first. 

“…Mammmooonnn…”

And missed his intended target. 

You were certain the others would do what they could to learn more about last night. But you wouldn’t say anything; neither would Asmo.

And if he happened to hug you closer before unfurling his wings while you snuggled closer…

Well, that was between the two of you and nobody else.

[alfvaen]

Novel Mother

With the winds blowing us all backwards into the future, I read another month's worth of books in May of 2024. And made thoughtful comments about them in a file which got turned into a blog post. This very one, in fact.

Details below the cut; possible spoilers for Rachel Bach's "Paradox" series, N.K. Jemisin's "Great Cities", Steven Erikson's Malazan Book of The Fallen, and of course Lois McMaster Bujold's Vorkosigan Saga.

Katharine Kerr: Daggerspell, completed May 1

This book came out in 1986, and I remember seeing it on the shelves at the time, if only because I was reading a lot of Katherine Kurtz at the time, and I kept seeing this one and thinking it was Kurtz, but it wasn't. It had a sequel, Darkspell, which I also recall seeing, and apparently there were more after that but I've rarely spotted them. I probably originally picked it up used, and it sat on my shelves for a while. According to my records, I read it in 1996, in my "Random" slot, i.e. literally selected at random out of my unread books at the time. (It's an interesting technique; I should maybe do it more often.) And I remembered very little about it, except perhaps that the "daggerspell" of the title was a little deceptive, though not more than that. I did also end up with a copy of Darkspell, and even the third book, The Bristling Wood (abandoning the title theme, which is probably for the best), but I haven't read them.

So why did I take it out to reread? Good question. I guess I had it in my head somewhere that I had heard that Deverry, the world where these took place, was another planet. Which made me wonder if this was actually another Steerswoman-type situation, science fiction in fantasy clothing, which made it seem more interesting. It had certainly been long enough that if I ever did want to go on in the series (which is now up to like sixteen books, divided into multiple "acts" or subsequences) I'd want to reread the first book. Since I like to put one standalone reread in with my series rereads these days (along with the Pratchett, the Star Trek, and now the Dick Francis), I put it into that slot. (It's not a standalone, of course, but I figured that as the only book in a series that I've read it would be close enough.)

It pretty clearly is not a secret science fiction book--it's a Celtic fantasy (though at least more Brythonic than Gaelic, for a change) in a secondary world. There's a lot of familiar elements--elves and dwarves, mercenaries (here distinguished by their silver daggers, also used as a metonymous designation for them), inns and horses, clearly-defined patriarchal gender roles, etc. And there's dweomer (magic), prophecies, Wyrd (fate), and a hefty helping of reincarnation. We start with a young girl who can see fairies, her mother dies and her silver-dagger father takes her to live on the road with him. But it turns out that 400 years earlier, she was a beautiful woman fought over by a prince, her brother (TW: incest), and another lord, and things go badly for most of them. The prince, who wanted to abandon his life to study the dweomer anyway, swears not to rest until he can fix things in some future life, and ends up cursed with immortality until he has fulfilled his vow. The flashbacks into the earlier timelines (we also see one other earlier reincarnation where things do not get resolved properly), and the youth of the main character, sap the early momentum of the story, and it's not until almost halfway through the book that we settle into our main plot, meeting the other reincarnated characters, and also dealing with other plot elements. A furtive glance at the Wikipedia page for the series implies that we mostly stick with characters from this timeline, and don't keep jumping further, but I could be wrong.

I had planned to get through the book in four days--under a hundred pages a day, should have been doable--but in the end it did not happen, partly because of other things going on, but mostly because I just was not being drawn in. I ended up committing to five days instead (bumping it into May's list) and even the reduced quota was a bit of a slog. Things did seem to pull together a little by the end--after resolving the external conflict with the bad guys, the author still leaves plenty of time to resolve the good guys' interpersonal problems, giving them to chance to use what they've absorbed from their multiple reincarnations to change their Wyrds. So I'm not feeling quite as firmly convinced as I was while I was actually reading the book that I will never continue on in the series. I guess I'll see how I feel. (As nice as it would be to weed a few more books and reclaim a modicum of shelf space…)

N.K. Jemisin: The World We Make, completed May 5

Cycled back around to the female diversity slot, which, as mentioned before, seems to leave me with a lot more choices than male does, with my current collection at least. And while there are several new authors for me to try, I'm also in the middle of a few series, so I elected to progress with one of them. It didn't feel quite time yet to go back to Michelle Sagara/West, and really I was interested in finishing off N.K. Jemisin's Great Cities duology.

The City We Became was a weird but cool book, "urban fantasy" in the absolutely strictest most literal sense of the word. As in, the fantastical creatures living in the cities were…well, cities. Several people find themselves becoming the avatars of New York boroughs, with the city's overall avatar itself in trouble. Like many people who don't live there, I imagine, my familiarity with New York is somewhat superficial, and probably mostly Manhattan-focused, from comic books and "Friends" and the like, and I couldn't have really told you the difference between Brooklyn, Queens and The Bronx, so I found it educational and informative. There were also strong social justice themes underlying the story, and a little bit of cosmic horror too. And there were also some guest appearances by other city avatars, with the implication that we'd see more of them in the sequel.

The book feels like it could be longer, the resolution to some issues made more concrete. The author talks in the endnotes about how this was planned as a trilogy, but uncomfortable convergence with real-world events made her collapse it down to two books, so perhaps that accounts for some of it. The conflicts have a very magic-realism feel to them, where things happen according to an internal logic which doesn't line up to the real world, and some of them get very abstract. And I'm not sure I found the ultimate resolution to be 100% satisfying. But I enjoyed reading it nonetheless.

Rachel Bach: Honour's Knight, completed May 9

Now I wanted something other than an epic or urban fantasy, with a female author, but I still felt like something reasonably fast-paced after Daggerspell. I decided this meant it was time for the next Rachel Bach book.

Rachel Bach is really Rachel Aaron, using a pseudonym because this is SF and not fantasy like the Eli Monpress series she was known for at the time. I read and enjoyed the Eli Monpress books, though I have to say that by the end of the fifth book it had really twisted the default-seeming secondary fantasy world into something a lot weirder. I always appreciate that, when you realize that the default assumptions you've been making about the nature of the world weren't actually justified at all.

This is the second book in the Rachel Bach series (officially designated the Paradox series, which seems to be the name of the culture/planet/interstellar polity/whatever that the main character is from). In the first one, Fortune's Pawn, Devi, a high-tech fighter from Paradox (which is now no longer at war with the Terrans--she is human, though there are aliens around as well) is looking for work and gets hired on a small cargo ship as security. The captain of the ship is clearly not on the up-and-up, since it rarely carries any cargo and frequently makes odd stops at isolated planets. And his daughter Ren doesn't talk to anyone and just sits and plays chess all day. Also, the ship's cook, Rupert, is more than he seems, and Devi is drawn to him. Oh, and sometimes she sees glowing insects floating around the ship that nobody except Ren seems to notice.

At the beginning of the second book, though, things have changed, and Devi has a weird gap in her memory. (Kind of like the gap I have in my own memory, since it's been a year and a half since I read the first book.) The other security guy is dead, and she feels a weird revulsion whenever she sees the cook guy (whose name she can never remember). When they go to hire a replacement security guy to help her out, most of the applicants mysteriously don't show up, leaving the only obvious candidate a guy named Rashid. Who we saw in the prologue of the book, when his daughter was abducted by mysterious people and somehow…transformed into a duplicate of Ren? So clearly a lot is afoot.

The book does shed light on a lot of the mysteries, but there's multiple groups with overlapping but differing goals, and Devi is going to have try to decide who to trust and who she can work with and who she has to work with. Should be an interesting third book…

Steven Erikson: Forge of Darkness, completed May 19

It'd been a minute since I read some Steven Erikson. I finished the Malazan Book of The Fallen in 2015, and since then I've only read one of the Bauchelain and Korbal Broach short story collections. I may have mentioned before how much I bogged down in Toll The Hounds, the eighth Malazan book (it took me three weeks to get through), and while things did pick up for the last two books, I guess I was left a little gunshy. I have instead been reading some of Ian Esslemont's books in the same world (the two writers share the Malazan world, interestingly), and I did consider reading the next one of those instead, but ended up with this one instead.

I have been kind of avoiding thick books because of the Goodreads challenge thing, but I guess I'm deciding now that that's not a good enough reason. On the other hand, when I'm reading a book for a long time I start to get antsy and want to get on to something else, so probably that will keep me from reading too many of them in a year anyway.

This is the first book of the Kharkanas trilogy, which I generally understood was a prequel series, going back possibly centuries, though given that some of the characters are extremely long-lived (the Tiste are vaguely elf-coded) we do see a few familiar faces. It's a little unclear where exactly things take place, though. There's some maps at the beginning, but one of them is for a place called Kurald Galain. Now, in the main (future-timeline) Malazan series, Kurald Galain is a warren, a term which is helpfully (but belatedly) explained in the fifth book, Midnight Tides. Essentially, warrens are other worlds that are sources of magical power for mages to draw on. In this book, on the other hand, warren is only used in the literal sense of a burrow for a small animal to hide in. Which leads me to think that maybe warrens don't exist yet, and that perhaps we will see their formation by the end of the series. (Similarly, there is an abandoned city, formally inhabited by members of the Jaghut species, called Omtose Phellack, which is also a warren in the later books.)

The Tiste are in a state of restlessness, having put down a major invasion, and while some are willing to embrace peace, at least one fellow is ambitious for Urusander's Legion to become active again, and so he schemes to create unrest so the Legion has to be recalled. Many families have exchanged hostages to attempt to assure peace. Anomander Rake, a major player in the Malazan series, but only a minor one in this book, is having a sword made, and his brother Andarist is getting married. They and their brother Silchas Ruin have been adopted by Mother Dark, a near-divine Tiste woman worshipped by many (those who don't, the Deniers, are outcasts and easy targets for violence). The Tiste in the Malazan series are divided into three sub-races: Tiste Andii (dark), Tiste Edur (shadow) and Tiste Liosan (light), and we begin to see those divisions forming here. We also get to see several Azathanai (powerful, godlike creatures) like Hood (before he became God of Death) and Draconus (consort of Mother Dark and divisive figure), and the return (?) of the Eleint, also known as Dragons. There are some horrible scenes of slaughter and rape, and some characters you just want to see come to a bad end.

I do have the next book, Fall of Light, though it may take me a while to get back to it. (I did take a bunch of notes and put them into a file for when I do go back to it; now I just need to not lose it this time like I did all those notes on Diana Pharaoh Francis's Crimson Wind…still no idea where that got to.) On the other hand, apparently this series was not doing as well as the Malazan books, so the third book is not actually out yet, because he turned to a different series, Witness, spinning off "fan-favourite" character Karsa Orlong from the Malazan series. So there's no rush.

Lois McMaster Bujold, "Winterfair Gifts", completed May 20

For completeness in the Vorkosigan reread, the next entry is this novella, a quick read which does help offset the long Steven Erikson book. The next novel to come out was Diplomatic Immunity, set after Miles and Ekaterin's wedding, and I read that one before reading the story of their actual wedding. I originally read it in the Irresistible Forces anthology, a collection of romance novellas with a SF/fantasy "theme", and I did read the rest of the stories, though I recall very little of them right now.

Years of reading comic books have shown that it's probably best that your wedding not actually take place onscreen, or else something will go wrong with it, and sadly, this is also the case here. Armsman Roic is the POV character, after his small but memorable, and quite embarrassing, role in the climax of A Civil Campaign. He meets Miles's offworld wedding guests, particularly Sergeant Taura, and they have a little bit of a romance before things start to go awry, but between them they are able to figure out the problem and, if not solve it, at least bring it to the attention of those who can. Roic redeems himself and get the girl (for a little while, anyway).

James F. David: Footprints of Thunder, stopped reading May 22

If you've been paying attention, you may be able to figure out my criteria for this next book. Male author, since two (non-reread) books ago was a female author. First book after a reread, so it's either a diversity slot or trying a new author, but since the last one (the N.K. Jemisin) was diversity this one isn't.

Picking the actual book I mostly leave up to random chance; often it'll be some book or author that I heard mentioned, or that I thought of for some reason. In this case, I actually saw someone mentioning this book on the SF Stack Exchange, or rather describing the book and trying to get it identified. I sometimes look at those (though rarely am I the identifier), and when someone suggested this book, I realized it sounded familiar, and sure enough, it was sitting in the rows of books by untried author sitting, um, on my pool table (that's the untried-author-book storage department right now). I did get, I suppose, some minor spoilers from the Stack Exchange post, but no worse than reading the back of the book; from what I gather, it's a sort of disaster book in which time portals back to Dinosaur Days open up and dinosaurs invade the "modern day" (in this case, probably circa the publication date of 1995). Which leads me to realize that Under The Dome was basically a disaster book, wasn't it? Except a very localized one.

Apparently what happens is that there's a full-fledged "Time-Quilt" event where small patches of the world get replaced with their copies from the past,which includes a lot of dinosaurs. We meet a number of characters, including a lot of people from Oregon (presumably the author's own stomping grounds). There's a small group of scientists and students who, based on a number of "objects or creatures raining out of the sky" events and ancient Sumerian prophecies, conclude that something is about to happen, but they don't know what. One of them takes his cave-guide sister and her hapless charges hostage underground to try to protect them. We also meet a blended family sailing to Bermuda, and a widow in a New York apartment. And then the event happens--the widow gets to see some dinosaurs, the sailing family's boat is swamped by a tsunami (apparently sometimes chunks of earth manifest in the ocean as "floating islands" that quickly sink, which was an interesting concept), and other people encounter dinosaurs and chunks of primeval jungle. And we got the obligatory fictional president (improbably enough, from a Democratic splinter party???) and his advisors.

The dinosaur thing was probably supposed to be a big selling point in the wake of "Jurassic Park" (which came out a couple of years before this book), but every description reminded me how dated that movie's dinosaurs seem already. I mean, this was before the "dinosaurs have feathers" facts really went mainstream. I ended up putting the book down less than 150 pages in--I wasn't caring about the characters, the gosh-wow-dinosaurs thing wasn't getting me, and things were getting too fragmented. But also there's the fact (for which the author likely cannot be blamed) that the second-hand paperback book I was reading was really quite filthy. More than once I ran across dark brown stains that had soaked through multiple pages, and bits of dried food or whatever. Plus a badly curved spine and a cover on the verge of coming unglued, and it was just a mildly unpleasant object to hold, physically. So I set it aside, and quite frankly put it into the recycling because it was just in too poor condition to donate.

Mary Robinette Kowal: Valour And Vanity, completed May 27

I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about the next book--should be a female author, and presumably something slightly different from Footprints of Thunder, but while sometimes I spend a lot of time poring over my shelves (in physical form or some digital form, like the Goodreads list or my tracking spreadsheet) to narrow down the next book, for some reason this one bubbled up right away and I just went with it.

I actually first heard of Mary Robinette Kowal at the World Fantasy Convention that I attended in Calgary in 2008. At the banquet, my wife and I ended up sitting with a bunch of people we didn't know, which turned out to include Carrie Vaughn (whose Kitty And The Midnight Hour I had already read), Diana Rowland (whose Kara Gillian series hadn't quite started to come out yet), and Mary Robinette Kowal, who had recently won what was then still the John W. Campbell award (which came with a tiara, which she was wearing) but didn't have any novels out yet either. So I kept an eye out for her name, and read her first novel, Shades of Milk And Honey, when it came out.

Shades of Milk And Honey is the first book in this series, the Glamourist Histories, a sort of alternate history with magic. But the magic, or "glamour", is mostly just for the creation of illusions of light and sound (with some minor side effects which can, say, be used to draw heat out of things). The series is deliberately Austenesque in tone, following Jane and her initial romance and then marriage with glamourist Lord Vincent, and developing her own powers as well. I took a break after the previous book, Without A Summer, to read the Lady Astronaut series, but decided to return to it.

This is, apparently, a heist book, mostly set in and around Venice (mostly on the island of Murano), with nuns (which makes me think of Donald Westlake's Good Behaviour), Lord Byron, and plenty of glamour. A trifle slow in parts, but picks up admirably towards the end. One book remains in the series, which I will probably read before going on to her SF mystery The Spare Man.

Susanna Clarke: Piranesi, completed May 30

I had a little trouble trying to decide what to read next. It should still be a female author, but not space opera because there's another Vorkosigan reread coming up next, not thick fantasy because I still need more time to recover from Forge of Darkness, and I wasn't really feeling like urban fantasy after Valour And Vanity. (Yes, I know that's not really urban fantasy, but somehow it feels similar, perhaps only via the fact that Gail Carriger's books are kind of similar to both?) I was vaguely considering a zombie book (either Mira Grant's Feedback or the next Diana Rowland "White Trash Zombie" book), but then I ran across Piranesi, which seemed reasonably short, and, my wife assured me, "not that similar to any other book she'd ever read". Seemed ideal.

Though it does have some similarities to other works, from time to time. The endless palace makes me think of Gormenghast; the individual surviving in a watery environment makes me think of Patrick Rothfuss's The Slow Regard of Silent Things; and bits of it make me think of Iain Banks's The Bridge, if only because I feel like the POV character is in a surreal environment and has forgotten a lot of their past. But apart from those similarities, it does seem more than somewhat sui generis.

I have also gotten back into one of the nonfiction books I'd started months ago but got bogged down in--Sugar: A Bittersweet History by Elizabeth Abbott. Some years ago I had read an interesting book about the history of salt, and this seemed like it might be the same sort of thing. But apparently is it a lot darker than that, because so much of the sugar industry is tied into the history of slavery in the Caribbean and the Americas, and I guess Abbott decided to lean into it, so a lot of the book is about slavery. That's one of the reasons I put it down earlier, but now, I guess feeling more braced for it, I've picked it up again. I've got a stack of seven other nonfiction books I'm ready to pick up one of if I get bogged down again, but so far so good.

I also reread the second Calvin & Hobbes collection, and finished another month of Marvel Comics, which I probably won't get back to until I finish Sugar (or give up on it).

And currently I am into the next Vorkosigan reread, Diplomatic Immunity, which shouldn't take me too long.