#this is an enormous fandom and i wish we could move past the idea that we all have to be the same type of fan

[biblicalhorror]

My dash has been extremely divided today re: taylor swift/swiftie criticism and honestly my take on it is that as long as you don't believe she is an untouchable oracle who would never lie or exaggerate any story about her life and is always the victim in every situation OR that she is an evil nuisance to society for continuing to make and put out her art at a time when her boyfriend is also massively successful then we should all pretty much be on the same side here

[shine-of-aldhani]

This post is going to be fandom-critical and Loki series-appreciative, so get out and block/unfollow/whatever while you can if that's not your cup of tea.

There is a trend in many fandoms of characters who are in opposition to the hero (villains, antiheroes etc) that is critical of the "redemption through death" scenario. The latest that comes to mind is Star Wars, but there are countless examples. The typical in-story narrative is that the villain had committed too many crimes and there is no place for him in the new world where the heroes won, so he's killed off - usually not by heroes but by tragic circumstances that allow him some positive light before the end (Loki in Thor2, Ben Solo in SW). Fans of the character argue that a fully realised, slow redemption would be an awesome storyline, and that it'd be both interesting and refreshing to look at the life post wrongdoing.

So far, no mainstream media has ever done a fully realised, psychologically grounded redemption storyline. Hollywood go-to idea to rehabilitate the villain is to make the villain useful to the heroes and ultimately just "forget" about the initial transgression. The initial bad deed is never looked back on, addressed or analysed except maybe as a funny oneliner. Because addressing shit is hard... And also because, as Loki series has shown us, the fandom doesn't really want to see the true psychologically grounded redemption storyline.

For the Loki series is exactly this: the first time a character must face uncomfortable truths about themselves, to better themselves. This is a process that isn't nice. It's a beatdown after a beatdown. It's humiliating, soul-destroying, there is much kneeling and grovelling and unflattering names. The character isn't shown as pretty and composed, he isn't allowed to wear nice clothes that give him a feeling of power. He feels useless, powerless and messes up a lot, for his self esteem is gone. He doesn't strut around showing off magic feats and yes, almost everyone around him is shown in better light. Because that's what a true redemption storyline is like. It's a deconstruction of the ego. Eventually, it will lead to a stronger and better sense of self, but first we must crawl on the floor. And the fans, who usually overidentify with the character and his background, just cannot take seeing him, and by extension themselves, in that light.

So what does the fandom do?

1) Insist that Loki does not need a redemption storyline. Because he was tortured by Thanos (this is fanon), because he was influenced by scepter (this is still mostly fanon but has a bit more substance), because he was emotionally abused by Odin (this is almost canon). Now before you crucify me - these are my favourite fanons, my go-to fanfiction, I adore them all. But. There is absolutely nothing incorrect or malicious with the Loki series going "You know what? Loki still carved out that eyeball, and I am not going to sit here and "address" the fact that Odin emotionally neglected him, because that's already been shown and is in the past. I am going to postulate that Loki, deep in his core, is ashamed of himself for his deeds, and that bringing up Odin isn't going to solve that shame, and explore how Loki can move forward from there. The story isn't not going to be about Odin or Thanos, who are both gone and dead, it's going to be about Loki -who is the one who gets to live with the consequences."

2) Insist that the series hates Loki and was written specifically to humiliate him. This ties back to my thesis that the fandom simply does not want to see what a true psychological work of a redemption storyline looks like, for the ego beatdown is the essential part of it. This is how the story of Ben Solo would have had to look like, had he survived Star Wars. This is how Thor 2 would have looked like, had we been following Loki and not Thor: Loki being chained by the same soldiers he commanded, being stripped of his armour, being led down the rainbow bridge and into the palace. In that movie, it would have been worse because he had personal history with all these people. In the series he gets TVA's indifferent approach, which should incidentally be easier to swallow.

3) Insist that Loki is not the protagonist of his own series. Apart from this not making an ounce of sense, this reading comes from the idea that only physical deeds are valid storytelling material. Sylvie is stronger than Loki, hence she's the protagonist. Mobius is in the position of power, hence he is more important than Loki. All the while Loki is out there, doing enormous self-work, changing by the hour and showcasing more stable coping techniques. But he's not glamorous while doing it and he's kneeling a lot, so it cannot be that the writers actually like him and wish him to do well in the long run.

4) Insist that the new Loki is OOC and give him a plain, insulting new nickname to differentiate him from the beloved and cool old Loki. The one who liberated eyeballs while clad in impeccable clothes because he was terrified of Thanos. Or the one whose non-existent coping mechanisms almost made him kill his own beloved brother in despair. The one who had plans upon plans and was always so ready for betrayal that he had no friends on his own. The one who would surely glamour awesome clothes onto himself to avoid signalling any weakness. The one who was incredibly high strung and could never allow any weakness. You guys want that Loki back? Ok, that's fair. That guy was deeply damaged, and very interesting to watch. But then, a story that takes these aspects from him (and make no mistake, all of them are maladaptive and trauma induced - all -of - them) isn't hating on Loki, or making him dumb, or exists to hurt you personally. It allows him to overcome his internal hurdles, lower his defences and eventually arrive to a better place.

So here I rest my thesis: actual well written redemption stories, of which Loki is the frigging first (and how groundbreaking is that) aren't really wanted by the fandom. Most fans would rather whitewash or cocoon themselves in the trauma aspect, leaving the actual responsibility and consequences out of it. Which is fine as a comping mechanism, fiction is escapism after all, you're all perfectly valid... But there should at least be enough self-awareness to differentiate between a good story that's uncomfortable/too heavy for you and a bad story with evil writers who either have no idea about Loki or specifically want to punish his fans.

The Loki series isn't the latter. It might not be the fantasy escapism most would have preferred, but it has a very specific and respectable goal and it's going about it in a grounded way which is - actually - fully respecting of Loki as a person. I swear that the series sees him as more capable of doing the work he needs to do than his own fans.

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic  during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Dreamshaper

Dreamshaper has 54 stories at Gossamer. Her stories often feature Mulder and Scully exploring their feelings in ways you really, really wish you could’ve seen on the show. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Found in Memory, Just By Existing, Purpose, and Promise. Big thanks to Dreamshaper for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

I'm not at all surprised people are still reading X-Files fanfic! There's a deep catalogue of good and interesting fiction there, and the X-Files still has cultural significance. And of course there were the recent seasons to bring it back to mind. I think if you had asked me in 2000, I might not have supposed that it had this kind of staying power. So now I'm thinking of this interview as a time capsule--what will my answer be in 2040?

My own fic was not designed to have staying power. If anyone is reading it now, bless them, they are kind and patient. I would only recommend probably reading the first and last things I posted just to see what kind of growth is possible. The first time I ever posted fic, someone told me to never write again. I was a teenager. I was crushed but I went on writing anyway, and I worked hard to improve.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

I think of two things. As for the show itself, I still think of Mulder/Scully as the ultimate in romance. I can still picture certain moments from the episodes, from the movie. I look for pairings with tension that reminds me of theirs--an almost-regency level of UST, but with a modern element of danger.

As for the fandom itself, I grew up in it. My entire online life and the core of how I participate in fandom was formed here. I was 17 or so when I started writing and posting MSR. I was 18 or 19 when I started meeting fans in real life. I was fortunate enough to fall in with people who were equal parts gracious and nerdy, and while my own nerdiness is innate, I remember and emulate the kindness which was shown to me.

I have an entire side post to this question about how strongly I disagree with the current age stratification in fandom--this idea of not interacting across artificial age divides is tragic to me.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

ATXC, and mailing lists. I don't actually remember the names of all the mailing lists! I can picture myself sitting in my kitchen on my computer, and what the emails looked like--the font, the signature lines--but not the names. I can even remember specific conversations we had! One of them must have been Scullyfic, because I remember the first meetup being planned. Is that right? Was it the Scullyfic meetup? [Lilydale note: Probably was Scullyfic. There was a big email flurry when the first Scullyfic mailing list meetup was being planned.] My mind was absolutely blown by the idea of a fan con. Now I've led panels at a dozen of them.

I remember some of the arguments, too. It's funny that some of them are the same arguments I still see here and there, like whether or not criticism of a fanwork is valid. Real Person Fic being this unbelievably shameful thing you had to ask to be shown, and the doyennes of the fandom would have given you the cut direct at Almack's if they'd found out, you know?

This was also the era of AIM and ICQ. mIRC too, right? I spent a lot of time in channels. I absolutely loved when people started to be more open about themselves in chats. I was always so interested in how fandom fit into people's lives. Some people I talked to were moms, college students, people who had interesting careers, and they all just found ways to make fandom work for them. They had a need and were meeting it, despite the pressures of their offline life.

I don't know how to explain the impression that made on me, but--it normalized fandom. That seems obvious, maybe, but I hadn't known this was something you could integrate into your everyday life.

It also normalized the idea of women taking their own needs as primary, in a way that went beyond what I was exposed to in my home life, or through the feminism of the 1990s. There was this wild intersection of the--the domestic and intellectual life of women, and the playful life of women, just making itself known to me in a way I'd never seen before. That was enormous. Absolutely a foundational experience for me.

My experience was that ATXC and email lists were like, these surface-level interactions where people figured out, roughly, if your mind ran on a similar track to theirs, and then you were invited to make deeper relationships in more private corners of the internet. Social media filled both functions at once, I think, for a while. But the privacy was missing. I'm not surprised that Slack and Discord are starting to fill that private corner gap--everything old becomes new, etc.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

UST and monsters. This is still an unbeatable combination for me!

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I loved romance novels--I read so many of them. Somehow, before we even had a computer at home, I started to tell myself romance novel stories with Mulder and Scully as the lead characters. This was how I talked myself to sleep--I wasn't a good sleeper. Then when I got online and did whatever search led me to ATXC, I was just shocked. Shocked! Can't do the surprise justice, in this era where fanfic is relatively mainstream. Other people had also independently invented this thing I loved! But they wrote their ideas down! I jumped on the bandwagon immediately.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

It's like my relationship to my childhood, frankly. Foundational, but I don't think about it all that much on a daily basis, right? I smile and reblog gif sets. I get nostalgic. I get embarrassed by social mistakes I made. I feel the way many of us do about memories from our teenage years. I wouldn't be who I was without it, but I'm not still in it.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I was. I've spent 20 years in fandom! I did some beta work for someone who'd started writing slash--The Sentinel. The actual Sentinel, not just an endless loop of Sentinel AUs based on Sentinel AUs based on etc. I had some idea at the time that I was queer, but this was my first real exposure to romances that weren't straight. So I tore my way through the early 2000s slash fandoms as they developed: The Sentinel, Due South, Stargate Atlantis. Popslash, where a mix of good writing and absurdity ruled. Bandom, where I met my wife. Since then, many smaller fandoms.

It's hard to compare any of these things to each other, let alone to the X-Files. In each one, I was lucky enough to find a circle of women who were strong beta readers and good friends. I never wrote as much or for as long as I did in the X-Files.

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watched the new episodes. I've shown friends important episodes--I remember that a few years ago, another friend and I tried to hook a third friend on the show by binging some favorites--mostly shippy MOTW, so it was like, Arcadia, Triangle, Bad Blood. Fun stuff!

We finish watching and I'm like, well? And? And she says, that was fine, but I'm more of a man-pain, secret babies kind of person? I'll never forget it. She had no idea but she'd hit the nail on the head! We were wheezing with laughter. We went back and watched mytharc episodes, which was much less fun for me, but much more interesting to her.

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I don't read X-Files fic often. I look at new things sometimes, and I've reread a few old classics, but my reading taste has changed so much. I still love straight romance, but it needs to be fast and sharp in a way that is hard to find.

I read fic in other fandoms when I have time. In the past few years, I've finished a degree, had a daughter, renovated a small Victorian and then sold it and bought another one during this pandemic--so time has been short. Currently I read some Untamed fic, some Good Omens fic, Magicians, Schitt's Creek...a sampler. Whatever friends are writing, whatever they recommend.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I never have a favorite of my own fics. I'm never satisfied. The second I post something, I'm always full of regrets. I've written fics that did very well and still hated them a month later. People have asked me over the years to move more of my stuff off Livejournal and onto ao3, but I do it really reluctantly and only by specific request. Everything's ephemeral! Let the old works diminish, and go into the West!

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I have no oldies to dust off. I do periodically think of X-Files stories I would tell, but I don't have enough time for current interests--and so it goes.

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I do. I was most recently writing in The Magicians fandom. I posted a couple new stories in an old fandom last year--I'd written Good Omens fic fifteen years ago, and then again for the Amazon adaptation. I have a pile of original novels in various stages of completion, but I'm never happy with them. One day I'll figure myself out, perhaps, or I'll just keep writing myself this and that and leaving it all in a drawer.

What's the story behind your pen name?

So AOL had a character limit for user names--I think it was 10. I was a teenager at the time I was coming up with the one I'd use for fandom, so I went with Dreamshaper. It was kind of literal, in the sense that I was going to share the stories I'd been telling myself to help me sleep. But the character limit meant I went with Dreamshpr, which I later liked because of the alternate reading of Dream*shipper*. A reminder to the younger fans that we were the original shippers!

I would also come up with new pen names when I wanted to experiment with a fic that didn't fit my usual style. I don't remember any of them. I probably did that a dozen times, so, sorry to those poor completely abandoned stories.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Giddygeek on tumblr and ao3. I'm most active on twitter, but largely about my domestic life with dips into fandoms or original writing; message me on tumblr if you're an old friend who'd like to reconnect elsewhere.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Just gratitude--I'm so glad that I found people to share an obsession with, and that they were good people, at a time in my life where that made a significant difference to me. I don't know where I'd be now without my time and my growth in this fandom!

(Posted by Lilydale on December 22, 2020)

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 43

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

"You know what? This could actually be worse." 

Loki tore one eye open, just to check if your surroundings had changed during the short nap he’d taken against the wall. 

The cold, humid cell deep under the palace was still bare and just as uninviting as before. The roughly carved stone reminded Loki of the insides of a beast's belly, the edges rounded, the corridors meandering, and that unnerving smell of dampness and mold hanging thick in the air. The only evidence of the dungeons ever being touched by civilized hands were the metal bars set deep in the stone, quite solidly locking you in.

"Are you sure?" Loki asked. "We are being tried for murder, and not even ones we actually committed." 

"That part sucks, I’ll concede, but I mean - at least they don't know about Peter. I don't see him in any of these cells." 

That was some small relief. Loki stroked your head, currently laid in his lap. He closed his eyes again. There was no rush. 

It was difficult to judge the passage of time under the mountain of stone overhead and with no light from the outside. The only sources of it were the strange colonies of small mushrooms, glowing softly in the otherwise complete darkness. Their hats were no larger than the nail of a thumb, and swayed slowly, as if struggling against phantom winds. 

The air felt stale in your lungs - to the point where you wondered if the only way to feel a whisper of a breeze again required consuming the luminescent mushrooms if only to catch the barest hint of the breeze that perpetually swayed them side to side.  

"Are those toxic?" 

"I have no idea." 

"Haven't you read about the dungeons?" 

"I've never even heard a whisper of them, but to be honest, I never prepared my studies of the Edge with imprisonment in mind." 

"You should've known better." 

"My bad." 

You tapped your foot against the stone, hoping to relieve at least some of the energy buzzing in your veins. The sounds were quickly swallowed by the foggish air, enclosing you once again in the unnerving silence. 

No more than a few hours could've passed since you were thrown in there to wait for the trial. You had no idea how much longer it'd take, but if they thought you'd peacefully rot down there for however long they wished, the lords would be in for a surprise. 

"Loki, can I cut the bars now?" 

Loki sighed. It was the third time you’d asked. "No." 

"But I'll just make a tiny little chip to see if the sword would even work on them." 

"We literally have nowhere to run to. I have no way of getting us off the Edge, and Heimdall is unlikely to work against his orders again for us."

That posed a problem. 

"But I want out."

"You just don't want to pee in the bucket."

"Of course I don't, I still have some basic human decency. Have you even looked at that thing? I wish I could throw it out of our cell… I have no idea why you're laughing, but I'm warning you - if my bladder decides it's had enough, I'm out."

"Don't worry, it won't be long now."

Crossing your arms, you hid your hands from the cold. Your patience was wearing thin, but Loki's calm was a reassuring presence behind your back.

"You've been on trial before?"

"Yes."

"What happens now?"

Loki didn't dwell on the memories that resurfaced in his mind. His last trial had taken place on Asgard, under a vastly different regime. The mark of the traitor had been plastered to his back before he even set foot before his king - and father.

There would be none of that in this trial, for better or worse - Loki hadn't yet decided. 

"They'll soon take us before whoever is to make the verdict. The delay is likely caused by the powers weighing in the palace. The High Prince has every right to rule over us, but the Queen won't allow herself to be pushed away, even now."

"I don't think she'll even notice us."

"If there's any conscience left in her from the old days, she will."

That caught your attention. It sounded like a story, and even poor, short stories were better than the miserable wait in the tiny, damp cell with only the mushrooms and a reeking bucket to keep you company. 

"I told you that I've been to the Edge before, with my court on official visits. I was never allowed to dwell around this place as freely as I'd wish for, but even I had met the Queen. It was long ago, for beings like us are not confined to the mortal passage of time. She was fading already back then, but her descent had only just begun and the power within her was still thrumming deep, making her grip on the court and its people like iron. There were whispers that with the almost depthless power like hers, her fading would take millenia, and assure the Edge's prosperity throughout that time. The sacrifice she must make would never be forgotten." Loki swallowed. He still remembered the cold, icy touch of her magic. "She's likely clinging to every shred of it."

"She seems like a ghost." You shivered, remembering the brief meeting with what was left of her.

"I wouldn't put it above her to make her final stand a moment to spit Asgard in the face before she completely fades. I'm a prince, after all, even if Asgard cut ties with me. The wars ravaged this land, and the memories are still fresh in some minds."

"Will they sentence us to die?" 

"Most likely. The Rifts will surely enjoy drinking our essence." 

The images that flashed before your eyes were far from enjoyable. 

"So, we stick to our usual plan?" you asked after a moment of silence. Even silence felt sticky in that place. 

"I don't recall ever having one?" 

"What about being assholes to everyone long enough for some lucky turn of events to save our asses - in our current case, Peter finding the murderer?" 

"I love that plan." 

The plan was not loved by even one other person, but that was no surprise. Those who had to deal with you once the time had finally come to put you in shackles and drag you out of the cell, were far from happy when a series of unfortunate events halted their preparations. 

And those were truly unfortunate, one had to admit. Who would've thought that the shackles on Loki's hands never seemed to fit? They constantly slipped off, much to his own surprise. But Loki was a forgiving god, so he braced through it all with a calm smile and patience of a saint. It only faltered when another set of cuffs was  placed over his wrists, weaved from thick, silvery material that seemed to block the source of the struggle, and his magic with it. It was not unlike the bracelet his memory was still adamant to forget, that had complicated his life in the past. 

But as saddening as that was, your problems were on a completely different level. It was not everyday that one's legs completely refused to work, no matter how much you willed them to. 

A tragedy, that's what it was. 

A nuisance, that's what one of the guards said before hauling you over his shoulder. 

You wished you could wipe Loki's smirk off his smug face, as he walked behind you. 

"I didn't have time to think of anything better," you hissed through clenched teeth. 

"Silence!" the order came sharp and loud in the echoing confines of the narrow staircase. 

The guards were careful handling you. Their swords were at the ready and you had little doubt they'd be used if necessary. Loki shook his head slightly. You had to wait for a better chance. 

The enormous hall you'd been taken to had to lay in the heart of the palace. Rows of galleries overlooked the vast space, separated by thin, winding columns covered in ivy, orange, and red leaves tightly woven. Behind them loomed the river, its wild current sending a cold breeze through the hall. The water murmured a song of endless wrath as it hit the rocks and the shore, ferocious in trying to free itself from its course. 

It was the only alive thing in the hall, you quickly noticed as the guard plopped you onto the ground with no ceremony. He stalked back, joining the other guards, their armor unblemished, and swords pointed at you. In front of you, standing on the raised dais at the head of the hall, awaited the Prince and the fading Queen, just as Loki predicted. Pooled around them were the other residents of the palace you could see for the first time. They stood tall and proud in their ashen regalia and shimmering jewelry. Horns bode the air, sharp as knives. Clawed hands clenched, as if imagining the way your necks would feel underneath them. The enemies' necks. 

A miracle occurred when your legs suddenly worked again. You moved a little closer to Loki, looking around. But the walls were far and carefully guarded. The only way out was the river, into its thrashing current that dug its way through the mountain and the palace, unstoppable in its rage. 

A shadow of the same rage crossed the eyes of the Prince as he beheld you, seeing precisely what all the unexplained events led him to believe. It was a wonder why he bothered with a trial at all. You were sure the river would welcome two more corpses, just as the Rifts would claim your lives. 

You couldn't wait for the part where you could at least say you had nothing to do with any murders. There was little you could do to prove it, but it still felt like the only highlight worth waiting for. 

Loki understood your concern well. There was absolutely nothing pleasant about murder accusations, true or not.

"How low Asgard has fallen," the High Prince finally broke the silence. 

"You have no idea," Loki admitted. "But still not low enough to have anything to do with what we're being accused of right now. We spent the day out in the woods, learning about the Rifts and looking for more clues." 

Half-truths were an interesting sort of truth. While they maintained some of their original meaning, part of them always had to be diluted enough to fit into what others wanted to hear. Despite the hurtful claims against him, Loki loved the truth. Truth was his favorite thing more often than not - so much, in fact, that he often preferred to keep a part of it for himself. 

"Have you found any?" The question was polite, but there was no interest in the Prince's voice. 

That was a slippery ground, especially since all your potential suspects had gathered in that very hall. 

Your eyes met with the female guard you recognized. It was the scarred warrior following the Queen. Her short hair stood like a porcupine's spikes, covering part of the thick, winding scar. The woman had a nasty smile on her disfigured face. 

Her place was by the Queen's side, her hand on her sword. She looked ready to strike on the Queen's slightest indication - it was lucky then, that the Queen herself appeared as disinterested in her surroundings as always. The pale gown she wore reminded you of old, crumpling papyrus, withered as if held too close to the flame. She stood too far for it to be possible, but you could've sworn the smell of burnt-out candles drifted to you. 

Loki wore an easy, pleasant smile - a mask befitting this place. "We managed to secure an object that'll lead us straight to the culprit of the unsuccessful attack in the gardens a few days ago. Much remains to be explained, but I'm sure that'll be a great place to start." 

"You stand before me, accused of murdering the wild dwellers of the Edge, and yet you speak as if you still have time." The Prince shook his head. 

Looking at his horns, you couldn't get the image of them cutting through your head. The Prince was the first of your suspects. If he wanted you dead, why weren't you already? 

"We cannot even be certain that you didn’t stage that attack," the Prince mused. "Where do you have this object you speak of?" 

Loki swallowed. "It is currently tracking the source of the spells," he said carefully. 

Time was indeed running out, and it gnawed at your bones. There was only so much you could do to delay the inevitable. 

Your hands shook, but you put them together. You wouldn't show any of those deadly silent, uninterested lords how hard it was to remain still. How hard it was to breathe. 

A splash of color, so unlike anything in the pale, withering hall caught your eye. Making sure not to move your head much, you cast a careful, quick gaze upwards, toward the empty galleries overhead. A youthful face peeked from one of the balconies. Peter. 

Loki's words drifted away from you as you focused on the boy, showing you the stone he still held, the mission you entrusted him with. And you frowned as he pointed toward the dais, to the two figures standing there. 

The true murderer was there. It had to be one of them.

The Queen remained poised still as a statue while the Prince derided Loki's words. Which one was it? 

Peter kept showing you the horns with one of his hands, which could've helped you more in a situation where you didn't stand among lords, jewels shining on all of their many horns, sharp and dull, long and short, but all deadly. 

"Where is it then?" the Prince lost his patience at last, the steel toning in his voice. "How can you prove anything of what you claim?" 

"It is the stone of Atica," Loki finally said. "I borrowed a part of the spider that attacked us and let the stone find the spellcaster behind it." 

Faint whispers erupted among the lords. The Queen's gown rustled like dried leaves, but she remained silent. But there was fury in the Prince's eyes as he shouted "Then where is the stone? How much longer will you make a fool of me?" 

"It is here," you said, your voice clear and ringing in the hall as you stepped forward. 

Never had you felt so small and irrelevant as in the moment when all the attention focused on you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of color, moving from the gallery onto the high ceiling above you, cautious and slow as to not alarm anyone. You took another step, hoping everyone would monitor your movement instead, so close to the dais now that you could count the silver fairies and animals sculpted onto its side in lifelike detail. 

So close that the hatred emitting off Faroq, captain of the guard, was close to burning your skin. You had no doubt that if you took one step closer to the Prince, the needle-like sword hanging by his hip would pierce your heart. 

"We only hope that you and your people alike will accept the truth," you said and held your hand to the side. 

As a stone dropped right into it, a murmur ran through the crowd again. It began glowing, dragging all eyes to it - no one dared look away as you raised it to show everyone the culprit. 

But it did not glow toward the Prince, who you stood no more than a few feet away from you. 

The stone of Atica held a steady glow toward the left, to the Queen and her guards. 

The female guard took a step closer, the expression wild on her scarred face, and for a moment you thought she might spill the Queen's blood. 

But you watched the wrong person. 

The Queen, merely a decorative part of the palace grounds through all the time you spent there, finally raised her face, her only horn pointing toward the far ceiling. 

To Peter, who had gestured with only one hand. Who tried to make you understand. 

"Long may I live," the Queen said, her voice ashen and steady. 

The power she unleashed was far from faded - that was the single thought you managed to scramble as it hit you hard, sending your body flying like a mere insect. 

[ethereousdelirious]

The bitch is back!!!! Finally!!!!

Fandom: C.ritical R.ole: E.xandria Unlimited

Characters: All except [spoiler for most recent episode]

Pairing: N/A

Tropes: College AU except with D&D races still

Summary: D.orian insists he's too sick to perform in the university's battle of the bands, then changes his mind and goes anyway. He was right the first time.

Notes: I was gonna take this in a different direction and make it longer, but I ran out of time and I really wanted to have it out today, so. Ta-da.

"I told you," Dorian rasped, pulling the covers over his head as if to shield himself from his friends' expectations, "I can't."

Dariax and Opal whined in tandem, nearly harmonizing through sheer, random chance. "C'mon, bud," Dariax pushed, "you're not that sick."

"Are you serious?" Dorian threw the covers off, the better to glare at his friend. "I have a 102-degree fever. I'm not doing it."

"A fever is good!" Opal said brightly, though her voice was a little muffled, as she was hiding the lower half of her face in her shirt to fend off Dorian's germs. "It means your body is healing."

"No, it means I feel like shit and I'm not going anywhere." Dorian huffed out a sigh that left his chapped lips stinging and scooted down the bed so he could lie down properly. His stuffed-up sinuses protested at the change, but he stubbornly ignored the throbbing and the post-nasal drip.

"Ohhh, I get it," said Dariax in a tone that suggested he very much did not get it. "So you'll come if you feel better?"

"Sure, Dariax." Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, wishing that his friends would take the hint and go away. Exhaustion made all his limbs feel heavy, made the idea of keeping his eyes open for even another second feel like the keenest of agonies. He shivered beneath his blankets despite the fever painting his cheeks an angry purple.

"You heard the man," Dariax said, turning to Opal. "Time to nurse Dorian back to health."

"You can't cure the flu in a day," Dorian said. The cough finally caught up with him and he rolled over, shaking with the force of it, covering his mouth with his hands. "Oh, god." He really felt awful and still, Dariax and Opal just weren't getting the message. Dorian flopped back over, gesturing weakly for one of them to hand him the glass of water on his nightstand. 

"Sure, we can buddy!" Dariax, seeing Dorian reaching out, took his hand in both of his own. "Let's see, how about I go make you some awesome healing tea, and Opal can…"

"I'll get all that hair out of your face," Opal said. Dorian's gradient locks were stuck all over his face, black and white strands plastered to his cheeks and stuck to his lips. 

"Great," said Dariax, making for the door. "Dorian, you're in good hands."

Dorian had never been more sure in his life that he was going to die. Leaving Opal to poke around his room for hair ties and a comb, he forced himself to roll over and grab the water glass. He was shaking so badly he could barely hold himself up to drink and even that slight movement took enormous amounts of effort. "Opal," he said, letting the glass fall as he flopped back onto his pillows. "If you're gonna stay, can you please--" He muffled a few explosive coughs behind his lips, sniffled. "Can you please get me some more water?"

"Sure!" said Opal, letting her shirt fall away from her face. "Maybe I should get you a plastic cup, though. 'Cause you don't wanna be cleaning up broken glass later if you drop this one. Do you have any plastic cups?"

"I dunno." Dorian hid his face in his hands, trying to rub away his headache. He had never considered Opal's voice annoying before, but now her words rattled in his head, drawing throbbing pain in their wake. "Orym might." That gave him an idea, albeit one he was almost too tired to pursue.

"I'll go look," Opal said. "Sit tight."

Dorian waited until he could hear the quiet sound of Dariax and Opal talking in the kitchen before forcing himself to sit up to search for his phone. He found it down by knees, thanking all the gods in the pantheon it wasn't dead, and sent a text to his roommate.

Dorian: IK you're at work but dear God pls come save me

Dorian: Dariax and Opal are here to "nurse me back to health."

Dorian: I May Die 

Then Opal came back with a plastic cup of water and Dorian shoved his phone back under the covers like a guilty teenager. The subsequent adrenaline rush robbed him of his breath until he felt faint.

"Oh, good," said Opal, setting the cup down on the crowded nightstand. "You're already sitting up."

Dorian's head swam. He opened his mouth to tell Opal that he'd prefer to not be sitting up any longer, but the words came out as hissing rasp. He cleared his throat. "Oh, fuck."

"Don't worry, Dariax's tea will help your throat," Opal said. She knelt by Dorian's bedside and started combing his hair out of his face. Dorian relaxed despite himself, happy to be rid of the unpleasant sensation. Opal noticed and smiled. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Dorian said begrudgingly.

"It's okay, I won't tell anyone if you moan."

"Jeeze, Opal." Dorian went to bury his face in his hands, but Opal stopped him with a quick tap to the chin. "Head up. How about a nice braid?"

"Whatever."

Opal was gentle with her touches, working out knots with a practiced hand instead of yanking through them like Dorian had feared she might. If it wasn't for the uncomfortable position and the chill in his limbs, he might have even fallen asleep. "This is nice," Opal said, stroking the nape of Dorian's neck. "I never get to play with other people's hair."

"Mm," said Dorian, his head cloudy.

That was when Dariax burst in cradling a mug of tea in his hands like it was something precious, and not over-steeped Throat Coat. "I made tea!" he announced redundantly.

"Can I drink it later?" Dorian mumbled, blinking slowly. Despite having been asleep for most of the morning, he still felt exhausted and sore. "Wanna sleep." He coughed a few times, too tired to even turn his head, let alone cover his mouth.

"But then it'll be cold," Dariax said. "And I saw you shivering, so I know you don't wanna drink cold tea."

Dorian thought he might have a rebuttal to that, hidden deep beneath the layers of fever-fog. Whatever it wasn't he couldn't reach it now. "Good point." He held out his hands for the mug, dimly annoyed that they were both still shaking. "I really don't feel good," he announced in case it might help.

It didn't.

"We know, silly," Opal said. "Drink your tea."

"Meds?" Dorian asked hopefully, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his nightstand.

"Gotcha." Dariax shuffled past Opal and dropped two pills into Dorian's open mouth.

Dorian nodded his thanks and washed them down with a mouthful of tea. "What time is it?" he asked, grabbing a tissue from the box tucked into the corner where his mattress met the wall.

"11:30," said Opal, who always had her phone within arm's reach.

Dorian blew his nose and dropped the tissue over the side of the bed. He had no idea where his trash can had ended up and wasn't about to lean over and look for it with his head spinning the way it was. "Ugh. Fuck."

"Orym's not off until 3:00, right?" Opal asked, cottoning on.

Dorian nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Don't worry, buddy." Dariax reached out to ruffle Dorian's hair, but stopped after a nudge from Opal, who glared pointedly at Dorian's braid. "You'll be aaaall better by then."

Dorian was most assuredly not "all better" by 3:00. After finally getting Opal and Dariax out of his room, he had slept fitfully until they had gotten bored and come to wake him to see if he was feeling better. Around that time, his fever had gone up and he had clawed his way out of his hoodie and tossed it aside, a move he would come to regret when he woke up to the sound of his friends joyfully greeting Orym at the door and found himself shivering again.

Unwilling to speak, he let out a long groan, hoping that the sound of his misery would draw Orym to his room. But this only made him cough, aggravating his stinging throat and sore chest.

"Jeeze," said Orym from the door. Dorian looked terrible and sounded worse, and there was nothing anyone could do about it but wait.

"Oh, good," said Dariax, "You're awake!"

"Are you all better?" Opal asked.

Dorian ignored their questioning and looked Orym dead in the eye. "Please explain to them that I'm too sick to go to the stupid battle of the bands tonight."

"But we need you, Dorian!" Opal exclaimed. "No other band has an electric lute player."

"Oh, and Fearne's so excited," Dariax added. "She's been practicing extra hard all week on those pan pipes you lent her."

"Guys, guys." Even Orym's gentle tones made Dorian's head pound. "If Dorian says he's too sick to go, then he's too sick to go. We should believe him."

"What do you mean 'believe me'?" Dorian demanded. "Oh my god, you think I'm being a pussy, don't you?"

Orym hesitated for a fraction of a second too long before responding. "No, no, of course not."

"You do!" Dorian crossed his arms over his chest, mortally offended. "I don't believe this!"

"Hey, hey." Orym put up his hands. "It's okay. You don't have to go."

"Nooo," said Dorian, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm going." He stood up and staggered over to his closet. He had thought he was being responsible and proactive, taking care of his illness instead of pushing himself too hard. But the idea of his friends thinking he was sheltered, soft, weak was unbearable. His hand trembled as he searched through his clothes for something suitably impressive to wear, and a dim thought occurred to him that he might be acting irrationally because of his fever. He wasn't usually quite so concerned with appearances. 

From the doorway, Opal, Dariax, and Orym watched. "Well," said Dariax, "that was easier than I thought."

"Yeah, Orym." Opal turned to him, impressed. "Where were you five hours ago? I could have gone home and watched The Bachelor."

"You still have" --Orym checked his watch-- "a good five hours."

"No, 'cause we're meeting Fearne for rehearsals at 5:00, remember? Once she gets back from visiting her grandma."

Dorian smothered a flurry of coughs into the crook of his arm, scowling when the colors of his shirts on their hangers began to blur in front of his eyes. "I need coffee," he announced once the fit was done, and marched off to the kitchen.

"Dorian, wait--" Orym said, but he didn't even pause. Orym looked between Dariax and Opal. "Is nobody else going to try and stop him?"

"Why the hell would we do that?" Dariax asked. "We've been here all morning trying to convince him to go."

"'Sides," said Opal. "You're the one who called him a pussy."

"I did not." Orym sighed and ran a hand through his hair. A sense of impending trouble prickled like static on the back of his neck. He really hadn't meant to make Dorian feel bad, even if he did think the genasi was being a touch melodramatic.

By the time they had finished with their pre-show dinner at Denny's, Orym sincerely regretted his harsh judgement of Dorian's condition. He had been quiet at practice, barely even saying hello to Fearne. She had given Orym a questioning look, and he had only been able to shrug helplessly at her. Dorian's cough got worse and worse all evening, culminating in a moment at dinner where he left for the bathroom and just didn't come back, leaving behind his mostly untouched plate.

Orym had found him leaning against the counter, breathing heavily and staring at nothing. The eyeliner Opal had so carefully applied was now smudged where Dorian had rubbed his eyes, and sweat stood on his brow. Orym had led him back to the table in silence after a few failed attempts at conversation.

By the time they got to the university's theater, Dorian could barely stand up straight. He was shaking so badly that his lute rattled in its case, and several passers-by did double takes when they saw him.

"Shit," said Orym, once they finally were backstage. "Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea."

"S'fine," Dorian rasped.

"I don't know," Fearne said. She studied Dorian's braid. "You're about the same color as your hair," she said, indicating the pale blue tips.

"Yeah, I think Orym might be right," Dsriax said, shifting uncomfortably. 

Dorian had to pause and catch his breath before responding, struggling to keep his balance on legs that suddenly felt too weak to support his weight for much longer. "You said…"

"Yeah!" said Dariax, turning to Orym. "You're the one who called him a pussy."

"Nobody called him a pussy," Orym said. He would have liked to have reached out to steady Dorian, who was still swaying dangerously, but could only reach about hip height. "Opal, Fearne, can one of you please get him before he--"

Dorian's knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, holding his stomach. "Oh, shit."

Noticing a few eyes on them, Dariax stepped away and began to pace back and forth in front of the group, daring someone to say something. "Fuck off," he muttered, replacing his concern with aggression at no one in particular.

"What hurts?" Opal asked, her fear of contagion forgotten. She knelt beside Dorian and put a hand on his back, and even through his thick leather jacket, the heat that met her hand made her gasp.

"Dizzy," Dorian said through clenched teeth. In a whisper, he said, "Please don't let me throw up in front of all these people."

"That one's kind of on you, buddy," Dariax said over his shoulder. "Try to hold still and look at something that's not moving."

Dorian swallowed hard and tried to focus on a distant guitar case. It was difficult to do with his head still whirling, and his stomach gave a dangerous lurch. He took a few deep breaths to try to steady himself and only succeeded in triggering a coughing fit that drove him sideways into Orym's chest.

"We need to get him out of here," Orym said, staggering back under Dorian's weight.

"Give…" Dorian's voice faded out. He cleared his throat. "Give me a second. I can walk."

"Here," Fearne held out her hand. "When you're ready."

After a few cautious breaths, Dorian grabbed Fearne's hand and stood slowly, blinking away silver spots. "Sorry," he mumbled into her shoulder as they started to walk out.

"Ah, don't apologize," Dariax said, swinging Dorian's lute case along with his steps. "Maybe we shouldn't have pressured you to come."

"More like definitely," Opal said. "We're sorry. I really thought we could have you feeling better."

"It's fine." Dorian gave a weak laugh and forced himself to pick his head up off Fearne's shoulder. "You're not the one who called me a pussy."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Orym muttered, privately grateful that Dorian was still mentally present enough to make jokes.

They all piled into Opal's beater, Fearne in the passenger seat and the other three crowded in the back. Dorian leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes.

[shinidamachu]

No Place I Would Rather Be

Summary: We're a thousand miles from comfort. We have traveled land and sea. But as long as you are with me, there's no place I'd rather be. Word Count: 3.617 Genre: fluff Fandom: InuYasha Pairing: Inukag Format: oneshot AO3 Link: 🌹 Fanfic.Net Link: 🌹

Boredom was eating him alive.

Days had passed without a single lead about the jewel fragments. So much that their little group had disbanded for the time being. Sango went back to what was left of her old village. It had been a while since she last paid homage to their dead. Kirara, of course, was her loyal company — and also ride. Miroku was visiting Mushin’s Temple, as if the place hadn't been profaned enough, already. Shippo was still around, but keeping his distance due to InuYasha’s stormy mood.

The frustration of it all got him desperately wishing for some kind — any kind — of action. Something that didn’t involve sulking under a tree and watching time crawl. Every second of this idleness meant another second Naraku was out there, still breathing. Collecting the shards was a small mean to achieve a bigger, imperative ending. It gave him purpose, a sense of getting closer to his ultimate goal step by step. Waiting got them nowhere. It only granted him to be alone with his thoughts and the combination was nothing but disastrous.

Lucky for him, his private source of distraction was not too far away.

Kagome was humming a foreign tune, the same one she liked to sing whenever she was happy. Following the melody was almost mandatory. InuYasha didn’t realize what he was doing until he arrived to the other side of it, where the girl thumbed through her hair in a futile attempt to tame her hair, the lake’s surface a natural mirror at her convenience. InuYasha made his presence known before his own reflection joined hers.

“It’s no use, ya know.”

“Jerk!”

The girl glared at him and retaliated by splashing water on his direction — of which he easily dodged. InuYasha had to admit her reaction was justified, given his past tendency to be utterly unkind to her. This time, however, although his tone wasn’t devoided of casual teasing, he was being completely honest. When you spend sunrise to sunset with someone for so long, it was inevitable learning a thing or two about them. Kagome had a wild hair. Not in a bad way, but it sure had its own will. Especially in the humidity, which was definitely the case of that afternoon. To an outside viewer, the strands could pass as straight. Noticing the shy waves at the end and how they used to stand out after getting wet was a privilege for the few allowed to look closer — a privilege InuYasha cherished. She always had her hair down and he liked that she did. It was destined to be free, to go with the wind. And it had grown a hell of a lot since they first met. The half demon wondered if Kagome was aware of how much. He certainly was.

Then she got up, revealing clothes that were undoubtedly new to his eyes. It was one piece, all lime flowers and malleable fabric against her cream skin. A bit longer than what she usually cared to wear, but leaving her arms and shoulders at plain sight in compensation. The view was thrilling, until his eyes caught the yellow backpack laying by her feet, causing his grin to falter. He understood the implication behind it, even if the question had yet to pass his lips.

“What’s with the weird kimono?”

“Oh, this.” Kagome lowered her gaze, inspecting for herself. Her combative attitude swiftly turning into a cautious posture. “It’s a sundress. I’ve been meaning to ask… can you please give me a ride to the well? I’m going home.”

There it was.

Somehow, getting his suspicions confirmed did nothing to prevent the scowl from forming on his face.

“Thought the school thing were over for the summer.”

“Well, yes...”

“Then why the fuck ya going home for? We still have plenty of supplies!”

“Because I promised I’d go to the movies with Hojo and now that we’re on vacation I don’t have excuses not to go, anymore. My grandpa literally ran out of diseases I could have. And what’s the point, anyway? Jewel hunting is going through a dry spell, everyone left… and I haven’t seen my family in weeks.”

Half of what she said didn’t make any sense to him and InuYasha positively hated the half that did.

“What if something comes up? I can’t see the damn shards like you do.” He argued.

“You jump through the well and get me.” She shrugged, as if the idea was highly unlikely. InuYasha opened his mouth to list the many, many reasons her solution was flawed. She bit him to the punch. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. I’ll be back tomorrow. I bet Miroku and Sango won’t even be here yet.”

It wasn’t fair.

In general, storming off to her era was Kagome’s way of punishing him for being a massive asshole. He got that. To tell the truth, more often than not he deserved it. But InuYasha was in his best behavior — despite feeling rightfully entitled to throw a tantrum, given the circumstances — precisely because he needed her close. He needed her to stay. Picturing Kagome hanging out with someone else instead was the worst kind of self torture. Would she change her mind if he swallowed his pride long enough to say so? Would he ever get the guts to let it out? She hadn’t invited him to come along. Was this Hojo guy really that important to her? More than InuYasha was? Trying to talk her out of it was a dangerous move. He’d put his foot in his mouth, she’d put his face on the ground. That’s what they did.

Either his expression betrayed the turmoil inside or Kagome became too good at figuring him out. Whatever it was, her smile shined, reassuring and warm.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be so quick, you won’t have time to miss me.”

“Who says I’d miss ya?” He dismissed, his indifference unconvincing even to himself.

InuYasha perceived another presence approaching. Shippo. His arrival couldn’t be more providential. Kagome had a soft spot for the brat. If anyone could get her to stay, it was him.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just the runt.”

Like he had been announced, the kid emerged from the trees in a hurry, Kagome’s bow and quiver looking gigantic on his tiny hands.

“Kagome! InuYasha!”

“Shippo-chan! What’s going on?” She asked, as soon as the boy reached them.

“There are rumors of a jewel fragment, two villages to the west.” He explained, with the pomposity the information called for. “Kaede sent me.” His chin was up high, like the statement added a final hint of importance to the message. “Here,” continued the kit, offering Kagome her weapon in a formal manner.

She hesitated.

“Kagome, let’s go!” InuYasha was prepared to move at the sound of the word ‘jewel’, their earlier argument happily buried and forgotten.

“Wait! Don’t you think it’s strange? For days we had no leads, and now, just when we splitted up…”

“Yeah, well, so what if it’s a trap? It wouldn’t be the first.”

Coward that he was, Naraku resorted to the nastiests schemes in order to get what he wanted. His disgusting fingers laid on every happenstance that had ever caused them harm. What choice did InuYasha have, though? Ruse or not ruse, he had to check it. Regardless of anyone else’s help, it was his duty to get vengeance on the bastard — for Kikyo, for himself — and Kagome knew that.

She sighed and took the bow and arrows from the fox’s hold.

“Thank you so much, Shippo-chan! Now can you do me another favor?”

“Anything!”

“Go back to Kaede. Tell her InuYasha and I are on our way.”

“I’m not coming with you?” He whined, as confused as InuYasha. They never traveled without the child.

“That’s right. We don’t know how dangerous this may be. I need you to stay and if we don’t come back tomorrow by noon, get Miroku and Sango and send them to us. Can you do that for me?”

Shippo resolutely nodded .

“I won’t let you down, Kagome.”

“I know you won’t.”

And through the same path he had appeared he went. Kagome fixed a pleading glance at InuYasha.

“Can I at least change clothes before we g—”

“No time to waste.” He said, grabbing Kagome and her bag to leap towards west.

Kagome was whistling that same song again.

It took him an enormous amount of self restraint not to whistle along.

He was happy. So wonderfully happy. It was astonishing, the effect that tiny, bossy human girl had over his humor. The fact they were following the possible whereabouts of a lost jewel piece also played a role on his attitude swing, there was no denying that. But even if this turns out to be nothing at all, it would be a small price to pay in exchange of spending more time with her.

“Weren’t you mad about not coming home just now?”

His curiosity was genuine. Kagome had been angry since they left and InuYasha would be the person to know. She had two kind of anger. The one he could hear and the one he could feel. Even though she had been unusually silent, her frustration was palpable at first. Mercifully, it seemed to fade away the more ground they covered. Her one complaint was the soreness that too many hours on the same position inflicted upon the muscles, which was why they were both walking. As a rule, he was strictly opposite to anything that might slow them down, and the human pace was unbearable once you had a taste of demonic speed. Running free, with trees and people alike turning into a blur on each side of him, was an unparalleled sensation, amplified tenfold whenever Kagome was riding his back. He didn’t regret giving in, though. They weren’t far from their destination, after all. In addition, her comfort came to be a priority, despite him still being unaware as to when or how.

“Well… yeah, but… what can I do, right? Besides, I haven’t realized how much I missed this.”

Clueless, InuYasha searched their surroundings, unsuccessfully intending to spot what she could possibly be referring to.

“Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“This!” She spinned around, open arms and face to the sky, chasing daylight like a sunflower, the movement bringing her garment to life. “You. Me. An adventure. Don’t get me wrong, I love Shippo and the others, I’m glad they joined us. It just feels like we haven’t had as much quality time together as we used to, after they did.”

“Y-you miss that?”

She shook her head up and down with enthusiasm and a content smile fought its way across his lips.

“I know we could hang out in Kaede’s village, but it’s not the same as going out. O-on a trip, I mean.”

Although InuYasha couldn’t make out why her cheeks were suddenly burning red, he did see the logic her reasoning, and the feeling was mutual. There was a certain level of closeness only the road could provide. No curious eyes. No sly comments. No need to explain themselves. InuYasha had missed that as well.

He often played with the thought of stealing her away, of placate his selfish thirst for her undivided attention. Not once had he imagined Kagome would be as eager to go as he was to take her. Regardless, the timing wasn’t right. It never was. From the moment they met, they were tossed into a mission and there was hardly space for anything else. So he settled for whatever he could get until it was over.

“Why would you miss those trips? It ain’t like I was nice to ya back then.”

It didn’t make sense to him that she would. His memories were of a spoiled little girl, complaining about the bugs and her aching legs and the fact she hadn’t bathed in days. There was no escaping InuYasha’s share of responsibility on the issue. He could have made her life easier, had he bothered to. But at the beginning he saw Kagome as a potential threat he would eventually get rid off. How could he have guessed, after the many betrayals he had endured through the years, that his heart would be safe on her hands?

Kagome limited herself to a shrug.

“You are now.” She stated, as if it made up for his unexcusable former behavior. Her unconditional forgiveness amazed him, no matter how regularly she had shown it to him. “Also, it feels like old times.”

“It doesn’t unless you get kidnapped, somehow.”

“It happened once or twice!”

“Keh! Stop kidding yourself.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“No, shut up. I’m sensing a shard and it’s moving away.”

Wordlessly, InuYasha returned the backpack to her and offered her his back.

They raced at full gallop, Kagome guiding their course. The forest transitioned into arid highland, where dirt, thorns and rocky surfaces took place.

“Hey, you!” Kagome yelled at the youkai emerging in their camp of vision. Their target. Over his shoulder, the startled creature sneaked a peek at them and increased speed. Growling, InuYasha matched his rhythm. “Wait up! We won’t hurt you.”

“I’m pretty sure Imma hurt him.”

“Give the jewel fragment to us peacefully and you’ll be free to go!” She went on, his snide remarks as ignored by her as her plead was by the demon. InuYasha’s patience was wearing thin. Now that the rumors turned out to be true, his focus was entirely aimed at the task at hand.

“Are those fancy arrows of yours just for show?”

Kagome let out a deep breath. Shooting was her last ressource. She preferred to sort things out with words first. It rarely worked. Still she always tried.

“I suppose we have no choice.”

The arrow hit the creature in the calf and his groan of pain reverberated through the field. Not lethal, but enough of a nuisance to make him drop the run. InuYasha closed the distance between them within seconds. Kagome climbed off him and together they inspected their opponent.

On the floor, a possum demon hissed and exhibited his fangs at them, his ugly face twisting in agony while he pulled the arrow out. A cascate of blood immediately flowed from the wound. InuYasha was not fooled by it. Being a full youkai, he would be healed soon.

“Where is it?” InuYasha asked Kagome, not daring to leave the bastard out of his sight.

“His belly.”

“Step away, you filthy half breed!”

“Excuse me?” Kagome defied, any trace of courtesy forgotten.

“That was quite the damage she did on ya, there.” InuYasha released Tessaiga from its sheath as he approached the fallen man. “Think I can top it, though.”

“Step away, I said!”

His fear was palpable. InuYasha could feel it. See it. Smell it.

Smell it.

Faster than realization, the odor filled his lungs. It burned his nostrils, his throat. He could taste the toxic substance on his tongue. It was unbearable. And gasping for air only resulted in the pungent scent flooding him further, overwhelming his senses. A defense mechanism, he thought, his vision blurring, his knees giving in. I’m going to faint. No. No, no, no, no, no. Kagome. He had to protect Kagome.

There was a cry of his name.

And then an awful lot of darkness.

InuYasha came to abruptly, uncertain and alarmed by the new reality.

In one minute, the sun was up and he was succumbing, his consciousness leaving him to drift. In the next, he was awake and crickets sang the night’s arrival.

It was tempting to think he had dreamt the whole thing. A stupid, ridiculous, crazy ass dream. However, the lingering smell left no room for argument. It happened. The scent was weaker. Fading. But was there, overpowered by a significantly nicer aroma. A familiar one, sweet on the nose and soothing to the soul. Kagome’s.

He was lying half naked in her sleeping bag.

Sitting up, InuYasha seeked for the priestess, desperate to make sure for himself she was safe and sound.

The fragile light of her modern lantern illuminated the cavern that sheltered them. At its entrance, a girl rested — her silhouette contoured by a starry sky. 

“Kagome.”

“You’re awake!”

She rushed to him, tripping over her own eagerness. Her beautiful clothes were dirty and a bit ripped at the hem. A small scratch cut her cheek, remnants of dry blood tainting her skin.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m fine!” Kagome kneeled in front of him, a gesture he appreciated. There was no peace for him without an up close inspection of her well being. “I purified the demon after you blacked out. Turns out it was a trap. Thousands of Naraku’s second-class demons came for the shard when I took him down. I tried to purify those too, but more of them kept coming and I ran out of arrows, so I casted a barrier and—”

“You casted a barrier?”

InuYasha was beyond impressed. Barriers required great power and discipline. Even from Kaede or the monk. Kagome had apparently done it all by herself. Effortlessly. On the spot.

“To be honest, I don’t know how I did it. I just… I saw you lying there and I… anyway, the barrier purified the ones who touched it. Eventually they all died or left. How are you feeling?”

InuYasha didn’t answer the question.

“I’m sorry, Kagome, that you couldn’t rely on me.”

Guilt pulsed within him like a heartbeat. Constant and compulsory, expanding the outcomes of its work through every inch of his body.

“It’s not your fault. Your nose is too keen, of course you’d be affected the most.”

“But you got hurt!”

“In the thorns. I was careless. Don’t worry about it, it’s not even going to leave a scar.”

“It shouldn’t have even happened. I’m supposed be the one protecting you, not the other way around.”

It could have been worse. InuYasha should be grateful for that. He wasn’t. It could have been worse. And he wouldn’t be able to help her, to save her from this insignificant peril while she had already saved him in every conceivable way there was for a person to be saved.

“I’m not as helpless as I used to be, you know? I’ve grown a lot.” She had a point. InuYasha himself had told her that much, once. Kagome had faced scarier dangers than that. And she could absolutely take them. But he didn’t want her to have to. “Not to mention, it was totally worth it.”

As a proof, she exhibited a jewel fragment, glowing in the healthiest shade of pink.

“You got it!” InuYasha captured the shard, glancing at every angle of it in awe.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

Kagome went for her backpack and came back, falling on her knees again. Her hand dove in and emerged holding the glass container in which they kept the other pieces. She opened it and tilted the receiver to InuYasha, hinting for him to do the honors.

It was as if she had been waiting for him so they could do it together.

As if it was their private, sacred ritual.

He did as she wanted, mirroring her satisfied smile.

“Where’s my haori?”

“Oh! I… I put it away.” Blushing, Kagome tore her gaze from his and InuYasha followed it to a corner of the cave, where a huddle of scarlet fabric laid forgotten. “I figured you’d heal faster with that smell gone and your haori is soaked on it. Sorry.”

“D-don’t apologize, stupid. It was the right call.” To feel useful — and to occupy his brain with something other than the image of Kagome undressing him — InuYasha searched her backpack for the first aid kit, a tool from her era he was sadly too intimate with. “Now let’s take care of this cut.”

“Okay. You have to g—”

“I know what to do. I’ve seen you do it a thousand times.” Her lips parted, and InuYasha added: “Don’t act so surprised.”

He cleaned the wound with cotton, water and soap, then used a different ball of cotton to carefully apply the content of a smelly little bottle to the extension of it. Kagome hissed, but he ignored it in favor of wrapping it all up with a band-aid. To ensure it was properly stretched, he gently ran his thumb through it, allowing the touch to linger more than necessary and his stare to go from her cheek to her eyes.

Her eyes.

The most stunning maze.

Let yourself get in, you are sure to get lost.

She blinked before he could, keeping them closed and leaning into his palm, her hand lifting to cover and caress his.

It would be so easy to grip her chin. To turn her face to him. To bring her to his lips. 

So easy to steal a kiss.

Why do the easiest actions have to carry the most difficult consequences?

Clearing his throat, InuYasha transformed present into a loving memory.

“Take some rest. We leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me.”

On the way to claim Kagome’s prior guarding position by the entrance of the cave, InuYasha collected Tessaiga while she busied herself with getting cozy inside the sleeping bag.

“Kagome?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“InuYasha, I think we’re way past saying thank you for saving each other’s lives.”

“No, not for that. I mean, for that too, but... for coming. For staying by my side.”

“Stupid.” She mocked him, her voice lethargic as exhaustion finally caught up to her. “Where else would I be?”

A/N: this was some serious self indulgent bullshit. I regret nothing.

@inukag-week​ here is another piece of contribution. Kind of merged the Loyalty and the Instinct prompts here. Oops.

[yeoldontknow]

🖊writerly conversation tag

tagged by @j-pping to do this amazing interview/reflections tag. of course she put together one of the most amazing tags ever because she is brilliant. thank you for tagging me angel! 

questions below the cut!

2020

what was the most challenging part of writing this year?

gosh...i think for me the hardest bit was staying both motivated and inspired. a lot of my inspiration comes from being out in the world. im an introvert but i enjoy being out in the city around the noise and the people and the buildings on my own. the majority of my writing used to be done while riding the subway or on a weekend after id gone out somewhere. a lot of my fics are inspired by locations, and experiences within those locations. being inside for the majority of the year made it hard for me to remember how...people interact with or relate to the spaces around them. so i felt like a lot of the time staying inspired was coming from places within just me that felt inauthentic. i think my writing benefits from my ability to see multiple perspectives, so i felt like a lot of dialogue or writing itself was suffering just coming from me alone. it took a lot of work to ensure that it wasnt like that. 

and then, motivation was also so hard. the internet and the news and everything about america, the planet, the everything was unrelenting and draining. we as people were privy to so much trauma this year, to the collapse and fracture of communities, lives, governments. there were several weeks at the end of may and into june where i just...couldnt. i had no energy for anything. it happened again in november after the election and the windfall of it. energetic tensions were so high it just felt so hard to push out words when things were breaking everywhere. like there were more important things i needed to focus on, and healing was one of them.

what was the most enjoyable/rewarding part of writing this year?

i enjoyed the new community of writers/friends i found by writing for bts again. they challenged me and pushed me to better myself. @jamaisjoons is so inspirational in the way she generates community and encourages relationships between storytellers. doing the summer bucket list pushed me out of my hermit hole for camp nano, and i cranked out molotov cocktail and felt so proud of it. it mattered so much to me because it was the first long thing id written after a period of feeling deceased, and it was so enjoyable because there was a sense of community around it. its easy to forget how essential having a support system in your creative community is.

what piece has left the most impact on you and why?

probably ciperion. words cannot express how proud i am of that story and the direction its going in. i read it back sometimes and i realize that my writing was elevated because of that piece. tbh molotov was responsible for that lift, but ciperion was just a whole other tier. ive also never written anything like that story before and it felt so good exploring the themes of seafaring and pirates. 

what have you learned about yourself through the process of writing in the past year?

that i absolutely am someone who took for granted how inspiring the world is even if i see it as a stressor. but also that writing isnt necessarily about being inspired. its about pushing on when its hard. some of my best pieces came from that kind of push this year. 2020 felt like...a slog through most of it, but i kept pushing myself to write even when i was low and tired. i realized that some of my best writing comes from that push, when its not easy and when its difficult and i have to think harder. thats where i grow. 

how has your writing changed in the past year? how have you grown?

i think im more syntax and detailed focused than i used to be. lately ive been experimenting with making the act of reading feel like pleasure. my favourite books are the ones where i read a sentence, and im moved because it felt nice to read or it felt powerful. the sentence itself had power, not the image it was trying to convey. somehow separate, if that makes sense. theres a lot i need to learn before i could go off comfortably and try to write a book, and this is what ive been trying to master. my attention to detail has grown, and sometimes i think thats a detriment. i think sometimes im too detailed and i dont leave my reader enough power on their own. im still finding that balance, but i think im pleased right now with what im trying to push myself to master.

2021

ignoring your wips for a second, if you had all the time and energy in the world to write your magnum opus piece, what would it be about? why is that the dream story you’d write, all other things controlled for?

ive had two books in my mind forever. one was originally being written as a fanfic in a different fandom before i stopped and realized its too big and so much more important, and is worth being a book id like to write. if i wrote an opus like this it would actually be a book id submit to publishers but ~

- hundreds of years in the future, society has learned how to cure most diseases. for those we cannot, the sick person can be cryogenically frozen for a period of time until a cure is found. there is, however, a limit to the length of time they are frozen. no one has ever been frozen for over 100 years, and the main character is a scientist embarking on the experiment to do just that. it is, effectively, time travel. the main character is rash, selfish, sarcastic - not a very nice person; invested in their work and science and little else. they freeze themselves and wake up in the future. during their time in rehab they have to confront the horror theyve made of themselves, the horror people have made of the future, learn to be vulnerable. they end up falling in love with another scientist etc etc. theres so much more to this story and the world is enormous. one day ill revisit it

- a fictional play on orpheus in the underworld where a female main character’s brother was sold by their mother to the goddess of the underworld (helena instead of hades) for eternal youth. the gods all live in a hotel (the concept of this main thing is being used in elysian fields but its not remotely the same) after they were removed from the heavens. main character (ophelia) must gather several totems from the gods to prove her worth and survive her trip into the underworld to rescue him. id like to not focus on a woman finding romance, and instead a woman finding herself, her strength, her devotion to family, her power, and connecting with her history.

how do you want to grow in your writing this year?

this year id like to find balance, like i mentioned above, with my need for detail and my trust in my readers. the balance between detail and dialogue. i want to try to condense my writing again so not everything is a goddamn series. the ideas i have are huge and thats great but i need to remember how to parse things again, while still maintaining impact.

what’s one thing you’d wish to see in the fan-writing community this year?

i want more community, in general. as a multi fan, i see pockets in the kpop fandom where it exists and im well and truly aware that its recently become incredibly hard to foster on the exo side. ill just say that. maybe i dont witness it or its happening amongst blogs i havent found or have not found me. i want to see less dialogue about ‘popular blogs,’ whatever that means; less focus on notes; less worries about statistics. i want people to remember that fandom is not about numbers, and the moment you make it about that is the moment you stop having fun. i want less fear from writers regarding sharing work they read and liked, less shame around it. i want to see more vocal communication for the things people like and don’t like, more engagement and more interaction. the concept of popular blogs is so ridiculous to me, because no one has any control over the metrics. no one has control over who follows them or reads their work except the person doing the actual reading. i want people to realize they hold so much power - a person with 10k notes has as much power as a person with 2 notes because sharing is what fosters community. i want this fandom to remember to share again.

name one new thing you want to try doing in your writing this year.

gosh i really love postmodernism in writing. think like mark z danielewski, who plays with the shapes of words or the act of holding a book - the physicality of it. id like to maybe write a choose your own adventure, or do something that encompasses multiple platforms. or even, more importantly, finish as still as sound and time runner. those are more reasonable goals. time runner actually is done, i just need to stop pressuring myself about it and edit it to get it up. asas, too, is largely done i just need to get my ass together. i have so many other ideas no one has ever seen i need to finish what ive started. thats a real goal.

tagging: @yehet-me-up @jamaisjoons @kyungseokie @jenmyeons @luffles424 @yoonia @shadowsremedy @chillingkoo @onherwings @inkedtae @ninibears-erigom @imdifferentshadesofpurple @readyplayerhobi @ditzymax @sugaurora @snackhobi @yeojaa @sahmfanficbts @xjoonchildx @johobi and anyone else who wants to do this. as always please only do so if comfortable or you want to!

[classysassy9791]

Sometimes its the quieter moments that speak the loudest. A story of love, laughter, and friendship carried through the years during the most wonderful season of all. Full of fluff and Christmas cheer. Interconnecting One-shots.

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Romance/Friendship Pairings: InuKag, MirSan, SessKagu Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l

Chapter 10: Silver Bells Word Count: 1700 Can also be found here

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.

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“What about this one?”

Inuyasha’s amber eyes stole themselves away from watching the crowded department store to the green, knit scarf Kagome held in her hands. “Sure.”

She frowned, her fingers working their way over the fabric delicately as she struggled with her decision. Finally, she sighed and dropped the scarf to continue her way through the store, seemingly unbothered by the throng of people pushing past her. 

Inuyasha and Kagome had been weaving through crowds all day, holiday music telling them how joyous they were to be parting with savings it had taken them months to accrue. Inuyasha scoffed bitterly at the thought. Now who was getting his hard-earned money? Some fat CEO? If it was up to him, he would have canceled the present exchange part of Christmas, but he knew Kagome would’ve baulked at the idea. 

She never minded the holiday rush or the amount of stress it caused. Inuyasha, however, despised shopping during this time of year. People were rude, children screamed, and prices were usually outrageous. He believed Christmas was the biggest con job of all time. Some slick marketing jocks told everyone that Christmas came in a box with a pretty ribbon and a prettier price tag . The higher the price, the more the love, right? The commercialization of it all made Inuyasha sick, and always put him in a foul mood. 

“Why don’t we finish our shopping online?” he grumbled as he followed Kagome through another aisle of sweaters. At least online shopping meant he didn’t have to deal with the holiday crowds. 

“That’s so impersonal,” she quipped, throwing him a look over her shoulder. “What if the fabric is itchy? Or the design isn’t as pretty as you had hoped?”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “Everyone will love anything you get them.” And his words rang true, because although Kagome didn’t know it, she had a knack for choosing gifts. During the rest of the year, she was frugal and spent her money wisely, but when it came to Christmas time, she always went all out. 

“I don’t know,” she mused, fingering another sweater before moving on. “Some people are always so hard to shop for. Like, Miroku and Shippo.”

A heavy-set man shoved past Inuyasha, nearly causing him to fall into a display. “Hey, watch it!” he yelled out to him, only receiving a dirty look in return before the man hurried away. Annoyed, Inuyasha shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he followed Kagome out of the department store, both empty-handed. “Kagome, why do you even care about this stuff, anyway? Christmas ain’t about the presents.”

She smiled up at him with a thoughtful hum. “Well, you’re right. Christmas isn’t about the gifts.” He raised a brow when she didn’t offer a further explanation, and opened his mouth to question her, but was interrupted by-- “Oh, look! It’s Santa Claus!”

Inuyasha’s eyes followed to where Kagome was pointing to see the big man himself all dressed in red. Santa had two elves at his side as he sat on his big throne, a few “ho ho ho”’s being bellowed. A line of eager children and their parents weaved through the town square, the kids bright-eyed in amazement at the sight of Santa. 

“Come on!” Kagome said, tugging on Inuyasha’s hand. “I want a picture with Santa.”

“No way,” he refused, pulling his hand out of her grasp. “No way am I getting a picture with some strange man in a red suit.”

Kagome pouted, looking up at him with the saddest eyes she could muster. “But, Inuyasha… I really want a picture. It’ll be a great memory!”

Inuyasha hated caroling. He hated crowds. He hated taking pictures with Santa, especially with him being an adult now. But, somehow, Kagome always managed to convince him to do things he otherwise wouldn’t, even more so during the holiday season. 

It didn’t help that Kagome’s teeth were sunk into her lower lip, a sensual pout making itself known as she pleaded with him. Inuyasha groaned in reluctance, a grumbled, “fine,” falling from his mouth as she practically skipped with joy to the back of the line. 

They shuffled through the queue  slowly as each child eagerly sat on Santa’s lap to indulge their Christmas wishes this year. The kid in front of them tugged on his mother’s jacket insistently, excited about the elves and feeling star-struck at meeting THE Santa Claus. Inuyasha rolled his eyes at the stupidity of it all. 

“I’m excited to share Christmas with our kids someday,” Kagome off-handedly commented, catching Inuyasha completely off-guard. 

He swung wide amber eyes in her direction, feeling a heated blush work its way up his neck and flush his cheeks. “Our-our kids?!”

A light pink tinged Kagome’s cheeks as she toyed with a lock of her hair. Her brown eyes quickly glanced up at him before averting away. “Well… yeah. I mean… Do you want kids someday?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly trying to look at anything but the blushing girl beside him. “I-I guess I never thought about it.” 

“Well,” she said, grabbing his hand and holding it in hers, smiling up at him. “Think about it.” 

They stayed silent during the rest of their trek through the line. Inuyasha’s mind had been shocked into a muddle of several thoughts, all of which he had a hard time focusing on. Kagome brought up kids and yet he could barely think of where they would be in a few months, let alone a few years. She had taken him completely by surprise. 

Before he knew it, it was their turn to see Santa, and Kagome eagerly moved to stand beside the man in red, with Inuyasha standing on his other. 

“Well, now,” Santa greeted, smiling up at them with a voice filled with cheer. “What’s your name, young lady?”

“Kagome,” she spoke, the blush from earlier now gone. 

He turned to ask Inuyasha the same, but Inuyasha simply scowled at the man. Santa studied him for just a moment before turning his attention back to Kagome, obviously feeling Inuyasha’s disinterest in this little adventure. “And what would you like for Christmas this year, Kagome?” he asked her, eyes sparkling with amusement. 

Kagome exchanged a brief glance with Inuyasha, before leaning down and whispering her answer into Santa’s ear . When she’d finished, Santa chuckled merrily before replying with, “I’ll see what I can do,” in a hushed tone. 

Inuyasha didn’t have time to question the exchange before the photographer called for their attention and snapped a quick picture - after which, of course, Kagome purchased. 

The pair continued their shopping around the town, a slow pile of bags of presents beginning to fill their arms as the hours ticked by. Finally, as the clock struck eight, Kagome had declared their shopping complete while she looked up at him with an accomplished smile. 

The evening streets had thinned as stores began to close for the night. Inuyasha felt himself relax, the bustling of the shopping rush dwindling to no more than a few last-minute shoppers. He breathed in the crisp, evening air, listening to the stillness of the night. Allured by the scent of freshly baked cookies coming from a bakery, Inuyasha tore his gaze off of the enormous Christmas tree in the square, adorned with glistening ornaments and flowing fairy lights draped around it. The sky had turned beautiful, dark shades of blue while the amber light of street lamps spilled onto the stone-paved streets. 

“Feeling better?” Kagome’s voice drew him back, his eyes meeting hers in the dim lighting of a decorated storefront. 

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Never liked the crowds.” 

“I know, but thank you for coming with me. I enjoyed your company.” 

Inuyasha studied her as they paused in walking, her warm gaze meeting his own. Her smile shined like the stars in the sky, with no bright city lights to dim them. She had a touch of exhaustion to her, but she was beautiful all the same. 

“Here,” he mumbled, pulling the shopping bags out of her hands before crouching down in front of her. “Get on.” 

Kagome blushed and waved her hand dismissively. “Oh no, Inuyasha. I’m fine. I can walk.” 

He shot her a look over his shoulder that clearly stated he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Come on, you’ve been running around all day.”

She looked around reluctantly before finally resigning to his request with a sigh. “I swear if you drop me, Inuyasha, there will be no hot chocolate for you.” 

He chuckled with a shake of his head. “Whatever you say.” 

Inuyasha felt her cautiously grab a hold of his shoulders before clasping her legs around his waist, and his hands folded together beneath her to make her feel secure. Once she was settled, he began walking again, closing the distance between the last few blocks to her home. She rested her head against his back as she relaxed against him. 

They were quiet for a while, Inuyasha simply listening to her steady breath near his ear. The lights around them began to fade as the last few stores shuttered, leaving only the streetlamps and a few strands of Christmas lights decorating the walkway to light their way. Silver bells jingled as they passed by a man dressed in a Santa suit. He smiled at them, wishing them a “Merry Christmas!” as they passed.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome murmured, startling him out of his thoughts. 

“What is it?”

“Christmas isn’t about the presents,” she said, repeating their conversation earlier. 

“Yeah?”

She nodded against his back. “When you have so much, you can only really receive by giving.” 

He raised a brow, glancing back at her questioningly. 

“Love doesn’t come in a box. It can’t be bought or sold. But, the joy someone feels from receiving a gift, from knowing that you had been thinking of them… that feeling can’t be bought or sold either. It’s not about the money spent.”

The snow fell down softly, gently laying itself on the earth. Inuyasha smiled, his thoughts encompassed by a cold, winter night, a brightly lit Christmas tree, and the shining, brown eyes of a child who had silver hair. 

“Daddy!”

[asokatanos]

Trying on outfits to fit in with the locals & Star Wars

Ahsoka shifts from foot to foot, feeling constricted and uncomfortable.

“Snips! What is taking you so long? I’ve been dressed forever already!”

“I’m dressed, but this just... isn’t me. I can’t wear this. And besides, I’m sure you had help with your wardrobe.”

She hears Obi Wan sigh even as Anakin sputters his alarm and excuses.

“Ahsoka, I do rather imagine the point is to not look like you. We are, after all, hoping to fit in.”

She struggles with a clasp that has been caught on her back lekku, finally forcing it past and scratching herself in the process. Grumbling, she wishes again that any of her options had the magnetic zipper closure of her usual turtleneck tunic rather than these infernal clasps and buttons and - in the case of two options she didn’t even bother trying on, just taut fabric.

With a huff, she palms the door open and picks her way out to stand stiffly in front of Anakin and Obi Wan. Both stare at her for a beat, and then Anakin bursts out in laughter while Obi Wan deftly hides his amusement behind his beard and a hand.

She glares at them - they look perfectly comfortable in their get up, of course. Unlike them, she’s in a heavy gown that doesn’t fit, sweating and itchy under the weight of all the fabric.

Padme glides in at the sound of their laughter and while she has more tact than both men, even she cannot hold back the slight rise of her eyebrows. Ahsoka attempts to bury her face in her hands, but the stiff neckline and too-narrow shoulders of the heavy outfit don’t fit her at all, and her arms get stuck halfway. Even Padme lets out a giggle at the picture she makes.

“Maybe lending you something from my wardrobe wasn’t the best idea,” Padme concedes. “Come on, I’ll help you get out of it. I always had help with these, you know.”

“I think maybe dresses aren’t for me. Even your armored ones.”

Padme chuckles, bundling Ahsoka back into the enormous closet. “I’ll tell you a secret - it took me a while to get used to wearing things like this. In fact, I practiced the entire time between my election and my coronation, making sure I could move around- ah, there we go.”

Freed from the constricting layers of fabric, Ahsoka breathes a sigh of relief and smiles at her friend. “I can’t imagine you being anything but graceful,” she says. “I think I’ll just stick to my usual clothes and stay out of sight though.”

--

(for the record Ahsoka attempted to put this on)

send me a prompt (any of my fandoms is fine!)

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: you gave up half your life Fandom: Supernatural Summary:  When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance. AN: Remember when I ranted about season 7? Yeah good times. Here’s my 10.000 words Salty Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

Read on AO3

Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.

That pact was lie.

Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.

During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.

The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.

(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)

X

Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.

He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.

Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

X

After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.

“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.

Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.

“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.

The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.

(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)

Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.

X

Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.

The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.

“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.

He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.

Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.

Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“

“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”

“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“

“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”

He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.

Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.

X

Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.

When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.

“Hey, Kev-“

Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.

“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.

“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.

Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.

“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”

Kevin stared at the black ink.

“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”

For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.

“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”

Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.

“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.

(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)

Sam wished he could say the same.

X

After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.

“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”

“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”

Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.

“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.

“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”

The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.

“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.

Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”

And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.

“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”

Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”

He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.

X

Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.

Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.

“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”

Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.

“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“

“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”

Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”

Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”

Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.

Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.

“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“

“Crowley?”

Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.

“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”

Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.

“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”

“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”

Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.

“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”

X

In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.

Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.

And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”

(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)

Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.

“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.

Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

X

When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”

Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”

X

They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”

Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.

(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)

X

Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.

(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.

X

Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.

X

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.

Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”

X

Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.

Until he couldn’t.

The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.

Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.

(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)

But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.

And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.

X

They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.

“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”

They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.

“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”

And then something curious happened.

The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.

Well, that was a first.

“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”

What.

Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.

“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome?”

Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.

“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”

Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”

X

Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.

Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.

“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”

Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.

When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”                           

The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.

“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.

(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.) 

“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”

Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)

X

Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.

If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.

“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”

A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.

“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”

Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.

“Angels are real!?”

Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)

“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”

A lot.

“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.

When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.

X

What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.

(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)

At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.

Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.

He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).

Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.

“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”

Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.

At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

X

Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.

The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.

That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out. 

X

Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.

Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.

Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.

X

Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.

The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.

(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)

“Just keep them going, please.”

Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.

Sam was tired.

His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.

What a fucking waste of space he was.

X

When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.

X

The next day he hit a dog.

X

Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.

“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”

“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”

The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

X

Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.

When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

X

The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.

The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.

The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.

She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.

Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

X

Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”

“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”

While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she 

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”

“No idea.”

Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.

“What and how does it kill then?”

“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”

Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.

“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”

Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?

“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”

Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”

He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?

(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)

X

Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.

He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.

Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”

“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”

Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”

“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Look,” Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as you can be with those things.”

Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”

“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”

Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.

“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”

“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”

Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”

X

A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.

“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.

“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.

“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”

“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.

“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.” 

X

Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.

“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”

“I like our-“

Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”

“Sam!”

Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”

“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”

Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”

Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.

X

Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.

The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.

Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).

“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”

Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.

“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”

Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.

Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.

“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.

When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.

Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”

The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.

X

“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.

They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.

“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”

“Alright. Directions?”

X

Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.

The entire façade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.

“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.

There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.

“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”

Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”

Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.

“No?”

“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”

“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”

X

In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.

“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”

“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”

Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”

(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)

“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”

“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”

Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.

And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”

X

The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.

X

After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)

Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.

He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.

And Gabriel has said “no”.

Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.

“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”

“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”

Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.

“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.

X

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam

Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do

X

Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.

Another dead end.

After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).

Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.

Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.

Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.

(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)

But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.

X

“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”

Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”

“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.

Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.

“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”

“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.

Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”

Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“

Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”

“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.

But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.

Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”

X

It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.

Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.

It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.

X

Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.

He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.

He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.

When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.

X

Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.

And they were right in that assessment.

When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.

X

“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“

“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”

“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”

“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“

“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“

“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”

Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”

“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.

“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”

X

Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.

Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.

“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.

Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”

Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”

Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.

“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”

Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.

“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”

Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.

“Thanks, Marty. I’ll give them a ring.”

X

When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.

It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.

Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.

X

Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.

And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.

Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.

From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.

“Irv! Good to see you.”

“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.

The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.

Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.

“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”

Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”

They left two days later.

“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

X

Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.

“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.

“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“

“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”

“But it’s not enough!”

Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Kevin was used to it, though.

They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.

“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)

X

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 27: A Seed Sown

Chapters: 27/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: None Relationships: Loki x Reader (Let’s try this again) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Brunnhilde Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), No I Did Not Forget This Plot Point, I Read Somewhere That Thanos Was Supposedly Physically Deformed And Looked Very Different Than Other Titans, But There Were No Other Details, And We Never See Any Other Titans So, They All Just Look Like That Summary: After a time of benign quiescence, the dreams return, more powerful than ever

You flew through space, stars swirling all around you. Loki flew with you, his hand in yours, the magic of your combined rune powering your flight. Somehow, you weren't cold, and didn't need to draw breath, so you just let yourself fly to wherever it was you were going, admiring the beauty that surrounded you.

Starlight illuminated Loki's face, sparkling in his beautiful eyes, shimmering in his raven curls. He seemed equally enchanted by you, twining his fingers with yours. There was no sound out in space, but you could swear you almost heard his laughter.

A planet approached swiftly, one unlike you had ever seen. Its atmosphere was thick with storm systems, orange and hazy all over. You had no idea where you were, but the two of you were being drawn straight for the mysterious world. A little fear curled in you, but Loki was with you. You weren't alone. The strange world grew bigger and bigger, both of you floating down through the thick clouds to come to rest on a dry hillock, overlooking tidy fields, and a very large building that was in the middle of being carefully demolished. It appeared as though it was being taken apart in such a way that the materials could be used elsewhere.

You couldn't help but appraise the fields before you. They were doing poorly; perhaps not enough sun, perhaps not enough water, but you didn't recognize the plants, so you couldn't be sure. Here, you could draw breath, but it was uncomfortable. Pollution, or different atmospheric composition?

There were people walking along the rows, though they didn't seem to see you. You almost called out to one ans they approached, but Loki gasped painfully at the sight, and drew you protectively into his arms. You looked up into his white face, wide eyes, and gritted teeth. Was that fear?

The person walking the row closeby was not human, though he might be mistaken for one from a distance. He was much larger than a human, in all dimensions. Broader in the chest and shoulders, thicker in the arms and legs. He had giant, blunt hands and almost no neck. His head was hairless, his eyes small, his skin a light, mottled purple. His chin was quite large, one of the defining features of his face, and it had several long, vertical wrinkles reaching up to his wide mouth.

He wore an apron full of pockets over his long tunic, and as you watched, he retrieved a small vial full of clear liquid from one and popped it open. He then plucked a crinkled leaf from one of the struggling plants, crushed it between his huge fingers, and sprinkled it into the vial, swirling the liquid inside.

You watched the liquid turn a sour-looking yellow, and the large man sighed. He re-sealed to vial, and replaced it back in his apron, then turned to gaze at the remains of the building. There was a dense fog blowing over it, and moving closer. Thunder rumbled in the distance, heralding a coming storm.

“Mynos!” Someone called, rushing over from several rows away. “We must cover the plants before the storm hits! It sounds large this time. What do your samples say? Is there any hope on this side of the factory?”

“It is marginally better over here.” Mynos answered in a deep grumble. “Rain has washed soil from the hills into this area, and carried contaminated soils further down hill, closer to the factory. We may wish to experiment with terracing hillsides that face away from factories.”

“That will make them more susceptible to microclimactic changes.” His compatriot pointed out, and Mynos nodded slowly.

“That is why it must go into experimentation phases first.”

Thunder growled once more, the orange fog having grown closer very swiftly. You thought you could see lighting within it.

“Yes, this one looks much worse than the last one. Come. Let us get the row covers!”

Both of them rushed as fast as their stocky bodies would allow, joining many other people in the field in getting sturdy row covers in place, to protect the delicate, unhealthy plants from being flattened by wind, or rain, or...

The storm was almost upon you and you had only now noticed. These were not clouds of vapor, bearing rain, but an enormous wall of orange dust. It rolled over you just as you cried out, dust stinging in your eyes, filling your throat. You cried and coughed, and you tried to clutch on to Loki, but your arms were full of blankets, as you rolled out of bed and onto your rug, still coughing and watery eyed.

You were covered in dust; you gagged and spat, desperately trying to get it out of you mouth, to wipe it off of your arms. You could hear the corn rustling around you, the rare calls of a meadowlark. And above that, you heard the sound of running footsteps, the door to your room slamming open, bringing you back to where you really were.

And Loki, illuminated in the doorway, an ethereal god to your streaming eyes. You couldn't make yourself stand, your body just wouldn't respond, and it didn't matter. Loki scooped you up like you were a pillow, and carried you all the way to the bath. He was covered in dust as well; it caked his face and turned his hair brown.

He set you down gently in the sunken tub, and turned the water on, sitting down next to you and cradling you tenderly as the cleansing water rose slowly around you. You shivered in his arms, until nearly submerged in the warm water, then you cried until all the dust was out of your eyes and mouth. Loki scrubbed your arms and back, quietly asking if you wanted him to remove your pajamas, to which you shook your head violently. He didn't ask again, and kept his own sleeping clothes on as well.

“W-was that real?” You finally asked. “It had to be real, or where did the dust come from? The dust-it's everywhere!”

“Shh, shh, shh.' Loki soothed. “It's off, it's gone, it's washed away. You're clean. I'm clean. It's gone.”

“Where were we?” You demanded. “How did we get there? It wasn't just a dream! The dust! How?”

For the first time since you had met him, Loki looked completely uncertain. “I...I do not know.” He admitted. “I thought it all some kind of dream, until I awoke to your cries.”

“You were scared of that man. Why? Who is he?”

Loki  shook his head. “I don't know him, I've never seen him before-”

“You were scared of him!”

Loki squeezed you hard, burying his face in your hair. Warm water lapped at your chin.

“I though he was Thanos.” He hissed into your ear. “They looked so similar.”

So it had been a nightmare to him as well. Perhaps worse for him, to see his killer again.

“Thanos is dead. Thor saw him die, didn't he?”

“Yes, and so did I. A woman named Nebula beheaded him. It was...fitting. But that man, that Mynos, looked so much like him. Those must have been Titans; that's what Thanos was. But they are all dead. The whole planet was laid waste by artificial disasters, rampant pollution and unchecked resource extraction. It's what initially caused him to go mad. All life on Titan was wiped out. Those people couldn't be there, they're supposed to be dead!”

“Was it the past? Could we have been looking at the past, before they all died?”

“I can't see how. I don't have that kind of magic, and you do not either. I don't know. I don't know what just happened.”

“Are you still scared?”

He hid his face further in your hair. “Yes.”

“Me too.”

The two of you sat together in the water until it began to go cold. When you started to shiver, Loki left to bring you a fresh towel and another of his long tunics to change into, then left the room to change into new clothes himself.

He sat you down in the library and sent the night guard out to get someone to change your bedding, which was still full of dust.

“I know you are probably wary of going back to sleep,” He said, as a few maids got everything in order. One of them had even brought you a mug of warm milk. “But there will still be work waiting in the morning, so I encourage you to try.”

“Maybe.” You mumbled.

“If you need, ah, assistance...” He began, but you cut him off with a shake of the head. He might still be feeling soft, but you weren't in that headspace anymore, and you did not feel right sleeping next to the prince right now.

“No, but thank you. I'll sleep.” You were already feeling embarrassed over the earlier moments of intimacy. It wasn't the touching that bothered you, not anymore. It was that you felt extremely odd about having someone so powerful-a prince, a god, an invader-hiding his face in your hair out of fear.

Like he wasn't a thousand year old ruler. Like he wasn't a veteran of hundreds of battles. As if he was just a man, no older or greater than you were. You felt as if no one was supposed to see him like that, least of all, you. Those were things that should be reserved for someone who was very special to him. Family. Lovers. You...You were an employee.

And that was fine. That was safe. There was a level of professional separation there, or there would be, if Loki didn't just love touching people.

You had finally noticed that it wasn't just you, it was practically everyone who got within arms reach. And most of them seemed used to it, which was a large part of the reason it didn't bother you much anymore. But you still didn't want him pushing any boundaries.

The new bedding smelled fresh and felt soft. You fell back asleep much more swiftly than you had expected.

                                                                             ******

Loki sat quietly on the black sheepskin rug, in front of the fire. The wood in the fireplace was made of iron; the fire itself was supplied by a strange gas that occurred naturally on Midgard. He could turn it on and off with a switch, like the tap in the bath. Fire that flowed like water: what odd things humans had come up with.

The innovative power systems of Iceland now powered Asgard as well, and so, this fire wasn't exactly necessary, but Loki found it comforting to gaze into the dancing flames and think.

He had an inkling of what might have happened just now, though he couldn't bring it up with anyone, not without proof. It could mean something very big, too big to openly discuss on mere suspicion.

Unfortunately, he could not even speak to you of it, though you had witnessed the Titans along with him. It was part of the things that he and the other galactic saviors had agreed not to share with those who weren't involved. You already knew much more than you should.

If the Titans were alive, what might that mean? They were supposed to be dead. That was a very important point that Thanos had made. The Lesson of The Titans, and the necessity of the trillions of deaths he proposed were a key component in Loki's 'reeducation' at his hands. Through the haze of burning and breaking came the psychological torment of relentlessly, endlessly being shown all the deaths that Thanos had ordered, that his cronies had executed, that his children had had a hand in. That Loki, himself had caused. Over and over, he had been forced to watch the destruction he had wrought on Jotunheim. The warriors, helpless to protect their people from the horrific power of the Bifrost. The women, trying to provide safe shelter for their families, the children, crouched fearfully in their hovels. Over and over, he had watched them burn, and been congratulated by his new subjugators.  He had done right in eradicating so many. Their planet was obviously suffering. He had done right to kill without care of social status, to make it fair. To just plow the Bifrost through the most populated point on the planet, and let cold fortune decide who lived and who died.

And over and over, he had been shown the decimation of Titan. The starting point for everything. The reason for it all. It couldn't be allowed to happen again.

If the Titans were alive, what could it mean?

Possibly no more than that Thanos had been a liar as well as a madman, and that was something everyone already knew. But Loki felt it was more than that. Stark had been there, on Titan. He had reported nothing about there being any people; just a wasteland of dust and ruins.

Loki found himself wishing he could huddle close to you again. You were safe. You were weak, like he was, deep down inside, when the memories bubbled up. But he feared that he had once again made you uncomfortable with his touch, and needed to back off once more.

Why had you been there? How had you gotten there? Both of you had thought it was a dream, but clearly there was something else to it. Loki was no stranger to the informative dreams of the Aesir, and if it had been nothing more than a dream, then he could understand you being there. But the dust had proven that it was more than that.

If they were alive...

Loki stretched out on the rug. His mind ached. His heart ached.

                                                                        *****

“Yeah, it's possible to teleport a whole person.” Brunnhilde said, keeping her eyes on the trainee Valkyries as they went through their drills. “Why? You wanting to give it a try?”

“Eventually.” You said. “But is it possible to teleport to, like, the moon? You know, just poof! And you're on a different planet?”

“I suppose so. You'd need a lot of power. And you'd also need to know if you could breathe there. I hear that's very important. Valda! Keep your guard up! Your opponents will be coming at you from above!”

“A lot of power, huh? Probably more than I've got. You think his Highness might be able to do it?”

“Loki? Possibly. He's always got a load of tricks up his sleeves. Down his pants too, probably. I wouldn't be surprised if he figured out how to do it. His Majesty told me how he found all the little naturally occurring portals on Asgard, and used them to sneak around the realms, so maybe that's why he never needed to teleport. I'll bet there are some here too. A planet this big has got to have plenty of secrets. Velda! What did I just tell your sister?”

You joined the trainees on the field, going over your knifework on one of the training dummies. Maybe it had been a dream after all. Loki had left you alone all morning, so maybe he had also come to the same conclusion: it had all been a weird dream, and you had both been so frightened that one or both of you had magically brought some of the dust out of the dream with you.

That was what passed as logic to you nowadays.

                                                                       *****

Sofie watched with rising annoyance as yet another offroad vehicle tore through the flowers. Where were all these people coming from all of a sudden? That was the fourth in as many hours.

A new camp was setting up, a few hundred yards from their small settlement, and so far, none of the people there had tried to make contact. She was beginning to wonder if she shouldn't go over there herself to see what was going on.

There were a lot of United States flags going up with the tents. The vehicles kept on going all day, back and forth, from the city to the camp, bringing in more and more people. At least they seemed to be prepared; Sofie had seen quite a lot of food and water in some of those cars, and the tents looked like the well insulated kind from where she was standing.

But Sofie couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't just joined their already established camp? If they were all American, perhaps they only spoke English, and thought that no one here did? Perhaps they all knew each other, and wanted to stay as a group. She would go and greet them once they had gotten more settled. Perhaps there would be something they might need.

“They don't look too friendly, do they?” Frodi said, fashioning a fish hook. He had exposed his arms again, his raven tattoos shining in the sun. He'd made a habit of doing so, ever since his discussion with Fritjof, when Savane had come to the camp. Those two had been spending a lot of time together since then. It turned out Savane really liked to debate.

“I'm sure there's a reason. Maybe they think they're not allowed over here. I'll go visit them in a little while.”

“Take someone with you.” Frodi suggested.

“Are you volunteering?” Sofie asked.

Frodi just smiled, and held up his little hook for examination.

                                                                           *****

“Something weird happened last night.” Saldis said. “The night girls were talking about it. The Prince and the Seidkona both needed their bedding changed in the middle of the night. It was all covered in orange dirt. Apparently they were both acting really distressed.”

“Maybe it was some kind of magic?” Andsvarr said. Saldis had brought him a delicious lunch, which he was relishing so much that he barely cared about palace gossip. “Those two manipulate powers far beyond my understanding.”

“Are you satisfied with not understanding?” Saldis asked a little tersely.

“Eh.” Andsvarr shrugged. “There are always going to be things in the universe that I don't understand. One person can't know everything after all. Right now, I'm trying to be a better Einherjar, and a better me. Maybe in time, I can learn to be a better scholar.”

“Well. I guess that's better than embracing ignorance.”

“I should hope so. How's your English reading and writing coming along?”

Saldis glared, but then sighed, defeated. “I'm working on it.”

“Well, you know, if you need any extra tutelage, I am always ready to volunteer.” Andsvarr offered, a little smugly. It wasn't often that he could get the better of Saldis, and he was always thrilled by the opportunity.

“Are you trying to show off?” she accused, and Andsvarr grinned wide.

“Little bit.” He admitted. “Is it working?”

Saldis giggled. “I'll meet you after my shift.”

[laufire]

ENDGAME

Okay. I definitely won’t be able to sleep today, so I might as well pour out all my Endgame feelings right now.

First thing first, I was probably in the WORST POSSIBLE HEADSPACE to watch this film; national elections where fascists could take over Congress (spoiler alert, they didn’t. I literally just cried with relief for over ten minutes) AND being extremely concerned about characters you over-identify with on the same day, all after the worst year of your life, apparently don’t mix well. Who would have thunk.

(btw, I was spoiled as I was voting about That Very Big Thing; everyone who follows me probably can guess what I’m talking about. I almost threw hands tbh. Then almost cried over a dozen times on the way to the theatre because the stress of the day was killing me ugh).

All this to say, my head is a mess right now, I don’t even know if this post is going to make any sense, and I will probably take time to process certain things and have a definite opinion on them LOL. But well, here is now.

And err. Warning for a brief mention of suicide ideation?

(crossposted to dreamwidth, livejournal, and pillowfort)

TONY (& CO)

– In case it wasn’t obvious, the thing I was spoiled about? Yeah, it was Tony’s death. FML. I mean, even if I wasn’t spoiled, I would’ve seen it coming as soon as we saw him after the five years jump, lbr (happily off-screen married to Pepper? With an adorable daughter? Pepper resigned to the possibility of losing him instead of begging him to stay like in IW? And then the movie kept hammering it home LMAO; that and a lot of things for the mains that I kind of saw coming from less than a third into the movie, which IDK if it’s because I was particularly intuitive, or the foreshadowing was that heavy handed xD).

Obviously, I’m not rocking your world if I tell you I’m extremely heartbroken, I guess. Especially because, as I said, my emotions were already all over the place. And seeing a character I adore, and in who I project a lot of my issues on –including, yes, suicidal issues–, sacrifice their lives (no matter how poignant, and moving, and well-written it might be) was incredibly hard for me. So, yeah. I’m going to have to deal with that for a while I guess. Which I plan to do by writing a bunch of Fix-It and Not Actually Fix-It fics ASAP.

But. I mean, out of all the endings Tony could have, this was always my second choice for him. And he was grandiose in this film. He figured out time travel. He created a gauntlet capable of holding the Infinity stones. Beings far more powerful than him were trying to carry that gauntlet to the van and none of them thought to use it, but he did. He was completely vindicated. He is the Saviour of the Universe.

And he looked gorgeous the entire time, which is truly important for me.

– In all seriousness, the thing I take to heart the most is that

his legacy remains intact

, and it’s inspiring, and heroic, and poetic, and prosperous. Clearly, without him, my enthusiasm for the universe will never be the same, but one thing that worried me is that I wouldn’t want anything to do with Marvel for a while after this film, and that’s not how I’m feeling; I’m very much looking forward to further parallels and homages to him in my ever-growing list :P

Tho, honestly, I’m kind of side-eyeing myself for the fact that, the one time!!! I go and fall in love with a male lead character, he happens to be genuinely heroic and self-sacrificing, instead of just using those concepts as lip-service and getting to have his cake and eat it too LMAO. I mean, sure, given my reactions to those characters, the AeJons Snowrgaryens of the world, I wouldn’t have liked him so much if it was the case, but dammit. It’d be nice to experience that high sometime xD

– The Iron Fam is the best part of this movie for me. Tony’s relationship with Morgan was way too adorable to handle it; Pepper was enormous and so poised (and the scene where they circle around each other in their armors… poetic cinema); I didn’t get enough Iron Husbands to satiate me (Rhodey’s caress should have been skin to skin!), but I loved what we got; Happy is an assholes who made me cry ABOUT CHEESEBURGERS.

And let’s not talk about Peter, OMG. My heart. And Harley appeared to Tony’s funeral! Though, honestly, the person I missed the most there was Christine Everhart, who should have been there just on the basis that I like her (plus, ya know, IMO she was important to Tony’s origin dammit).

I’m going to consider Nebula an honorary member, tbh. Her scenes with Tony in space cut me deep; and she and Rhodey are buddies!

Natasha and Fury (I loved his appearance *sniffs*) are honorary members too, because fuck it. They both appeared first vis a vis Tony on his movies, and have two of my favourite relationships with him, and I say so.

– Related to that, one Failure™ of this movie, is not providing a Nat & Tony one-on-one scene. Seriously, I can’t believe they didn’t realize how necessary that was. But I ADORED the scene where they and Bruce are lying down bouncing ideas about the stones (it made me softly whisper “ot3” LOL); it was possibly the only “Avengers” moment that worked for me –other than Clintasha, but that’s on a different league tbh.

I wanted more Nebula & Tony scenes too; I would’ve loved to see Tony interact with Past!Nebula. Yes, realistically, he would probably had made her LOL, but. I needed it. it’s definitely on my to-write-list :P

– I wanted just some positive interaction between Carol & Tony to counteract Current Comics Bullshit and I got Carol rescuing him, smiling beatifically at him, and Tony basically saying she was Da Bomb and the Avengers should follow her lead instead of keep sucking xDD So that was nice.

– I loved the scene at the beginning where he fucking SNAPS, and goes for Steve’s throat. It was probably my favourite scene. It’s resolution with everyone’s reactions and after the flashforward kind of… totally sucked, but whatever. Still amazing.

– The only part of his storyline that I HATED, and I mean absolutely loathed, was his scene with Howard. Jesus Fucking Christ. They went with the most simplistic take they could have, didn’t they. I haven’t felt more insulted in the theatre in my entire life, and my family made me watch both Ocho apellidos movies with them, so Marvel? That’s a feat. The moment where he says his father hit him with a belt so we (Tony included) are supposed to think, well, at least Howard wasn’t physically violent with his son, hooray?

And I think we’re supposed to take his “wouldn’t want my son to turn like me” as motivation for Tony’s actions and like… newsflash, but Tony has “put the worlds’ needs over his own gain” since Iron Man. Fucking. One. It’s literally what he does in this film, because we’re shown that, despite having achieved his happy ending, he was still trying to figure out time travel even if it meant risking his future.

Seriously, if they wanted me to be moved, they should’ve used Maria. Or hell, Edwin Jarvis was right there. And if whitewashing of Howard’s abuse becomes one of those MCU things that ends up bleeding into the comics, I’m gonna riot. Ugh.

BTW, just thought about this. Has anyone confirmed what the H. of Morgan’s second name stands for? Because my immediate idea was that it was for Happy, but now the fear that it might relate to Howard has entered my brain and I need someone to drive it out.

OTHER FAVES :P

– I am a lot more heartbroken over Natasha’s death than I expected to be. I like her character on paper a lot, but sometimes the writing or the acting don’t agree with me; neither was the case in this movie. I thought she was incredible. I loved the scene where she’s leading the post-dusting council. So losing her in this movie, of all movies, really hurts. And I understand why people who love her would be unhappy, and even furious –to some extent, so am I, tbh; specially because I don’t think she was properly honoured by the other characters after the fact–, but I do think it was extremely fitting for her arc.

– I loved Nebula’s storyline; how she was able to form new relationships, and what I know will be enduring friendships. Her interactions with her younger self were fascinating too; I loved that she perfectly followed the time-travel mumbo-jumbo. And she was so adorable at the beginning. Her bond with Tony didn’t have as much screen time as I wish it had, but the rest of the movie really shows how much his kindness touched her, and I love it. I’m a bit sad she didn’t get to kill any Thanos, tho.

– Okay, putting him in the “faves” section doesn’t exactly feel right, but whatever: I maintain that Thanos is a great villain. I don’t know what people that say otherwise are thinking. He’s the perfect foil for so many characters, and he is genuinely villainous; he is so delusional and self-righteous (seriously, his “solution” for the Snap 2.0 was… o.0) his plans feel sincerely menacing. He perfectly spells out his own doom; narratively speaking? He’s a joy of a villain to me. And I loved how he reacted to the information about the future; specifically, that upon learning about Nebula’s “betrayal”, his tactic was SOFTENING towards past!Nebula to make her even more eager to please him.

– Carol didn’t have much screen time, but I liked what she got (like, nothing too deep, but I didn’t expect much). I liked the Carol/Rhodey nod, even if I’m not sure how I feel about the ship in this incarnation. I wanted to hear something about Maria, but welp.

And on a shallow note, I kind of love that fandom absolutely freaked out about her wearing lipstick on a scene (while praising the “~natural no-make-up make up, effortlessly feminine without looking like you’re actually trying” look that she sported on CM, and disregarding that while yes, it was a troubling look that fitted a pattern across movies, A4 was made first so it was hardly a “betrayal” of the semi-grunge style), for the movie to go and give her the butchest look she’s ever gonna get on film lmao (and I will be pleasantly surprised if they’d keep a look like this for a movie where she’s the lead and not a supporting character, tbh).

– Sam and Bucky were So Soft™ with each other OMG. If their show doesn’t have at least ONE episode centred on them going undercover as a married couple, I’ll write it myself, because they are perfect for it (especially if you add some of the early banter/antagonism).

Btw, Sam getting the shield? The only good part of that mess at the end LMAO.

– I have mixed feelings for the Alt!Gamora development. I just… really loved the GOTG-IW versions of her character and her ship, and she’s gone and just… :( And that type of pseudo-amnesia/relationship do-over thing can be so badly written sometimes… But she’s back, and if done right, the role-reversal between her and Nebula could be gr10 for GOTG 3. We’ll see.

THE BAD™

– I know if I walked up right now to the Russos, and asked them why they hate Thor so much, they wouldn’t even understand the question. They would say, but we love Thor?? He’s such a fun character?? Or some version of the sort. They can fool themselves, but not me. You don’t do this to a character for whom you feel a modicum of respect, IMO.

Like, the fat-phobic jokes? The way they dealt with his substance abuse? How his arc about stepping up and assuming responsibilities ended by… him throwing away his responsibilities. Losing his hammer was a turning point for him to relearn the lessons about value and worthiness and power he’d been taught, and then… this movie. I couldn’t even fully enjoy his scenes with Frigga because I was so appalled by it all.

His only great scene, IMO, was how horrified and out of it he sounded after killing Thanos. I really felt that.

I didn’t even enjoy that he passed his power to Valkyrie because… unlike with Sam, that basically came out of nowhere. If they at least had given them ONE more scene at the beginning; seriously, it writes itself: just put her in the room when Bruce and Rocket are trying to convince him to go with them, and have her being the one that does it. Make her help him the way HE helped HER in Ragnarok; show her trying to help him and getting angry and frustrated. IDK, something.

And I know I’m probably alone in this because everyone around me practically creamed their pants when it happened but… having Steve control Mjolnir felt like adding insult to injury. Not just lifting it (which I would’ve been annoyed by too, given that they rewrote the new Asgardian mythology just to have this scene lol), but commanding it as only Thor did. Just. How much more are you going to take from Thor, people.

I want to make it clear that my problem is with the execution, not with Thor going through this; that, written differently, with more care, I could have loved.

– I’ve always been conflicted with MCU Steve. I loved the Captain America old comics I read as a child, and 616 Steve was A Hero. So I wanted to love MCU Steve just as much but… it often felt that he just didn’t measure up.

Well, conflict over. I don’t like the guy. Reading Man Out of Time just a few months ago probably isn’t helping (and yeah, that’s not a fair comparison, but it illustrates why I look at 616 Steve, and I adore him, and then I turn to MCU Steve and just… this guy is not worth my time).

I couldn’t even enjoy the ship, because my feelings for it come solely from my love for Peggy, and she didn’t even get to say a word? Add to that the fact that an endless loop of “OMG HE MADE OUT WITH YOUR NIECE. NOW HIS NIECE. RUN” was going through my head the entire time (the fact that Sharon was absent from the funeral when EVC acted in half of the MCU Russos films is hilarious in light of this xDD).

 MISC

– I really enjoyed some of the heist shenanigans. Especially Tony’s plan for a distraction being GIVING HIS PAST SELF A HEART ATTACK. How extra and edgy can my man be xD Tony and Scott are A Duo.

– I was thinking that Alt!Loki might make an appearance in GOTG3 if Thor is really a part of it, and how that might mix, but then a friend reminded me about his show, so I guess that’s where they’re going? IDK, The Avengers’ Loki is probably the one I liked the least out of all his appearances, so unless I hear something really good about it, I’m not picking it up.

– IDK if it’s because I was desensitized, but the white suits and Clint’s hairdo didn’t look as ugly on the final product?

– So THAT was the gay character Feige went on about. I knew he was going to be an unnamed nobody with less than five lines LMAO. Stop being cowards and give us Danbeau and WinterFalcon.

– I was very touched about Ned and Peter’s hug (MY BBYS), but isn’t Ned supposed to be five years older? AKA out of high school? I mean, he looked like he had missed Peter, not like he had disappeared with him too? And the entire class is going on a trip in FFH? Is it because of nostalgia/a friends thing? Were all of them dusted? Because poor teacher then xDD

– I think a lot of emotional threads were unceremoniously dropped, but other than the ones I’ve mentioned, I’m more indifferent towards their recipients so… eh. A great example is the fact that Bruce’s conflicting journey with Hulk was solved off-screen LMAO. Some of the humour felt extra-cringy too tbh.

– I have Tony-related fanart as my lock screen, my computer background, and my phone background. I get teary eyed with just looking at them. I should think of changing them, but I wont xD

– I know I’m forgetting things but whatevs, I can talk about them later.

[erniesbrainfreeze]

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH ZOE ROBINS, NINJA STEEL WHITE RANGER: by pearl, co-moderator of @erniesbrainfreeze 

The lovely & talented Zoe Robins, who plays Hayley Foster in Power Rangers Super Ninja Steel, was kind enough to agree to an exclusive interview for erniesbrainfreeze with me and we spent almost four hours talking about Hayley’s backstory, the romance between Calvin & Hayley, her favorite moments with the cast, and how she got started with acting!

Below the cut is our conversations, my questions/comments and her answers. And thank you to those in the fandom who gave me amazing questions to ask her!

We hope you enjoy the incredible behind-the-scenes information Zoe has shared with us and don’t forget to watch Power Rangers Super Ninja Steel every Saturday on Nickelodeon at 12/11 central!

PEARL: So the first question is about Hayley, she seems like a really fun character to play even if she doesn’t always get a lot of focus. What’s something about Hayley’s character that you have in your head or in your personal notes that we might not know from the show itself?

ZOE: Ooo great question! I decided early on that Hayley’s love for animals stems from her experiences of always being surrounded by them from a young age. She was raised on a small ranch with her mom and younger brother after her parent’s divorce. They were almost self-sustainable. Her caring nature comes from her mother who dedicated her life to sustainable living and caring for the planet.

Her empathy and compassion for all things come from the unconditional love and bond she has with her younger brother, who recently came out as gay.

PEARL: Oh, I love that so much! I always thought of Hayley as being a flower child raised by environmentalists so her being raised on a ranch is so cool! And so much love for the idea of her little brother, I wish Power Rangers would explore that some day for real.

Question by Jaz @elizabethdelgados: If there was an episode that you could have solely about Hayley, what would you make it about? How would you incorporate her backstory into a Power Rangers-esque plot?

ZOE: I would love an episode to be just a solely Hayley focus. She hasn’t had that yet - and there’s obviously so much more to her than just being Calvin’s girlfriend and a part of the ranger team.

If anything it would be about her and Kody, or maybe a situation where she goes above and beyond with helping someone and actually makes things worse. I think one of her weaknesses is that she gives too much of herself so learning to put herself first and valuing the process of self love would be fun to explore, and a great lesson for children! And adults as well!

PEARL: That’s so true and it would work great since a lot of the other rangers have had their flaws highlighted in various focus episodes. And we all love Kody so more of him is always good.

In fact, a question by Chipster @kimberlyannharts: Since having an animal as a side character is pretty uncommon for Power Rangers, how did you prepare for working alongside Kody? Did you have to take time to do classes or exercises with him before the show and how did you approach that as an actor?

ZOE: I’ve never owned a dog in my life so initially I was really nervous! We had a few chances to meet and play before we started and really it was just about us being comfortable around each other. The trainers were amazing and were always nearby!

I would have treats in my pocket or in my hand if he (Jax was his real name) needed to come to me in the scene or do something wild like wake me up by licking my face in the forest. We actually had peanut butter and bits of raw meat under my fringe so he would lick my face in that scene. It was nasty and I smelled so bad hahah

PEARL: Wow, that sounds gross but also your dedication is inspiring! I’ve also never owned a dog so I don’t think I could do that. But it came out great in show, I love watching Hayley and Kody together.

Speaking of your fringe, a lot of us were wondering, since Hayley’s hair is a lot more relaxed than your hairstyle at your Power Morphicon reveal 2 years ago, how did you or the stylists come up with that style? I know they made Chrysti [Ane] dye her hair blonde (I guess for hair color diversity?) so did they also ask you to relax your curls? (question by @hunterbradley)

ZOE: It was production’s idea, I would’ve loved to have kept the curls but I guess maintaining the look like the one they chose is much easier! And yes when we were all initially cast, we all looked very similar. Tan/brown skin tones with dark hair, so I think they were worried that kids might not be able to tell us apart lol. I would love to see a ranger with dreads or braids one day.

PEARL: Well, that’s fair, but there’s just so little natural hair representation in kids shows. I think there’s only been one ranger with dreads and one with an afro, both before the current era.*

ZOE: Absolutely! I would’ve been more than happy to rock my natural hair for representation.

PEARL: A question by Tabitha @operationoverdrive: It’s a sad fact that only five black actresses have played power rangers in the past 25 years (and you’re the fifth), however that is the perfect amount for a teamup! Have you had a chance to meet any of these actresses and how has it been to meet previous rangers in general? Did they give you any advice on being a ranger?

ZOE: Yes, I have, and they were beyond lovely. Camille [Hyde] was the first I met and she was so sweet! I met Karan [Ashley] at Comic Con and then Morphicon and Nakia [Burrise] as well. Everyone is just so great and for the most part the advice has been to make the most of every moment. They’ve all welcomed us to the “family” from the moment we were announced which has been so special.

PEARL: That’s so sweet! I love Karan and Nakia so much, they’re always so genuine and wonderful to their fans.

Going a little back to Hayley, she mostly sticks to Calvin and Preston for the majority of the series. Was there any cast member or guest star you wished you would’ve gotten a chance to work with more? (question also by Tabitha)

ZOE: I would’ve loved more scenes directly with Kelson [Henderson]. I couldn’t speak more highly of him. He’s the most professional, talented and down-to-earth person I’ve ever worked with and he’s a wonderful man too. He is so patient and had a great way of calming us most days when we were in the 11th hour of shooting and slowly losing the plot. Haha! I probably learned the most from him - his tenacity and gratefulness for the work grounded me so much.

Chrysti and I had a lot of fun with the Hayley and Sarah episode with their parents! It would’ve been nice to have more female driven episodes!

PEARL: That’s so sweet! Everyone has only high praise for Kelson, he’s such a legend on this show, I’m so glad he ended up being on Ninja Steel.  And we loved that Hayley/Sarah episode! Their cute little handshake/hair flip thing was adorable and their dynamic was so fun and unique.

ZOE: Hahaha we put that in there ourselves! There’s a lot of stuff we added in the hopes that they’d make the edit and surprisingly a good amount of it did!

PEARL: That makes it even cuter! I love all the little things you guys add in the show it helps make the rangers so much brighter as characters.

Speaking of, Nico [Greetham] and Chrysti both recently took to Twitter to talk about how there was originally a love triangle/breakup storyline planned for Calvin/Hayley and Sarah, but that you and Chrysti spoke to Chip [Lynn] and they decided not to do it - a great choice, as we all love Calvin/Hayley. But we were wondering, did that plot ever get to script and what do you think Hayley’s feelings would’ve been on a potential Calvin/Sarah relationship? Would she have eventually moved on as well? Maybe even with one of the other boys on the team, although that would definitely be awkward, but Hayley has had focus eps with Preston and Levi both and those dynamics are really fun and interesting.

ZOE: We were told very early on with the story lines and both Chrysti and I were really confused about where they were going with it and concerned about the message being put out. We arranged a meeting with Chip where he really listened to us and I’m assuming saw how much we cared about the relationships within the whole cast. Women are constantly being pitted against each other in society and we were just not having it in our show.

Ultimately, Hayley would be fine, lol. Of course Calvin is her best friend and she loves him but she has joy and love for many other things in her life too! It would take some time for them to get over a breakup and remain in the same team and deal with the enormous responsibility of saving the world (lol) but those two have a lot of respect for each other so I think they would be able to stay friends.

Also LOL! I’ve seen some comments about the chemistry between Hayley and Levi. There are a lot of eps with Preston and Hayley together too. Honestly I think it’s because I just have so much fun with them both and love them very much as people so that probably translated on screen. I don’t think any of the rangers in our season would switch up partners haha

PEARL: I’m so glad Chip listened because yeah, two girls fighting over a guy is almost never a good storyline and it’s so predictable in media nowadays. Although I personally love romance & drama so I really enjoyed the ep with Calvin getting jealous over Hayley and Preston even though there was nothing between them haha. And that’s so cute how much Calvin and Hayley love each other, I think it really comes across on screen! You have great chemistry with the whole cast of course but you and Nico play off each other so well.

Have you and Nico ever discussed how Calvin and Hayley met and ended up in a relationship? They’ve been dating for two years by season 2 but was it a childhood friends to lovers thing or did they meet in high school, what do you think the start of their romance was like?

ZOE: For drama, yeah, I can see why they thought that could work but it’s just so contrasting to the tone of our show it just didn’t make sense. I’m glad production listened too! Because it was in something called “The Power Rangers Bible” which had storylines that we were told were set in stone and could not be changed!

And yes we have! Though I have absolutely no idea where my journal is for Hayley so I won’t be able to say what we agreed on and discussed 100%. I think we decided that they had been friends for a few years before dating and Calvin secretly crushed on Hayley for a while. I think we went out for a drive in his truck to a beach one night to watch the sunset and he asked Hayley out. Nico can correct me if I’m wrong but I’m sure I’m not pulling it out of nowhere! Haha

PEARL: That’s the cutest thing ever! You know, usually in Power Rangers they would just show the crush part (see: Tyler and Shelby, or Jake and Gia) without bothering to show the relationship part so it’s really cool that we started with Calvin and Hayley already established. But I would’ve loved to have seen that sunset scene. We all love Calvin and Hayley so much, their focus episodes are some of the best and most charming eps of the show.

ZOE: We really wanted to have flashbacks and conversations that alluded to the start of their romance but I guess it’s fun that the audience can fill it in for themselves :)

Thank you! Nico and I worked really really hard on the relationship and spent a lot of time getting to know each other off set before we started filming - and then obviously during the duration of filming. As a result we became really close, so our job was easy! The chemistry was already there!

PEARL: That’s so cute! The effort you guys put in really shows, even in the background scenes, how Calvin softens whenever Hayley is near him and how she’s always touching him... a lot of us are romantics at heart in this fandom so we love seeing that.

ZOE: Haha I love it! There’s so much opportunity to sneak those things in as the Rangers stand around as a group a lot! So we wanted to make it as believable as possible

PEARL: We’ve talked a lot about Hayley and I love all the new stuff we’ve learned about her but we also wanted to know more about you! Zali @2014federalbudget wanted to know: Being a kiwi, do you prefer to work at home in New Zealand or abroad in America/Canada? And are there are any classic New Zealand shows that you would be interested in being a part of?

ZOE: Working at home would be a lot easier as I’m pretty familiar with the way things work over here and ideally I want to be near family. Unfortunately our industry is so small and diversity is still an issue, so I’m finding I’m auditioning for a lot more projects overseas, mainly in America. I would’ve loved to be on Outrageous Fortune for a bit. It looked like a lot of fun and many talented actors that I look up to (Antonia Prebble, Claire Chitham, Sophie Henderson, Nicole Whippy, just to name a few) were on there and do amazing work.

PEARL: That makes sense, and that would be so cool! Did you know Antonia Prebble was on Power Rangers too?

ZOE: Yes I did! She was also on a show called The Tribe! I was in a remake of the show when I was twelve so I’ve been a fan of her work for a while!

PEARL: That’s amazing! I love the connections between Kiwi ranger actors, there are so many of you guys!

Kels (@rltarepulsas on twitter) asked a related question: Was there a role you saw growing up that made you want to act?

ZOE: It was Dakota Fanning in a role.. it may have been in I am Sam or Charlotte’s Webb - I can’t actually remember the specifics. But I do remember watching her and thinking “Oh that’s it. That’s the thing I want to do.”

PEARL: Dakota Fanning is super talented, that’s so cool! We also loved you on the Shannara Chronicles - how was that experience like and how was filming a more teen-oriented show different from a kids show like Power Rangers?

ZOE: Oh thank you! That was my first big international project and I was super anxious going into it but I had such a great time. The people involved were awesome. Very talented NZ actors and from overseas - Austin [Butler] is one of the sweetest people you could meet. I love doing fantasy too, and my character Zora is so much cooler than I am! Haha! I had to have archery training for that which was a lot of fun.

PEARL: Archery training sounds hardcore but then you also went through PR’s stunt training so I guess you can do anything!

We are all super excited to see you in more projects after PR! Ivory @lunarskye wanted to know if there are any projects you’ve been working on currently and if you can tell us anything about how they’re going?

ZOE: Thank you! At the moment I’m just enjoying being home after being in LA for over a month. With the down time I’m hoping to finally start writing, I have a few stories that I want to tell. But I’m auditioning for projects a lot of the time :)

PEARL: Oh, you’re a writer too? That’s so cool, what kind of stories do you write? Is it like scripts or do you prefer novel form?

ZOE: I’m not actually! Haha I just have some experiences and stories that I want to share. And they would be scripts. I definitely want to work behind the scenes as well as act :)

PEARL: Either way, that’s awesome! Did you get to do anything behind the scenes on Power Rangers? I know Peter [Sudarso] said he would pitch scripts to Chip occasionally and he even got to write an episode once.

ZOE: It’s something I’ve never thought that I could do but I’ve been so inspired lately to say something that it’s only a matter of time until I give in lol

Chip and the production team were great about that actually, in that they fully invited us to basically intern - be it shadowing directors if we wanted or submit scripts etc. Honestly I can’t speak for the whole cast but I do know we were super tired after working 6 days a week and there wasn’t much more we could give of ourselves when the week was over. It really was like an endurance test and I think for the most part we chose to focus on the task at hand and look after ourselves the best we could. Which meant on our day off we would relax and do whatever we needed to refresh ourselves. And yes, Peter’s episode was actually amazing, I hope he continues with that as well.

PEARL: Ah, that makes sense but it’s really cool that they let you do that! Speaking of the cast and your downtime, Kat @powerprincesses wanted to know, with you and Jordi [Webber] being the kiwis of the cast, was there any sort of culture clash with you guys? Did you take them out to tour New Zealand at any point and show them the sights?

ZOE: We had a few bonding trips before we started, one was heading out to a beautiful west coast beach called Piha together. We just spent time together and practised our morph on the sand lol it was cute!

Chip had an evil idea of picking us up super early in the morning a week or so before filming, to drive a few hours out of Auckland to do the Waitomo caves. Look them up, they’re extraordinary! You end up abseiling into this cave, and trudging through mud and water to see waterfalls and the amazing cave formations - and the glow worms! I’m pretty sure it was on our day off so none of us wanted to go as we were tired from training and all we wanted to do was sleep and prep. But Chip was right, it was one of the best times we had together.

Jordi took a few of the boys to his home in Rotorua, where they met his family and were introduced to some parts of the Maori culture. I know that was really special for them too.

PEARL: That all sounds so amazing! Those caves must have been seriously magical to witness. And that’s so cool about Jordi and the boys, I wish we got more of his Maori culture in the show, it would be really neat to teach more people about that. I think he’s only our second or third Maori actor on Power Rangers.

ZOE: It would’ve been super cool! But for some reason they didn’t have any New Zealand characters in our season!

PEARL: I noticed, that was so weird, especially since they let Chase not only be kiwi on the show in Dino Charge but he got whole episodes devoted to his New Zealand culture, including one where his little sister was part of a Maori dance group. But I guess since Ninja Steel is an anniversary season they wanted to take it back to the show’s American high school theme roots?

ZOE: I’m not sure! I think it has something to do with the tax incentives here where international productions have had to somehow showcase New Zealand for tourism benefits and have a certain amount of New Zealanders as cast. I think that’s changed cause we didn’t do that at all lol

PEARL: I definitely remember reading about a New Zealand grant starting with Dino Charge, yeah. I think it’s mentioned in the credits of each episode too. I think Peter also once told me that just having two kiwi actors in the cast was enough so maybe that’s what changed?

ZOE: I’m not sure. I remember Chip telling me that Jordi and I weren’t cast because of that as it didn’t apply anymore :) Makes sense as the new rangers are all American!

PEARL: Well that’s interesting... I’m glad you guys were cast anyway! It’s really so much fun watching you all each Saturday, I can’t express how much I love Ninja Steel.

I should wrap this up as I think I’ve asked a lot of questions already, so just one last one: Is there anything you can tell us about this last batch of upcoming Ninja Steel episodes, things to look forward to in general? Anything exciting for Hayley coming up?

ZOE: Us too :) Thanks so much! It means the world to me to have amazing fans like you. Thank you! And yes, I don’t want to give away too much but I think the best stuff with Hayley is yet to come xxxx

[looptheloup]

Whumptober!

Day 2: Bloody hands

Link to AO3

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Characters: Loki Laufeyson, Tony Stark, Jarvis, Thor Odinson, Dum-E

Warnings: Bleeding, Cuts, Emotional distress, Pain, Fear, Implied abuse, Implied trauma, PTSD

Summary: Tony is left with a broken Loki. He’s not sure he’s got the tools to fix this, but he’s trying.

*

Bloody hands

“Sir, Mr Laufeyson has injured himself in the kitchen,” Jarvis’s voice cut through Tony’s work haze and he tensed, wiping his oily hands on his overalls, “The injuries are superficial but he is exhibiting considerable distress, sir.”

Already heading upstairs, Tony made a beeline for the kitchen, “It’s not serious?” he questioned, though he knew already that if the damage was really bad, Jarvis would already have called Bruce, or an ambulance.

“No, sir.”

Tony arrived at the kitchen and pushed the door open, pulling up short when he found Loki on the floor, blood on his hands as he scrabbled to pick up what seemed to be glass shards. There was already a handful of bloody pieces of broken glass on the counter which Loki must have picked up off the floor with his bare hands.

Loki froze rigid when Tony entered with a quiet, “Fuck.” Then Loki fell forwards, seeming to be trying to drop himself down even lower, prostrating himself as a suppliant. Tony surged into motion, “Stop!” he barked and Loki stilled instantly, leaning forwards but with his hands and forearms not yet on the floor. Tony was worried Loki was going to stick his bare arms full of glass if he hadn’t done so already.

Tony came over carefully, sickened by how Loki cringed from him, twitching like he desperately wanted to lower himself, but wouldn’t defy Tony’s order.

“I’m sorry, master,” Loki breathed. Tony restrained himself from sighing. They were back to ‘master’ now? Fuck.

Just over a week ago, Thor had appeared, looking worn and unhappy, and bringing with him a muzzled Loki. The god of mischief hadn’t even glared at Tony, or smirked, and he still had yet to do so. Looking at him now, Tony wasn’t sure how much of Thor’s brother was actually left in the shell of the god, buried under layers upon layers of fear and abuse.

Odin, the fucking bastard, had decided that his son was to be handed over to Midgardian justice, now that he had served whatever fucked up Asgardian “justice” it was that had resulted in this pale shadow of the god. Thor hadn’t offered to tell him and Tony hadn’t asked what had happened; he thought he could guess, at least at the outline of it.

Unusually subdued, Thor had told Tony that it had been his decision to bring Loki here, judging Tony to be the mortal most able to contain Loki. Then he gone quiet, before asking that Tony would not be too harsh on his brother, though Loki had done great ill in Tony’s city, that Loki had suffered greatly as it was.

Tony had refused, had never wished for this even in his darker moments, and yet Thor had pleaded with him to keep Loki to care for him and Tony had given way, partly out of his own selfish desire to learn from Loki (Loki was a god and part of Tony still twitched to ask Loki a thousand and one questions about magic, about the universe, about science, about everything), and partly because he had already been able to see that something was deeply wrong with Loki, and he didn’t trust the other avengers not to gut whatever was left of the Asgardian, physically or mentally. So, knowing that it was a terrible idea, he had promised Thor that he would guard and protect his brother best as he could. Fucking awful job of it I’m doing so far, Tony thought bitterly.

“Sit up, Loki,” he said now, gently. He snagged a few pieces of paper towel from the side before crouching down. “Open your hands for me?” he said and Loki uncurled his long fingers, revealing blood and glass shards. 

This close, Tony could hear Loki’s uneven breathing, his panic evident in the way he was trembling. One thing at a time, Tony thought. “Okay, good job,” he praised carefully. With the paper towel in hand he carefully lifted the loose pieces of glass out of Loki’s palms. There were two noticeable shards he could see that had imbedded themselves in Loki’s skin and he winced. “It is okay if I get those out?” he said, knowing that Loki would agree with whatever he said, but he had to ask anyway.

“Yes, master,” Loki said. His shoulders were hunched, his long hair hanging around his face and Tony resisted the urge to tuck it behind Loki’s ear and instead focused on the task at hand.

“Alright,” Tony said. He put the paper towel of glass shards on the floor and shifted slightly closer to Loki to very lightly take the god’s hand in his. Considering how obviously terrified Loki was, it was testament to his self-control that he did nothing but inhale quietly when Tony touched him. “This is going to sting, cupcake,” Tony said. He smoothed his thumb down the side of Loki’s hand as, as carefully as he could manage, he grasped a small piece of glass, wickedly sharp, and slid it from the heel of Loki’s palm. Loki didn’t make a noise.

Tony got the other piece out of Loki’s other hand and attempted a reassuring smile, “Good job,” he said, knowing that the words probably seemed patronising but he didn’t know how else to attempt to comfort the trembling man. “I’m not going to hurt you, Lokes,” he said, letting go of Loki’s hand. “Remember me saying that? I meant it.”

“Thank you, master,” Loki managed, but he still seemed on the edge of falling into panic.

“Let’s get your hands washed off,” he said. The sight and smell of Loki’s blood was starting to make him feel ill. “Jarvis, get Dum-E to fetch me some band aids.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony shifted to stand and Loki, graceful despite everything, followed him to his feet. Tony guided him to the sink and they both watched the blood spiral down the plughole as the cold water rinsed Loki’s skin.

“Could this get infected?” Tony asked. “I mean, do you guys even get infections?” His own ignorance irritated him and Loki must have picked up on it because he ducked his head lower.

“I don’t believe there is a risk of infection, master,” Loki said.

“But you’re not certain?” Tony pressed, regretting it when Loki flinched minutely.

“I apologise, master,” he said, his tone soft. There was a brief pause where it seemed like Loki wasn’t sure whether to explain further or not. “I’m not familiar with Midgardian germs, master, I’m sorry,” he said after a moment and Tony nodded.

“No worries,” he said quickly as he turned off the tap, the worst of the blood washed away. “Thanks for telling me,” he added, because it was difficult enough to coax any response out of Loki at all and Tony took it for a win that Loki had explained at least a little.

Dum-E arrived with the band aids and disinfectant wipes. Tony decided it was better to be safe than sorry, what with Loki’s alien biology, and apologised for the sting as he wiped Loki’s cuts. Loki didn’t show any outward indication of discomfort, but only stood blank and obedient as Tony dressed his hands.

Moving away to dispose of the wipes and band aid packets, Tony startled to find Loki on his knees when he turned back. He winced, hoping that there were no glass shards left on the floor that Loki had just knelt on.

“What’re you doing, Loki?” Tony said, though he was pretty sure he knew.

“Awaiting punishment, master,” Loki stated dully. Tony almost asked Loki to stand up, but he’d tried that this past week and a half and he’d found that ordering Loki to stand only tended to make the man nervous, and he would fall back to his knees as soon as it was permitted.

So Tony crouched down by Loki again, ignoring how his knees protested. “Did you drop the glass on purpose?” he asked carefully.

He saw Loki blink and then visibly shudder, “No, master,” he said. “Please, I would never-”

“So it was an accident?” Tony interrupted, sickened by Loki’s fear. Loki had tried to kill him but Tony still hated this. Loki was a broken man and the longer he was with Tony, the more Tony hated whoever had done this to him.

“Yes, master,” Loki said.

“Loki, I won’t punish you for something you didn’t mean to do,” Tony said, low but firm. He’d already tried promising that he wouldn’t punish Loki at all, for anything, but the man didn’t seem to believe him. Tony told himself to start small. He gestured to Loki’s injured hands, “I think you’ve hurt yourself enough,” Tony said. “I’m not going to hurt you anymore, do you understand?”

“You are generous, master,” Loki said softly, not seeming to believe his luck.

“Can we go back to ‘sir’, Lokes?” Tony tried, knowing he was pushing it, but he could barely stop himself from cringing when he heard ‘master’ falling from Loki’s lips.

Loki tensed, “I’m sorry, mas- sir,” he said.

“Hey,” Tony took Loki’s arm gently. “It’s okay. It was an accident, right? We don’t punish for accidents.”

“Thank you, sir,” Loki said, his voice shaking.

Tony couldn’t stop himself from curling an arm around Loki’s shoulders and drawing him close. Loki tensed before softening, allowing Tony to move him. It was a dangerous power that Tony had, but he was doing his damn best.

“You don’t have to be perfect, Lokes,” Tony said carefully, skirting around the fact that Loki was trying to be a perfect slave out of conditioned fear, and Tony didn’t want one. He closed his eyes briefly as he faced the enormity of what he’d taken on. “I know you’re trying,” Tony said. “I’m not mad at you, ‘kay?”

“Thank you, sir,” Loki said softly. Tony continued to hold him and very slowly, Loki leaned against him until his head was finally resting on Tony’s shoulder and Tony exhaled heavily, wishing that he could fix this, but he didn’t know what had been broken inside Loki, or how, or why. One thing at a time, he reminded himself as he clung to the god in his arms, trying to hold them both together.

Links to:

Day 1 - Stabbed, Detroit Become Human

[raywritesthings]

Wrong Road to the Right Place 4/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance, Quentin Lance, John Diggle, Thea Queen, Moira Queen, Joanna de la Vega Pairings: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Laurel finds herself curious about the marks Oliver showed her that night in his bedroom - and the tattoo on his left shoulder stands out in particular. When she discovers its meaning, she finds herself questioning everything she knows about the man she doesn’t want to admit she still loves. AO3 link

Things had calmed down in her life compared to the past couple weeks. CNRI had a future, Tommy had given up his less than subtle attempts to get her to start seeing him again, and nothing odd was going on with Oliver.

And then Mrs. Queen was shot at.

“I wouldn’t worry,” her dad told her when she called. “She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wasn’t even the target. It was a mob hit.”

Laurel gripped the phone tighter. “Mob?”

“Yeah, one of Bertinelli’s guys was trying to do a deal with them. It’s not gonna go anywhere, though. The Queens got more sense than that.”

“Mm-hm,” was all Laurel could really manage.

“You alright, honey?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

And it was fine. It had been the Italian mob, not the Russian mafia. And Oliver hadn’t even been involved, so it was probably just a coincidence. Right?

She was soon distracted by a different friend’s woes; Tommy’s father cut him off from his trust fund only a few days later. Knowing how much the CNRI benefit must have cost, Laurel couldn’t help feeling enormously guilty. Not enough to sleep with him, but enough to agree to dinner on her next free night.

Tommy recommended a new restaurant that was opening called the Cavalli, but if she’d known the wait was going to be so long she would have told him to take them somewhere else. As it was, they’d been standing there for about thirty minutes when a familiar voice hailed them.

“Hey!” Oliver appeared through the crowd leading a woman with long, dark hair. He was dating. Her mind went totally blank for a brief moment, and Laurel had no idea what to feel.

Then he introduced them all, and somehow it got worse.

Helena Bertinelli. Oliver was dating a Bertinelli. Laurel could scream.

If she didn’t know what she did, she probably would’ve overlooked it. It’s not as if Oliver would ordinarily have any reason to know whose families were or weren’t in the Italian mob. Not like her, cop’s daughter who was sat down and told who she couldn’t be friends with at school before she’d even reached the first grade. And the Bertinelli family was right at the top of that list.

Which, knowing what she did, Oliver had to be aware of.

“Nice to meet you,” Helena was saying to Tommy.

“My pleasure.”

It took her a bit of a pause to reply, “Likewise.”

“You look beautiful,” Oliver told her.

“Thank you,” she said with surprise in her voice, not expecting the compliment. If he was on a date, it wasn’t exactly the done thing.

So what was really going on?

When Helena offered to let her and Tommy join them at their table, Laurel didn’t even feel bad saying yes. After all, if it prevented some sort of mob deal from going down, wasn’t that her civic duty?

Not that there was a deal. She had no proof. Yet.

And the dinner got off to a fine enough start. Catching up, reminiscing. And that part she did feel a little badly about, because it left Helena somewhat on the outs.

She seemed to realize it herself, because she asked, “So, how long have you and Tommy been seeing each other?”

“Oh, we’re not,” Laurel said, and she didn’t miss Tommy’s grimace or Oliver’s mouth dropping open soundlessly. Had he thought she was getting back with Tommy? Was that why he was dating? “We’re just friends. Have been for a long time. And Oliver, too.”

Both of Helena’s eyebrows went up. “So you all have known each other—”

“We’ve all known each other forever,” Oliver confirmed. Laurel nodded.

Things ended on an awkward note when Laurel found out Tommy hadn’t talked to Oliver about working at the club and Helena found out she and Oliver had used to date. Tommy stormed off, and she followed him only to be yelled at for making him some kind of project as well as being accused of still having feelings for Oliver. She should have realized he was sore about her turning down a relationship, but wasn’t this exactly the reason she’d done so? The last thing she wanted was some bout of jealousy to destroy the friendship Oliver and Tommy had had all these years.

He came back and apologized the next night, which she accepted easily enough since it hadn’t hurt her feelings too badly. Tommy was going through a pretty serious life change; some bumps and bruises were only to be expected. At least he was trying to do better.

“In fairness, I think we all weren’t at our best last night.” She still had no idea why Oliver had alluded to them sleeping together up at the Aspen ski lodge. If he and Helena were serious that was about the worst move to make, and if they weren’t then it didn’t look very good for whatever cover they were trying to pull off.

“Yeah, you seemed kind of tense at dinner,” Tommy remarked. When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t talk to Oliver about working at the club. I guess I just thought it’d be weird, me working for him.”

Laurel waved a hand dismissively. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Helena,” she answered.

“What, you didn’t like her? Or do you not like that Oliver is dating her?”

She wasn’t about to take that bait. Laurel had been the one to say she and Oliver could never be more than friends. It’d be crazy to be jealous if he’d decided to move on. He should be able to move on...just, maybe with someone else. And at a time when he wasn’t possibly engaged in mob activity. Was that so unreasonable to ask?

“You know what the Bertinelli family is famous for, Tommy? Being at the head of the Italian mob.”

He sat up properly at that. “Wait, really?”

Laurel nodded. “That’s why that motorcyclist shot at Mrs. Queen the other day. The man she was talking to was trying to broker a deal for Helena’s father.”

“Then what would Oliver be doing with her?”

“I have no idea.”

Tommy frowned, clearly not liking anything about this. “Maybe Helena’s different. Maybe she doesn’t have any part in the mob stuff.”

Laurel considered it. She really didn’t want to automatically assume the worst about a woman she hardly knew. But it was such a bizarre coincidence.

“Was I really that tense?”

Tommy chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say it was pretty awkward all around.”

“I should apologize. Or maybe that’d make it worse,” she amended when Tommy pulled a face. “I could invite them over? And maybe some other guests. Throw a house party.”

That got a full-blown laugh out of Tommy. “You’ve never thrown a party!”

“Well, maybe I want to,” she insisted stubbornly. “Or you could organize it, and I’ll pay you an hourly wage. Start you on a freelance career if you don’t want to work for somebody.”

Tommy held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, I get it. I’ll talk to Ollie about the club tomorrow.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you.”

“Are you gonna talk to him?”

Laurel sighed. “You don’t seem to think I should. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wait and see how things go with Helena.”

It turned out she didn’t have to wait long.

—-

Joanna came back from a lunch late in the week with her brother in good spirits, but as she approached her and Laurel’s desks her smile slowly started to fade.

“I see,” Laurel was saying to someone on the phone. “Is there any chance you have their names or contact information?”

On her computer screen was a map of the North China Sea, the one the news had posted with that island they’d found Oliver on highlighted.

“No, it’s not for an interview. I just wanted to know if they had any information on comings and goings in the region. Groups, organizations. Uh-huh.” Her friend jotted something down on a notepad. “Yes, you can call me back at this number.”

“Laurel, what are you doing?”

Her friend jumped and spun around in her chair. “Nothing.”

Joanna nodded to the screen still displaying the article. “Yeah, that looks like nothing, alright.”

Laurel’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, I was trying to get in contact with the fishermen who found Oliver.”

“Why?”

Laurel didn’t answer.

“I really don’t think you should try to force this,” Joanna warned her.

“I’m not trying to force anything, I’m just trying to piece together what happened.”

“Well, I doubt they know what all happened in the last five years.”

“No, but they might know who does.”

“Yeah, we all know who does. Oliver.” Joanna shook her head. “But he’ll talk when he wants to.”

“That’s the trouble, Jo,” Laurel said. “I don’t think he ever wants to. And I’m worried what will happen if he doesn’t.”

“Is this because of what happened with Mrs. Queen the other day?”

“Partly,” Laurel admitted.

“Well, word on the street is that shooter’s with the Hood now.” She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe what happened with Mrs. Queen was an accident. But I really don’t think every single problem in this city can be tied back to Oliver. Even if your dad wishes it could.”

Laurel allowed a smirk at that. “I guess I do sound like him, huh?”

“Just a little.” Joanna perched on the corner of her friend’s desk. “You’ve gotta learn to let these things go or people are gonna start calling you crazy, too.”

“Look, I would love not to assume the worst. To just let Oliver go on dating Helena—”

“He’s dating?”

“Yes,” said Laurel.

Well, that didn’t match up at all. Then again, Oliver didn’t seem to know what he wanted from Laurel any more than Laurel knew what she wanted from him. It was enough to drive the rest of them all mad from watching it.

“Okay,” Joanna said slowly. “Maybe some space is the best thing for both of you right now.”

“Tommy said the same thing.”

That didn’t surprise her.

“Well, give the research a break, too. If you really think there’s something more to all this going on, it’s more your dad’s kind of work, anyway. Let him handle it.”

“And have him haul Ollie down to the station on trumped up charges again?” Laurel shook her head. “No. This has to stay between you and me. Promise me, Joanna.”

She held up both hands. “Alright. But please consider letting this whole thing go.”

“Okay.”

That tone was not at all convincing. Joanna sighed and looked down. As she stood back up to head over to her desk, her eyes caught the word Laurel had written and underlined on her notepad: Triad.

She wasn’t sure what her friend was trying to dig at. The Triad had attacked Laurel last month, not any of the Queens. Oliver might have been there, but that was totally a coincidence.

The next morning she woke up to the news that a mob war had nearly erupted overnight between the Triad and an Italian crime family and that Helena Bertinelli was confirmed to have fled the city, her identity as the Huntress made public.

Maybe Laurel wasn’t so crazy after all.

—-

Diggle and Helena had both been right in their own ways, and Oliver should’ve known better. As it was, he could only be thankful the Huntress had elected to leave Starling City behind, even if he had given her the tools and training to make her far more dangerous than she’d ever been before they met.

And there was nothing he could do to block out her words.

I saw the way you looked at her. That kind of love doesn’t die! You still love her.

He’d told himself any sort of personal connection with someone would have to wait until after he’d completed his father’s mission. As a result, he’d had to push people — particularly Laurel — away. Helena had seemed like a way to feel less alone, and maybe that hadn’t been fair to her.

But what did it mean that Laurel was alone right now?

She’d told him nothing could happen between them, and Thea had seemed convinced the CNRI benefit Tommy had thrown had been his way of making his intentions clear towards Laurel. So then why weren’t they together? Laurel had said she didn’t need him to forgive her for sleeping with Tommy while he was away, and there was nothing to forgive, but maybe she did need closure. Proof that he was fine with never being with her again.

Was that something he was willing to give?

He wanted Laurel to be happy above all else. Whether that was with him or not. And right now he couldn’t be with her. All that would do was cause her more worry and doubt the more he had to lie. So maybe he did owe it to her to let her go. Even if it meant lying about how he felt.

He was chasing those thoughts around and around his mind as he drove home from checking on the club that evening. John had put his foot down on him going out as the Hood, so now he had nothing to do with his usually occupied hours.

Though it looked as though they were entertaining somebody by the looks of it, as he noticed a car pulled off slightly to the side when he came up the drive.

“Hello?” He called as he entered through the front door.

“Up here, Ollie!” Thea yelled back from her room. That was puzzling; Thea hadn’t seemed all that excited for him to meet her friends since he’d been back.

Nevertheless he climbed the stairs as directed and soon discovered why his sister was being so open: it was his friend in her bedroom.

“Hey.”

Laurel looked up with a little half-smile. “Hey.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m getting Laurel’s opinion on what to wear to your club opening,” said Thea from inside her closet.

“Who said you’re invited to the opening of a night club?”

His sister emerged, a superior smirk on her face she’d learned from their mom. “Tommy did.”

“Well, the ink hasn’t dried on his employment papers, so I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Come on, Ollie,” Laurel said as Thea scowled at him. “She just wants to be there to support you. Your mom and Mr. Steele will be there, too.”

He relented. Somewhat. “What kind of outfits has she been showing you?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” she said with a grin, which was likely the only thing that saved him from Thea’s rage. Laurel stood and added, “But that wasn’t the only reason I stopped by. Do you mind if we talk?”

“Of course not.” Oliver led her out into the hall and down a few doors, slowing as they approached his own bedroom. Laurel did as well, having fallen into step right beside him.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night. I shouldn’t have invited Tommy and I along on your date.”

“Helena invited you. And as it turns out, it really wasn’t meant to be anyway,” he remarked with a healthy dose of chagrin Diggle would have been proud of.

“Yeah, I guess not.” Laurel glanced up at him. “She didn’t mention anything about all that to you, did she?”

Oliver hid a wince. He knew it did not look good for him to be associated with the Huntress so soon after being suspected of being a vigilante himself. “You’d probably have better luck asking that Hood guy.”

“Right.” She leaned her weight against the wall and added in an offhand tone, “My dad said we got pretty lucky the Hood drove her out of town before the, ah, Bratva could get involved.”

That was something Oliver hadn’t even considered, but he certainly agreed with Lance. He also couldn’t remember if the Bratva were something he knew about before the island, but it was best to play it safe. “Bratva. Isn’t that a kind of doll?”

Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “It’s the Russian mafia.”

“Oh, yeah. That would make more sense.” He nodded a couple times for added effect. But it was best they didn’t dwell on the Bratva or the Hood for too long. “Hey, I actually wanted to ask you — what’s going on with you and Tommy? Or not going on?”

“Nothing.” She huffed at his disbelieving look. “Really. I mean, he asked me out on a date instead of for sex, and I turned him down. But we’re still friends.”

“Was there a reason you did?”

“Is there a reason I should tell you?”

Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Laurel, I’m not trying to — I want to be a friend to you, and that includes being there if you need to talk. Like you said at the CNRI benefit.”

“I said I wanted to be there if you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, well that’s the thing about friendships. Sort of supposed to go two ways.” Oliver allowed himself the slightest smirk as she pouted. It was unreasonably cute. “So is something bothering you? Anything I can help with?”

A short laugh escaped her.

“What?”

“No, it’s — I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

“Well, why not?”

“Oliver, I’m not looking for a relationship. Haven’t been, not since...all that.”

His eyes fell to the carpet. He’d been right. “Laurel, I am sorry. And I never wanted to make you think a relationship wasn’t something you could have.”

“But it isn’t,” she stated so matter-of-fact it nearly made him reel back a step. “That’s not just romantic relationships, either. I think my family alone makes a great case for why me and long-term connection with another person doesn’t work out.”

He wanted to say something, knew he should say something, but his words failed him. How could Laurel think that about herself? None of what had happened the last five years was her fault.

Laurel shrugged. “Now I’ve made things awkward with Tommy, and then there’s you and me.”

“I thought you didn’t want there to be a you and me,” he said, just loud enough that it might be heard.

“There can’t be, because we’re not—” She cut herself off, looking away from him sharply.

In spite of himself, Oliver felt something like hope. “Not what, Laurel?”

She drew in and let out a breath. “There’s a lot that I’ve been trying to work through, to figure out, these last few months. And I think you have been, too. But there’s a lot we’re not saying to each other.”

His head bowed as reality caught up with him. The Hood. He could never really speak freely with Laurel as long as he was the Hood. And he had to be.

“I still — I want to be there for you. Even as a friend.” A confession of some kind was trying to claw its way up his throat urged on by some voice that sounded suspiciously like Diggle, why not just tell her? — but he tamped it down.

“I do, too,” she agreed softly. “I just don’t know how much it can help.”

“Laurel.” He caught her hand as she pushed off the wall. “You being there for me since I’ve been back, it means more than you could know.”

She gave his hand a squeeze before letting it slip out of hers, their fingers tangling briefly before their arms both fell back to their sides.

“Then I guess...I’ll see you around, Ollie.”

Laurel turned and walked down the hall to the stairs, and there was nothing he could do.

That was a lie; he could call her back, tell her everything about why he’d been so strange and secretive since his return, how it was all to keep her and his family safe — but that was it, wasn’t it? He loved Laurel so much that he wanted her by his side through it all, but he loved her too much to put her in danger.

As long as his mission lasted, he had no choice but to let her walk away.

[hari-writes]

Little Louis Dupain-Cheng - Chapter 15

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairings: Adrien/Marinette Summary: In the seven years since Hawk Moth’s defeat, much has changed. Adrien Agreste PhD returns to Paris and is reunited with his friends. Marinette has a degree in Fashion Design, a thriving boutique and a son, six-year-old Louis. Louis is like his mother in many ways, except for green eyes and a familiar smile… Will Adrien do the maths?

Read on A03 ★★★ Buy me a coffee?

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7| Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

The power of love, always so strong

“Oh, Adrien, you beautiful tropical fish, whose child did you think he was?”

Adrien was strongly regretting his decision to answer the door to his oldest friend. He mistakenly thought she’d take his side in this, but instead, she found it all very amusing.

“Of course Louis is your kid, Adrikins! Was there ever any doubt?!” Chloe laughed.

“Are you kidding?” He objected, “I’ve been away for seven years, when exactly was I meant to figure it out?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? I know you’re not a model anymore, but you must check your reflection when you shave, at least?” Chloe said. “You have the same eyes and smile. When Louis is around, I get flashbacks to when we were kids. How could you not see it?”

“So, everyone knows but me?” He asked.

“No. Nobody knows . We just… strongly suspected.”

“Oh, great, so everyone I care about has been speculating on my possible paternity status in my absence. Nice.” Adrien huffed. He knew he was being obstinate but he felt he was entitled right now.

“Yeah… Except for Nino, he must have known all along because he registered the birth.” Chloe mused, “But we all know Marinette and she’s loved you since she met you. Who else would be the father of her child?”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?” He asked

Chloe was unabashed. “We were waiting for Marinette to tell you. Honestly, though, you don’t have to be Max to deduce that you’re clearly the daddy. She calls him ‘mon chatounet’ for crying out loud. He is obviously Chat Noir’s son, look at his hair. So, assuming the recent reports are correct and you weren’t just posing in a leather catsuit for fun all those years, it’s time to accept that you’re not as smart as you like to think, doctor .”

Adrien sat down heavily. He was an idiot.

“What do I do now, Chlo?” He looked at her helplessly, “How do I move past this? I’ve missed out on six years of my son’s life because of Marinette’s secrets. If I hadn’t asked her, who knows if she’d ever have told me the truth.”

“For what it’s worth, Marinette knew you’d call me so she gave me this.” Chloe handed him a memory stick. “You should take a look before you accuse her of robbing you of Louis’ early years.”

Adrien plugged the memory stick into his laptop and a folder opened automatically. It was mostly JPEGs and MP4s. There was one document and Adrien double clicked on it first.

Dear Adrien,

One day, you will know the truth about your child and I hope that you will understand why I couldn’t tell you before now that he existed. I’m sorry. Every selfish part of me wants you to know. I wish you could come back to me, for us to be a family. I know, however, that to tell you would be to interrupt the new life you’ve started for yourself and to stop your healing in its tracks. I want you to come back to me as a new man, ready to be a father, not the broken boy who left us. If you never come back, well, I understand that too.

In lieu of this, I will keep every photograph, every memento, every video I have of Louis growing up so that when you are ready to be a part of it, you will know everything. It’s all dated so you can start from the beginning. I’ve listed the dates here with a description so you know what you’re looking at.

Love always,

Marinette.

P.S. Now that you know, I want nothing more than for you to be a part of Louis’ life. For us to be a family. I won’t pressure you, though. If you want us, we’ll be here for you.

The first image on the list read:

Nov 13th, my first scan. I found out I was expecting the day before and they managed to squeeze an appointment in with the sonographer. I had no idea what to expect, but when I saw my baby for the first time, I fell in love.

He clicked on the corresponding JPEG as saw the ultrasound image of his son at 12 weeks and he understood why Nino seemed so giddy the day Alya had her scan. Tears blurred his vision as he opened image after image and watched Marinette’s belly swell in size as corresponding scan images showed his baby growing.

7th January, My 21 week scan was today and our little boy is growing well. Yes… it’s a boy! I am thinking about the name Louis or Hugo, I like both. Although, isn’t Hugo your middle name? Do you like it too? This is harder than I thought. He’s going to have this name for the rest of his life and I have to choose it alone. ...Sorry, hormones and overwhelm are strong today. Maybe I’ll wait until I meet him, see which one he looks most like?

The cursor paused over the video file titled, The Birth. He had read Marinette’s notes on it and was wondering if he should watch.

25th May, the delivery. I should add an advisory warning here. Alya shot the video and she has no shame. If you’re squeamish, probably don’t watch. I don’t remember much about the birth, but I do recall the midwife shouting at her for getting in between her and the baby at one point… I haven’t watched because I really don’t want to see myself from that angle! Anyway, enter at your own risk.

While he didn’t want to stumble on to something he would never unsee, he desperately wanted to watch. Promising himself he’d fast forward through anything too graphic, he hit the play icon.

“Push! Come on! You can do this! ” Nino’s voice sounded tinny through his laptop speakers.

Marinette had her teeth gritted, chin pushed towards her chest and her face scrunched up with effort. Sweat plastered her fringe to her face. She was beautiful.

“Ok, breathe.” A stern voice, Adrien assumed it was midwife. “You’re doing well. Just one more big push and he’ll be here…  

"…Push! ”

Marinette’s face screwed up with determination again and the camera moved to show Nino, face grey with fear, clutching her hand.

“Come on, Mari! You’ve got this! Push!” He shouted.

Adrien’s stomach lurched as the camera swooped and he was afforded a view of between Marinette’s legs. He was about to fast forward when he heard the midwife again.

“Mademoiselle, please. The baby is crowning, you have to move.”

Adrien chuckled at Alya’s obstinance. Without the Ladyblog, she was clearly channelling her stubborn tenacity into this filming. As the video continued, he watched in amazement as a human head emerged from Marinette. Following more encouragement from Nino and the midwife, the body soon followed. Then, he heard it. Louis cried for the first time. A small, but strong mewl that was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. The midwife placed him on Marinette’s chest, draped in a blanket and he saw that his son wasn’t the only one crying. Tears trickled down Marinette’s cheeks as she greeted her baby.

“Hi Louis, I’m your mama. Thank you for coming out to meet me.” She whispered. It was too much for Adrien, he sobbed with emotion.

“Can I?” Nino held out his arms. Adrien saw his best friend’s eyes were watery. Everyone was overcome with joy.

Adrien didn’t pay attention to the rest of the video, he couldn’t see or hear it through his own tears.

»»★««

It was 5am by the time Adrien reached the last item in the folder, Louis’ birthday party, six months ago. He was surrounded by his friends, with Marinette, Chloe, Alya, Nino and his grandparents behind him. Ivan and Kim held him aloft to blow out the candles on his enormous cake. Adrien could make out Alix and a heavily pregnant Mylene on the sidelines. Marinette’s note said the photo was taken by Mme. Couquet.

Louis was loved. Marinette had made sure of that. He wasn’t short of father figures, either. Tom, Nino, Ivan and Kim were are regular presences in his life. She had documented every single part of his life, from first scans to his birth, first step and first word. Every birthday, every Christmas, every special day was photographed and Marinette wrote him a little note to describe why it was important to her.

She loved him and he had been on her mind in every significant moment of their son’s life so far. She did want him to be part of Louis’ life. He understood that she was in a difficult situation and he couldn’t honestly say he knew a better way she could have dealt with it.

He loved her, thought about her every day he was away from her. He loved Louis, too. He was a great kid and Adrien wanted to get to know him better, to have the sort of father-son relationship he missed out on.

He wanted to be a dad to Louis.

He couldn’t get past the feeling of betrayal, though. He’d been back in Paris for over three months now and Marinette still hadn’t told him.

Didn’t he deserve to feel hurt by that?

»»★««

“Dude! You never heard of condoms?!” Nino let himself into Adrien’s flat with his spare key just after 7am.

“Really? You think Gabriel gave me ‘The Talk’ when I was growing up?! We’re all lucky I didn’t stick it in her ear the first time.” Adrien laughed bitterly.

Nino put an archive box on Adrien’s table and wandered into the kitchen to help himself to coffee.

“Make yourself at home, bro,” Adrien said sarcastically.

“I will, thanks.” Nino chuckled. “You want one?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Adrien rubbed his face, he was exhausted but he knew he was too wired to sleep.

Nino tinkered in the kitchen for a few minutes before returning with two mugs of coffee and a plate of buttered toast. He placed it on the table next to the box he’d dumped earlier and sat down.

“If you’re here to persuade me to talk to Marinette, you can save your breath. You’re lucky I’m even talking to you, Judas.” Adrien said.

“Charming.” Nino laughed. “You forget that Mari’s been my friend since école primaire, Adrien. I owed it to her to keep her secret.”

Adrien glared at him. He couldn’t fault that logic, but he wasn’t in a forgiving mood.

“Anyway,” Nino continued, “You know why we kept it from you, I’m not going to apologise for it.”

They ate toast and drank coffee in silence. Adrien was still processing everything, stubbornly refusing to look at Nino’s amused expression. Eventually, Nino put his mug on the table and reached for the box.

“When Chloe told me you were being obstinate, I thought she was exaggerating, but for once, she was being restrained. I figured you needed some help to see the big picture. And if it all goes wrong, at least I’ll have had some practice in dealing with tantrums before our baby comes along.” Nino grinned.

“It’s not funny, Nino. She kept my son from me. She was selfish.” He reasoned.

“Yeah, when I think of Marinette, that’s the first thing I think, too.” Nino rolled his eyes to convey the irony in his statement. “Dude. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but, get over yourself.”

Adrien felt his glower deepen. “You’re meant to be my friend, Nino.”

“I’m being your friend.” Nino’s tone sharpened. “Now, shut up and listen.”

He handed Adrien and glazed tile bearing a pale blue handprint and footprint. The prints were tiny. Adrien ran his finger across them and read the words, ‘Louis, one week old’.

“There’s six of those in here, one for every year of his life. Mari made them for you.” Nino’s voice was muffled by the box.

The next item he found was a small white blanket with hand painted detail on it. It looked like the prototype to Marinette’s Chat Noir pattern. Adrien looked to Nino for an explanation.

“Louis’ first blanket. We wrapped him in it when he was born, after they washed the goo off him. Marinette made it with fabric paints in the week before she gave birth.”

Nino slid the box toward Adrien, gesturing for him to look inside. The box was full of mementoes of Louis’s early years. An envelope with the words, “Louis’s first haircut’ contained a lock of blonde hair and a photograph taken at the barber's. A tissue-lined box revealed his first pair of shoes. Photographs of his first day at école maternelle, his first swimming lesson and his first loaf of bread were mixed in amongst artwork. A painting caught his eye, it was basic, but he could tell that the figures were meant to be Ladybug and Chat Noir. On the back, in Marinette’s handwriting, it said, ‘Louis’ mummy and daddy”.

He looked at Nino, speechless.

“She’s spent the last six years caring for us all, dude. She’s been a mother to Louis and a lifeline to Al, Chloe and me. We wouldn’t have made it without her. Call her what you like, you’re entitled to be angry, but never call her selfish.”

At that, Nino left the flat, leaving Adrien alone with his thoughts.

“Shit” Adrien needed to get outside and clear his head.

He reached for his phone, noticing that Marinette has sent him a text, ten minutes after he stormed out of her shop.

You have every right to be angry. Call me if you want to. M x

That was it. No begging, no missed calls, just one simple message. She was giving him space to process everything. ‘ I won’t pressure you… If you want us, we’ll be here for you.’ She was keeping her word.

He scrolled through his contacts and found the name he was looking for. “Hey, I need to blow off some steam, are you free?”