#like that’s how well he managed to disconnect and isolate himself from death. that he was able to get rid of the blade.

[quietwingsinthesky]

the mark is nice and all but it would be neat if dean couldn’t get rid of the first blade, right? if whatever connection he had to it led to it showing up wherever he is. Dean reaches for one knife and comes up with the first blade in his hand, despite knowing he left it back at the bunker. Crowley takes the first blade and the next night it’s on Dean’s bedside table, waiting and hungry. It haunts him, it’s always ready to be used, he can’t get rid of it now that he’s given in to using it, let it consume him in exchange for the power he can wield with it. Maybe Dean even gets too familiar with it always coming back, tosses it out the window of the impala or into a river and once he’s home, it’s there again, waiting.

specifically thinking about dean “leaving the blade behind” in that one episode near the end of s9. And what if he really had, but when he drew a knife to interrogate angels with, there it was anyway. Because it knows how easily he’ll hurt these things he doesn’t see as really human, really worth protecting. Dean resisting that still despite its presence and demands until Tessa ganks herself and then, in an unwilling high, fighting the angels that try to restrain him. Killing more of them. Hurting even more. And when Cas and Sam get back, how are they supposed to believe he really did leave the first blade behind, that he didn’t intend for any of this to happen, when it’s sitting right there, covered in guilty blood.

[har-rison-s]

pray, do tell

request: If you don’t mind me asking, request for Loki asking the other Loki’s if they have a s/o in their timeline during episode 5?

a/n: hi ! i absolutely ADORE this idea and i hope i'll write it out respectfully :)) i loved episode 5 so much, except for SOME scenes, and i especially enjoyed multiple lokis sitting around and talking, chilling, that's like... my dream place to be. YOU DON'T KNOW THE EFFECT PRESIDENT LOKI HAS ON ME. like it should be studied in labs and schools cos ??????? that feeling when he's on screen was just something else. also ! kid loki holding alligator loki my beloved <3. i'd love to be surrounded by lokis, me and loki actually have the same personality type so they're like... my people. sorry for the rant, hahah ! this one is a bit shorter than my other loki works, sorry about that :/ also it took me like 40 minutes to find decent gifs lmao. happy reading !! <3

masterlist

mcu masterlist

warnings: nothing really

disclaimer: lokis mentioned have he/him pronouns !

Weirded out by what he's seeing, and not entirely sure it's real, Loki can't take his eyes off it, either. The way alligator Loki drinks his boxed wine is just so fascinating to him, yet weird and other-wordly (he knows those well) at the same time. And he's weirded out more by the fact that he doesn't find a variant of him being an alligator strange in any way. He's had a few trying days, as he said himself.

Loki manages to divert his eyes off the creature with horns on its head and looks to the grapes he holds in his hand. He picks small dirt away from the berries and takes a grape into his mouth with ease. The taste reminds him of many things. His childhood, his home, his family... Thor, Frigga, Odin, Sif and the Warriors Three. Asgard. The Gardens, the waters, the Bifrost. Heimdall. Visits to the city, the markets, the celebrations.

Love.

Loki blinks, fooling himself and others by aiming to portray that he's not thinking about anything important. But he is. She was the most important thing to him, and now... Well, maybe during the New York heist, she's still fine, but after Ragnarok... Loki fears too much to think about it.

He wishes he could remember everything with her that followed New York, but all he has of their future is some worn-out tape in the TVA archives. Perhaps even pictures... He wants to live through all they had now, he wishes he could do that most of all. Of course, there's the finding Mobius and helping Sylvie burn down the TVA thing, but upon remembering her, it all falls into the background.

His first love. Not a god, like him, but she was a goddess in his eyes. He smiles now, subtly, at the fond memories of her. He noticed the little moments he had with her in the tape Mobius had, about his whole future. How beautiful she always was, her subtle way of laughing and going about her smiles and giggles, how exceptional and different her clothes always were, how her hair shined in any light...

“Did any of you...” Loki starts to say, and sighs shortly before continuing, thinking he'll probably regret asking it, “did any of you leave a... a lover behind when the TVA arrested you? Prince or princess?” He looks between his variants. Young Loki shoots him a stern look. “Apologies, my liege. You seem too young for that.” Loki bids him a polite smile, but his brain whirs. “How long have you been here, anyway?”

“Don't know. Time doesn't really... exist here.” Young Loki says and throws a salt biscuit into alligator Loki's jaws. “But no lovers in my lifetime, Loki.” He pointedly looks at the older variant of himself, nodding slightly.

“Not yet, at least.” Loki points out and gets scoffs and chuckles from Boastful and Classic Loki. He looks at them with a furrowed brow.

“Oh, you and your grand plan,” Classic Loki shakes his head before taking another sip from his huge cup. Loki only rolls his eyes, but still waits for answers to his question, “well,” Classic Loki downs his drink, “it would be no surprise to you that I had countless partners before I chose isolation. Partners of any kind.” He winks. Loki nods, understanding how much alike he truly is with his variants. “But I feel there is no one truly... truly made for me. Like midgardians would say - 'the one'.“

“In my case, there were many 'the ones',” Boastful Loki says, mocking Classic's use of words. All other Lokis roll their eyes, “I actually feel like every person in the whole universe was made to be with me. I'm just that irresistible.” He smiles pleasantly to himself. Alligator Loki growls again.

“That's another “liar” from him to you, Boast,” Classic Loki nods his head towards Boastful, who only shakes his head and frowns.

“I had my fair share of men and women before I was taken,” Boastful says, “must have been the same for you, Loki.” He looks at him. “Asgard was truly a giving place.”

Loki chuckles, but looks away from his variants. “Oh, it was...” he says quietly, “it was.” His voice grows even more quiet. Young and Classic Loki exchange a look.

“Do tell us, your mischievousness.” Classic Loki urges him. Loki shoots him a nervous look, then he leans back into the sofa and sighs, his eyes strictly focused on his hands.

“I had plenty before I met... one,” he starts to say, “me and her share a past, and, it seems, a future as well. After New York, I am taken to Asgard, imprisoned, but she is there. I fake my death and rule over Asgard as Odin, and she's there. I help Thor destroy our evil sister--”

“Oh, she was a nasty one.” Boastful says, shaking his head. “We used to have a connection, but then she just... I don't even know.” He shrugs. Loki eyes him for a second before continuing.

“We destroyed Asgard, but saved its people, and saved her. We make for Midgard, and she's there with me.” Loki sighs, his eyes gloomy. “And then... Thanos attacks, destroys half, if not all our people, and...” he can't even speak further. His variants share a look, each having quite the correct guess for what could follow after that. Boastful drinks from his cup in an awkward manner. “But I feel like that's another life I lived. Or another me. I don't know, I feel so... disconnected from her, from what we had. Must be the TVA and this... void. And all that's happened, all I've learned about my future.” He sighs again.

“Meeting her again would be a wake-up call, no?” Boastful asks. Loki shrugs, a sad expression on his face.

“Rather a sign that you're real.” Classic Loki says with a wide, true smile. Loki looks to him as if looking at a mentor. “I often felt like the people I loved and the love I had for them, even if it was not reciprocated, were a reminder that I am real, I exist and I can feel all these things.”

Loki considers his words, and then nods along, finding a truth in them.

“After all, love and all other emotions are the human part in all of us.” Classic says. “And it isn't always bad to feel like a regular human being.” Loki can also find truth in those words. Love makes one feel alive, makes you feel like you're on the right path, found the right person, found your purpose. It doesn't always have to be glorious, it can be small, but nonetheless important to you.

“I used to think humans smaller than us, more pathetic and puny, but...” Loki shakes his head, “we, gods, are just the same, really.” He chuckles sadly. “Having quarrels over the stupidest things, being as imperfect as humans... Sometimes I even felt like I was too good, too perfect for something like true love, which is a pathetic emotion that makes you feel all kinds of other feelings, but...” he smiles, “often times I felt like that, she told me everyone was deserving of love, even me.” His smile grows wider.

“She sounds lovely.” Classic Loki tells him with a kind smile.

“She was that, and more.” Loki nods along. Young Loki imitates the sound of a snore and throws a crumpled piece of paper at Loki's shoulder.

“You're making me extremely bored.” He announces and sits straighter in his chair, looking over the mess that is his palace. “Love's boring.” Young Loki throws a juice carton across the room, making a face.

“You are just too young to understand and know it, your majesty.” Boastful says with a wink, and the next juice carton is flying over his head with a snicker from Young Loki. Classic Loki keeps Boastful tight in his seat so an argument wouldn't arise, and Boastful hesitantly restrains, his drink almost spilling over his cup. Loki watches them with a sappy smile on his features, and decides this is a good place to spend eternity at, even without her.

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[dr-lizortecho]

Echo and Landscapes

Throughout Roswell New Mexico the writer’s use significant landscapes and their images to symbolize and flesh out Max and Liz’s connection. The writer’s use the alien’s planet, their crash landing, and even Liz’s big dreams to accomplish this task. Sprinkling reminders into the storyline often enough to keep the viewers aware, while even foreshadowing their own reveals. This is done with props as well as story boarding and location. The three most prominent landscapes are the desert, the ocean, and the oasis.

The desert is used to depict Max’s desperation for love and belonging, as well as cueing the viewers in on his self isolation and endless search for meaning. The desert itself is one of the most obvious landscapes that the show uses, since the story takes place in the New Mexico desert. The alien’s spaceship having crashed outside of Roswell, leaving the pod squad orbiting the small town. Throughout literature desert’s are used to symbolize hardship, isolation, and enlightenment. This holds true in Roswell New Mexico as the desert is used to display all of the hardship’s the pod squad has to overcome. But it is also used to show Max’s self isolation, his search for meaning in life, and longing to belong. The writer’s cue the viewer into Max’s isolation visually, throughout multiple scenes they show his house nestled alone in the desert. It being a conscious decision for the writer’s to have Max moved so far out from the town, and the rest of the cast. His self imposed isolation coming from multiple aspects of his character, from his guilt and fear to his sense of disconnection from the community. The event in his life that made Max’s life change course was when he covered up Rosa’s death, an act that he blamed himself for. From the aspect of not getting Rosa help that night, or from doing more to help Isobel during her blackouts. In an unconscious manner Max isolates himself from the rest of the cast and from society as a self imposed punishment. Seeking any form of forgiveness he can find, whether it is from himself from endearing the struggle of being so far removed from Michael and Isobel’s lives, as well as the epicenter of movement and action in Roswell. The writer’s do this easily through giving him his career, a deputy sheriff works roughly five days a week pulling twelve hour shifts, making his distance from town even more inconvenient. His career another aspect of him seeking to balance the scale for his supposed sins. Another aspect of Max’s isolation is his fear, a slightly more visually displayed concept throughout the show. Max’s house being outside of Roswell removes him from the close proximity to power lines and technology, which his powers have been known to damage. His fear of discovery spurring him further from Roswell. This is supported through dialogue as well as the obvious lack of technology in his house. Since we know he managed to cause a school wide blackout from getting an erection during class. Outside of his fear and guilt Max feels disconnected from humankind, his isolation a direct result of not feeling like he belongs. The only time he feels like earth is truly his home, and isn’t reminded of his differences is when he’s with Liz. Which can be seen in how he claimed looking in Liz’s eyes was “the first time [he] ever felt connected to this world”. Even as he insists that earth is his home, that he belongs among them, he pushes back and won’t fully settle into the community. In addition, the desert displays Max’s search for knowledge and meaning in life. His endless search for enlightenment, through religious and historical texts. He is a self professed agnostic, as he doesn’t know what he believes, since the search for that knowledge is part of who he is. Contrasting easily with his designation as the Oasis’s savior, their hope for a better future resting on a man always trying to better himself.

The ocean is used to display Liz’s endless search for answers, and the well of possibilities she clings to. Even as deep down she longs for an overwhelming sense of calm. The writers use her longing to see the ocean as well as the multiple physical depictions to remind the viewer of its significance to her character. The ocean is used in literature to symbolize mystery, calm, and endlessness. Three ideas that can be found ties into Liz’s character development throughout the last three seasons, woven into her story arc at the same time as the ocean itself. Her character can be explained quite easily through longing and endlessness. She is an endless source of questions and relentless in her searching for the answers, from the voice over in the pilot episode onward uncovering mysteries has been her primary focus. Liz is a relentless force, much like the ocean itself, pushing forward until she breaks or guides the other characters along. As Max notes “Liz Ortecho is my hurricane”. Furthermore, the ocean is used to depict a sense of calmness as well as hope. Two aspects of what Liz’s endless search is actually for. Her mind is full of an endless buzz, something she seeks, however unconsciously, to calm. Which she admits to Max when she tells him “you quiet all the noise, all the science that’s always rattling around in my head”. Whether as a direct result of her mother and her endless desperation to be seen as good enough or from her own natural instinct to find answers. The writer’s use the ocean to symbolize Liz’s character and her longings, making it an actual plot point in the third season. After Liz expressed a longing to see the ocean previously, they display her inability to settle or be calm preventing her from finding that resolution. Since she cannot be calm without Max, she therefore cannot see the ocean without him. Yet she never loses hope of going to the ocean, even as they retreat to her bedroom instead of the ocean itself. Her hopeful nature kicking in as she tells Max that “[the snowglobe] will have to do until we get to the actual one, but I am certain Max Evans that we will get there”.

The third landscape, even though not directly depicted, is the oasis. Which is used to symbolize what Max and Liz are to each other and how when they come together they impact each other’s lives and the surrounding environment. Oasis’s are the junction where the desert meets a source of water, without both of these environmental factors they couldn’t exist. Throughout literature oasis’ symbolize life, love, and domesticity; while these are the primary longings and goals of the entire cast, Max and Liz strive for them together. Without Max, Liz doesn’t have her own life, and vice versa. Their abilities to bring each other back to life the primary focus of the first two seasons. The landscape of the ocean and desert can be found depicted in Max’s house, on walls adjacent to each other. Symbolizing the juncture between Max and Liz as well as the desert and ocean. Furthermore, the oasis is the actual name of the planet Max hails from translated into the English language. His planet out of reach, while Liz represents his home. Turning his isolation into a domestic haven. Her finding her source of calm in him, while he finds his sense of belonging in her. Making them each other’s oasis’s. “Home can be a person”.

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note:  Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending.  Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series!  For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while!  If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets.  My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions.  My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys.  @sammy-jo1977​ , my sister from another mister!  Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes!  Love you all!  Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all!  If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye.  Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see?  Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish!  Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing:  Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary:  Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse.  When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings:  Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos.  I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War.  The SNAP never happened because, reasons.  

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion.  Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling.  Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it.  By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind.  It was dangerous.  Weak.  And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself. 

  Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail?  What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it?  How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property.  With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth.  Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless.  And he felt everything.  The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly.  Anger.  Loss.  Lunacy.  Loki learned a hard truth in that moment.  He was a monster.  A freak.  A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong.  Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further.  To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane.  Why bother anyway?  All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision.  What was grief to a goblin?  What was horror to a monster?  What was love to a villain like him?  An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination.  A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces.  Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance?  Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness.  In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.   

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger.  Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell.  No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely. 

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path.  If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad.  Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny. 

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way.  He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother.  And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised?  He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined.  And Loki wasn’t just good at it.  He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki.  Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary.  Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard.  When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler.  He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister.  Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over.  They were his people, after all.  But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially.  What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design.  On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.  

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure.  Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words.  And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that  Loki had made a commitment of sorts.  One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family.  This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself.  Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time.  Patience.  Motivation.  It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait.  Loki was learning to wait everyday.  Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet.  Was it easy?  Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise.  Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes.  Loki was simply going to be better.  Not perfect.  No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark.  So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem.  In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew.  That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant.  That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god.  Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive.  You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating.  Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises.  But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted.  You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat.  Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same.  Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck.  “Loki?” “Huh?”  Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi!  Yes, Pepper can see you now.  Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing.  Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently.  Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you.  Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you.  His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk. 

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.”  Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly.  Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited?  Never!  It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.”  At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”  

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great!  I have faith in you both.  I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki.  Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now.  Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too.  I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome.  Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat.  And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths.  You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small.  His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?”  It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer.  You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were.  No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would.  He begged.  “Please?  I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye.  Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him.  Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish.  I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party.  You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj.  But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark.  And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice.  Loki was more lighthearted, more available.  He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings.   Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him.  If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla.  It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning.  A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again.  Loki remembered what you were wearing.  He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes.  If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala.  Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported.  The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall.  How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom.  Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.  

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne.  It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own.  Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean.  Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard.  Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time.  It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop.  I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.”  Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.”  Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart.  Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound.  Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise.  Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle.  He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it.  But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.   

"Darling, please.  We have to go."  Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you?  He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always.  And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need.  Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.  

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard.  I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive.  You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands.  Shall we?"  With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees.  Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready?  Darling?"

"Oh… yes.  I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work."  Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking.  In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!"  And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth.  The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form.  All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think?  This jacket weighs a ton."  Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird.  It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest.  Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

 Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off.  The house was empty.  Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger.  When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.  

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime.  Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush.  He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought.  There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore.  Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead.  He had lost.  Captain America had been bested.  Beaten.  And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night.  Steve was alone.  Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating.  The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy.  Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.”  Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room.  His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes.  All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall.  Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you.  In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays.  Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor.  The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace.  A pretty, ancient, carved cameo,  heart shaped locket.  He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed.  ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up.  You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own.  It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change.  You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-”  You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will.  I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.”  You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight.  Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.”  It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table.  An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated.  All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.  

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet.  There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell.  It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky?  That you?  You back?”  Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat?  What are you doing here?  I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?”  Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before.  This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking.  This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed.  Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel.  Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way.  Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?”  Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t.  He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No.  Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around.  Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat.  There’s nothing for her here.”  To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you.  “That’s not true!”  It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back.  They left with nothing, Steve.  She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-”  Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain.  We're here for a necklace...  the necklace.  Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down.  Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-”  From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal.  Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve.  Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.”  The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house.  The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve.  For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast.  How about you?”

“Um… sure.  Yea, ok.  Breakfast.” 

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast?  Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…”  You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade.  That wasn’t enough to stop Steve.  He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that.  Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-”  Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie.  You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll.  Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less.  Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set.  Something false and fake.  A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly.  Clearly he had something on his mind.  “Steve-” “No.  No.  Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver.  “When I saw you… No, that’s not right.  Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad.  It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true.  When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life!  And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did.  I waited years for you, ya know, doll?  Years.  And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend.  An ally.  Someone you could trust… someone I could trust.  I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me.  I just wanted to make you smile again.  But she had other plans.  Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful.  And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick.  Like you, I thought that Loki was gone.  Missing.  Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve.  I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out?  I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first.  That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop.  Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures.  You would also know… well, everything you know now.  That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever.  There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away.  If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here?  And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me.  I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed.  Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t.  It was for me.  I wanted you, so, so badly.  I didn’t care what strings were attached.  And we built a life together, you and me.  I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports.  Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email.  Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve.  I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?”  With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night.  It was going to happen last night.  Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me.  I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet.  He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything.  The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival.  I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved.  I could say that it was my duty.  I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve.  You really will.  There’s a person out there waiting for you.  And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow.  An illusion.  Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches.  It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong.  Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve.  I really do... “  What more could you say?  Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now.  Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha.  At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower.  I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.”  Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really?  And how are you going to breach the building?  They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises…  Fury is no fool.  Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard!  I’ll figure it out when I get there.  Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door.  Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession.  Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you;  it was enough for Loki to commit murder.  He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki.  Wait.  I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help?  I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go.  Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-”  His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.”  Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough.  How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh?  That’s where you want to go?”  Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…”  Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom.  For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh.  But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan.  At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after.  What did Fury want?  How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well?  What is it?  Weapons?  War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.”  That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes.  Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you.  Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next.  Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy.  An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.”  Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening.  A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal.  Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough.  Making enemies of your friends.  Threatening the people you loved.  Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench.  “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me.  Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him.  Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding.  Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember.  Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding.  The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers.  None was needed.  Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open.  “Look.  I know I’m not the guy you want on your side.  I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be.  Not for you-”  Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki.  But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.” 

Around you the morning gained strength.  Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics.  Without  moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America.  Nodding decisively, “I do.  I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us.  He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that.  For now, we trust Steve.  Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey.  I… I have one other thing to show you.”  Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving.  Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?”  The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed.  Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered.  In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours.  I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know.  Still-” “I can’t, Steve.  It’s yours.  Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid.  It’s done.  Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno.  Think I might need to be alone for a bit.  Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @jenjen8675309​ @that-one-person​ @roguewraith​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[tigerseye46]

Red Sand/Shark AU

So this is an au where Sha Wujing is the one who retired and Red is his successor.

I had a lot of amazing help from my anons and others for this au and I just want to thank them for that! You all made the au 100% more awesome! So here’s the au (re-uploaded cause it wouldn’t appear on my dash):

Sha Wujing: Sha Wujing takes Wukong’s place as the teacher and retired hero of this au and is the mentor of Red Son, albeit a reluctant mentor. Sha Wujing, unlike his canon counterpart, has not calmed down and is still rage-filled due to isolating himself for centuries. He has isolated himself due to Tripitaka’s death at the hands of a demon which he believes he, Bajie and Wukong could have prevented even though the other two were nowhere near at the time. He has a strained relationship with them because of this belief. Due to the monk’s death, he started picking fights in the mortal realm with any demon and sometimes human he could. The other three tried to stop him at multiple points but he wouldn’t listen and they had no choice but to give up. Eventually he came to the conclusion that this isn’t what Tripitaka would want and decided to pick one last fight to seal the Spider Queen before retiring.

He has rarely spoken to anyone else in centuries, he is extremely closed off to people. and has a lot of rage pent up. He lives on a mountain around the city that has a small house on his mountain and it has a river. He has the basics, oven, microwave, fridge, he also has a tv. Although he doesn’t use the television as much and considers it good background noise while he’s cooking or training. He absolutely despises it when any trace of his past adventures come onto the screen due to the events that have happened. He has a bunch of training equipment around that he uses to at least better manage his rage. He also builds inventions similar to his counterpart and it is something he and Red have in common. He does love tea and cats in this au but doesn’t own any cats in the beginning. He keeps a shrine of Tripitaka in his home and talks to it at certain points, he also has Tripitaka’s old staff.

Fun fact, he didn’t even want a successor and the only reason Red became his successor is because Guanyin appeared to him a couple years before the au and told him that trouble was brewing. She knows he gave up fighting so she proposes that he find a successor and she knows the perfect candidate, Red. After watching him for a bit, he agreed with her and waited for something to happen but wasn't exactly happy at the thought of having to train someone since it meant having prolonged social interaction, especially someone that almost killed his brother even if he isn’t Wukong’s biggest fan by that point. He is rather grumpy while training Red and they clash at certain points but they do have a respect for each other. He is more blunt and honest here.

Red: Red Son is the successor of Sha Wujing and formerly the disciple of Guanyin who after noticing how far he had come decided to let him go to the city to meet new people. He arrives at the city 2-5 years before the events of the au start and keeps a human form. While they still have somewhat of a temper, it is nowhere as bad as canon. They were initially confused by the city as due to being under Guanyin’s teaching, they weren’t as exposed to technology. It wasn’t until they met Mei who showed them the ropes that they finally got the hang of things. They build inventions like their counterpart but aren’t as skilled as canon Red since they’ve only been doing this for five years tops.

Mei actually gave her a place in the beginning since they didn’t have anywhere to go since they were still new. Red refused at first but gradually gave into Mei’s persistence. They were roommates for a while while the demon figured out where they could work. They noticed Mei’s struggle with her parents and encouraged her to be open about it, resulting in her becoming happier as a person and embracing her dragon heritage. Mei introduced them to Tang and got taken in by the human. Tang gave Red a place at his shop, although he works more at the cover business since he wants some sense of normalcy but he does do things like stock supplies for the magic side sometimes.

He hasn’t told anyone who his parents are nor has he found them again and prefers to keep a low profile. He also keeps the fact that he’s a demon a secret along with his fire powers. The fire powers only show up when he’s overcome with rage but since they aren’t as rage filled as their canon counterpart, that is rare. He isn’t exactly thrilled to be someone’s successor since it meant giving up his normal life but does it to further atone for his actions.

Mei/Long Xiaojiao: Xiaojiao remains here as the descendant of the Dragon of the West and is Red’s best friend. She found Red Son wandering the city one day and allowed him to stay with them until they found a place to work so Red has actually been inside her house before. Throughout his stay, she accidentally vented about her troubles with her parents which Red helped her with and because of that, she is less insecure about her place as descendant of the Dragon of the West. From that point forth, she was more open about her problems. She also obtained the dragon blade relatively early thanks to Red and her parents’ urging.

She, like Red, works for Tang but at his magic business and spends time being Tang’s assistant. Her job is to sometimes collect ingredients and deliver if the client asks. She is more reckless here due to having the dragon blade for years and because of the amount of demons she faced. She is slightly more protective here because of Red since she thinks he doesn’t know how to expertly fight as he hasn’t revealed who he is to her yet.

MK/Qi Xiaotian: Xiaotian is the biological son of Syntax and the only human of the Spider group. After the incident when he was around 12 that resulted in his dad becoming a spider, his life was completely changed and they were taken in by Huntsman and Goliath. Learning of their plan to free the Spider Queen, Syntax offered to help, knowing from Goliath that she would protect his son. They raised him where he turned into a mix of all of them. Since he is Syntax’s son, his father made sure he got the best education and taught him many things because of this, he knows a lot about tech and sometimes uses technology based insults like his dad, the other insults he uses are the more crass ones because of Huntsman. While he knows a lot about tech, he’s bad at practical applications and ends up setting things on fire.

They know how to hunt because of Huntsman and spar with him regularly in an effort to get strong to protect their family. Since they’re the only human, they feel the need to prove themself to the Spider Queen who doesn’t really give them a thought in the beginning as she’s more concerned with returning the spider demons to their former glory. The issue of him as the only human has caused somewhat of a disconnect between him and his father.

He is rather cocky and reckless here because of Huntsman and Syntax who both have massive egos, something that was passed down to him. Although deep down he is a sweetheart thanks to Goliath. He uses the tech insults to insult his rival, Red Son and makes fun of him on a daily basis which is great because Red only slightly knows what those mean. He is still an artist here and was encouraged by his father to pursue his passion, he is also still a slight Monkey King fan because of stories he heard when he was little. While he makes fun of Huntsman for wanting to date his dad, he does want to be able to call him his stepdad one day. He has a staff given to him by his dad when he was around 15 that contains some cool things.

Sun Wukong: takes Tang’s place kinda. Actor and scholar. Sun Wukong in this au is the owner of a theatre that for the most part does JTTW plays, he is also an actor and scholar. He spent about 300-400 years in retirement before finally deciding to enter the world again and do something. He has a rivalry with Macaque since both are scholars and always have academic arguments. He remains king of Flower Fruit Mountain but mainly lives in the city now. He maintains a human form to not attract attention from demons.

Before owning the theatre, he was a big name actor (well still is) that did mostly Monkey King related stuff to honor his past adventures and family. He even directed, starred and wrote stuff for his own movies and tv shows, something he does for the theatre now. He also produced some video games. He used to bring his monkeys on the set sometimes and does that now for his theatre, people have no idea where the monkeys come from. Some joke that he’s gotten really into his role and there are those that call him the “Monkey Actor.”

He carries a good amount of guilt over Tripitaka’s death especially after what Wujing said to him and believes he doesn’t really deserve to be called a hero. He also feels bad that he couldn’t help Wujing and that the incident resulted in the demon closing off. He hides all of this under a confident attitude. He hardly uses his staff anymore but still has it. He’s had off/on contact with Zhu Bajie over the years and misses him and the rest of his family deeply. When they meet up around the time the series starts, the pig informs him that he’s found Wujing but they don’t go talk to him since they know the other doesn’t want them around. Instead, the two hang out again with Wukong absolutely dreading the idea that they’ll lose contact again. Bajie actually introduces him to the kids he sometimes babysits and they eventually begin calling Wukong “yéyé.” He met Tang when he heard a rumor about his magic business and decided to check it out, he stuck around even after finding out the human was harmless because he met Red again, he hasn’t told Red or Tang who he is.

Tang: Tang is surprise, surprise, Tripitaka’s reincarnation. He does get dreams sometimes but he writes them off as fantasies. Compared to his counterpart, he is a lot tougher than his normal counterpart and actually fights. He runs two shops with one that is a secret magic shop (mostly temporary enhancements and minor spells), he’s proficient in both hand to hand combat and magic.

He is slightly more serious in this due to running a business now but not as serious as Pigsy would be. His nerdiness is toned down here but still present. In fact when Red is working, Tang likes to bring up different stories from the past despite the fact that Red knows them already. He gave Red the apartment above the shop and has no idea that the kid he adopted is actually a demon. He is rather annoyed and angry at the fact that Red was chosen by Sha Wujing to be his successor even though he is partially a fan of the demon and totally doesn’t have a celebrity crush on him. While he isn’t aware of everything Red has gone through, he is aware that the kid has had a rough life and wants to protect him.

Zhu Bajie/Pigsy: Zhu Bajie, after years of loneliness, came out of hiding and wandered the mortal world as he needed something to occupy his time. He’s had off/on contact with Wukong throughout the years. Eventually he settled into the city where he’s known as a beloved and involved member of a small part of it. He is seen as an ‘uncle/grandpa figure’ there and is sometimes asked to watch over the kids. The kids absolutely adore him and he in turn adores them. He takes them out a lot to places and spoils the heck out of them. He actually met Wukong again when he took the kids out to see the plays at Wukong’s theatre and enjoys taking them there because he gets to see the king, he’s become a huge fan. He memorized the surrounding mountain range there and partially chose the city as there is a path that leads to Wujing, he hasn’t told Wujing he’s tracked him down. He’s just kept tabs on him, mildly happy with that since he knows his brother doesn’t want to see him.

While he retains his snarkiness here, his temper isn’t as bad here due to not being business focused since he doesn’t own one. He retains his parental instincts here since he’s a grandpa now. He has grown a lot since the JTTW days and is proud of this fact. He is on the more reasonable side of things between Wujing who is unnecessarily angry and Wukong who believes he doesn’t have the right to be considered a hero.

Macaque: Macaque in this au is retired from fighting and does not have much of a grudge against Wukong as he does in canon. Although they do have a rivalry as fellow scholars and constantly complain about each other’s theses suck. They are usually one debate away from fighting each other in the parking lot of Wukong’s theatre.

Demon Bull King: Demon Bull King takes Macaque’s spot as the one who trains and plans to take Red’s powers. After their son became Guanyin’s disciple, the two were extremely worried about their child and held resentment for Sun Wukong and his gang that continued long after the gang defeated him. Princess Iron Fan and him had a falling out that resulted in them parting ways (although still married) but they still love each other very much. DBK heard rumors floating around about someone that had become Sha Wujing’s successor and that someone matched his son’s description. Angered over the fact that his son was forced to become someone’s successor, he found a spell that would take his powers. He crafted a plan to lure his son out to do so so his son could be relieved of that pressure along with protecting him and so he could use that power to take revenge on those around them.

Princess Iron Fan: Princess Iron Fan is the main villain of the Red Sand/Shark au. Due to the loss of her son and the fall out with her husband, Princess Iron Fan has become rather desperate to get her family back and she’ll do it by any means necessary. She has kept herself hidden for years, plotting ways to bring her family together. Once she found out that Red Son became Sha Wujing’s successor, it caused her to lash out as her son was within reach but forced to be what she considered a weapon, a pawn. She took advantage of the blood oath she made, promising the twins that if they joined her, she would make people cower before them. She used them to attack on New Years in the hopes of grabbing her son and taking over the world. While that might have failed, she has other tricks up her sleeve and will make Red join her, no matter what.

Spider Queen: Spider Queen once led a powerful army that threatened to disrupt the mortal realm. She was feared by mortals and respected and loved by her subjects. This ended when she faced Sha Wujing and was actually the last demon Sha Wujing fought before he retired. He decided to seal her, citing her as a danger. Due to her containment, the various spider clans started declining as their royal line had been deposed of. Things have become desperate and it is believed that the Spider Boys are part of the last generation before they are wiped out entirely, although there may be more out there. They have decided to free the Spider Queen as her era was the last time the spiders were prosperous and believe she is the key to saving their future.

Goliath (Strong Spider): Goliath remains a total sweetheart in this au and is one of the reasons Xiaotian contains sweet qualities. He is completely supportive and encouraging of Syntax and Huntsman’s feelings for each other and wishes they would just admit it. He bakes in his spare time and gets help from Xiaotian. He is also the other’s confidant and manages to keep secrets relatively well. He does suggest that they speak about these issues but doesn’t push them.

Huntsman: Huntsman is the same here but has a more fatherly side to him as he’s helped Syntax raise MK and has actually developed feelings for the nerd spider. He taught Xiaotian to be an excellent hunter and spars with him on a regular basis. He cheers the kid on during fights unless he has to do something like go save him for a reckless endeavor. He doesn’t admit how much the kid and the others mean to him often but will slip up and admit it. He and Syntax have snarky banter with each other and have a trusting relationship that neither acknowledges.

Syntax: Syntax is the biological and single father of Xiaotian. He was a relatively hardworking and great father that taught Xiaotian to make different things, gave him the best education he could and encouraged him in art endeavors. He was turned into a spider by a horrific lab accident when his son was around twelve. Resentment, horror and terror piled up in him because of that incident. He had absolutely no idea what to do, he was a human turned spider all because of what happened, there is a possibility that no one was going to treat him the same after this, people would assume he had malicious intent and might try to separate him from his son. After that, he spent a good portion trying to return himself back to normal but no matter what he did he could not. Afraid for the safety of him and his son, Syntax began to research the spiders, learning they were almost gone but there may be some out there. He took Xiaotian with him where they bumped into Huntsman and Goliath who were trying to find ways to bring the Spider Queen back. He joined them as Goliath had assured the queen would offer them protection. Along the way, he had come to see them less as allies and more as family, not that he would admit it. He began falling in love with Huntsman after getting to know him for years and seeing deeper sides of him. When Xiaotian was around 15, he crafted a sci fi tech staff for his son which contains some tricks and traps, including a GPS that can be used for when his son is in trouble.

Yin and Jin: Yin and Jin take Spider Queen’s place here. They trapped Red in the calabash just like they did with canon MK and after that incident, they continued popping up with a variety of plans, most that have failed. Red eventually stopped taking them seriously and treated them more as nuisances than real threats. In an effort to be taken more seriously they created a partnership between them and PIF. They shook with excitement at New Years when they began to topple people around them, this died down when the plan didn’t work but they continued to listen to PIF’s instructions, little do they know she’s just using them to get her son back.

White Bone Spirit and Mayor: These two are nowhere near as dangerous as they are in canon and actually replace Yin and Jin as the comic relief although the Mayor is still slightly creepy. WBS probably has a much older host or has shapeshifted to give herself a human form. She tries to get revenge for her defeat at the hands of Sun Wukong and since Red is the closest thing she messes with him instead. She believes she is a powerful antagonist but is more of the average shape-shifting demon and the Mayor serves as her minion. They come up with schemes similar to Yin and Jin but unlike Yin and Jin don’t ever come up with a way to be taken more seriously.

[votederpycausemufins]

Welp, this fic i thought i wasn’t even going to continue is now longer at 17 chapters than War in Hermittown which was 26 chapters. And I’m not done here yet! (WiHT ended with 56,719 words. SF was at 55,597 last chapter, and this one is over 3k words, putting it to at least 58k total)

tagging time! @petrichormeraki and @helleborusangel are you guys proud of me?

Xannes and Tommy turned their weapons on Theseus. “How’d you find this place bitch?” The hels copy just rolled his eyes before gesturing over to Dream. “What, you were tracking him?”

“He’s an admin using a console. Find the console, find the admin.” Theseus replied, which confused Tommy. “Right, you wouldn’t know about that, would you.”

Tommy glanced back to Xannes. “Any clue what he’s talking about?”

“Yes. Before command blocks, datapacks, plugins and autofill commands, a lot of admins would default to consoles. These days most people tend to ignore them, but there are some benefits. Though the negatives usually make it seem like the worst option.”

“Why’s that?”

“Admins have better control over everything else. A console is more powerful and capable of much more, but it’s disconnected from the admin. It tends to be stationary in the world and needs to be hidden, and while there are ways to make them moveable, it’s usually not worth the hassle.”

Theseus smiled. “Oh look who’s not as much of an idiot as they seem. Another question then. Why are you still getting in the way? You want those scraps of metal? Take them. He’s the one I’m after.” And he pointed at Dream.

“You haven’t fucking told us why though.” Tommy crossed his arms.

“You didn’t really need to know.” Theseus said before sighing and taking off his mask. “But if that’s the only thing that’ll make you let me through, fine. Nightmare’s dead in my world. I killed him myself. Used up his three lives.”

“You guys still have the three lives system? I thought everything in hels was… y’know, worse?” Tommy asked.

“Oh it is. Exactly why I want Nightmare back.”

There was silence save for the continued sound of weapons banging off each other. “You… you want to what?”

Theseus shrugged. “The bitch never really got what was coming to him. Sure it’s the NSMP, and it’s technically named after him, but his name is based on a concept. He’s not the one in charge, he just made a place where nightmares can become reality. He just never got that chance because he’s dead. And with how hels works, he can’t come back. That is… unless I can bring Dream back with me.”

“That seems like the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Xannes spoke up. “There’s no guarantee how that will work, especially since he was an admin. You’re setting yourself up for a disaster for both your world and this one.”

“And so what? I die? If I can’t do this right, why bother sticking around.”

“Then I might die too bitch!” Tommy yelled at his copy. “And I definitely don’t want to go out just like that.”

“Plus there are other people linked here.” Xannes spoke, pulling up commands. “Now, you’re going to want to stop, or I’m going to have to attack.”

“Oh please, what can you do?”

“My brother is known as the best admin of all time. Which meant I needed to be the best hacker.” Xannes smiled behind his mask. “And with Prof and NPG around, I haven’t gotten to try anything out in a while, so I’m going to really enjoy this.”

Tommy could almost feel the danger that was Xannes before he moved. He swung his sword once, and even though Theseus was more than ten blocks away, it was like the blade had hit him. He then pulled out a crossbow along with his sword, managing to duel wield the weapons. And then even though the second weapon kept being fired, it seemed to always be filled with ammo, not giving Theseus any rest from attacks, not to mention the fact that it was also multishot.

Tommy used that as a chance to run over to the bots. “Alright you two, I don’t care what the fuck’s been going on with you two, you need to fucking stop before you kill each other.”

“He deserves to die!” Jrum shouted, not looking away from his brother. 

“Jrum, I’ve told you about the guy that kinda isolated and manipulated me? The one Big G compared to Sam?”

“Yeah, and Grum’s just as bad!” Jrum said before attempting to attack again, instead just getting pulled back by Tommy.

“No! No he isn’t! That guy Grum’s been stuck with? That green bitch right there? That’s the fucker who was messing with me! And now he’s been doing it to Grum.”

“Yeah right.” Jrum crossed his arms, and Tommy slapped the back of his head, wincing as pain coursed through his body from damaging the vines. It caused the teen to flinch back, making the bottles in his inventory clank together.

Hearing the bottles made Tommy remember what he had on him. He had no clue how well the water worked, but right now it was better than nothing. He pulled them out and smashed them on top of Jrum’s head like a water balloon, the water covering Jrum and getting into his mechanics. It caused a short circuit and it seemed to fry the vines from within, but also Jrum. As the circuitry within him sparked, it damaged the vines, causing even more damage to Jrum, until it killed him.

“NO! JRUM!” Tommy yelled, freaking out about having just killed someone in his family. Beside him, Grum just stared at the place where Jrum had been standing a minute ago, the body having dissolved into smoke. 

Life Counter active. Entity Check Jrumbot. Death: canon. Life counter: 1 life remaining. Commence respawn. Respawn complete.

Teleport Requested. Assessing. Assessing. Allowing Teleport. Entity Jrumbot Teleported to Deathpoint coordinates.

Just like that, Jrumbot reappeared. He wasn’t completely covered with the vines, but he still retained the single vine around his antenna and his screen was still a red color. “Oh thank goodness, I thought you might have had a single life left.”

“Well now I do, no thanks to you!”

When Tommy had yelled, Xannes looked away from his fight. Theseus was able to finally close the distance and attack Xannes without the helsmit protecting himself, but he didn’t need to, the hacks keeping him from taking damage. “He’s using a console…”

Theseus tried attacking Xannes again. “Yeah, we covered that already. Why’s it soooo surprising now?”

“Because the console is Grum.”

That made Theseus scoff. “Wasn’t it obvious? It’s a computer that’s always near Dream. It’s essentially a console with fewer drawbacks. Even more powerful than a regular console too.”

When Theseus said that, Tommy turned his anger on Dream. “Ohhh, I can’t fucking believe you. I mean, that is an absolute child. At least with me, I was older, practically an adult, but he hasn’t even had a birthday and you decided to mess with him! As if you didn’t have a death wish already! I mean, guess that’s why you got everyone blocked. What if I just asked Grum to unblock everyone, what then?”

“And what? Just let Phil and Techno back in? What would that help with?”

“Oh please, you know their dad would be the first one in. Doesn’t that scare you?” Tommy asked with a smirk, though it fell in a few moments. “Wait do you actually not know who their dad is?”

“Just because he’s supposed to be another one of your brothers doesn’t mean anything. They’re hardly something I can’t deal with.”

“Can’t deal wi- Dream! Their dad is Grian! You know, the guy who literally has the name Dreamslayer? Like that’s part of his legal name at this point.” Tommy could tell when it got through to Dream, because he pressed back in his invisible prison just a bit and started looking for some possible way out.

He ended up snapping his fingers at Grum. “Hey, get me out of here.” And then Grum processed the information and teleported Dream a couple blocks to his left, freeing him from the barrier blocks.

“Oh shit. Xannes! He got o-” Was all Tommy was able to say before he was pressed against a wall, feet no longer touching the ground and him left struggling for air.

“You know, I could kill you right here. It would be easy. But for all I know, you come back as a ghost. So I’ve got a better idea. Just to make sure that if you do come back, it hurts even more. Grumbot?” He looked over at the robot, who immediately made its way over to Dream’s side. He handed it a netherite axe with the word ‘Nightmare’ etched into the metal. 

“No, c-come on Grum. You c-can’t do th-this.” Tommy did his best to get the words out. “Pl-Please… c-can you l-let everyone in a-at least.”

“Oh come on. He’s loyal to me. Why would you think-”

“That command is protected and requires a password to access.”

For a moment, Tommy lost all hope, but in a moment of clarity, he realized that Dream didn’t know Grum would say anything. If that were the case, there wouldn’t be a password. Yeah, Tommy could be wrong, but there was still a chance. “M-Mumbo for Mayor…” He choked out, and immediately Grumbot started processing the password, then accepted it.

“Blacklist disabled.”

“Kill Tommy!” Dream yelled in anger. And then Tommy was hit by the axe. Once. Twice. And then a third and final time.

Life Counter active. Entity Check TommyInnit. Death: canon. Life counter: no lives remaining. No respawn applicable.

No. 

Commencing Respawn. Respawn complete.

Teleport Requested. Assessing. Assessing. Allowing Teleport. Entity Tommy Teleported to Coordinates X-3, Y-3, Z-3. Returning inventory contents.

Tommy was holding his chest, panting to catch his breath. He was so sure he was dead. But no. Here he was, away from Dream and still with all his gear. That had probably been Xannes saving him, and healing him as well based on his current level of health.

For a moment, Tommy wanted to rush back in there, but then he remembered. The blacklist had been disabled. People could get in. He pulled out the communicator and sent a message to Grian, hoping it wouldn’t take too long. Then he put it away and tried to go back over to the bots, but his legs were shaky, and in just trying to take one step, he fell to the floor.

Even though he wasn’t close to death, he could still feel himself fading while at the same time it felt like everything was happening at once. Every sound seemed louder, what little breeze there was felt like pins and needles. And he just felt tired. As his vision went in and out, he saw Jrum rush off. Then Theseus stopped fighting and went after Dream. Then the three of them were gone. Then he was up in the air, something picking him up.

Finally, he felt the buzz of his communicator, and everything went dark.

The moment Grian got the message from Tommy, Grian made a Watcher portal straight to the SMP. The others nearby were slightly surprised that it was to let them follow along, but they weren’t arguing. Tubbo was the first to go through, Phil and Techno following behind. Grian was about to be right behind them, but was stopped by a hand. “You’re not keeping me from going Mumbo.”

“I know that. I wasn’t going to.” The redstoner spoke before taking Grian’s hand. “You’re the one always jumping into things, and that’s mostly a good thing. But this is something I don’t want to be left out of, so whether you like it or not, I’m coming with.”

“What? Did you think I was going to leave you behind? I wasn’t going to close the portal behind me. I was hoping you would come too, I was just letting you decide.”

“Good. ...So, do we want to…?” Mumbo started to say before he was yanked towards the portal as Grian ran through it, dragging him along.

When they arrived on the other side, Phil was the only one nearby, sitting down next to the portal. “Hey. Before you ask, I volunteered to wait while the other two went off in their own directions. That was only a few minutes ago. Haven’t heard anything back from them.”

Grian nodded. “I’m going to try contacting Tommy. Mumbo, those coordinates Tommy forwarded to me before? Can you check them out?”

“Definitely.” Mumbo nodded, pulling out his own communicator and checking the coordinates and which was to go to reach them.

“I’ll see if I can find anyone who could give us information.” Phil offered before immediately leaving, leaving Grian alone.

Alright, if I were one of the kids or Tommy… where would I be?” Grian asked himself, looking around before spotting something red in the distance. “Oh hello there. What’s that?” He quickly got into the air, flying over instead of trying to cross the rough terrain. “Tommy did send something about Jrum and red plants, didn’t he?” Grian bent down to try and touch the stuff, but was surprised when it seemed to move away. 

A voice spoke and then Grian was left looking around, trying to spot who had spoken. “What do you mean don’t touch it? I’m trying to find my kid and the best lead I have right now are these things.” Then he was left looking around again. “Oh, if that’s the case, then why not ditch the invisibility potion and meet me face to face?” Another short bout of silence and then Grian growled slightly, clenching his fists. “Then maybe I will.” And he started following the moving plants, the vines moving to almost create a path as they parted near him.

They snaked into an underground room and then down a thin tunnel. Grian had a little trouble getting through with his wings, not wanting to shift them away in case he ended up needing them suddenly. When he finally reached the end, he was greeted by what was obviously two teams of people fighting. One group was all in purples meanwhile the other group had a mix of colors, but there were a lot of reds and whites.

When it didn’t look like anyone noticed him, Grian moved forward a bit, cleared his throat, and then shouted. “HEY!” Immediately everyone froze and looked over at him. “Excuse me, I’m sure you’re having a lovely war and all, but I’m looking for my kids. The two of them are about… these heights and are adorable little robots.”

“Are you saying you’re one of Jrum’s parents?” Someone in a black and white cloak said, and Grian nodded at them.

“Yeah. Is he here? Or do you at least know where he is?” Grian asked, before the person attempted to attack him. Immediately his wings moved to act as a quick shield. “I’m guessing that’s a yes, but you don’t want me around.” Grian pulled out his sword. “Eh, I was expecting an ambush anyway.”

But before another attack could happen, the voice from before spoke, seemingly to the cloaked person. “So what?! He abandoned his kid! If that were true he would have shown up!”

“Hey, I tried getting in. Your admin just found a way to keep me out until now. Now, are you going to listen to your friend and tell me where Jrum is, or are you going to fight?”

The incoming sword worked as the answer to Grian’s question and he blocked it with a shield before attacking back. The person tried moving behind some vines hanging from the ceiling, but Grian just sliced them to the ground, clearing the area. “Wait, how are you doing that?!” The person asked before Grian flew up to bash their head with the end of his shield and knock them to the ground. 

“Nooo! What are you doing!” A voice yelled out and Grian turned around to see a familiar robot running over.

“Jrum!” Grian landed, arms open for a hug, but he just pushed past his dad to run to the person now on the ground. “Wh-what?”

“Are you okay?”

“Nggh… yeah. Wait, now where have you been?”

“I got kidnapped and Grum was there and he attacked me! But now I’m fine!”

Grian looked between his son and the person he had been attacking. He had no clue why this was happening, so he looked over as some of the other people nearby, who weren’t sure how to answer him. “Oh come on, no one had any idea?” And then the invisible person spoke. “I mean I guess? He was built before the turf war, but he didn’t really take part in it. Why? Look, I just want to get my kid and leave. My resistance days are pretty much over.”

There was quiet before Grian sighed and his wings shifted away. “Fine, I’ll play along, but you better hold up your end.” And when he opened his eyes, they weren’t their normal color, nor even just bright purple from using his watcher powers. Instead, his iris and pupils seemed to be missing, replaced by grayish-purple sclera.

“Well at the very least it was a house.” Xannes grumbled as he attempted to brush off the layer of dust on the bed sitting in the corner for him to then put Tommy on. It was tough with him having to carry the unconscious teen and only really about to use a leg as a duster, which was just spreading the dust around. “Can this be any harder?!”

A door opening behind him made the helsmit groan. “That’s wasn’t a fucking request! What the fuck do you-” He turned around and saw someone familiar and thankfully wearing a red tie. “Fine. This works. You take the kid.”

Mumbo was handed Tommy and Xannes finally was able to just pick the covers up off the bed and shake them off. It left Mumbo coughing and Xannes instantly regretting it as an alert on his screen warned him about his filters, but he put the blankets back down. The redstoner set Tommy down on the bed while Xannes worked on cleaning out the dust that was now in his helmet. “What happened to him?”

“He got killed, but respawn brought him back. It didn’t seem to be the best respawn because it hit hard. From what I can tell, he wasn’t supposed to. Is this a hardcore world?”

Mumbo shook his head. “Tommy said something about them having three lives, but they only counted if they were important.”

“So he essentially just got revived instead of normally respawning. That would explain it. You should have seen the three that got revived this season.”

“That’s right, you permakill someone if they don’t return for a season, don’t you.”

“Yeah. Of course they can still exist elsewhere, but it's a type of ban in a way.”

Mumbo nodded before finally looking away from Tommy and over to Xannes. “H-Have you seen either of the boys?”

“Yes, though they’re not doing so well. You know what a console is, right?”

“Yeah.” Mumbo nodded again. “I had to use one when I was first starting out so I didn’t break everything when working with redstone. Came in handy a few times, but I’m glad not using one anymore. Is there one being used here?”

“Yeah. The admin here decided to have fun with one since he found a way to make it mobile thanks to your redstone.”

“My red- wait!” Mumbo jumped up from kneeling on the floor next to the bed. “Are you telling me he’s using one of the boys?!”

“Yeah, Grumbot. He’s extremely out of it, but Tommy was able to get him to remove the blacklist and I’m pretty sure he’s the one who revived him, so it’s not a completely lost cause. Meanwhile the other one got infected with something like crimson nylium. I’m not sure how bad your land war went, but ours got out of hard fast.”

“We had a bit of trouble near the end, but the minigame battle near the end kept things from getting too far.”

“Well, hopefully it doesn’t end up like helscraft. Most of us ended up possessed by the different nyliums for a good portion of the war. And looks like Jrum is in the same situation.”

Alright, I’ll let the others know and hope Grian notices the message.”

“How many came along with the two of you?”

“Same group that we visited with. They came from here in the first place anyway, so they’ve got a better chance finding what we need.”

“Hello? Ranboo? Are you in here?” Tubbo asked, carefully stepping into the house. They had been planning to set up the second floor for Michael when he disappeared, so hopefully Ranboo would still be living there at least a little, unless he had taken the ziglin elsewhere. 

The place was dark, all the windows closed and no torches or lanterns there to light the place up. It left Tubbo fumbling around, trying to feel his way around and wishing he had brought something for light. He tripped on something and fell to the ground, rubbing his head and hoping he hadn’t damaged anything. Then suddenly, something lit up, and Tubbo froze.

He had looked behind him to try and see if he could tell what had tripped him. He could barely make out the outline of a foot. Following up, it led up to a glowing screen with a smiley face plastered on it. Just behind that, Tubbo could also see two glowing magenta eyes from an enderman standing behind the robot. 

Before Tubbo could ask any questions, a voice came from elsewhere in the dark room. “You know. As far as everyone knows, you're dead. How about we keep it that way?”

[bigskydreaming]

hood-ex

i was like well he could just date some random dude who's an artist or something and then i was like oh wait. kyle. lmao. did dick and kyle ever have interactions when donna wasn't around? i mean i know dick found kyle's.. spirit? or whatever in jla. but any other major moments between them aren't coming to my brain

LOL, nope, Dick and Kyle have barely ever interacted ever. Just at Hal’s memorial and then the Obsidian Age, which was well after Kyle and Donna split......they never hung out with Dick when they were together, as he was....busy in Bludhaven. Like Donna and Kyle were together during that period when Roy was running the Titans and they had that weird lineup with Terra the Second and Impulse and Fake Supergirl and just....yeah. But point being like, that was basically right after Dick left the team and Kory left to return to Tamaran, so Dick was kinda deliberately avoiding most of the Titans at that time, as far as I’ve always viewed it.

But yeah honestly all my Dick/Kyle thoughts pretty much stem just from their very brief Obsidian Age interactions and then me going like, huh. I could see it. Its more based on just their characters in general, and the fact that I think they have such similar priorities and mindsets as to be more alike than different, but without being so similar that they’re in any way derivative of each other or like....immediate analogues. Like you think of either Dick or Kyle, you don’t immediately jump to the other because they don’t particular stand out as being interchangeable or anything, but when you dig a little into their characters you’re like, oh wow, they have a lot in common actually.

In particular I’ve always keyed into the slightly lonely nature of Kyle’s position as Torchbearer in the GL Corps. A nod to his time as the only GL left, and the fact that he resurrected the Guardians and restarted the Corps, essentially.....so he’s always stood a little apart from the rest of the GLs, even Hal and John and Guy who were still around in some way or another back when he was the solo GL. Its not that he’s not close with them, its just that he has a very unique experience among the GLs where for most of the Corps, they always had the support of the Corps behind them as they became more experienced as Green Lanterns. And the weight of what they all did as Green Lanterns and what people looked to them for, it was always spread among like....the whole Corps, whereas when Kyle was Green Lantern during his solo tenure, like, it all rested on him, there was no one else to look at or look to....all eyes were just on him. 

That pressure, that absence of anyone who can fully relate, its always made him stand slightly apart from the rest of the Lanterns, even now that the Corps is back, and its only been heightened by the fact that he continues to have very unique experiences. Like how he was the only one to ever master the full emotional spectrum on his own, without external additives, the unique way in which he became the White Lantern, the fact that he has such a different relationship with the Ion entity than even those others who’ve hosted it, etc. Also the fact that like, despite his reputation among the Lanterns and others, despite how highly he’s regarded by them, that doesn’t always translate into the camaraderie and support you’d think it would, and most of his most intense adventures or most emotional storylines still happen when he’s off completely by himself with no lifelines. Because as much as he matters to the Corps and is valued by them, there’s always this kinda disconnect that frequently translates into a lot of distance between them and him, both physical and emotional.

And I’ve always thought there are a lot of parallels to the way Dick often feels like he’s alone even when in a crowd. That unique kind of pressure that comes from being the FIRST Robin, the original leader of the Titans, the guy who so often has acted as a trailblazer that others followed but without fully being able to relate to that experience of being first, of not having anyone TO follow, to have to make it up entirely as he went and hope that he wasn’t screwing up too much because it wasn’t like he had any precedent to look to or others to compare himself, his triumphs and his failures to. The way so often the buck stops with him and there’s no one really to pass it off to even when its not actually his fault, its more just.....people feel a need, a want to blame someone, and there’s not really anyone else to look at in his stead there. The similarities in how he also has such a positive reputation overall, and is seemingly so valued and respected by his various communities, and yet despite this it doesn’t always translate into direct and tangible support, leaving him often actually being cut-off and isolated during some of his most emotionally intensive storylines.

I think they have a lot of insight they could lend each other stemming from their respective experiences with the weight of legacy, which parallels without being the same....because the angle, the perspective is different with them. Kyle struggled with the weight of having to carry the entire legacy of the Green Lantern Corps by himself and feeling the responsibility of not wanting to let his predecessors down. Dick struggles with the weight of having his legacy carried by so many others and feeling responsible for what they go through as a result of that. And then at the same time Dick also struggled with the weight of carrying Bruce’s legacy as Batman at different times, such as Knightfall/Prodigal and then when he was lost in time, and now Kyle struggles with the weight of his legacy as Ion being carried on by others and the legacy his existence as the Torchbearer is creating for after he’s gone.

Additionally, they both have abundant experience with feeling under a microscope, like their every action is being scrutinized and they’re constantly being compared to the larger than life figure they’re most directly linked to. For Dick its Batman, for Kyle its Hal. That thing where they’re simultaneously expected to BE the equal to Bruce or Hal, or even better than them, but also at the same time being not exactly blamed for Bruce’s and Hal’s mistakes, but treated as even though they had nothing to do with their actions, they might as well have, kinda? Constantly compared to Bruce and Hal and with people saying they would have done this or that instead, but also with people quick to act like Bruce and Hal are their personal cautionary tales and tell them how dangerously close they are to becoming them whenever they do something that even slightly parallels the older two. 

Also, they have this distance between themselves and Bruce and Hal....Dick because of the chasm between them during the early years of Nightwing and Kyle because Hal was basically a villain and then dead during his early years as Green Lantern.....but without anyone ever really factoring in that they’re not as joined at the hip to Bruce and Hal as people act like and they not only have nothing to do with the worst of their mistakes, but the older two weren’t always as involved in the younger two’s successes as people credit them as being. And that very niche feeling that only they can really relate to, where Dick and Kyle so often end up being Bruce and Hal’s biggest defenders, and how often this overwrites or gets in the way of Dick and Kyle ever getting to fully express valid resentments they have of how Bruce and Hal’s own actions and choices and reputations impact Dick and Kyle’s lives and actions and choices.

Plus I think they’d just be good for each other - Kyle actually does have the ability to relax and unwind with his art and other hobbies in ways Dick could definitely learn from and benefit from applying to his own life, and Dick has the gravitas and weight of history and experience that means he can really address in actionable ways that Kyle can truly internalize, like the longing Kyle has always had, despite his many accomplishments, to really feel like he isn’t just a hero by happenstance or mistake, that he really belongs among their number. Kyle was a diehard superhero fanboy before he ever got the ring, and you can’t tell me he didn’t have a crush on the first Robin when he debuted back when Kyle was probably in middle school (they’re actually pretty close in age, with everything lending itself to the idea that Kyle’s of a similar age with Dick and the original Titans). Likewise, you can’t tell me Dick has anything but respect for someone who manages to establish himself and his own reputation despite how easy it’d be to be overshadowed by his predecessors and their actions.

They both have extremely parallel storylines even in their particulars......both have been briefly killed then presumed dead and then isolated from their loved ones for a period for a ‘solo mission’ and then blamed for that upon their return, even though Dick wanted nothing to do with that mission and was forced into it by Bruce just like the same is true of Kyle who was backed into his by the Guardians. Both have struggled with suicidal ideation in the past, most notably in the aftermath of Blockbuster and then with Kyle, his subconscious literally created a nemesis for him named Oblivion, who wanted nothing other than his death, because Oblivion was literally Kyle’s own death wish made flesh and blood by Kyle’s willpower and leftover Ion energy. 

Both have nightmares of being hijacked by someone else’s will and used as their puppets, with Dick and his many times being brainwashed and Kyle and his time possessed by Parallax. Both have extremely complicated feelings about children that were never truly theirs, both have been the scapegoat for crimes they didn’t commit, both are wracked with guilt for things they choose to take responsibility for but only because nobody ever told them it wasn’t actually their fault. Both are rape survivors whose rapes were never taken seriously or treated like they matter, and both are desperate for the approval of loved ones and mentors who actually do approve of them very much, but just often struggle to show them that in the ways they really need in order to BELIEVE it.

I could go on, lol, but like, you get it. Don’t worry, you’re not forgetting about some super significant story between Dick and Kyle, it really was just me latching on to that one story from twenty years ago where Kyle’s like if we get out of this alive, I want a hug, and Dick’s like deal, and I was like SOLD. And then my brain manufactured all these other reasons why clearly they are soulmates, and thus you have the Good Ship Dick/Kyle, which I shall sail forever more, no matter if I am only ever a crew of one.

afsbjkfabhjkfaghjkfalhkfla

[featherwriter]

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains depictions of extended torture and medical experimentation, as well as an implied, non-permanent suicide of a Guardian. If the rest of the fic has not prepared you for the kind of dark content in this story, this chapter is probably the heaviest point.

<< Read from the beginning! >>

The torture began in earnest the next day. Sylvanni had initially believed the extent of her 'service' to House Kings would be gladiatorial entertainment in their arena and the harvesting of her Light, but Erxaris, it seemed, had crueler plans for her. The Fallen were so terribly curious about her kind and now they finally had a Guardian on hand to satiate that curiosity.

The room they took her to was simple, with walls of smooth concrete and a long since shattered window which had been replaced by an energy barrier. The only real feature was a simple iron ring in the floor to chain her down. There was no slack in her restraints, forcing her to hold an awkward kneeling position with her arms behind her. Then it began.

The objective was simple; they wanted to know what it took to kill her.

They started with their own weapons first. Shock daggers, then lances, then swords. She was cut, stabbed, and sliced in all variety of ways, until they found something lethal. Sometimes it was blessedly quick, such as the time a lance found her heart on the first thrust. Others were agonizingly slow, as her healing factor—weak though it was—continued to try to mend her, keeping her clinging to life through wounds which would kill a non-Guardian. 

Her main tormentor was a burly Captain, but Erxaris watched over everything, with the canister trapping Sylvanni's Ghost in stasis clutched in her lower arms. Whenever Sylvanni died, her Ghost would be released to resurrect her, and then Sylvanni would give him up again. At first, they'd tried to communicate in those brief moments before she had to turn him over, but every time they did, it got a little harder to let go.

Eventually Sylvanni had to turn that side of herself off. She couldn't bear to acknowledge him at all, couldn't think of him as hers. The motions of letting Erxaris trap him once more became rote, empty, meaningless. At least, she told herself, he couldn't see or feel anything in the stasis. He didn't have to watch what they did to her, just fix her in the aftermath. 

Erxaris and the Captain tried every method of wounding her with their Fallen melee weapons, even 'docking' her arms a few times, a punishment Sylvanni assumed was meant to be humiliating. After one such time, Erxaris held up a hand, curiously watching as Sylvanni's meager healing tried to seal over the amputation. 

When the wounds healed new skin over a stump, the Judgment Vandal frowned. "Doesn't grow back? Such… pitiful things, your kind. Without Machine, is nothing."

They moved on to firearms: shock rifles with their lazily homing bolts, wire rifles with quick precision, a Captain’s shrapnel launcher. They even brought in that accursed Servitor in and watched it blast her from close range. She was shot in the limbs, in the chest, in the head, from the front, back, and sides. Every way they could think of to destroy her, they did.

Then they tried more. They sealed the room and watched from the other side of their barrier as they pulled the air from the room and watched her try to suffocate. That one—agonizingly—didn’t even work, her scraps of Light managing to keep her clinging to life even as her lungs burned for oxygen, but Erxaris and her hateful assistant watched Sylvanni gasp and writhe in the airless chamber for the better part of an hour before giving up on that one. At full Light strength, she’d routinely run missions in the vacuum of space with only mild discomfort, but down here with so little, it was cripplingly tortuous. 

The Fallen picked up what alien technology they had on hand to try as well. They flushed  the room with Hive Witch’s poison, though how they’d managed to distill that, she couldn’t fathom. They had a few Vex weapons on hand, a few severed Goblin and Hobgoblin arms grafted to external power sources to make them fire. Cabal slug rifles, no doubt scavenged from a firebase somewhere. The Fallen were nothing if not thieves and scavengers at heart. 

The torments were endless but Sylvanni said very little through it all. At the start, it was pure determination which held her tongue. She was a Guardian with centuries of battle to her name; she was no stranger to pain and death. She could muster the will to force her way through this without giving her captors the satisfaction of seeing her break. Or so she had believed.

The relentlessness of the torture was something far beyond the violence of battle, however. When connected to her Ghost, her deaths were always quick, sparing her painful ends more often than not. The deaths she received at Erxaris’ command were anything but. The agonies were ever-changing and endless, broken only by the dark, blank stretches of disconnected death. There was nothing she could do, there was no end in sight, no escape from the hell. Dying was only a temporary reprieve, for they always brought her back to suffer again.

Her stoic resolve could only endure so long, but rather than breaking down, begging for mercy, crying, pleading, Sylvanni found her mind drifting instead. It started with that mental break of her Ghost. She couldn’t think of him as himself, couldn’t acknowledge what he really was to her. What she handed back after each rez was only an object, a thing, meaningless to her. It had to be, because if it wasn’t, she’d never be able to give him back, and then they both would die. 

Then she began to disconnect from herself. Each time she resurrected, she felt a little further, her mind gently drifting further and further from the reality of her situation. It was reminiscent of being tethered during a spacewalk, drifting in the abyss of space, floating further and further from her anchor. What would happen if that tether was severed, when the tether was herself?

After all, could pain truly be considered pain when it was simply a constant state of being? There was no end to it, it was just the way things were now. Her nerves kept firing those signals, kept screaming at her to do something to stop this, but there was nothing to be done, and so her mind stopped listening. These things could happen to her body, but she consciously observed herself as though on the other side of thick glass, until it was almost as though she felt nothing at all. 

Just as her Ghost was only a thing, an object, so too was she a thing herself.

Time was meaningless: there was no way to tell how long between her deaths and resurrections anyway and the monotony of pains simply blurred together. It wasn’t as though there was anything which required her attention. They weren’t torturing her for information, making demands, or asking questions of her. They didn’t care about making her talk. They just wanted to see how she might be killed and enjoy the satisfaction of tearing her apart again and again.

At some point, Erxaris’ torture assistant was replaced by a team of King Splicers. These, unlike those of the House of Devils, hadn’t endowed themselves with SIVA augmentations, but they were interested in biological information. Her anatomy, alien to them, was a secret they wished to unravel, and they opened her up, a live dissection. They poked and prodded and rummaged about her body until they’d cut or stabbed something they shouldn’t have, collapsed a lung or compromised an organ, and then they wrote that down and started again.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Sylvanni just drifted through it all, mind so very distant from the endless horror, barely making a sound. She was increasingly certain nothing would ever matter again. Time was meaningless, not even the barest circadian hint in this bleak, crumbling ruin, and she had no way to tell how long they left her dead each time before bringing her back. It might have been days; it might have been months. They never offered her food or water anymore, as they’d realized they didn’t need to. Just pain, in endless, infinite, multitudinous, myriad forms. 

If there was one relief, it was that the Servitor didn’t come to drain her again. The constant wounds were such a drain on what meager Light she could get, there were no reserves for the Kings to siphon off. 

After one resurrection, back in the smooth stone room, she was left alone, still chained to the floor. They brought her back from death, took her Ghost away, and simply abandoned her. As time passed, heartbeat after heartbeat, that drifty, floaty little piece of her at the edge of her distant mind could have laughed. Were they hoping to study the effects of isolation, glean some psychological insight? She simply sat, staring at nothing, absently noting as her body slipped physically closer to dehydration, until she was lying down, back to fluttering on the edge of life, burning through those sad little wisps of Light within her to stave off death. This one, she decided emotionlessly, was at least not as bad as the endless suffocation had been.

In that fragile limbo, she found herself thinking of Osiris of all people. It had been centuries now, she realized, since the last time she’d seen him, but she’d once been new to immortality, foolishly enamored with her Vanguard Commander and the dangerous ideas that would lead to his eventual exile. 

Dangerous ideas that were… not entirely unlike this. He’d encouraged thanatonauts, who thought they could glean secret wisdom or insight from death. Warlocks who intentionally lingered on the edges of death, or flung themselves into its depths repeatedly. Perhaps one of them could have found this torture useful. After all, it was practically what those kinds did to themselves anyway. 

She drifted in the haze of memories, of imaginings, of dreams and nonsense. Maybe visions like these were what thanatonauts sought, or maybe it was all just the hallucinations of a mind and body pushed far beyond their breaking points. If there was thanatonautic wisdom among it all, she couldn’t summon the mental effort to try to remember any of it. She couldn’t really believe any of it mattered.

Somewhere in that fugue state, something must have killed her again, because at some point, she was brought back to life yet again, no longer alone. Erxaris stood in the chamber, lower arms crossed over her Judgement-green tabard, upper arms holding the stasis capsule. Her only weapon was a shock dagger at her waist, but the power Erxaris held within House Kings wasn’t truly martial anyway. 

By rote, Sylvanni held out her Ghost, offering him back once again. Had Sylvanni been herself, she might have noticed how he still turned to look back at her, every time he was taken, she might have recognized the mix of pity and fear in the tilt of his corners before the capsule froze him again. 

But she didn’t register any of that. She couldn’t. She was adrift, and the Ghost was just a shape, just a thing to hand back as part of the routine.

Erxaris clicked the container shut with a small click, then handed it back to someone waiting outside the chamber for safekeeping. When she turned back, she tipped her head as she regarded the blank-faced Warlock standing before her. “Wish tests to stop?”

Sylvanni didn’t answer. A part of her couldn’t really believe that there would be an end to the pain they put her through. She just stared straight forward, unmoving, waiting until the suffering started again.

Erxaris chittered a laugh. “Stoic, it becomes. Answer, Machine thief. Opportunity not to be offered twice.”

“What.” Sylvanni forced the word out, her own voice a foreign rasp to her ears. “Do you. Want.”

“Fealty.”

The word was so surprising, so out of place, it shocked some part of her back to enough awareness to look up, meeting the Vandal’s four eyes with her two. 

“Renounce Machine-right. Your Tra-vel-er.” The drawn-out emphasis of each syllable couldn’t be anything other than mocking. “Swear to House Kings. Loyal donor of ether.”

In the distant drifting, a piece of Sylvanni could hardly see the point in answering, couldn’t muster the will to care about what happened to her. A smaller, desperate, animal part of her, the shreds of her self-preservation, begged for a respite, willing to give Erxaris anything she demanded if it would mean an end to the suffering. 

Neither of these were capable of a real decision, neither were capable of true survival. The Void, as ever, held her salvation. What Light she held was faint, but within it she found that calm stillness, the centering of self she needed. A singularity around which to gather herself once again for just a moment, long enough to think. 

House Kings wished to make their Guardian prisoner a Guardian slave instead? There could be opportunity in that, she realized. So be it. If she was going to find a chance to escape and retrieve her Ghost in truth, it wouldn’t be done in these passing, powerless moments of life between endless, captive deaths. She didn’t expect they’d be sloppy in this, but it only took one moment of lapse for this to work. 

As for the oath, the renunciation? Meaningless. She didn’t think Erxaris was foolish to believe endless, repeatedly lethal torture had inspired anything resembling loyalty within her for her captors, but that wasn’t what this was really about. They both knew that. It was about the power of forcing a Guardian through the shame of saying such a thing. But what did Sylvanni care about shame, after what she’d been through? Whatever dignity she’d thought she had was long gone in the eyes of these Fallen, and she wouldn’t have let something as worthless as pride keep her from seizing a possible advantage, anyway. 

She was, for just a moment, cold clarity once again, the void’s resonant reassurance within her. The decision made. Sylvanni let out a long breath, then forced the words out. “I… accept.” 

Erxaris drew herself up, a sense of triumph clear even in her alien posture. “Renounce.”

Sylvanni fixed her eyes on the floor and swore the lie. “I renounce the Traveler, and my right to its gifts.” Even saying it felt like poison, but she’d endured far worse toxins recently. 

“Swear,” Erxaris said, punctuated with anticipatory clicking. “Swear loyalty to House Kings, its great and regal Kell. Swear your stolen ether to the service of your House.”

“I swear… loyalty to House Kings and its Kell. I swear my Light to its service.”

The rebreather hissed as Erxaris drew in a full draught of ether, her lower hands clasping together. “You will be lowest of House, beneath dregs, beneath shanks. Silveks, Kings Slave.”

The butchered eliksnization of her name felt like a final insult, but Sylvanni gave no reaction, no response. From this point forward, she followed orders, nothing more. This void-drift she’d cultivated could serve her in this as well, she thought. These Fallen would surely seek further ways to humiliate her, new ways to hurt her, but now she would feel nothing of it, give them no satisfaction of a reaction from her. 

The shock dagger clanged to the ground between the bowed Awoken and the looming Vandal, sliding into Sylvanni’s still-lowered gaze. Sylvanni didn’t reach for it, though she had a sinking feeling she knew what was coming next. 

“Prove loyalty,” Erxaris hissed cruelly. “Your Kell demands more than Machine-ether. Demands blood. Demands life, Silveks. Then, oath accepted.”

Sylvanni slowly reached forward, picking up the small dagger. For the barest moment, she considered turning on Erxaris, but as satisfying as the idea might have been, the other Fallen outside this room would surely turn out in force to put her down permanently. In the end, there really wasn’t much of a choice. At least when she was the one holding the knife she was able to make it quick.

After all, what was one more death after everything?

<< Previous || Masterpost || Next >>

[padawanlost]

I thought it was less ‘choosing not to talk about it’ and more ‘the Jedi want him to disconnect from his past and won’t let him talk about it’ or am i misremembering?

It’s both. Anakin’s ‘I don’t want to talk about my past’ behavior is a result of his inability to express himself without being reprimanded and his unwillingness to face his trauma. When he was a kid Anakin was pretty open about his thoughts and feelings. The isolation he experience as an adult was a learned behavior. Anakin was always proud and refused to allow his slave status to be used against him, something he learned from Shmi.  But he wasn’t ashamed of it either. He openly talked about his past with complete strangers when he was a kid.

They sat down to eat Shmi’s dinner a short while after, the storm still howling without, an eerie backdrop of sound against the silence within. Qui-Gon and Padmé occupied the ends of the table, while Anakin, Jar Jar, and Shmi sat at its sides. Anakin, in the way of small boys, began talking about life as a slave, in no way embarrassed to be doing so, thinking of it only as a fact of his life and anxious to share himself with his new friends. Shmi, more protective of her son’s station, was making an effort to help their guests appreciate the severity of their situation. [Terry Brooks. The Phantom Menace]

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Anakin replied, “Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of resentment in Anakin’s voice. He hadn’t considered that Anakin, because of his experience on Tatooine, might be sensitive to calling anyone Master. Obi-Wan sighed, then said, “Please don’t think it gives me pleasure to admonish you, Padawan. I can only imagine what it was like for you to grow up as a slave, and I —” “Do you ever miss your mother?” Anakin interrupted. The question caught Obi-Wan off guard, but he recovered fast to answer, “No. No, I don’t. I never knew her, not really. I was still an infant when I arrived here, at the Temple.” “Then maybe we can make a deal,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan could tell that the boy was trying to keep his voice from trembling. “You won’t feel sorry for me because I was once a slave, and I won’t feel sorry for you because you don’t miss your mother.” [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Fear, hatred, anger. . The old trio Anakin fought every day of his life, though he revealed his deepest emotions to only one man: Obi-Wan Kenobi, his master in the Jedi Temple. The Blood Carver stooped slightly on his three-jointed legs. "You smell like a slave," he said softly, for Anakin's ears alone. It was all Anakin could do to keep from throwing off his wings and going for the Blood Carver's long throat. He swal lowed his emotions down into a private cold place and stored them with the other dark things left over from Tatooine. The Blood Carver was on target with his insult, which stiffened Anakin's anger and made it harder to control himself. Both he and his mother, Shmi, had been slaves to the supercilious junk dealer, Watto. When the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn had won him from Watto, they had had to leave Shmi behind. . something Anakin thought about every day of his life. [Greg Bear. Rogue Planet]

The Blood Carver was not helping. His irritation at the delay was apparently being channeled into ragging the human boy at his side, and Anakin was soon going to have to put up some sort of defense to show he was not just a stage prop. "I hate the smell of a slave," the Blood Carver said. "I wish you'd stop saying that," Anakin said. The closest thing he had to a weapon was his small welder, pitiful under the circumstances. The Blood Carver outmassed him by many tens of kilos."I refuse to compete with a lower order of being, a slave. It brings disgrace upon my people, and upon we." "What makes you think I'm a slave?" Anakin asked as mildly as he could manage and not appear even more vulnerable. [Greg Bear. Rogue Planet]

The Blood Carver had hurt Obi-Wan, threatened Jabitha, called Anakin a slave. For these things there was no possible redemption. [...] "What will you do, slave boy?"  It was the connection Anakin had sought, the link between his anger and his power. Like a switch being thrown, a circuit being connected, he returned full circle to the pit race, to the sting he had felt with the Blood Carver's first insult, with the first unfair and sneaky move that had sent Anakin tumbling off the apron. Then, back farther, to the dingy slave quarters on Tatooine, to the Boonta Eve Podrace and the treachery of the Dug, and to the last sight of Shmi, still in bondage to the disgusting Watto, to all the insults and injuries and shames and night sweats and disgrace piled upon disgrace that he had never asked for, never deserved, and had borne with almost infinite patience.[Greg Bear. Rogue Planet]

Obi-Wan could not reassure Anakin that his words were spoken out of haste. He was worried about the effect of this mission on Anakin. If they did engage with Krayn, Anakin's deepest emotions would be tapped. Obi-Wan knew his Padawan had not begun to truly deal with the years of shame and anger he had passed as a slave. Someday he would confront this. Obi-Wan fervently wished that day to be in the future, after Anakin had honed his training. Yet he had the feeling that this was exactly why Mace Windu and Yoda had chosen them. It was not the first time Obi-Wan had suspected the Council of being too harsh. [Jude Watson. Path to Truth]

"The planet's leader, Aga Culpa, has made an agreement with Krayn that its people will remain free in exchange for Krayn's control of the factories," Mazie explained. "There is not much honest work on Nar Shaddaa, and the guards are well paid. So tell me, how do you come to be here? Is this your first experience as a slave?" "I was free when I was captured, but I was raised as a slave on Tatooine," Anakin said. [Jude Watson. Book 01 - Path to Truth]

"Lying again," Deland said to Anakin. "No human can be a Podracer." "One was," Doby said. "A human child. A slave. He won his freedom, and after the race he disappeared. His name was — " "Anakin Skywalker," Anakin supplied. "Pleased to meet you." "Now you're a Jedi?" Doby asked in disbelief. "And you were a slave?" "It's a strange galaxy," Anakin said with a grin. [...] "I'm sorry that your sister is a slave," Anakin said. "Do you know Shmi, my mother? She's a slave, too. Or she was, when I saw her last." [Jude Watson. Dangerous Games]

Unfortunately, over the years Anakin became more private about his feelings.  You can see the difference between his interactions with stranges and with Jedi. He was much more open about his past with people he didn’t know. And that’s not an accident. It was a change even Obi-wan noticed.

When they’d met, Anakin had been a warm-hearted nine-year-old boy with an open nature. He was twelve and a half now, and the years had changed him. He had grown to be a boy who hid his heart. [Jedi Apprentice Special Edition: Deceptions by Jude Watson]

Obi-Wan crouched by him. “This isn’t work, Anakin. It’s a hobby. And if you are using it to keep distance between you and your fellow students, it’s not a helpful one.” [...] “They don’t want me,” Anakin said flatly. He walked over and slung the legs of the protocol droid under one arm. “I’m not like them.”  Obi-Wan couldn’t argue. Anakin was unique. There was no question about that. He was an exceptional student, much more in tune with the Force than others his age. He had come late to the Temple. It wasn’t that the other students disliked him, they just didn’t know what to make of him. [Jedi Apprentice Special Edition: Deceptions by Jude Watson]

When did it happen? Obi-Wan wondered again. Why did it happen? Was it the loss of his mother, followed so closely by the death of Qui-Gon? Obi-Wan could not replace those people in Anakin’s heart, nor did he wish to. He had hoped that with Jedi training and their own relationship, Anakin would come to find peace. He had not. [Jedi Apprentice Special Edition: Deceptions by Jude Watson]

Anakin’s inability to talk about his past was something Obi-wan recognized as ‘damage’.

[...] Obi-Wan stifled a sigh. Oh Anakin. This was about his childhood. Again. About the indelible fingerprints slavery had left on his soul and his psyche. Qui-Gon, did you never once stop to think of that? Did it never occur to you the damage might run too deep? “Anakin—” Anakin flicked him a frustrated look. “I know you think you understand. I know you want to understand. But if you haven’t lived it, Obi-Wan, you can’t. And you never will.” They really shouldn’t be talking. Even keeping their voices low almost to whispering, it was dangerous. But if he shut down the conversation now, if he refused to hear what Anakin had to say, he’d pile damage upon damage. [Karen Miller. Star Wars: Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth]

Anakin was hurt by his past and his inability and unwillingness to openly discuss it was harming him. And, as we can see above, that didn’t happen naturally. It was the result of years of jedi training (and bullying). 

“Thank you, sir,” Anakin said in a quiet voice. Palpatine interlinked the fingers of his hands. “I’m told that you grew up on Tatooine. I visited there, many years ago.” Anakin’s eyes narrowed for the briefest moment. “I did, sir, but I’m not supposed to talk about that.” Palpatine watched him glance up at Obi-Wan. “And why is that?” “My mother—” “Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped in reprimand. [James Luceno. Darth Plagueis]

But Anakin is not aware of that. As a character he can’t be that self-aware. So he rationalizes it as a behavior he chose. It’s much easier for him to admit he can’t talk about something because it might hurt than it’s to admit the tragedy of his life. After 10 years of burying the trauma from slavery from the Jedi in his life, it’s only nature he’d hide it from Ahsoka too.

[talesofedo]

Prompt - Going back to Work ...

"Where will you go?" Okiyo asked as she watched Saito pack up the few possessions with which he had arrived in Sendagaya just over a month prior, wrapping them in his green furoshiki along with the onigiri she had prepared for his departure.

"Aizu."

He had been gone a long time and in the relative isolation of the guesthouse he'd received few news of how the war was going in his absence. Very early in his stay he had received a letter from Hijikata assuring him it was alright if he chose to remain in Edo with Soji for the time being. They'd both known this meant "until he passes" and that it likely wouldn't be a very long stay. But now he felt disconnected from the goings-on in the rest of the world and he worried that by the time he returned to Aizu, the war would be lost. It hadn't been going well when he left for Kyoto, and he didn't imagine things had improved since.

Okiyo watched him with an expression of concern, making him uncomfortable; it sometimes felt as if she could read his thoughts. "Are you sure you don't want to spend the night?" she asked eventually while he was sorting through the stack of books beside the writing desk. "I don't expect you slept much after the funeral." He hoped she was guessing, partly because it was embarrassing to think she might have looked into the room last night to see him sobbing into Soji's blankets, mourning the death by himself. She added, "You haven't been getting much rest lately and it's a long trip."

"I'm fine. I will leave at dusk." He had thought about this part because he knew it was a risk someone might recognize him in Edo and he could get arrested, but the streets would be busy in the evening, full of people heading home after a day of work or going out for the night, and the chances anyone might recognize him in the crowd were slim. More importantly, if anyone did recognize him, it should be easy to lose them among the masses.

She watched him gather up some books and wrap them in a separate cloth, and he felt the need to explain what he was doing. They were books Kondo had given to Soji, the Chushingura and the Tales of the Three Kingdoms. "These were Kondo's. I plan to send them to his family."

Okiyo nodded. "Will you take anything of Okita's?"

His eyes inadvertently fell onto Soji's swords and he wondered whether he should take them along to Aizu and send them on to Shonai from there, or whether he should leave it to Okiyo to pack up all that remained and send it together. Part of him wondered whether Mitsu and Rintaro would even care to have Soji's things.

It still bothered him that they had left Soji in the care of a stranger when they left. He understood why Rintaro had to leave since he was following his lord, but he did not understand why Mitsu did - it would not have been unusual for a samurai's wife to follow her husband at a later time, especially considering the circumstances.

He also wondered, if he'd never come to Sendagaya, how would an old woman like Okiyo have managed to care for Soji at the end. He hated to think about how things might have been had he not been there.

He realized he hadn't given her an answer yet and eventually he just shook his head. "I don't plan to take anything. Will you see that it gets to his family?"

"Of course." She surveyed the room, perhaps thinking of the amount of work packing up might entail.

A meow interrupted their awkward conversation and Saito saw the little black cat in the doorway. It was early in the afternoon, the time they usually had their lunch, and he expected it had come around to mooch food and spend time curled up in Soji's lap as it normally did. He'd felt so unreasonably angry toward this cat when he'd found Soji collapsed in the garden, but he'd realized how stupid that line of thinking was. How could he blame a cat for the choice Soji had made to protect it, or for the progression of a terrible illness?

He squatted down to pet the cat and he couldn't help but ask Okiyo, "What will happen to the cats?"

She shrugged. "They're Edo strays. They were here before we came and they will still be here after we leave. I expect they make their rounds between houses to get fed."

[wersoverytired]

Watching the Supernatural finale hours after almost dying is, well. Different.

I cannot stress this enough: MAJOR triggers for frank discussion of a recent suicide attempt (no, not because SPN ended). Steer clear if this might hit too close to home. I'm no longer at risk, this happened a while ago and is over, and my care manager is aware.

Right, and spoilers for the series finale.

_____ _____ _____

I'm old enough to have been a fan of SPN since 2005. And considering the fact that childhood abuse had me suicidal at around age 12, probably earlier, it's safe to say that I have never watched the show without that constant battle going on in the background, unrelated.

When Dean said he was tired, that he was done, I got it. When Sam asked in that abandoned chapel what the upside was to him being alive, or when he confided in his brother in a hotel hallway that he had always felt unclean somehow, I could relate. There was more to the show than that, of course -- the love, the loyalty, the humor -- but the struggle was another point of connection.

As both the show and I grew long in the tooth, and my life circumstances were progressive getting worse (as they sometimes do when you carry untreated trauma), I used SPN and the fandom as a comfort. And increasingly, living to see how the Winchester story ends became one of those grappling hooks you latch on to when you look for reasons to keep going just a little longer.

Naturally, that didn't (and couldn't) arm me against the waves of acute, hope-obliterating, soul-sucking despair that can routinely crash on your head when you're dealing with poverty, chronic physical illness and disability -- and in a harsh country, too -- as well as being severely post traumatic and dissociative. Saving me was never the show's job, nor should it have been. I used it as much as I could, though.

The more I felt like I had to die, the more I tried. Dying hardly ever comes naturally, not even when you feel like there's no other way. Painfully isolated and increasingly bedridden, I watched convention panels and smiled so hard my face hurt. Other times I cried. And I made online friends, often through the fandom, who made life less empty. Who loved and laughed and cried with me from afar. It's hard to overstate the effect that can have when you're trapped in a body that's pretty much your cage, with a mind that's wounded and struggling.

I kept fighting. But I also kept finding myself, over and over again, faced with the reality that most people who are deeply traumatized, certainly those who are also severely dissociative, get to know early on: the world excels at letting many of us know that there's no place for us. Fighting hard to survive with about 10% of what I need to live, I sometimes find it hard not to listen to that toxic message that many survivors and disabled folks hear and feel coming at them over and over: you're too broken to justify the cost and effort of keeping you alive.

It's been an especially hard couple of years in that sense. And as the finale was months, then weeks, then days away, I kept telling myself to wait. Wait for that. Decide later. "Deciding later" is a survival technique I've been using for decades now whenever I get actively suicidal. It's not a bad one.

So that very last Thursday evening (or very late night, where I live) came around. And it so happens that I was at the very end of my rope. Again, for unrelated reasons to the show ending, obviously. And I couldn't go on.

The finale was hours away, and off I went on that same journey. Wait. Wait just long enough to see how it ends. It's been 15 years. You've survived so far, and that bit of closure, at least, is within reach. Just fucking wait to watch that last episode; see how they go before you do. Let that be the one last kind thing you do for yourself.

I kept telling myself that even as I numbly went through my final checklist.

I know it hurts so much. I know this damn body is tortured beyond what you can stand, I know we've been told it's about to get even worse. And hours more of this seem like an eternity. Watching anything seems impossible. I know the PTSD is intolerable, I know you can't sleep, you live in constant fear and rage and exhaustion; I know you're alone in this.

I know you live in a place that has made its peace with people like you dying of Covid, and finds it a small price to pay for refusing to wear masks. I know how that makes you feel, to be told that your life is worth that little because you're disabled. I know 9 months of what amounts to house arrest, while living alone, have made everything so much worse. I know you just want to go.

But wait to watch how it ends. And decide later. You can go later. You can.

And I almost made it. I mean, I'm obviously still here, so I eventually survived. But I tried not to. I couldn't wait.

Sometimes, when you get to the lowest low point, when you are in all-encompassing agony, when your circumstances leave no room for hope even though you desperately want to live -- and I do, I so want to live -- no show, no fandom, no unfinished story can keep you from taking that step over the edge. Many times it can, but there are places where nothing has any meaning. Thursday night became one of those. Watching the finale was a faded notion in the background of all that agony, and then it was nothing at all.

I only managed to write one goodbye letter. Hard to be as organized as you imagined you would be, hard not to leave unforgivable loose ends. I have no memory of what the letter said, and I can't look at it, not yet. It's tucked away now, just out of view.

And then I went about doing the only thing that I felt could be done.

I didn't get to go away. Both because I couldn't stand the torment of the only method I had handy, though I sure gave it my best efforts -- two more minutes would have sealed the deal -- and because I was fucking afraid to die. All the way through, until I gave up and stopped what I was doing.

Fear of dying when you're your own executioner is an odd thing. Your body wants out of this plan you've made for you both. It responds like you'd expect when someone's life in under threat. It makes you have to run to the bathroom over and over, it makes your heart hammer in your chest and your ears ring.

There was no crying. Not at that point. I don't think there was crying when I gave up and accepted that I was staying alive, either. But I can't remember.

I don't know what I did during the few hours after that. The physical consequences of what I did were gone within half an hour or so -- being so ill, I knew not to try something that would land me in the ER during COVID, should I not complete the plan. I'd also be on my own there, and most likely dissociated to such a degree that I wouldn't be able to move or speak. That's not something I ever wanted to experience again, and a fucking horrible starting point if I survived.

Anyway, I was okay physically soon enough, which is not how it usually goes. I just remember being fuzzy and distant and alone. There was no one to call, and I also thought about how it would feel to get a call like that. I considered a crisis hotline, but didn't have the energy to explain my messy, complicated circumstances. I probably just lay there.

A few hours later, I was present enough to watch the finale. Still don't know how. Dissociation has it occasional advantages, one of which is being disconnected from certain things when it's all too much. And so I watched the final episode in bed, with the aftermath of that suicide attempt still all around me.

I watched Dean die the way he did. I watched Sam die. I watched them both being given the pained, tearful reassurance that it was okay to go. Watched them being held, watched those two strong, kindhearted, emotional, loyal men crying as they breathed their last. Dean's death, especially, broke my heart. He so clearly did not want to die. Was afraid, more than ever before.

I did cry then. I sobbed. I could cry for them. Hell, I could cry for that dog, wandering with Sam through the empty halls of the bunker. I cried as that dog looked up, with all that trust and love, at the only human he had left. I cried for Sam, sitting drained and aching in the dark library. Saying "I know, me too" on the unmade bed in Dean's cold, empty room.

Before that, back in the barn, I watched Dean not want to go. Sam begging him not to go, then forcing himself to tell his older brother what he needed, what he begged to hear. That he wasn't abandoning the one person he had spent his life looking out for. That Sam would survive him going, now that he had to go.

I never saved the world, and there's nothing heroic about me. But so much of what went on around those characters' deaths echoed what I had felt hours earlier, what I still was feeling. It gave me a safe way to cry for that, too.

I will always be grateful to the show for that small mercy. And grateful to Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, whom I've never met and never will, and have given such phenomenal performances here that they reached through all that distance, to unknowingly touch an ache that I could not cry for. They'll never know that. I imagine there are so many people like me who feel the same gratefulness, too, for their own similar moments of human connection.

The show is over now, and I try not to be sad about that, and I'm sure I will be. It would be sadder if I didn't feel a loss. Meanwhile, life doesn't stall just because you tried to stop your own. It's around two weeks later now, bright and loud outside my window in a world that's not safe for me to go out in, and I am lying in bed in a half-lit room trying to manage my pain. I didn't die. I'm still here.

I can't pretend I'm glad that I am, but I also know that I'm not ready to go yet. I'm just not. I have no good reason for that; sometimes you're just too afraid to die. And so I can't see myself trying to go away again any time soon. My health might take care of that for me anyway, but otherwise, looks like I'm stuck on this ride.

I'm very grateful that I've had SPN and its people for so long through this battle, to give me and the rest of the fandom so much more than meets the eye. And I'm grateful for that last, good cry, too.

Well, not the last cry, for sure. There's always rewatch #475783. 

[mari-lair]

NorRayEmma Tangled AU!

Things are a little different from the original Tangled. If curious, plot and character info are below the cut~

- James Ratri is the King of Neverland. He was the one that spent day and night trying to find a  magic flower to give to his sick Queen, Owl Minerva. Isabella, the most loyal and trusted of the guards was ordered to stay by his wife side, protecting her until James and the other guards came back with the magic flower.

- When the baby was born the royal family was faced with a shocking pair of red eyes, the intense color the exact shade of the magic flower. The baby, named Willian Minerva in honor of the queen survival, had absorbed some of the flower magic, for his eyes glowed in the dark and his tears had the capacity to heal.

- The king’s brother, Peter, is the one that kidnapped the prince. He initially tried to take the baby’s eyes and keep them as a substitute for the magic flower but the moment the eye disconnected from the baby head the magic was lost, the bright red turning sky blue. Peter managed to put the eye back later but the prince was left with a scar on his left eye. When he sings only the right eye glow brighter, and the few times he cried only the tears on the right hold the power to heal.

-Isabella died trying to protect Norman from Peter, considering her friend’s son a child of her own. She managed to gravely hurt the traitor leg and abdomen before kicking the bucket but unfortunately, Peter used the baby’s tears to heal himself completely.

- After the tragedy was over, everyone mourned the death of Isabella and the betrayal of Peter. The king ordered his guards to look left and right for his son, hoping to have hope restored. Peter was paranoic about the large search, so he moved to an isolated tower and changed Willian’s name to Norman.

- Norman loves to read and write. Peter gifted him books to keep him busy and entertained, unintentionally invested on the boy. All their meaningful conversations are about books and while Peter doesn’t mind the boy hobbies he still makes sure to only bring books where humanity is described as a horrible species. Ones where people with magic don’t get a happy ending.

-Norman dreams of going out and explore the world but he is wary of it. Listening to his father’s warnings and seeing how dangerous his situation is. If even the man who loved him dearly was practically obsessed with his magic, he doesn’t want to know what strangers would do to make him cry. He hasn’t given up on his dreams however so he learned how to control his tears. Words and stones will hurt him, but they can’t make him cry. Peter find this very troublesome, but thankfully a song is still enough to light up Norman’s eye and cure any fatigue, making him young again.

-Peter convinces Norman there are traps around the tower so he shouldn’t ever leave, it’s far too dangerous for a little kid! It takes time but Norman reluctantly agrees, getting more and more skeptical as the years go by.

- Ray, left with no parents after Isabella’s death, was adopted by the queen and king, both wanting their dear friend son to have a good life.

-Ray grew up in a place were everyone sung his dead mother praises. He had memories of warm gazes from both his biological mom and adoptive parents but he knew the king wanted his true kid back. He completely understood them, so he never attempted to study to be a king, waiting for the true heir to come back and fill in this hole his existence couldn’t.

-Ray is determined to be a royal guard, promising himself he would be strong, strong enough to prevent any possible tragedies from destroying his adoptive family again. He starts training to be a guard, a soldier. He grew to be the best in the castle, and while his dad is very proud, he knows Isabella used to be even better. Ray doesn’t mind his colleges' disappointment, he is well aware he cannot fill the hole Isabella’s death caused either, but he is scared he too will fail when his family needs him most.

- Emma works on an orphanage, has been living and helping around the place for all her life. Said orphanage is very poor so she collects fruits in the forest and steals bread and milk for the small children. She steals very little from a wide variety of locations, not wanting to actually prejudice any family. Most of the time people don't even see her, but other times she gets in fights.

- One day, she gets in a bad fight, probably would have died if a tired guard in training hasn't stopped the commotion, forcing her to return the food and giving two breads of his own to appease her yelling stomach. She said  her thanks but the guard waved her off.

- Times passes, her usual targets start to get wary so she is forced to expand her territory. Emma isn't sure where she should target until she sees a huge amount of sweets get delivered to the castle and decides to steals it for her little sister birthday. It’s not that hard to sneak past all the lazy guards and she always gets tasty rewards! So she keeps coming back.

- Despite not going much to the kitchen, Ray scary memory is enough to make him notice the foods and little items that Emma stole. He keeps his eyes open for any cheeky cook or skillful thief, eventually spotting Emma with a slice of his favorite cake. He recognizes her as the thief he saved a while back but he is so annoyed he almost cuts her hand off. Emma also recognize him but she decides to gets the hell away from the castle, apologizing "I didn't knew it was your birthday cake!! I am sorry!" and crying dramatically. Ragged looks and terrible diet aside, she proved herself to be far quicker than Ray, maneuvering pass him and promising to make it up too him.

-The next day there is a homemade cookie in his window with a badly written 'happy birthday' in it. It’s the cheap, no chocolate or honey kind of cookie, terrible when compared to the rich cakes he always get but...Not that bad... Ray half expect it to be poisoned but it's clearly not... He doesn't know what to make of it.

-She keeps coming, making sure to not get greedy and only picking the easy stuff. It’s a game. Ray tries his best to catch her but doesn't actually grab her when he has the opportunity. She started to like their interaction, teasing the boy and considering him her friend. Ray reluctantly think she is okay too and leave food by the window once or twice, smiling on the rare occasions another of those horribles cookies are placed in his window. Queen Owl and King James notice their interactions but pretend to be ignorant, happy Ray got a friend.

- This strange friendship they have it’s wonderful, or it was until Emma stole the prince crown.

-It was a tough choice. She felt bad for the King and Queen, silently apologizing to Ray too, but not giving the crown back. The prince probably won’t come back anyway and with this crown, she’ll get enough money to make sure her broken down orphanage, her home, doesn’t get demolished for a stupid shoe store.

- Ray runs after her, this time truly angry. That was the only thing left from the prince! His parents will be heartbroken! He orders the other guards to surround the city orphanages while he searchs for the girl, willing to play dirty if it came to it.

-After a lot of running, Emma finds the tower Norman is kept and decides to hide in there. Ray discovers the tower too and follows Emma, ready to threaten her with her siblings' safety in exchange for the crown. He doesn't expect to see the thief unconscious while a beautiful boy with a thick encyclopedia tucked under his arms drag her under a bed. Ray warily raises his sword, surprised by how much Norman resembles his dad, from the unusual white hair to the blue eye...It was identical to the king.

- Norman has a bad opinion of guards, trusting his books and convinced they hunt down magic people and torture them. But he also knows they’re very good at fighting and can be good shields, perfect to help him cross the supposed traps around the tower. So he hides his fear and acts relieved to see the boy in armor, stating he was hiding from thieves. When asked about his scarred eye Norman made up a story about thieves using violence to get his money, the cut was so deep he couldn’t save his left eye, so he used a substitute.

-Ray know something isn’t quite right with Norman’s story, in fact, he is pretty sure the boy, this younger version of James, is the missing ‘cute angel with red eyes’ his adoptive parents talk all the time about.

-When asked about the missing prince Norman looks genuinely confused, trying to hide behind a little smile and stating his dad Peter never talked about this missing prince.

-Peter hum? That’s either a very strange stream of coincidences or Ray just found the missing prince. That’s the only reason he accepts to escort this very suspicious ‘Norman’ to the city, trading Emma unconscious body (crown included) in return for his service as an escort. The guard ties Emma up and they both leave the tower, keeping an eye on each other. It may look harmless, but Ray knows Norman can do a lot of damage with the encyclopedia he insisted on taking with him.

-Norman tries to act neutral and focus only on finding traps but he doesn’t quite manage. His eyes light up in wonder over everything, spending a little too long rubbing his feet on the grass and trailing his fingers over tree barks. Ray just slowed down whenever Norman took a detour, finding it oddly adorable to see this boy that exude grace discreetly grab dirt from the ground and mumble “Fascinating...” when the dirt rocks dissolve into sand. It’s strange. Underneath his fondness, Ray can’t help but feel sad. If even dirt amazes Norman, he truly must have never left his tower in the 16 years the prince was kidnapped...

- It doesn’t take long for Norman to notice his father lied, there are no traps around the tower. It takes even less time to see Ray may suffer from resting bitch face syndrome but he is pretty nice. So Norman tries to actually speak with Ray, ask about his job and Emma situation. It’s a pleasant but mostly quiet conversation where Ray explains his routine in an unenthusiastic tone and Norman feel increasingly more fascinated by the outside world, feeling betrayed by his books and his father.

- Ray let him touch his hair and examine his armor. It's nice...And it only gets better when  Emma wakes up.

- She whines about her situation for a full minute, glaring and getting in a loud argument with Ray before feeling someone touch her hair antenna. If she wasn't tied down, she would have jumped, finally noticing an amused Norman by her side and then proceeding to gasp "You are the one that knocked me down aren't you??".

[aty-altiria]

Where Did You Go?

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation 

Word count: 1197

Universe: Harry Potter/Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairings: Fem!Harry/Stephen Strange

Rating: T

Themes: Not permanent character death, Infinity war, grief

Summary: Bond shock. When one half of a soulmate pair suddenly dies, the other half is left… broken, unable to function. In the snap of a finger a huge portion of the universe is pushed into sudden bond shock, Holly is one of these numbers. Even knowing the path to victory lays forward, lays with Stephen’s death, the bond-shock is too much for her. She’s blank, utterly. In the end, there’s a reason Tony Stark was key to that victory as he all but carries Holly forward.

"I'm sorry, Holly… it's the only way."

"Don't- don't do that! Don't say goodbye to me, Stephen! Don't -!"

Holly breathed in the dust of an alien planet, felt it scratch her lungs and clog her airway. She didn't bother to cough it free, not even when her head started to pound from how it affected her body. Holly didn't even bother moving. Hadn't for hours. Not since Stephen had turned to dust in her arms, not since the shock set in.

Tony had eventually gotten up; he'd forced himself to move because Pepper was still alive even if he'd lost the kid. Though Nebula had definitely forced the issue. Tony had people back on earth, he had, because of that, a greater level of survival instinct… he was still connected to his soulmate. So he got up. He moved.

She didn't.

Perhaps Tony had realized what she had been to Stephen. He was smart enough to put two and two together; the hints had been there. Existed in how she'd frantically chased down the alien that stole Stephen, the way she reacted when they'd finally caught up and found Stephen being tortured. The way Holly had held him as before they made their plan to defeat the mad-titan. Tony had seen it all, the way she and Stephen fought in sync, and the way she reacted when he died-

The energetic warrior Holly had been vanished in a single snap. She'd withered up before Tony's eyes, and he'd realized the truth right then.

"Look into my eyes." Stephen had said it.

Code words between them, read my mind, let me show you-

"We'll see each other again, Holly, I swear it."

There was one path to victory, one path, and Stephen had shown her what it was and how to reach it. Because he wouldn't be there to ensure it- she'd been resolved- and the Stephen turned to dust and-

Bond shock was a hundred times worse than she'd ever imagined.

Stephen had been apart of her life ever since an emergency trauma surgery years ago. Ever since a building collapsed on top of her, and she'd been whisked into the hospital. Ever since his skin's first contact on hers when he'd tried to calm her despite his terrible bedside manner. Stephen had been with her. His emotions always at the edge of her mind. And now Stephen as gone. He'd left her… she was alone-

"Drink." Tony pushed water to her lips, forced her to take in something. Holly obeyed blankly. Didn't register Tony except for his orders when he tried to get her into the shoddily repaired ship the guardians had arrived in.

Holly was blank-

Five years at least, she'd have to be like this for five years, and if she failed, if Tony failed then- this was the rest of her existence- Holly, she couldn't handle that. Stephen had such faith in her, had been convinced she'd managed, but he had no idea. He wouldn't have to experience bond-shock because he was dead. Dead and done, he'd abandoned her. Left her with this, left her with the fate of the world.

How cruel.

"-bond shock-"

"-Just leave her-…-useless anyway."

"Gandalf, come on, get up… -Holly-… -up."

She wasn't choking on dust anymore; she was on a space-ship. Her head was empty. She was alone even if Tony Stark was sleeping right beside her.

Stephen was dead.

"-running out of oxygen-"

"-I do not need such a thing-"

"-Yeah, well I do!-"

Five years, she'd never make it…

"Holly focus on me." In front of her, Tony knelt, "you have magic, like Strange-" he coughed slightly, winced. Tony was too pale, his eyes were bloodshot- they were dying- starving- they'd be like Stephen- she'd be with Steph- "Holly, please, help us. Help me."

Tony took her face on a firm grip, forced her to look into his eyes. "Please, Pepper is still alive. I can feel her here." He took Holly's hand and pressed it to his chest, "I don't want to lose her, I don't want her to suffer bond stock because of me… please. Tell me you can… do something." He was gasping because of how thin the air had become.

"Don't bother, the witch is useless."

"Nebula… we have no other option here. It's only her." He shook her slightly, "Holly. Please."

Her eyes rolled toward Tony, Tony who'd save Stephen, who'd bring him back. Tony, who was begging for her to help, to do something, to pull herself from the depths of her soul where she'd hidden. Stephen… probably wanted her to try. He'd shown her that future for a reason. Had given her hope for a reason.

Holly lifted her hand and mumbled a spell; near-instantly, oxygen-filled the space-ship. Breath was much easier in coming, it was an instant relief to Tony, but Holly didn't notice it. She still felt like she was suffocating.

"Thank you."

Time passed, and Holly remained disconnected from it.

"-Hols, we need water-…-one spell, come on girl, you've got this."

"-good, transfigure this. You can do it, Hols.  The piece needs to look like this."

"-come on, Hols, stay with me, we're going home." A hand took hers, pulled her onward, and she allowed it. She allowed it because it was Tony.

"-not leaving her Pepper-…-saved my life-"

Five years. Holly was underwater for five years, and she felt like she was drowning every minute of it. Felt like it even as Tony pulled her through life with a fierce determination that surprised everyone else he came into contact with. He held onto Holly even with so many telling him to just let go. Pushed her even when it was clear she had no desire to continue. But Tony was firm, he knew she was waiting for something, and he'd keep her alive until she found it.

"-Auntie Holly!"

"-you're magic makes absolutely no sense-…-no Pepper, I need to understand it!"

"-would you like to help with dinner, Holly? Wong told me you're a rather excellent cook."

"-deer, deer, deer! Daddy, look!"

Then, Steve Roger's knocked on his door, and he realized that she'd known all along. That one path to victory wasn't yet gone.

"Time travel? Really?" Tony sighed as Holly's eyes came to life for the first time since Strange died. Seeing that he couldn't stop himself from heaving a sigh. "Dammit, fine, but we're changing now, not then. I'm not losing Morgan over this."

And Holly smiled.

[monkey-network]

An Unfortunate Critique of Spiderverse - Part 1 (of 3)

Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse was a fun award-winning 2018 animated film with a basically unanimously positive fandom, regarded generally as both a masterpiece Spider-Man film and a remarkable animated film overall. And while I do not disagree with that, it definitely earned its spoils, it pains me a bit to bring up the reason(s) why I can’t call it the masterpiece that many claim. I like this film, but I don’t love it as much as others and I wanted to express why. And I will see to be critical, not cynical. Fair enough? Spoilers ahead for this... 2018 film that you should’ve seen already.

Part 1 ~ The Spiderverse Squad

Now believe me when I say that I enjoyed this trio. Spider-Ham wasn’t as funny as I figured, but he still stood out like Peni and Spider-Noir in a respectable way. I especially loved the fandom’s reaction to them with fanart and jokes galore. But on a look back, it dawned on me that while their presence was welcome, our writers blew the load too soon and wasted these characters. Roll with me, will ya?

If you come to know me, you’ll figure that characters are the element I find the most crucial of your story; you mentally can’t just throw in random heroes into the story unless they’re significant to the protag, story, or world as a whole. It’ll feel weird, like you have no coordination. And yeah, the B team adds to Spider-verse’s worldbuilding mechanic that is the multiple universes; it thematically makes sense that more than one Spidermun can exist. And additionally kicks ass, no objections here. The problem I argue comes when while they add to the world building, it honestly added little to our boy Miles’ story, and it’s that disconnect that makes the characters feel more unnecessary than before. This doesn’t help when things could’ve worked far better if it only involved Gwen and Beter. To explain this better, I wanna bring up a couple films that are similar to Spider-verse yet knew how to use their secondary characters, the first one being...

Kung Fu Panda, baby!

The furious five sans Tigress is about the same as Spider-verse’s B-Team where Po really doesn’t rely on them to both unleash his inner strength and face the final boss in the end. They’re his muse for enjoying martial arts. Po interacts with them a little more than Miles does with the others, but we still have that disconnect between the upcoming novice and the experienced. That disconnect however is counter-balanced by their significance in the story, not only in certifying the stakes that come with Tai Lung, but being the necessary crew to another important character: Tigress.

Tigress is not only a character that Po looks up to, she’s a character with something to prove herself. She puts down Po because she’s envious of the special treatment he’s involuntarily receiving and mirrors the villain Tai Lung before his descent to villainy. The movie would’ve probably been fine if the Furious Five didn’t exist and it was just Shifu and Po training together, but having the five, and Tigress especially, in the story adds a great triangle of interaction between Po and Shifu, Shifu and Tigress, and Tigress and Po. Which makes it all the more poignant when she runs away to face Tai Lung herself, stern in proving herself to both Shifu and Po. We know that she wouldn’t win against him, but that loss is added two-fold when the other four were there to support her. The others aren’t as cynical towards Po, but it’s understandable that they sided with Tigress, thinking their experience together will help them succeed. It makes sense that the four willingly fight with Tigress, and it’s reasonably daunting when Tai Lung is able to tower all of them by himself. Compare this to Spiderverse where we kinda don’t get see our heroes and villains, excluding Miles, stack up that well until the 3rd act; it’s hard to wonder if who’s evenly matched and who can overpower whom. It doesn’t help that Peter, Gwen, and Miles are all isolated from the other three during the final fight in the warp terminal. 

It’s in the end where Po proves himself the Dragon Warrior, he not only earned that respect from the five but feels more complete knowing he and his idols look up to each other in a way. We really don’t get that interpersonal synergy with Miles and the B team beyond the moment of them together post Aaron’s death and their initial meeting, the best we get is that Miles knows he isn’t the only Spider-man but even that doesn’t feel as personal as his relationships with Gwen and Peter. Plus while Gwen and Peter are important characters, we don’t see much of a personal connection between the five Spidermun, it mostly comes off as an obligation that they’re together. Now I won’t lie, this is a pretty unfair comparison. The B-team came together on the fly, and it’s not like Miles, Gwen, and Peter knew who they were in the first place. But remember when I said a couple of films in the beginning? This leads to an ironic situation, coming from one of my other favorite movies about being special...

Been a while since I talked ‘bout this beauty

I think it’s safe to say Spiderverse and The Lego Movie have a kindred story beat where our hero meet some tagalongs that have their own thing but nonetheless contribute as supporting characters. But unlike Spiderverse, the Lego Movie showed something I never figured about characters until I saw it once again last year. The other characters have their stake in the plot, but they are also relative features of our main character Emmett. Unikitty resembles his boundless optimism, Benny his excitability, Batman his emotional conviction, and so on. It’s a stretch, but it is possible to note supporting/secondary characters as facets of who our main character is, what they lack or what’s the most prominent idea of them. In Steven Universe, the crystal gems are separate elements of who Steven is at his best or wants to be. Beastars has Legosi, Louis, and Haru have differing aspects of growing up that blend well when united. It’s essentially the braincells meme, the parts make up the whole. Gwen and Peter fill those parts exponentially for Miles, with Peter’s experience and Gwen’s finesse in her skill, to show him the work that goes in being a hero. Same goes for Aaron and Jefferson on a more personal level, being the ones to give Miles the necessary conviction to become the hero. All I gotta ask is: Can ya say the same for Peni, Noir, or Porker?

Again, not that they’re bad characters, but they mostly felt detached from the story in multiple angles

Now at this point you’ll probably say, “Monkey, we get it, where are you going with this?” Well, I can’t help but feel the B-team, while alright on their own, unfortunately feel like cameos that overstayed their welcome. Beyond the initial meetup, the interactions we get with them are second to none, there is no significant dynamic between the B-team and the two spidermun that are more significant to the story. I feel a little less charitable for media wasting potential and it doesn’t help that writing them out until the final fight is very easy. “Peni and Sp//dr were responsible for repairing the flash drive?” Well, I can say a few hints in the movie can point to Aunt May, Peter, and/or Gwen doing it instead. It’s hard to come back to this film compared to the others I’ve exampled when the back of my mind is going “Why are ya’ll here?” I say it would’ve been surprisingly cathartic if the B-team came near the end where they helped out and met up with the trio before bouncing back to their dimensions. As such, we could put more time in for Miles and Gwen together at Aunt May’s house the same way Peter and Miles got earlier before the plot generally runs the same, we have less voices but we build on those character dynamics for more than that bus ride they share. Add to that character theme of Miles, Gwen, and Peter B. being the different generations of Spider-man or something. Overall, I love them, and they feel wasted in this film.

I just can’t see Spiderverse where the focus of these three subsides the interest for the other three

I wanted to discuss this particularly because as much I can say that much detail in the film fundamentally works, which I will discuss later in this analysis, it stands to say that not every ambition in this undoubtedly ambitious movie was added well. It’s honestly how i feel with randomness humor, it’s fun at first but you gotta do more than enough to make it timeless while keeping the surprise of it intact. Or else you just wish they just replaced that joke with something more constructed. Said before, they don’t or weren’t able to utilize these characters beyond their cameo level moments, and it is not a good thing that they’re potentially saved for the sequel because I hate the idea of depending on a sequel to fix the 1st movie’s issues. I gotta wait to 2022 for a potentially better management of characters and that bothers me. I appreciate what I got, but I unfortunately can’t say that appreciation equates to a free pass of what’s detrimental to my love for this film. Now, I tagged this as part one for a reason, because this is only a symptom, a fun size piece to a bigger story problem I have.

Next time. Otherwise, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy your day.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “Loneliness

I wrote this last night while really tired. It turned into an exercise in describing human emotion from the perspective of an alien who doesn’t feel the same way that we do. Each of the examples probably has multiple explanation, and I didn’t have one specific thing in mind when I wrote it, so everything here is up to your interpretation. I hope it will at least be interesting. I have a couple of other stories in the works, so expect those soon :) Hope you all have a good day. 

There was nothing but blackness, the distant, cold stars winked softly from the inky expanse of nothing. Against the light reductive layer of his eyes, that distant illumination barely made an impression on his consciousness. Even the slight infrared-sensing rods of his eyes had trouble picking up such a detached source of illumination. The filaments at his back streamed out behind him in slow undulating waves billowing behind him in an attempt to catch light. However, with illumination so distant, his only source of mobility was reduced to all but uselessness. It was a strange feeling, to be immobile in the vacuum to patter along like the helpless humans forced to drag himself by way of the ship to actually get anywhere.

Without the powerful glow of his origin’s blue light, he was nothing more than a piece of space debris caught on the rudder of human pity and compassion. It was mildly frustrating, but it was a fair price to pay for the solitude of thought…. the beautiful silence. Once upon a time others had invaded his thoughts knowing his every intention able to guess his every action. They knew him as well as he knew himself, and they had no right to do so. They had persecuted him for his wish, his desire for secret things. They had tried to destroy him for how different he was, but then came the humans, seeming to fly from nowhere on fates own wings to whisk him away from the noise and into the silence.

Gliding slowly with only the grace born of a creature from the blackness, he glided to a slow stop peering in through the observation deck, a silent observer on the outside. He could hear them, just barely over the sound of his own thoughts. Human thoughts were quiet, delicate and difficult to distinguish like trying to hear a conversation through a closed door, but if he was quiet enough, if he was still enough, he could hear them. He could hear their inner dialogues, but those weren’t half as loud as the feelings. Human’s spoke quietly, but their feelings were broadcasted on powerful waves from their brains as if they wished for the whole world to know. It was a wonder than not all sentient species could hear them, they screamed their feelings so.

He wasn’t so used to understanding the human feelings, and so had not noticed them at first, but here, now they seemed so obvious once you payed attention. In the stillness of perpetual freefall, the convict turned slowly onto his back hands cradled behind his head as he closed his eyes and listened. The multitude of human voices flooded through him throbbing in his chest. The feeling was exhilarating like riding some kind of high. He could only manage such an exercise for so long before becoming overwhelmed, but the humans lived like this every day.

He could feel them now one by one popping into his consciousness like the winking of stars in a night sky. If he could have taken a breath, he would have as they washed over him. The first feeling he felt was distant and warm, the ability to know someone without having to be inside their head, the desire to have someone understand you, and knowing that they desired the same thing. It was quite beautiful really, the idea of giving someone consent to view your inner most thoughts to understand your inner most feelings. Conn could only imagine what such a desire meant. Coming from a society that understood your every thought since birth it struck him deeply that such a secretive species with private thoughts would want to share with someone else. It must mean something very important if that was the case. Not only did they have to open up the inside of their heads, but they had to find some way to communicate it using their horribly inadequate language without the ability to broadcast the emotion that went alone with it.

The next sensations was…. Was something he couldn’t describe but for his access to the human memory banks. He recoiled at its chill. He didn’t understand what cold was, he had never felt it, but the feeling itself was piercing, rending like being picked apart by a thousand needles, but not into his skin, into his very head like torturing his psyche into submission. The cold froze him, made him feel like he couldn’t move, couldn’t think he was so sluggish, so cold, so isolated. He recoiled from that spot and opened his eyes glancing in through the window. All of the humans he saw there appeared to be happy, they bared their strange white teeth at each other, they laughed, silently to his ears, and they continued about their way. He couldn’t imagine someone, someone there, moving with the terrible immobility of that agonizing cold inside them. He drifted away cringing from the feeling, from its total disconnection from the scene before him.

He glided sideways and downwards expertly maneuvering himself over the ship’s hull as they rocketed through space, though without any real landmarks, they could have been standing still for all Conn cared. He tucked himself quickly into the nearest crevice and paused surrounded by a cloud of his own tendrils. The crew quarters was close by now, he could already feel their thoughts beating against his, though he couldn’t make them out just yet as more than a fluttering of butterfly wings.

He braced his hands against the outside of the hull and closed his eyes.

And was bowled over by a  sudden wave of warmth, not heat but still fire, a burning fire, but not painful. It rolled through his insides like molten metal again, not burning, but igniting setting his very synapses to light. It was like someone had taken a star and forced it into his stomach. His insides pulsed with the power, with the warmth, like a fusion reactor. It was like he was expanding outside himself, like his body could no longer contain what the fire had made him. Bolts of lightning ran through his nervous system and though he was weightless in the vastness of space, he could have dissolved into a gracious cloud, no form, nothing but the fire and the lightning, and the warmth. And the heat only grew rising to a crescendo till it was screaming inside him. No, a choir of screaming angels, like the humans might say, alight with their fury and their glory bright and blinding, and powerful. And then just like that, the feeling was gone, he was drifting back into blackness sucked into himself. The lightning retreated from his limbs and the fire abated until there was nothing but ashes left.  He shifted a little and shook himself.

He couldn’t imagine how humans could do anything else when they were capable of feeling like that. It was an experience his body could not comprehend on any level other than physical comparison. He could not imagine being able to feel that way despite being inside their heads, after all he was merely an observer by proxy, and even then their voices were muffled and distant. He wondered what it must be like to feel like a human, at full force all the time. Somehow they never stopped, rocketing from the highs to the lows in a matter of minutes like it was no problem.

No wonder the humans were so exhausted. No wonder they ventured into the blackness every night. Their nightly agreement with death was a strange one. Escape from your own thoughts for a while, experience the blackness and then return to do it over again. What must it be like, to be so ruled by your emotions, choked by them, that you needed to die every night just to recover. It would be like drowning in an ever stormy ocean with the only reprieve being to sink through the waves and into the depths where there is nothing around but the endless gloom of night just to hang there until your strength returns and you claw your way back to the surface.

He glanced out at the passing stars cradled against the ship as it cut its way through the blackness. So safe and isolated. No one jostled at his head, no one picked at his memories. He was merely an observer, a lonely god on the outside looking in. No one could see him if he didn’t want them to, and no one could hear him. It was so perfect, so relaxing.

He closed his eyes again and allowed his mind to drift into the ship. He waited there for a moment as the human’s thoughts and feelings rolled by him in a myriad of colors and textures. They were all so different, he could have gazed at them for hours in their strange beauty and wonder, but as he watched, he reached out and caught one, plunging himself inwards immersing himself in the experience as if he was bringing a lens up to his eye. The sensation was an eruption of bubbles in his stomach and in his chest, the feeling wasn’t terrible, it was pleasant, no pleasant wasn’t the right word. The fizzing rushed around inside him accompanied by shocks of electricity jolting him repeatedly as the bubbles rose their way up his throat and into his mouth. He couldn’t keep himself shut, he had to open up or the pressure would build. He was a can of soda and the feeling was forcing its way through him. He wanted to curl up, needed to hug himself and hold his body together worried that he might just fracture apart like the bubbles could leak through his skin and out into space. Like an earthquake, he might just shake himself apart until he rattled right into oblivion.

But then the bubbles contracted, coalescing into lines of pain pulling his body taught against their strings, against their iron cords. His back, his sides, his chest, all wound about with steel cords. They tightened and pulled him closer. The electric shocks kept happening, the bubbles were still there, but the iron cords held him fast. They slowly began to relax after a while only to tighten their constriction at random moments until he was left exhausted head resting against the ship. He shook himself, he didn’t understand the pleasant bubbles and the painful stricture, it just didn’t make sense in context with each other. The human didn’t seem displeased by the sensation, in fact, despite the exhaustion, they were left filled with a surprising sense of warmth.

He let go of that thought and floated away tracing his fingers along the ship’s hull as it cut below him. At that moment he caught something, passing into the radius of another thought bubble. This one was loud, the thoughts were loud the voice was loud, there was no wall there like with the other humans. The door had been opened, the wall torn down, the surface of the water had been broken between them. He knew this consciousness, and he reached out to test it feeling a sense of glee in the idea of annoying someone. Being able to tell them one thing and mean another. He could hear the other humans just fine, but they couldn’t hear him. This one could hear him, but only when he wanted to make contact with him, he was a broadcaster, but not an open receiver. Conn prepared himself for contact, but paused.

That was odd, there was no dialogue. All humans have a dialogue and it seemed to be running at all times. They spoke inside their heads just like they spoke on the outside of their heads, and it was easy to tell what they were thinking, but now, this one….. There was nothing. He reached out with his other senses looking for an emotion or a sensation, and he found one. He found one quite immediately since it bowled him over like a speeding train.

He was grabbed around the chest squeezed till he thought his innards were going to spill from his mouth and then tossed into the void. It wasn’t like the void he knew, comforting and bright, it was….. it was nothingness floating in a vast emptiness of blackness staring towards distant pinpricks of light with the realization he would never reach them never be a part of their light but only be an observer. He was caught where he was with no way to move and no way to fight. He floated there suspended being crushed, paralyzed with only the desire to move towards the light. It was choking, agonizing like being ripped apart.

What was this, what could be so terrible as this. The feeling clawed its way through his insides. He was an observer, on the outside never watching as through thick glass as others moved about freely only to be left on the outside.

The parallels were not lost on him. As if the human feared his existence above all else. The horrible feeling inside was compared to his life every day. He could not understand it, he did not understand it, what could it have been?

He opened his eyes clawing himself away from that horrible feeling opening his eyes only to be caught in the gaze of another. The human stood in front of the observation window, his large unprotected eyes glowering out at Conn as he struggled to regain his composure.

“Spying again, are we Convict.” The king human insisted on speaking with his mouth though his thoughts were still quite clear. There were the words he intended to speak and the real meaning behind it.

Mind your own damn business convict, my thoughts are my own…. And you weren’t supposed to see that.

Human thoughts were so obvious, they could hide nothing from him, “What was that your highness.” Conn asked smugly knowing he would get his answer one way or another.

“What did I just say? Get the hell out of my head you creep.”

What is it, this idiot of all creatures should know…. Or perhaps he doesn’t he can read minds…..he’s never experienced isolation….

Loneliness

[seeaddywrite]

the miracle of us || advent day 4 for @roswellprompts

i think this qualifies as actual fluff?? someone tell me if i wrote real fluff?! i was procrastinating on some homework today & wanted to write something & happened to see someone reblog the advent post from roswellprompts, sooo i picked this one & wrote some echo. i hope someone enjoys it; i did! :) unbeta-ed & i didn’t even proofread, so i’m sure typos abound. sorry!

the prompt i chose was max + miracles, & i am like two hours early, oops?

“So you’re really not even going to put up a Christmas tree?” Liz asks, her fingers tangling with Max’s as they lounge on his couch. She’s reclining back against him, legs stretched out along his much longer ones, and the warmth of her skin is bleeding through the thin cotton of her tank top straight into his bare chest. It’s late, late enough that they should both be asleep or risk a long, exhausted next day, but Max can’t bring himself to move and break the bubble of quiet intimacy they’ve created.

Max sighs, a little dramatic, and tilts his head. “Have you been talking to my sister?” he asks suspiciously, enough of a twist to his lips for Liz to know that he’s teasing. Isobel had been over that morning -- and every morning, at least, since his return from the foggy, grey place he still isn’t quite willing to call death two weeks prior. As usual, she’d made a point of reminding Max that the holidays are only a few weeks out, and his living room is practically made for hosting the perfect Christmas meal. Whatever that means.

Liz chuckles quietly, seeming just as loathe to shatter the peaceful moment as Max. “She’s pretty disappointed she couldn’t pout and convince you to have a big party here,” she answers, turning so that she can nuzzle her cheek against his shoulder. “But putting up a tree doesn’t mean that you have to do that.” 

“I’ve never decorated this place for the holidays,” Max admits, shifting in the sofa so that Liz’s back aligns more comfortably against him. “I’ve always spent Christmas with my parents, at their place, so I never needed to. Mom and Isobel go crazy enough with the holly and tinsel for all of us.” 

It’s the truth, though not the whole of why Max isn’t particularly keen on celebrating this year. Not that Liz gives him a chance to try to hide that from her; he’s not sure whether there’s still some residual connection between them from his handprint, or if she’s just somehow able to read him that well, but she sits up and turns to face him, one eyebrow raised in askance. 

“And?” she prompts, certainty that Max had more to say coloring the word. “Come on, Max, you don’t expect me to believe Isobel’s upset because you’re planning on celebrating the same way you have for the last decade, do you?” 

The words hit in one of the tender spots left behind by Max’s absence for the last several months, and he drops Liz’s gaze, focusing on keeping his breath and countenance even. He’s mended most of the fences destroyed by the unwelcome sacrifice he made -- Isobel and Michael still watch him warily when they think he’s not looking, but they’ve both finally begun to accept that Max has no plans of going anywhere anytime soon and don’t seem quite as panicked when he goes for a walk on his own. Alex Manes and Maria both still look a little stunned when he walks into the room, like he’s a miracle made flesh, but thankfully, it never lasts more than a moment or two before they’re back to normal. Valenti is, mercifully, more concerned with the miracles Max can work with his hands, and Rosa is singularly unimpressed with anything he does, so there’s some normalcy to be found if he’s willing to look for it. 

Then, of course, there’s Liz. Liz, who’d been so incandescently furious with him when she dragged him back from the grey place that she had kissed him hard enough to draw blood, then only spoken to him in sharp, Spanish curses for at least three days before her barriers finally crumbled. Since then, Liz has spent every night in Max’s arms, no matter what her days brought, and Max won’t pretend that her steady presence hasn’t been keeping him sane as he stays hidden and secluded in the house. 

And that, the fact that he’s essentially a prisoner in his own home, is the crux of the holiday issue. 

“Max?” 

He looks back up at Liz, sighing at himself when he realizes he’d gone silent for too long again. Max knows he’s developed a tendency to get lost in thought since his return, and isn’t naive enough to think that the habit isn’t worrying the people who care about him. “Sorry,” he says quickly, reaching out to drag his fingertips across Liz’s cheek in a brief caress. “And you’re right. It’s not quite that simple.” He frowns, trying to choose the right words to explain without making it obvious that he’s feeling sorry for himself. “Obviously, I can’t go spend the holiday with my family this year, since they think I’m --” 

“Dead?” Liz supplies, and Max winces. 

He’s avoided using that word in relation to himself whenever possible, and it’s still strange to hear others use it, even though Isobel and Michael had thrown at him like a weapon after Liz’s serums somehow managed to bring him back. “You were fucking dead, Max! We all moved on without you!” from Michael’s lips is one that still haunts his nightmares, despite the apology he’d gotten a few days later. Because the truth is that Michael was right. The world had moved forward with Max for nearly a year. His family, his loved ones -- they’d all grieved and moved on, and now, no matter how happy they are to have him back, Max is stuck in limbo while they all live their lives. 

“Right,” he agrees quietly. “The town, my parents -- almost everyone thinks that I’m gone, and that doesn’t feel like something to celebrate.” Isobel disagrees, of course, which is why Max is even having this conversation with Liz in the first place. It scares her, he thinks, that Max is still so withdrawn from the rest of the world -- he can feel her frustration, her worry, that he’s still got one foot in the grave. But until they find a plausible lie for how he’s returned to Roswell, they can’t risk everyone knowing, and Max has to stay hidden. Stay stagnant.

Quiet descends on them for a moment, the peace from earlier destroyed by Max’s own frustration. He wishes he knew what to say to bring it back, but before he can open his mouth to try, Liz is leaning forward on her knees to take both of Max’s hands between her own. 

“I think you’re looking at it the wrong way,” she says earnestly, squeezing his fingers until Max looks up and catches her determined gaze. “Maybe everyone doesn’t know it yet, but you’re alive, Max. And I know that this is going to sound crazy, since you’re supposed to be the optimist in this relationship and I’m supposed to stick to the science -- but the fact that you’re here right now, holding my hand? Talking to me, after bringing Rosa back and dying yourself?”

Liz’s voice is soft, and full of wonder as she speaks. As if her brain and determination weren’t at least ninety percent of the reason that Max had made it back. “That’s a miracle, Max,” she continues, bringing his knuckles to her lips and kissing them once, tenderly. “You’re a miracle. And that’s something to celebrate.”

Heat suffuses Max’s cheeks and ears, and he shakes his head vehemently. “You made that happen, Liz,” he tells her, tugging her in against his chest and wrapping his arms around her waist. “The only miracle in my life is you.” His lips press against the crown of her head, and Max ignores the way the soft strands tickle his nose in favor of breathing in her familiar rose-scented shampoo. 

Max knows that most people on the outside looking in at his life might argue what he’d said. They’d see his powers, his superhuman healing hands and his supposedly god-like abilities, the fact that he’d brought a girl back to life and somehow defeated death himself, as evidence that he can work miracles. But the fact of the matter is that Max isn’t a god. He’s not a miracle, or a miracle worker. He’s an alien, one who’s going to have to fight the desire to heighten his powers by killing for the rest of his life. Everything remarkable that he’s done is tainted by that truth. 

At heart, Max is just a man, in love with a woman who’s more miraculous than anything he could ever do. 

“You are such a sap,” Liz teases, relaxing into his embrace with a contented sigh. “But I’ll let you get away with it because it’s late, I’m tired, and you’re comfortable.” There’s the flutter of lips at the base of his neck, and Liz shifts until Max is all but cradling her against him, supporting most of her weight. “But just -- think about it, okay? A tree? It’d be nice for us to be able to celebrate together, even if it’s just the two of us after I see Papa and Rosa. I won’t even tell Isobel, if you don’t want me to.” 

Max huffs a laugh and gives into the impulse to stroke her hair with his fingertips. “I think she’ll notice when stops by to visit,” he points out pragmatically. “And I’ve never been very good at keeping secrets from her. We can do dinner here for Christmas, if anyone wants to come. It’d be nice, to have everyone here at once.” Less lonely, at least for a night. And Max had to admit that some lights and decorations might make the house feel more like his again, after so long elsewhere. 

Liz smiles sleepily up at him and presses a clumsy kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Christmas with the family we chose,” she murmurs. “And maybe Christmas Eve with just the two of us, to celebrate the miracle of us.” 

This time, it’s Max that snorts. “And you say I’m a sap!” he teases, tugging at a long strand of hair near where it fell onto her back. 

Liz hums contentedly, nuzzling back into his chest and finally allowing her eyes to close. “You love me anyway,” she says on a yawn, and Max is hard-pressed to feel any of the disconnection or isolation that seemed so all-encompassing earlier in the evening. 

“I do,” Max agrees in a whisper, and reaches out with his power to turn out the lights. As he drags a blanket from the back of the couch to cover them both for the night, he spares a glance to the empty space in the living room where Isobel had stood, insisting it was perfect for a tree. 

Maybe this Christmas wouldn’t be what he was used to, and maybe the sting of missing his parents and his freedom would hurt, but Liz is right. Max has plenty to celebrate, this year.