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bowlegsandbiceps · 3 years

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Suptober Day 5: Nostalgia

General | De-Aged Sam Winchester & Big Brother Dean, Implied Destiel and Rowena/Sam | 2,005 Words

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Suptober Masterlist (A03)

“Cas.”

“Dee!” The small child in front of Dean raised its arms and made gimme hands.

“CAS!”

Dean took a step back from the small boy sitting where his brother used to be, his arms curling in as if cringing away. It looked like Sam at eighteen months, just the slightest swirl of brown hair near his forehead, the rest of him bald as a cue ball. The child blinked up at him, arms still outstretched but his smile wavered and his hands gestured more insistently.

“Castiel get your feathery ass over here!”

The sound of hurried footsteps loomed behind him and he felt the weight of Castiel’s hand on his shoulder as the other man came to stand beside him.

“What is it?”

Dean nodded down at the baby. Castiel looked at it and blinked.

“Who is that?”

Dean knew who it was. “I dunno.”

“Where’s Sam?” Castiel looked around and Dean felt the lump grow in his throat.

The child had clamored onto his knees and was crawling across the cement towards them. Dean recoiled and Castiel stepped in front of him on instinct. The child merely went around him and grabbed onto Dean’s pant leg, grunting as he pulled himself up to his feet.

“Dee!” He said again, chubby face gazing up into Dean’s. “Up!”

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was cautious as Dean leaned down to pick the child up, settling him on his hip and the boy immediately rested his head against DEan’s chest, one thumb going into his mouth. “I… I think that’s Sam.”

Dean gulped, looking down into intelligent hazel eyes. “I think you’re right.”

Dean and Castiel sat at one of the large library tables each just staring at the baby they’d placed in the middle. Neither men had spoken the entire drive back to the bunker, Dean driving with Sam in his lap while the kid made vroom noises and held onto the wheel. The chair creaked as Castiel shifted in his seat. Sam blew a spit bubble then giggled when it popped. Dean put his head in his hands.

“What do we do?”

“I could try and heal him,” Castiel suggested and Dean looked up at him.

“You can heal this?”

Castiel shrugged with guileless eyes.

Dean dropped his head. “I can’t raise this kid again, Cas.” Dean pressed his hands together, his mouth puckering against the knuckles of his thumbs as he looked at Sam with terrified eyes. “I did it once. I can’t do it again. I’m too fucking old.”

Castiel laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We’ll fix him. We’ll call Rowena.” Dean snorted. “What? She has a vested interest in getting Sam back into his adult form.”

Dean closed his eyes, holding up and hand and gagging for good measure. “Don’t remind me.”

Rowena was in New York and wouldn’t arrive until morning. Dean bit the bullet and went out for supplies - bottles, diapers, wipes, baby food, and a pack of onesies he just guessed on the size. When he got back to the bunker he could hear Sam wailing from the other side of the heavy iron door and he nearly broke his neck in his effort to descend the stairs all at once.

Sam was sitting in the middle of the table in the exact same spot he’d been when Dean had left. Castiel was now standing, staring down at the hiccoughing child with his head canted to the side. Dean dropped all his bags on the floor and hurried over, bundling Sam up in the flannel Sam had been wearing before he de-aged and cradled him to his chest. Sam immediately stopped crying and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“What the fuck, Cas?”

“I tried everything, Dean.” Castiel held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “He didn’t want to play with my keys. He didn’t want any mashed potatoes. He threw the cup of water I tried to give him. He didn’t urinate or defecate on himself-“

“He wanted to be held!” Dean stared at Castiel as if he were some kind of monster and Castiel leveled him with a glare.

“I tried that first. He didn’t want to be held.”

“Well looks like he does now,” Dean snarked, shrugging his shoulders up and Castiel rolled his eyes.

“He wanted to be held by you, Dean.”

Dean looked down, trying to see Sam’s face but the child turned further into his neck and sighed. Dean pursed his lips. “What’s your problem short stack?”

“Dee,” Sam started and began to babble, lifting his head about halfway through his diatribe. He looked to Cas who was staring at him critically as if trying to decipher every word and Sam immediately looked away.

“Do you think he’s all there? Like adult Sam but just…a baby?” Dean looked into his eyes and Sam huffed, grabbing onto Dean’s face with his hands. Dean didn’t bother to pull back, knowing from experience the kid didn’t let up with this kind of thing. He stuck his fingers in Dean’s mouth and Dean dutifully let him poke at his teeth.

“I don’t think so,” Castiel reached forward, pulling Sam’s hands out of Dean’s mouth and Sam slapped at him, reaching again for Dean’s lips.

“Are you-“ Dean cut off nearly biting the kid’s finger off. “Are you hungry or something?”

“Dee!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and then he patted his tummy which made Dean laugh.

“Yeah, the bear in there is growling huh?” Sam nodded emphatically and Dean bobbed his head with him. “Alright alright. Bottle it is.”

Castiel helped Dean carry the supplies into the kitchen and stood by as Dean went about making the bottle, formula mixed with a little cereal, with Sam perched on his hip. He huffed when he finally got the cap on and handed it to Sam who finally let go of his neck and grabbed the bottle, immediately shoving the nipple in his mouth. Dean looked up at Castiel.

“Like riding a bike,” Dean quipped looking down at Sam as his brother gazed up at him over the side of his bottle. “Right Sammy?”

Sam merely hummed.

“You know, this isn’t so bad,” Dean mused gazing down at Sam who was now dressed in a diaper and onesie, sucking away at a pacifier.

They were posted up on the couch in the Dean Cave, the TV playing Dora The Explorer in the background. Castiel’s gaze was fixed on the television and he was having trouble pulling his eyes away.

“He is much more enjoyable when he’s quiet,” Castiel admitted and Dean snorted a laugh, one finger trailing over the soft skin of Sam’s cheek. The baby shook his head.

“You know bedtime routine was always my favorite.” Dean smoothed the silky strip of hair near his forehead and Sam’s eyelids fluttered. “The winding down period at the end of the day. We’d be in some crap motel and Dad would have us all on one bed, Sammy between us while he talked us to sleep.”

“Talked you to sleep?”

A small smile pulled at Dean’s lips as one of Sam’s fat fists clutched at his finger. “Yeah, John Winchester did not sing. Or tell bedtime stories. He bored us to sleep with car maintenance tips and tricks.” Dean let out a spastic chuckle, marveling at the length of Sam’s lashes, the rosiness of his cheeks. “God, I’d forgotten all about that.”

Dean resettled, arms tightening around his brother and Sam’s eyelids fluttered, his head nuzzling into Dean’s armpit. Dean let his fingertips whisper across Sam’s forehead, a sense of longing settling in his bones. He glanced over at Castiel who was bent in half, intent on the TV.

“You know it wasn’t all bad. How we were raised.” Castiel glanced at him and then his gaze held. “I never thought I’d miss it but,” Dean let out a small chuckle, “This right here’s got me waxing nostalgic.” Dean chuckled again, gave a shake of his head. “It wasn’t all bad. Some of it was actually kind of great. You ever think about having kids, Cas?”

“It’s forbidden,” Castiel said, eyes back on the TV. “Angels can’t mate with humans.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah well, I ain’t got a uterus so we wouldn’t get one the old-fashioned way anyway. Seriously, man. You’ve never thought about it?”

Castiel looked back at Dean. “No. Have you?”

Dean shrugged. “Not really. Never figured I’d live long enough to raise one, plus I thought I’d had my fill with Sammy here.” Dean dipped his head, pressing a kiss to the child’s hairline.

“And now you want children?” Castiel’s voice was low and slow, clearly trying to discern if Dean was teasing him or not. Dean’s ears turned red.

“I dunno. No. Maybe.” Dean looked down at Sam and then looked back up at Castiel, his gaze helpless. Castiel merely smiled, reaching a hand out to rest on Dean’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.

“I would be honored to raise a child with you, Dean.”

Dean looked back, a little grin pulling at his lips. “Yeah?” Castiel nodded seriously and Dean looked down at Sam. “What do you think, Sammy? You want a niece or nephew?”

Sam slept on.

“I take it back,” Dean insisted, gagging and covering his mouth as he lifted Sam up by the ankles, the dirty diaper sticking to his butt. “I never wanna do this again.” Dean looked over his shoulder at Castiel. “Hey, Mr. Angel of the Lord, you wanna give me a hand here, maybe toss this dirty diaper and hand me some wipes.”

“The smell is most unpleasant.”

Dean rolled his eyes, snatching the wipes Castiel offered. “No shit Sherlock. Get rid of that thing will you?” Dean gagged again.

“How on earth did you manage to turn your brother into a baby?” Rowena exclaimed by way of greeting.

“Dean, Rowena is here.”

Dean having startled awake cringed as Sam started to wail. “Yeah, Cas, I got that, thanks.”

“Was it a curse?” Rowena was kneeling down, trying to look into Sam’s face but he clutched at Dean’s flannel like a lifeline, hiding against his chest. “A spell?”

“A spell we think,” Castiel said over Sam’s sniffling sobs. Dean had hoisted him up over his shoulder and was rubbing his back rhythmically. Rowena frowned. “Sam was the first to enter the room-“

“Ah, I know exactly what this is.” Rowena smiled, triumphant. “You leave it to me, boys. Samuel will be grown again in no time.”

“Rowena!” Dean yelled over the siren-like wail of the now giant baby sitting in the center of the library.

“Don’t panic!” Rowena insisted, flipping through an old book while rummaging around in her bag.

“Panic?” Dean questioned. “There’s a ten-foot baby-“ His voice cut off as a hand clamped around his bicep and he was jerked off his feet to face plant into Sam’s clammy chest. The kid started to squeeze the life out of him and Castiel moved forward, trying to pry his arms off. “Rowena!”

“I can’t believe she turned me into a ten-foot baby,” Sam snorted from where he sat at the kitchen table, once again fully clothed and his normal age and size.

“You were quite agreeable up until then,” Castiel mused.

“Oh yeah, you get to practice your babysitting skills?” Sam asked and Castiel gave him a tart smile.

“No, you wouldn’t let anyone else touch you but Dean.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, his gaze moving to his brother who stood at the stove, working on a grilled cheese. “Yeah, I’d forgotten what a clingy little shit you were back then.”

Sam scoffed. “Well, I still haven’t forgotten what an overbearing mother hen you were.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m never having kids. Dealing with my own childhood was enough.”

Dean glanced at Castiel who gazed back, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “It wasn’t so bad. Except for the diapers.”

#suptober21 #writing by me #fanfic: supernatural

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mytwilightimagines13 · 3 years

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Memories from the past (Part Twelve)(Caius Volturi)

Masterlist

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Word count: 925

“I will be fine grandpa. I promise! Just enjoy your retirement. And don’t flirt with the nurse too much, alright?” I said while trying to hold back my tears. This was my final goodbye to grandpa Charlie, only he didn’t know that. He thought I was going to travel the world and try to stay as minimalistic as possible, meaning no phone etc. Only letters. It was a good way of still keeping in touch without actually visiting. Sadly grandpa’s health had been decreasing immensely, but he had a nice nurse that looked after him back in Forks, curtesy of the Volturi of course. Grandpa Charlie would be taken care off until his last breath. Something this man deserved. Grandpa simply chuckled at my statement. “I promise, Panda bear. Don’t worry about me. Go and explore. Just stay safe and don’t forget your pepper spray.” He said, concern slightly dripping through the humour in his voice. “I promise grandpa. I love you.” I said. I had to swallow the tears back and try to sound as excited as possible. “I love you too, Panda bear. I will be looking forward to your postcards!” he said and after saying our goodbyes one final time we broke the connection. I felt a few tears fall down but before I could wipe them away cool fingers had caught them already. “He will be taken good care off, amore. We promise you that.” Dora said as she gently kissed my for head. “It is the least we can do after your gift to us.” Caius said as he gently placed his arms around my waist from behind. “Is everything ready for tonight?” I asked as I gently cupped Dora’s cheek in my hand. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth that radiated from my skin before she nodded her head. “Yes, amore. Everything is ready for your transition tonight.” Caius says as he gently kisses the side of my neck. “Heidi will come pick you up once everything is set up tonight. You might like to go into the gardens today? It is going to be sunny all day.” He said as he kissed my cheek gently and letting go of my waist, sitting down in his chair behind his desk. I had used the phone in his office for the call and it seemed every time the three of us had to discuss something important regarding our future we always ended up in his office. I frowned slightly at this. “Aren’t you coming? It is my last day as a human after all.” I asked, trying to persuade him. Caius gave me a small smirk before sighing. “I am so sorry, my love but we cannot today. We have to make our final preparations for your transition.” He said, a look of sorrow creeping in his eyes. Dora grabbed my hands in hers gently. “We just want to make it as safe and comfortable as possible. It just takes some last minute preparations. But we will be with you tonight until the moment you wake up. I promise you that.”

And so I made my way towards the royal gardens. It was a secret little spot a little bit below the original castle grounds but still very well hidden. This was the place where vampires could easily walk in the sun without any human getting any wiser. The tall trees hid the view of the with flowers lavishly decorated garden. I made my way to the middle of the garden where a large fountain resided surrounded by four elegant benches. I sat down on the bench that faced the south basking in the warmth of the sun. I tried my best to just relax and enjoy the sounds of nature, the feeling of the soft breeze against my skin and the warmth of the sun. Thoughts raced through my head, my worries for my transition, daydreams about the future… other imagines about my mates… I bit my lip at the memories of Athenodora and Caius in the bathroom the first night. How they had dressed, or better lack of that evening. Now I knew it was to get a reaction out of me, and boy did it work. It even got to a point that the last two weeks they would regularly surprise me by either entering my room barely dressed or whenever I visited their chambers to conveniently stepping out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. I knew most of the times they hadn’t showered for their long, blonde locks had been dry but it caused me to blush slightly nonetheless. A shadow fell over me and I opened my eyes, a slight blush still lingering over my cheeks, and found Heidi standing in front of me, her cloak protecting her from the sunlight. “Everything is ready Mistress. I have come to collect you for your final meal and preparations.” She says giving me a small smile. “Thanks Heidi. And please, just call me Xandria.” I said as I stood up, straightening the red summer dress I had been wearing all day. I started to make my way back to my room but Heidi stopped me. “Ehm, Master Caius and Mistress Athenodora have asked me to prepare you in a separate room.” She said. “Oh, very well. No problem. Lead the way please.” I say. Heidi flashes me a smile and starts to walk towards another room close to mine. My heartrate slowly increasing. Almost as if it knew it would be over soon.

#volturi #volturi imagine #caius volturi #athenodora volturi #vampire #twilight imagine #twilight

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atths--twice · 3 years

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An Unexpected Discovery

An alternate universe in which Mulder and Scully are college professors working in buildings across from one another. They have become close, but one day, he learns something about her he never would have expected.

A couple of days ago, @msgilliana posted a tweet about an AU involving Mulder and Scully which led to a mini story being created by both of us. People asked for a REAL story, but it wasn’t my baby, I had only added a bit to an adorable idea. I suggested she and I collaborate and we two women, who were “too busy right now,” cranked out a 7,700 word story in two days.

Hope you all enjoy!

Fox Mulder knew the start of the new academic year could be daunting for new faculty: Am I teaching this class correctly? Is my syllabus adequate? Where the hell do I park?

When he saw one person in particular however, he knew she meant business. They never technically met, but it was more of a ‘we parked next to each other and your building is right next to mine, so we might as well chat’ situation.

“Hi,” he’d said when he saw her, the first of them to speak. He had been drawn to her beauty, her red hair causing her to stand out.

“Hello,” she’d responded.

“Are you new?” he’d asked.

She pushed a stray piece of that beautiful red hair behind her ear. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh no, I just have an eidetic memory and haven’t seen you before.” She was impressed, and her face revealed as much before he asked another question.

“What do you teach?”

“A mix. Some general physics, some intro to modern physics. You?”

“Wow, that’s quite impressive. I teach psych. Intro, abnormal, and social. Most people think it’s a ‘soft’ science, but I think it’s pretty important.”

“Psychology is interesting to be fair. Why do people do what they do, what determines our likes and dislikes, or even hyperfixations. And that’s just scratching the surface.”

“I have never met anyone from the science department who sees it that way. It’s quite refreshing, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Well, my sister’s very into feelings, the energy of the planets, all that kind of stuff. She and I are very close. Well… this is my building.” She pointed to the one right next to the one he would be entering.

“And this is mine. How convenient. I’ll see you around Dr…”

“Scully. Dana Scully.”

“Fox Mulder.” He offered his hand and she shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Mulder.”

“Oh please, no ‘Dr.’ That’s so boringly formal. ‘Mulder’ is fine,” he had joked with a mock shiver.

“Then you can call me ‘Scully.’” She chuckled and then smiled at him. As he stared at her, he couldn’t help but notice the presence of a beauty mark above her top lip. She had covered it with makeup and he didn’t understand why she would, it was adorable and also incredibly sexy.

Oh, maybe that’s why, he thought, knowing how men could behave.

Pushing aside those thoughts, he smiled as they reached their respective buildings and separated, walking to their offices.

Over time, they’d gotten to know more about each other. He knew she was twenty six and had received her doctorate two years prior. She was Catholic with two older siblings, a brother and a sister, the latter of whom had an interest in all things extraterrestrials, and she also had one younger brother.

Before the end of her first teaching year, they’d managed to park next to each other almost every day. They would chat for the few minutes their walk to the building afforded them, until they had to separate to their own offices. They both looked forward to that time together each day.

At the year's commencement, they had sat next to each other, and she looked extraordinarily extravagant in her doctoral robe and cap. She would say the same about him.

The following school year, they had gone from their morning chats to leaving at the same time as well. It quickly turned into one accompanying the other to their office and continuing their conversations. While almost polar opposites, they felt comfortable with each other and talked about any and everything.

Of all the little things he knew about her, the one thing Mulder knew Scully prided herself on most was punctuality. He knew she arrived in the parking lot at exactly 8:05 every Tuesday and Thursday before her first class began at 8:30. The other three days, she arrived at exactly 9:25 am for her 10 am class. His classes were all later in the day, but he came in early for office hours and to get work done before his classes.

A couple of months later, however, it was 9:27 on a Wednesday morning and she was nowhere to be found. In the nearly one and a half years since she’d been teaching, Scully had never been late. Though he was curious, he decided to head into his office and start his day.

His work, however, didn’t hold his attention. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. What was she doing? Was she sick? Was there a family emergency? She had mentioned that her siblings lived all across the country. Her older brother Bill was in California where he was stationed with his wife Tara. Melissa was traveling, “finding herself” Scully had stated with a slight eye roll, and Charlie was in New York with his girlfriend Elaine. Her parents were in Annapolis, about an hour's drive from the school.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he decided to email her, something he’d never done nor had any need to do.

Scully,

Are you okay?

Mulder

He forewent formalities because he felt they were on friendly enough terms, or at least he had assumed so. They hadn’t ever socialized outside of school events, but he had lost count of the high school and college friends he no longer spoke to or had only seen on campus.

He was about to get ready to teach his first class of the day when he checked his email one more time and saw a reply from her.

I’m fine.

Nothing further, not even her name, but at least he now knew she was okay. Or at least, Mulder hoped so. She would’ve said if something was wrong.

Right?

He didn’t sleep well that night, his brain unable to stop thinking and wondering if she was okay.

The next day, she still hadn’t arrived on time. He was in his office, about to send her another email, when he heard a car door slam around 8:15. The building was fairly soundproof, but the windows were not.

Curious, he got up from his desk and looked out the window. Seeing Scully’s car, he immediately smiled. She was a little late, but she was there. His brows then furrowed when she opened the door to the backseat. Bending inside, she was there for nearly a minute.

When she pulled back, he let out a gasp as she had reappeared with a small child in her arms. He could see the little girl was limp and appeared to be asleep. Observing Scully’s struggle to get her bags from the front seat while also carrying the child, he quickly left his office.

He tried to keep his pace slow, so as to not disrupt his colleagues, but his mind was racing with a million questions. Mulder made it outside, but didn’t see Scully. Assuming she must’ve gotten to her office already, he hurried up the stairs; he was out of breath when he reached the third floor.

Looking around, he heard a ding, announcing the arrival of the elevator down the hall. The doors opened and he spotted her shining red hair as she exited the elevator, and turned toward her office. Speed walking, he made it to her office at the same moment that she did.

“Oh, God. Mulder, you scared me,” she whispered when she saw him, breathing quickly as she reached for her keys.

“Sorry,” he whispered, matching her volume.

Scully took a minute to find her keys, only having one hand free for the action. She finally got her office unlocked, the little girl sleeping through it all. Propping the door open, she left the light off and set her bags down, a bright pink Dora the Explorer backpack standing out. She picked it up and held it out to him.

“Can you…” she asked him, nodding at the child in her arms.

“Oh. Um, sure. What…”

“Her blanket, please.”

He unzipped the bag and pulled out a small blue blanket with Thomas the Train across it. Versatile, I like it, thought Mulder. He couldn’t help but feel his heart grow as he watched the way she was with the little girl he assumed had to be her daughter.

“Mommy…” the toddler suddenly croaked.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay.” Scully’s voice was soothing and soft for the girl as she ran a hand across her daughter’s long loose curls. It was different from her no-nonsense, low-pitched professor voice, and it made his heart ache.

She mouthed a thank you to Mulder and took the blanket from him. The little girl whimpered as she was covered in the blanket and snuggled closer to her mother. Scully rocked her and smiled at Mulder.

“I’m sure you have some questions.”

“Just a few.”

She sighed and looked at her child. “Please, sit.”

He obeyed, watching as she carefully sat in her leather desk chair.

“How old is she?” Mulder asked.

“Almost three.”

“Wow, you’ve got your hands full. What’s her name?”

“Emily.” Scully smiled as she rubbed Emily’s back over the blanket.

Awkward silence washed over them as they both ignored the elephant in the room. Scully wasn’t married and didn’t wear a ring. She had never talked about her child before, let alone a partner that could be the child’s father.

“You’ve shared so much, why not her?”

She sighed again. “I don’t know. I guess I thought… that you would judge me. Everyone else sure does, except Missy and Charlie.”

“You know I’d never.”

“I do, but I was also worried. And I guess I wanted to keep her secret for as long as possible.” She avoided his gaze as she spoke.

“I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I do have one more burning question…”

“You want to know about her dad,” Scully guessed and he looked at her sadly and shrugged, not speaking the words, but obviously curious.

“His name’s Ethan and he had been my boyfriend since grad school. I found out I was pregnant the day I defended my dissertation. We broke up about halfway through my pregnancy. He hadn’t ever wanted children, but also didn’t want to use protection. I… well… now Em’s here. That’s the extremely simplified version.”

Mulder’s eyes were wide as he took in the information. He thought she was pretty badass to be able to raise a kid on her own. He could also hear how she may feel shame about it, because of others' comments and also how society tended to treat women who were single parents.

She sighed and he realized that he hadn’t said anything in response. Feeling like a bit of a jackass, he opened his mouth to speak, but she suddenly stood up and shook her head.

“Sorry to cut this short,” she said, glancing at her watch. “But my first class starts soon and I need to get her stuff to bring.”

He shook his head and stood as well. “I can watch her, if it would make it easier for you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t-“

“I insist. Besides, I don’t think she’ll like listening to her mother talk about super smart science stuff.”

“It’ll probably bore her to death,” she agreed with a chuckle.

“Then it’s settled then.”

“Are you sure?” Her expression gave away her uncertainty, her eyes searching his face.

“Really, I’d love to. I promise we’ll just stay in here while you teach.”

“You need to be in your office, Mulder. I can’t do that to you.”

“Then we can go to mine. Look, Scully, I promise we’ll be okay, okay?”

She sighed for the third time. “Okay. I should wake her though, let her know I’m leaving and let her see you. I don’t want her waking up without me and crying. Hey, Em,” she said softly, gently patting her back, waking the child.

“Mama…”

“Hey honey, Mama has to teach her class now. You’re going to spend some time with Mulder today, okay? He’s mommy’s friend.”

The toddler lifted her head and looked at him fearfully, tears running down her cheeks.

“Hey, Emily,” Mulder greeted. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you like Dora? She’s pretty cool.” Emily didn’t answer, but embraced Scully tighter.

“I know baby, but Mommy really needs to get to class. Mulder is a very nice man and he will take care of you. He has fish in his office. Do you want to see them?” She nodded, her eyes still full of tears.

Emily was gently passed to Mulder, Scully making sure she was wrapped in her blanket. The little girl sniffed and whimpered as she watched her mom blow her a kiss and then leave the room, thanking him once again.

“Would you like to go on a trip, Emily?” he asked, hoping to ease the tension. She looked at him, her expression unsure and still slightly fearful. “Let’s go see the fish, okay?” She nodded and he beamed.

He grabbed her backpack and swung it onto his back, closing the door to Sculy’s office as they walked out. He locked the door with the keys he’d taken off her desk, knowing she would come to his before coming back to her own.

Emily was trembling slightly in his arms and he held her closer as they walked to the elevator.

“Would you like to go outside? It feels nice out today.”

Emily slowly nodded her head, her thumb on the tip of her bottom lip, as she put her head on his shoulder. He stepped out of the elevator and then the building. He walked into the little courtyard separating the science and education/psychology buildings. The little girl lifted her head just enough to look around.

“‘Nola,” Emily said quietly, as she pointed with her little finger.

“What was that, Em?” Mulder asked, at a loss of what she was trying to say.

“‘Nola,” she repeated louder.

He looked at the direction she was pointing and chuckled when he realized what she meant. “Oh, you like the magnolia tree?”

Mulder was impressed by her intelligence. Of course, her mother had gotten her doctorate at twenty-four, which was not common amongst the other faculty. Even he hadn’t received his until just before she had started teaching, and he was thirty, nearly thirty-one.

“You’re very smart, Emily,” Mulder praised, but the little girl was uninterested. She put her head back on his shoulder, falling asleep before they made it to the office.

As he arrived at the door, he realized he had left his door unlocked when he found it hanging open and one of his teaching assistants, Tyler, was grading papers.

“Oh, sorry Dr. M, but the door was unlocked and…” Tyler started, but was confused as he saw Emily in his arms.

“I’m watching her for a friend,” Mulder said simply, putting her backpack down on the desk. Tyler nodded and went back to grading papers.

Emily continued to sleep, Mulder holding her as he sat down at his desk. Even as he held her, he managed to send a slowly-typed email to a student about the midterm, enter the test grades Tyler had given him, and sent out an announcement to the class about their extra credit assignment.

Looking down at Emily, he smiled. Other than her blonde hair, she was a mirror image of Scully and he couldn’t imagine anyone but her having a sweeter child.

Tyler left soon after he was done grading, smiling and nodding silently as he walked out the door. Emily began to stir, her eyes slowly opening and taking in her surroundings.

“Hey there, Em,” he said softly, and the toddler mumbled, clutching her blanket closer.

“Do you want to see the fish now?” She nodded and he stood up, his back protesting at the position he had been in for the past forty five minutes. He shifted her to hold her better and walked across the room to show her the fish.

“Oh!” she said, watching the fancy guppies he had bought swimming around the tank. “Fishies!” She pointed at the tank and he grinned.

“Yup! Those are fancy guppies. Can you say guppy?”

“Guppy.”

“Good job,” he said, smiling again and rubbing her back. “See that one there? The blue one with the red spotted tail? That’s my favorite one. Watch how fast he swims.”

“Fish swim fast,” she agreed with a nod and he chuckled, shifting her again.

“They are fast. Good job, Em! Gimme five.” She laughed as she lifted her tiny hand and met Mulder’s large one.

“Having fun?” Scully asked and they turned to look at her, standing in the doorway with a smile.

“Mommy!” Emily said, trying to scramble out of Mulder’s arms. He laughed as he set her down and she ran to Scully, who lifted the squealing toddler in her arms.

“Hey, baby.” Scully kissed Emily’s cheek and looked at Mulder. “Were you good for Mulder?”

Emily vigorously nodded her head while Mulder laughed. “She was very good. She’s a smart kid.”

“She takes after her mother.” The two adults smiled and Emily wrapped her arms around Scully’s neck. “Thank you for looking after her. I only had the one class today, but she was sick yesterday and I had babysitter problems and-“

“I promise it was no trouble and completely my pleasure. She slept most of the time, but she liked the fish. The guppies, right Em?”

“Guppy,” she said with a nod, pointing at the tank. “Guppy fish, Mommy.”

“Yes, I know. I knew you would like them.” Scully smiled. “Hey, are you free tonight?”

“Umm. I… no, I mean yes I’m free.”

“Well, let me buy you a drink. It’s the least I can do to thank you for your help.”

His heart raced. This was the moment he’d been waiting for since he had first looked at her.

“Um, sure, I mean… yeah, I’d love to,” he stammered.

Great job, doofus, he admonished himself, inwardly rolling his eyes.

“Great. I’ll sort out a babysitter for tonight and I’ll see you at six? I’ll send you my address.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Scully was inviting him out on a date. Did she see it that way? They’d never spent time together outside of university functions, but he hoped she’d see it as a date, as he would love for it to be so.

He smiled as he nodded and she smiled back. She lifted Emily a little higher, telling her about her class as Emily continued staring at the fish. The way she doted on her daughter and how her red hair shone in the light, he could feel he was already falling for her.

Yeah… he was in big trouble.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Fanfic Collab #Dana Scully #Fox Mulder #Emily Sim #Modern AU #College Professors #First Meetings #Getting to Know Each Other

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 30

First time reader click here

TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter is a horror movie. There's blood, gore and psychological horror elements. Lemme know if it was actually scary - I'm desensitized to this shit. This was written to come out on Halloween but I was too slow with writing.

Wooden floor creaking behind me, I couldn't feel the cold of it, not even a single splinter piercing the arches of them, I ran like my life depended on it. The darkness behind me was alive; it breathed, pulsated, spreading along the walls of the hallway like mold. The hallway seemed to be endless.

As soon as I realized that, I noticed that it, in fact, did have an end and not a door was in sight; that quickly proved to br also just a trick of the eye - there were doors, the hallway was riddled with them, each one dark, identical and placed neatly about five feet apart. With shaking hands, I turned the knob, slamming the door behind me with a loud bang.

Panting, I let myself slide against the door, eyes closed, sheet landing in a puddle of white fabric on the floor around me. First five seconds passed quietly; then, a noise interrupted my panicked thinking and my eyes flew open as the scene in front of me produced more confusion.

The familiar scene of the pond behind my grandparents' stables, the poppies - a splash of blood red against the dull greens and browns - swaying in the breeze. A Dora the Explorer bucket hat and a six-year-old me, hair in pigtails, poking at a spot of moist soil with a large stick.

I knew where this was going yet I couldn't pull my eyes away from the scene that was going to unfold. A stallion my parents had recently bought, ill-tempered and moody, jumping over the low fence and galloping noisily right at mini-me. The terrified animal was screaming yet I was oblivious to it's distress, too busy trying to fish out earthworms out of the wet ground. Almost in slo-mo, mini-me noticed the running, screaming animal and bolted for safety, its hooves missing my little body barely by a feet.

I felt the cold water of the pond on my skin. It was dirty and blooming at the time, musky smell assaulting my senses, murky water choking the life out of both versions of me. In the distance, I noticed a much younger and slimmer dad sprinting full-speed towards the splashing child in the pond. He was screaming something and I leaned in, trying to hear him better.

The scene vanished into thin, wispy smoke. My head was once again clear and the suffocating dread and panic subsided, letting me take in several deep breaths and try to assess the situation calmly. I had survived that accident, even successfully overcame my fear of swimming later on.

Hands shaking and heart fluttering like a frightened bird, I recoiled from the locked door when it began to rattle, the noise deafening in the eerie quiet of the house.

The shadows were taunting me. Trapping me in my worst fears, making me relive my worst memories. The artifact needed something from me - what was it? I wondered, tucking the sheet in some semblance of a toga and standing up to explore the room. Save for a few outdated pieces of furniture, it was cold and empty, void of life. Nowhere to hide.

I paced the room, coming to a halt next to the heavy, thick velvet curtains. Expecting to see a window behind them, I was surprised with another old wooden door with a bent handle that had gathered an impressive layer of dust. With rattling behind me increasingly growing in volume, I had no other option but to press it down and quickly dart into the next dark room.

Clint. Lifeless eyes wide open, his body laying at my feet, sheet-white and rust coloured stains adorning his mouth, nails black and broken as if he'd been clawing at the dilapidated wooden floors. I backed away from him, further into the room - the archer's body began to move and tremble, tiny little gashes appearing on every inch of exposed skin. The thing that was breaking out of him glowed, pale blue and sickly.

"That's not..." I whispered to myself. "Clint is alive," As if I had been doused with cold water, the images of MAFS incident seeped into my mind, the what-ifs of my past actions weighing heavily and clouding my mind with guilt.

"Come on, we don't have much time," Steph's voice appeared behind my back, loud and out of nowhere. I was rightfully sceptical about the reality of him - while his face was the usual, tense expression of boredom, he stood differently. I couldn't describe the difference if I tried; it just felt wrong. Like a puzzle piece was missing.

"I don't think so, demon dude," Squaring my shoulders once again, I prepared myself for the inevitable pain.

"Who?" The copycat asked, faking concern surprisingly well. "It's the artifact. It's making you see things that aren't real," With a wave of his hand, the door flew open, exposing the hallway filled with the void that was chasing me previously.

"Oh what I saw was real alright," I countered, tilting my head to examine the entity. Unknowingly, it had given itself away - Stephen's magic always glowed gold and orange, in the sense that he wasn't like Loki - Strange's spells were always visible. "I'd rather you kill me then spread your vile disease beyond this... Space," With none of the bravery I actually had, bluff came surprisingly easy. Perhaps, I really was ready to die so my friends and family could live.

Not-Stephen tsked and grinned maliciously, once again waving his hands about. "Killing you? So barbaric and an absolute waste of potential." The shadows pushed something into the gaping hole of the doorway, something curled up in a fetal position and whimpering. The entity picked up the man by the shoulders, forcing him to kneel in front of it, teary baby browns staring back at me, wide with terror.

Tony. My feet took an involuntary step forward, where my Tony was trembling, whimpering in the creature's grasp, unseeing eyes looking straight forward. As if I wasn't there.

"Submit and I will let him go. Right now, he's relieving the worst memories of his life," The entity raised an eyebrow, a mock imitation of Stephen's expression. I could hear Tony mumbling faintly, something about his chest and Afghanistan and bombs and Obadiah.

It pissed me off. Firstly, how dare this wannabe-Pennywise, this LOST-fog-monster-reject to lay his filthy metaphysical fingers on my Tony. And secondly, for the sloppy intelligence job - I had been woken up by Tony's nightmares more than enough to know his biggest fear wasn't Afghanistan. It wasn't Obadiah and it wasn't Bucky killing his parents, it wasn't even the vast, consuming black emptiness of the space behind the wormhole.

Anger burning my throat, I lunged at not-Stephen with a bloodcurdling scream, feeling my nails dig into the cold, clammy flesh of the thing's throat. Taken by surprise, both of us stumbled, falling into the abyss of the hallway, me kicking and scratching and screaming all the way, fingers squeezing deeply into the lifeless imitation of flesh. His screams mixed with mine and Tony's into a shrieking cacophony.

The darkness was laughing, cackling, noise sharp like nails on a chalkboard. It hurt, but the thing's grip on me hurt even more. "He'll never love you like you expect him to. They don't care about you. The mage said he'd help you and now you're dying here, alone," Black smoke began leaking out of the impostor's mouth along with the words, both acrid and venomous.

My head was pounding as more and more of the stuff came into contact with my body. My vision swam, bordering on unconsciousness. "If I'm dying, I'm taking you with me, bitch," I screamed out, squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until I exploded together with my surroundings, in a short of white, blinding light.

And then, there was darkness. My limbs were once again filled with concrete, mouth dry and skin burning like I'd been branded with a hot iron.

I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of the room with the fireplace. The fire was roaring, crackling and and shooting noisy sparks, accompanied by heavy breathing to my left. Disregarding the nausea that followed my every movement, I hung my head over the side of the car coming to witness both sorcerers laying haphazardly on the floor, a thin river of blood seeping into the carpet from Wong's head.

Confused, disoriented and terrified, I called out for them, voice barely audible and terse. Had I been screaming?

The sorcerers' chests rose and fell rapidly; my panic subsided but not by much. I crawled out of the cot only to land ungracefully on my face, body refusing to cooperate and feeling about as well as after I'd ran a marathon. Inch by inch, I crawled over to the chair I had left my things on, fighting with my body for every movement I made.

Fumbling, l pulled out my phone and pressed the green call button on the one person one would call in this situation. My best friend.

"Yes, dear?" His baritone was tense but nonetheless calm.

"Help, some-something happened," I managed to say, no louder than a whisper. "Sanctum," I clarified, hearing a noise of things falling over and several distressed voices shouting in the background.

"I am coming, do not end the call," Loki replied immediately, barking out several commands I didn't quite catch. There were more noises of distress as I obediently stayed on the phone. "Darling, can you tell me what happened?"

"I- Killed?" I tried to articulate my thoughts, tongue becoming more and more uncooperative by the second.

"Oh my God, who's dead?!" I heard Bruce yell, probably, right in Loki's ear.

"The Thing," I clarified, hoping to calm him down.

Loki cursed in his native language, I heard him trying to wrestle the phone from someone - unsuccessfully so, I might say, as Tony's distraught voice was the next thing I heard. "Princess, listen to me. Are you okay? Where's Strange? We're gonna be there in 10 minutes. We're coming."

An avalanche of information for my overtaxed brain and aching body, I struggled to keep up with Tony's rambling and filtering out Loki's screeching in the background. So much noise. My head hurt. "No, Steph and Wong are down. Alive." I managed to convey the most important part, a terrified sob leaving my chest burning. "Please, talk," I begged Tony, not wanting to be left in that terrifying, consuming silence ever again.

And Tony talked. He babbled nonstop, things that I didn't really catch neither care about, having enough strength to give a hum of approval every few seconds or so. It appeared to be as calming to him as it was to me, I didn't hear any more complaints from the team, only brief increase in volume as one of them got closer to the phone. A part of me conceded I should've made at least one joke about being put on loudspeaker, however, my brain was exhausted.

Burnt out, rather. The emptiness settled in my bones, chilly, like the blood had been sucked out of me, making my body just a vessel for the darkness that stalked my nightmares. I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my bare thigh, feeling none of the pain, just the relief when blood seeped through the cuts, crimson and warm.

That's how they found me. Loki threw open the door, breaking one of the hinges, eyes immediately darting between me and the laying sorcerers, as he swiftly cast a bright golden spell on the room, warming us from the inside out. Carefully stepping over the two men, Loki kneeled in front of me, green eyes staring right into mine.

I heard cursing and thudding but all I could focus on was the shining emerald of Loki's eyes. "Oh, child," He whispered, reaching out with both arms to pull me into his chest. I couldn't have resisted even if I wanted to, my body was utterly drained of fight.

"What happened?" Tony asked, a hysterical pitch to his voice.

"I can assume there was a failsafe left behind by the artifact, it took out both sorcerers and attempted to finish the job it started," Loki spoke up, hand gently petting my hair, still clutching my limp body like I was dying. "She fought it off, I don't know how, but she fought it off. It has entered a dormant state again."

"What do you mean took them all out?" In his distress, Tony seemed to have lost all sensibility. "What happened to her?!" He was getting impatient, angry.

"With an artifact like that, it's a blessing they are still alive. It is ancient and unpredictable," Loki explained patiently, none of his usual vitriol present. "And she... You could say she was mind-raped," He stated, quieter.

I groaned in protest. Loki's spell of gold did what felt like a wonder: the light was slowly coming back into the room, into me, filling me with warmth I didn't know I could lack. "As if," I slurred. "As if that Pennywise wannabe could ever," My body was, nonetheless, exhausted. "I've swallowed more kids than he could ever," My eyelids dropped, the comforting noise of Tony's and Loki's combined chuckle amplifying the surplus of warmth within me.

Last thing I saw was Tony's watery smile, tears crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he lifted me from Loki's arms, hot rod red of his suit saturating the room with color. Feeling safe for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my eyes close voluntarily, a smile crawling onto my face. I was right. Tony was alright, it wasn't really him that was getting tortured in the nightmare-verse.

"What..." I heard Stephen croak from somewhere. "Baby?!" His voice raised a whole octave; Thor's fond chuckle followed the rustling of fabric and a few stronger choice words from the sorcerer as Loki briefed everyone on the situation at hand.

"How is she, Tones?" Bruce asked quietly from above me.

"Pretty out of it but on her way back to health," Tony replied with another watery laugh. "Cracking jokes and whatnot clownery."

Bruce exhaled in relief, stroking my face with the side of his fingers. It was almost palpable, the general atmosphere of respite in the room, the sudden free flow of oxygen to my lungs.

"I am so sorry," Stephen's whisper was more felt than heard by me; the spice of his cologne and copper of blood reached my nostrils, burning them, keeping the warmth from leaving my body ever again.

My fingers weakly held out to him, finally coming to grasp his more-than-usual shaking hand. "Not your fault," I breathed. "Persistent cursed box," Were my last words before my consciousness gave out. Sleep sweet sleep.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

#party favours #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #stephen strange x you #bun writes

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Radio Hearts, chapter 4!! @scentedcandlecryptid @digitl-art-monstr

Shelldon woke up.

The sleep passed by as quickly as it always did and the first thing the drone did was go quickly over to the mirror to see if anything about him had changed. He didn't feel any different, but it could never hurt to check, right?

Shelldon gasped when he saw himself. Then he gasped again when he realized he was able to gasp. That wasn’t a recording— that was a new voice. His voice? The reflection staring back at him was a new one; colored a bright purple with streaks of pink going along his sides and on the ridges of his shell. At first he thought his propellers gone, until he located them again. They had been moved; where there had once been only one on his shell, there were now four in the places of his flippers. He moved one, and then the other. And then he moved all four, all independent of each other. He had never been able to do that before!

Then he noticed his sensors; no, not sensors. Eyes. Expression-filled, bright yellow eyes that stood out against his color scheme. Pupils that dilated and constricted and spiraled on his command. And his mouth was almost like a screen! Just like with his eyes, he could flip between various expressions of joy and sadness and anger. Genuine expressions of his own!

“Woahhh…” Shelldon’s voice sounded strange to him, new and almost vibrating within him, but he didn't mind. He had a voice! A voice all his own!

Donatello walked up beside Shelldon with a soft smile; not one of the fake ones he’d often force upon himself, but a real smile. He reached over and touched Shelldon on the head, giving him a gentle scratch just like Splinter always did.

Shelldon almost collapsed with the vibrating euphoria of the touch. He had felt touch before, but never in such an intense sensation that made his motor rumble, and his eyes take on a mind of their own. Though he could still see out of them, the sensors showed his eyes shut and a smile on his face that almost resembled a W. The touch felt nice!

“You like that, Shelldon?”

Shelldon found himself rubbing against Donatello’s hand with much the same affection that a cat would.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

***

“Hey Mikey!” Donatello called as he and Shelldon approached the mutant. “Mind if Shelldon plays a few rounds with you?”

Michelangelo caught his ball and gave an uncertain whine, hugging the toy tightly to his chest. “I don’t know, Dee. I just got this ball…”

“I’ll get you a brand new one if anything happens, which it won’t!” Donatello declared, adding the second part quickly when Michelangelo seemed uncertain.

“Please?” Shelldon asked, and his eyes went circular and watery in a begging expression..

“Awww….” Michelangelo cooed, and then seemed to brighten. “Okay. Go over there.”

Shelldon looked to Donatello for permission before drifting over to the place that Michelangelo had indicated.

“Okay…” Michelangelo gave his new ball one last hug before he threw it to Shelldon.

Shelldon was ready. He did the same move he had done before, realizing a little too late that the move had been one of his many faults before. The ball struck home and Shelldon awaited the violent pop, but it never came. Instead, the ball bounced effortlessly off of Shelldon’s carapace and flew right back to Michelangelo. Michelangelo gave an excited squeal as he caught the ball and held it tightly to his chest a moment before tossing it right back to Shelldon.

***

Donatello let Michelangelo and Shelldon play their catch game for almost twenty minutes before he and Shelldon moved on. Shelldon felt… happy. He had never felt emotions as genuine and strong as he had since he woke up the previous time. He couldn’t help but wonder if Donatello had been the source of that. Either way, he stayed close to his maker even as his eyes tried to linger on almost everything they passed.

“Hey Raph!” Donatello called as they entered the weight room. “Leon!”

Raphael gave a curious hum as he looked over at Donatello and Shelldon. “Oh. Hey…”

Leonardo was spotting the snapper and he seemed far more excited to see his twin and the drone. “Hey! There’s my main man! And Donnie.”

“Brothers, you remember dear Shelldon.” Donatello smiled and motioned to the drone, pointedly ignoring Leonardo

“Yeah…” Raphael’s head started to sink into his shell until he got a better look at Shelldon. “Hey. He looks different.”

“Yep. Gave ‘em a few new upgrades. You like?”

Raphael pursed his lips as he leaned in closer to look at Shelldon. Then he smiled. “He’s got eye’s now!”

“He’s always had eyes.” Leonardo pointed out.

“Yeah but they’re like… like real eyes! Not weird eh… blank ones.”

“And he can talk.” Donatello gave Shelldon a pat on the side. “Go on Shelldon. Say something.”

Shelldon hesitated. “Something.”

Raphael gasped. “Aw! Your voice is so cute!”

Leonardo butted in, leaning his head into Raphael’s shoulder. “Does it like, change or something?”

“Shelldon has exactly 16 different emoticons to express different emotions he may be feeling at any given moment.” Donatello explained. “He can also switch between them at will if he ever needs to manipulate, but you didn't hear that from me.”

To show off Donatello’s work, Shelldon rapidly flicked between all the expressions at his disposal. Both Raphael and Leonardo seemed to share a similar awe, leaning in closer to get a better look at Shelldon.

“Snazzy~!” Leonardo exclaimed.

“He’s like the roomba but cuter!”

Donatello gasped and grabbed Shelldon, hugging him close. “Don’t you dare compare him to the roomba!”

“He’s got hands now too?” Leonardo got closer so he could touch Shelldon’s front hovers.

“Technically, they’re flippers.” Donatello corrected, sticking his nose in the air.

“Eh, hands, flippers, whatever.” Leonardo moved and shifted the hover around to look at it closely.

“It’s never bad to be accurate.” Donatello scowled.

“What kinda turtle is he based off of anyway?” Leonardo slid to behind Shelldon to play with his back flippers.

Shelldon whined and tried to pull his feet away. Donatello noticed immediately and yanked Shelldon away from Leonardo’s curious touch.

“He’s based off a mix of softshell and leatherback.” Donatello explained proudly.

“Really?” Leonardo returned to stand once more beside Raphael. “But his nose is small, and so’s his forehead.”

“Nardo leave my forehead out of this.”

“I mean, that thing’s so big even Dora can’t explore it. Mountain climbers are too scared to try and surmount it cause they could never bring enough food for that journey!”

“That’s tough talk for the eighth forgotten dwarf.”

Leonardo gasped loudly. “Don’t you dare talk about my height!”

“Well don’t bring my forehead into this!”

“Guys.” Raphael got between the two of them before it could go any further. “Don, your toy’s cool. Please go somewhere else before Leo brings out the mad scientist jokes.”

“Speaking of mad scientists” Leonardo started.

“No, no no no no.” Raphael corrected, pushing back against Leonardo when the slider tried to resist him. “None of that. Don, go now.”

Donatello took his brother’s advice and left with Shelldon. Shelldon looked back at Raphael and Leonardo, his screen showing a frown and sensors showing sad eyes.

“Toy…?”

***

As usual, when the time came where the brothers had to leave, Shelldon was left in the loving care of Splinter. Splinter was thrilled when he realized Shelldon could talk back now, and their discussions after each movie increased tenfold now that Splinter was actually getting responses. Shelldon couldn’t remember ever seeing the old man smile so much; it made him smile in turn. Seeing Splinter happy made him happy. Somehow the movies seemed even clearer than they had in Shelldon’s previous upgrade. He had a better understanding of the words and their meanings, and when emotion spilled into the characters voices, Shelldon could feel it too.

When Splinter pet Shelldon like he did every day as they spent time together, it felt even more euphoric. Each gentle stroke and rub sent shockwaves through Shelldon’s wires and that gentle rumbling returned like it had when Donatello had pet him.

“Are you purring?” Splinter commented, looking over Shelldon with a wider smile creasing across his face. “That’s adorable.”

The compliment only made Shelldon purr even more. Yes, he was purring! He wondered for a moment why Donatello would bother with what must have been a useless upgrade, but then Splinter started to pet him again and all his thoughts were lost with the love he felt both from Splinter and in his own chest.

***

“Shelly…”

Shelldon’s sensors came to life from his charging at Donatello’s gentle urging. He was confused. Checking his charge, it was just barely halfway. It was hours before he was set to wake up, and Donatello had never woken him up so soon before. He barely had enough energy to hover, but he tried. Donatello picked him up immediately so he wouldn’t have to expend the power.

“Easy, Shell.” Donatello smiled, giving the drone a gentle stroke on his head, “I have a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Shelldon whirled. “But Dee. It’s early.”

“I know— I know I just couldn’t wait.” Donatello was practically melting with glee, his smile wide. “Here— I gotta turn you off real quick but it won’t be for long.”

“Turn me off? Why?”

“For the surprise!” Was all Donatello elaborated. “You trust me, don’t you? I— I’ve been working on it for a while! I know you’ll like it! But I gotta turn you off, just— just for a little bit!”

Shelldon tried to read Donatello’s expression, but all he could find was an overwhelming sense of pure excitement. Shelldon flashed a sleepy smile.

“Okay, Dee…”

At Donatello’s touch, Shelldon went to sleep.

#Leo is a shorty because I said so #also #twins roasting each other #good content #let Shelldon purr darn you!

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chkemo · 3 years

Text

Okay so just now watching episode 4 of tfaws because I just couldn't after ep 3. After seeing spoilers for ep 5, I was like, okay I can now proceed.

First, I love Ayo. This woman showed up, called Bucky out, and gave him a time limit to do his thing (like homie you know you messed up, but let me tell you you messed up). She took charge and I love that about Wakandans. They carry themselves with such authority.

I wish Sam had that. I wish he could just be up front and open about his opinions in this series because that seems more his thing since his first appearance in TWS. Sure he's comedic relief but he definitely stood on his own and voiced his opinion boldly.

Sam/Anthony Mackie has a sexy strut. Especially from behind. The swing of his shoulders. The bow of his legs.

I hate Zemo and his condescension. This man is so full of himself.

You can see the weight of all this on Sam. He is trying to hold everything together, take the flag smashers down the right way. Be a hero the right way but it's bearing down on his shoulders.

John Walker really is that white man. Has to be in charge has to be in control and when he's not he gets angry and tries to take it. Like he reminds me of all those cops that belittle people and take advantage of their authority and terrorize innocent people who 'deign' to raise their voices at them.

Sam is the absolute best of us. There are few people in the world like him. Optimistic and moral.

Sam Wilson: "Let's be clear shield or no shield the only thing you're running in here is your mouth"

Ayo's non-reaction to John Walker's introduction: I cackled. Do you hear me had to pause the TV to straight up guffaw. HA!

Again the AUTHORITY "wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be." Classic

John Walker: "They weren't even super soldiers." The utter amount failure and self flagellation in that statement alone. Man homeboy has some serious self-esteem issues.

Lemar has beautiful teeth.

Sam out here holding his own with these super soldiers 👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽👏🏽

My overall thoughts: I needed more Sam in this episode. More of his dilemma. He wants to save everyone and everything but he can't. It's obvious he can't. He doesn't show it in depth(the show has not exactly explored it as of this episode), but it is there. It has to be. Every hero has to deal with the fact that everyone can't be saved or is worth saving.

I get that we had to see John Walker's decline to darkness (which he didn't really have that far to travel if you ask me) I just didn't care for it. I mean little Kurt Russell can act I will give him that, but I don't care about him or his story.

Bucky has gotten on my last nerve this whole series, but I think there's something about Sebastian Stan that makes me have a soft spot for Bucky.

I hate that I had so little say about Sam because he had so little a part.

This is less a buddy cop show and more an ensemble cast type of series.

#tfaws #sam wilson #ayo #tfatws #possible spoilers #thoughts throughout episode 4 #off the cuff #i have thoughts #bucky barnes #i don't argue about my opinions so keep that in mind while interacting

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trentaafcsblog · 4 years

Note

20 Trent

Prompts - Baby

20. “Please can I come with you?”

Away game. The two words you dreaded hearing. The two words that made you feel sick to the stomach. The two words that tore your your little girl away from her daddy. And it was that time again already.

It got to the point where you didn’t even mention it in front of your baby girl anymore, deciding to just let Trent head out to ‘training’ with her giving him a quick kiss and cuddle - instead of their painful, longwinded goodbyes - and then randomly bringing up that he had to stay for a little bit longer so that he could keep up his fitness and carry on being big and strong, something that you felt so guilty for, but at least you didn’t have to endure the tears and tantrums when Daddy walked out the front door to go to one of those matches. But a pair of little ears happened to be listening into one of your conversations when you thought they’d be busy paying attention to what Dora the Explorer was up to, her head poking around the kitchen door before she comes waddling in, clinging onto Trent’s leg as both of your eyes go wide.

“Daddy stay” she whispers as you watch his heart shatter, yours doing exactly the same when you see him take a deep breath and clamp his teeth down on his bottom lip, an expression that you’d seen one too many times before, and one that you knew he’d do whenever he was trying to stop himself from breaking down.

“Daddy has to go away for work though, remember?” he says gently as he brushes her curls out of her face, her bottom lip sticking out before it starts to quiver, his arms quickly reaching out and pulling her into his chest as she blubs into his training top.

“No, Daddy stay” she sobs as she clings onto him, her tiny little fingers leaving red imprints on his arms from where she’d been holding on to them too tightly.

“I won’t be gone for too long, only a couple of days, and you’ve still got Mummy to look after you and do fun things with” he whispers, trying to make her release that it wasn’t going to be so bad after all, but there was only so much mummy love that you could give her before she wanted Daddy again - the downside to having two peas in a pod.

“Please can I come with you?” she’s asking, perking up at her own question when she realises that there’s a tiny possibility Daddy would say ‘yes’. Imagining herself running around with all of the other lads and helping them put their boots on before the game, just like she did with Trent when he was playing at home. Her big brown eyes looking up at him as she waits for his reaction, shuffling around on the spot, desperate to hear that three letter word which would mean that she didn’t have to go to bed for two nights in a row without Daddy giving her a bedtime kiss.

“Umm, not- not this time, baby” he’s saying, voice cracking before he’s nuzzling his head into the crook of her neck, not being able to bear the sight of watching your baby girl’s face drop as a result of his words. Crouching down beside the two of them as you rub his back with one hand and stroke your little girl’s hair with the other, trying your best to hold it together as you watch your two favourite people fall apart right before you - a sight you’d sadly seen far too many times before, but it was going to be okay, it was always okay, and the pain made their reunion at the end of it seen that little bit sweeter, even though it tore you all apart before bringing you back together again.

Tags - @luc-57x @roseydreamzx @dominiccalvertlewinfc @chilly-in-prague @footballerimaginess

#trent alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold blurb #trent alexander arnold imagine #daddy trent #baby prompt

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lindendragonart · 4 years

Note

17, 26, 30, 56 of the OC asks for Dora?

Do self inserts count? I guess.

17: Does your character have any irrational fears?

She's always afraid somebody is behind her, even in areas where ghost Pokemon are managed.

She is afraid of some monster coming through the doorway or around the corner and jumpscaring her, but that mostly applies to only her appartment. So she runs from room to room as fast as possible, as if afraid something is going to get her, which greatly annoys her family, since she screams if one of them does emerge from a nearby doorway while she is trying to pass.

Whenever even the smallest thing is out of the ordinary she assumes the worst. Someone is a little late, someone is knocking at the door unexpectedly, there is an ambulance going in the general direction of the home of someone she knows, yeah better brace yourself for the worst.

She has a compulsion that is talked about in question 56 that can also be considered an irrational fear.

26: What is your favorite headcanon for your character?

Since the character is a self insert I guess I'll put in a character trope that fits me.

She is the type to believe in redemption arcs and is willing to give a chance to people if they are genuinely sorry, sometimes even when they aren't, but as hopefull as she is, she will still be carefull around them. She is easy to pick on and get thrown off balance but she still won't get manipulated and trapped by them, though that still won't protect her from getting tormented if they do target her. Her Serperior Lipanj does take care of that by glaring at anyone trying to pick on his trainer and scaring them away, and people know she can protect herself considering her history with battling, amongst other stuff, though it has led to jabs about her cowering behind her Pokemon.

But generaly speaking, if the person is genuinely trying to be better and shows no ill intent, she will potentially become friends with them if they otherwise seem cool.

But hurt her in the right places and she will scream at you and try to rip you apart.

She's the type of character that will adopt anyone and anything that gives off "sassy lost child" or "baby" vibes.

She gives of "my last two braincell" vibes but she's actually the voice of reason most of the time, and will prevent her friends from doing something stupid.

30: Would your character have any hobbies?

She often gets herself invested in a new thing like a tv show or game and writes detailed analysis of her favorite characters and comes up with au's.

Recently she's taken up drawing again, having given up when she was around 13 due to not being very good and not getting better due to not knowing how to practice. But now she's so glad she has finally gotten good enough to get her concepts out there.

She also sometimes makes polymer clay figurines.

But of course her main thing is taking care of her Pokemon and divising battle strategies and just exploring and learning more. But recently, she feels all the battling and adventuring isn't for her anymore, at least not as a full time thing. She'd rather be a researcher, like a Pokemon professor.

56: What’s one of your character’s quirks?

Oh you chose the right question cause I've got a lot of answers.

First the more psychological quirks

She daydreams almost all the time, and quite vividly too. Ideas for new drawings or other projects, tons of fully fleshed out storylines and character analysis are in there too, usually about whatever she is currently obsessed with. She often thinks about battle strategies or Pokemon in general too. Occasionally she'll ponder over some deep phylosophical question, and she'll incorporate it into her fanworks if she can. But as much as she loves her little world, sometimes it can distract her from real life a bit too much.

She paces and rocks back and forth a lot, mostly while deep in thought. At home, she has a yoga ball she hops on while listening to music for the ultimate daydream experience.

Her focusing face looks like a cross between confused and angry. She often mumbles to herself too, though she mostly isn't aware of it.

If she gets really immersed into a daydream, she will squeal and maybe even wildly gesture with her arms along with the usual rocking and pacing.

She twirls her hair too, usually while working, sometimes so much that it becomes tangled.

She has this thing where she has a compulsion to run her finger along almost every surface she finds, usually tables and walls. She has a few rituals where every day she has to run her finger across a certain surface a certain way and the texture needs to feel just right or she has to do it again, and if she doesn't do that, she gets filed with dread, like something bad will happen because of it, almost like a superstition of some sort.

Her idea of making friends or holding a conversation is infodumping and sharing her enthusiasm for what she loves and hoping you like what you hear, then forcing herself to shut up so you can actually talk about your own thing.

She often smiles while uncomfortable. This, along with how easily she can be agitated into a meltdown, has caused others to accuse her of faking her distress.

She often gets nervous and her mind gets blocked when she gets put on the spot during classes or similar, though she is eager to put her input at her own volition.

Lipanj has taken to calming her down and grounding her by giving her his vine or tail to hold.

She will say goodbye to you before going your seperate ways no matter what, and depending on who you are, will also make sure to tell you something positive and reassure more to herself than to you that you will see each other again.

Now the more random stuff

She is known to have a lot of useful and just plain random stuff in her bag, in part because she wants to be prepared and in part cause she's a bit of a hoarder. She has all the emergency supplies and at least 5 of every item there is in there.

She is very germophobic and constantly washes her hands.

She is fluent in memes and will not hesitate to reference them in public.

Her regular speaking voice is very loud and she perseverates (repeats herself) a lot.

She squints when smiling.

As someone who learned languages through tv as well as someone who is prone to mimicry cause she does not know how to express her emotions otherwise, she often finds herself switching between accents and speaking styles, depending on her mood, situation and the people she is currently around. She can go from a New Yorker to a middle aged Slavic lady in seconds.

Ok that last one was long but kinda wanted to get her general personality out there. Hope that answered everything and thank you for your ask.

#lindendragon #dora's pokemon adventures #lindenserperior #dora #self insert #oc ask #reference #anonymous #asks #my ask #answer #pokemon

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magic5ball · 4 years

Text

Nature Trail to Hell Arc II: Watt Outta Hell (12)

Chapter 12: We Meet Underworld Justice. Meaty, Crispy Underworld Justice

One of the nice things about the First Circle is that since it’s for lesser sinners, they don’t punish you nearly as bad as they would in some of the other places. Take the poles F-Bomb and I found ourselves tied to, for instance. They had adjustable seating and a massage option, which I eagerly took advantage of. Real nice, considering the hall of condemnation we now found ourselves in looked like every heavy metal album cover ever made. But the weirdest thing of all was it reminded me of church, somehow. The whole place was just a very long , dark, edgy hallway covered in stained (though with what, I never found out) glass windows with a pulpit at the very end. Raposa settled her rear into this pulpit, while F-Bomb and I were put down in front of it, a pair of sinners put down before the Lord. Behind us, rows upon rows of underworld denizens were crying for our blood in every tongue imaginable. Though if our punishment was church, I did have one advantage: Miss Princess couldn’t make this place duller than Father McAllister’s sermons if she tried (thanks to that guy, I know more about cubits then I will ever care -or need- to know).

Unfortunately, it was special moments when the luck of the Tostigs tended to bail on me, and being tied to a stake in front of a pulpit, with a grape juice swilling devil princess looking into your soul was one of them.

Having sucked the last ounce of delicious liquid from her sippy pouch, she raised the thing as if to make a toast, somehow hushing up everyone in the hall.

“Alright losers, listen up! These horrible souls have committed one of the greatest sins of the zeroth circle: Parking in the handicapped space without actually being handicapped!”

Once more, the crowd booed us.

“But believe it or not, I’m feeling generous today, so I’m gonna let these NERDS pick their own poison!” She turned to us (though more to me, since F-Bomb was still moping over sailor Woon’s betrayal) “Listen, kid, you have two options, you can either have the usual punishment we give people like you-“

“Which is what, exactly?”

“Pulling out your bones, pulverizing them in a blender, and feeding them to the homeless as protein shakes.”

I don’t know what my expression was at the time, but whatever it was, it made the Hell Princess smirk, revealing her rows of serrated teeth.

“Or, you can get a surprise punishment, as suggested by our live studio audience!” She gestured to the crowd, who proceeded to roar with applause.

I turned to my friend, hoping for guidance.

F-Bomb sighed “Just go for the forkin’ surprise. Half those forkin’ ballots are usually just plain forkin’ ‘torture’ ‘cause nobody here knows how to be forkin’ origional, anyway.”

I nodded in agreement “Yeah. Surprise us.”

“In that case… Stensa, bring me the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS!!!!”

The crowd roared as really bad wedding music began playing, followed by a devil that looked like a very ugly, hairless dog sauntering down the aisle with a skull in its paws. At least, I assumed they were paws. They looked like they’d been sharpened until they were pointy hand-spikes. When he reached the pulpit, I saw the head of the skull had been hollowed out, its’ noggin filled with folded pieces of paper. Raposa reached into this fishing her hand around in a way that reminded me all too much of the times Grandpa took me to bingo night.

“And the punishment is…” The music mercifully stopped, replaced by a drumroll that made my heart race.

Silence. Raposa squinted at the paper, trying to read it.

“W-Were-“

“Werebacon.” The creature that called itself Stensa replied “It says Werebacon. Sorry the handwriting’s bad, but it’s kinda hard to do when you’ve only got stumps.” He showed them off.

For a brief moment, the crowd was no longer on F-Bomb, now staring down the helpless little devil.

“Stensa,” Raposa called, gesturing with a finger “Come here please.”

Shaking, the pathetic dog-thing stepped up to the podium. “Yes, your Unholiness- accckkk!”

The crowd watched in awe as Raposa chocked the demon using only a single hand. Some even took out their cameras to commemorate the event (or just get a spot on ‘Underworld’s Funniest Home Videos’).

“Stensaaa…,” Raposa began, her voice sounding way too much like A-Hole for it to be anything good “What did I tell you about putting joke requests in the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS!!!???”

Stensa tried to eke out an answer, but by that point his eyes had rolled back so far I could see where they attached to the skull.

Then Raposa’s face changed. It became all sharp and pointed, like it was made of glass shards. Poor Larry was being shaken around like a rubber chicken in an earthquake. “You do not put joke answers in the SKULL OF HORRIFICALLY UNSPEAKABLE CONDEMNATION OF ETERNAL DARKNESS! I THOUGHT we went over this already! Also, don’t call me ‘Your Unholiness’ my name is Raposa, you moron!”

With one final snap of what I assumed was Larry’s neck bones, the dread princess tossed his body to the floor so hard it cracked on the tiles. But you want to know what he really crazy part was? Larry got up again, head still dangling limply from his neck, like it was nothing, and said

“I was going to say it wasn’t a joke answer. Werebacon’s a real thing. Bacon bitten by werewolves, I think. They sell it at Wegmart for 2.99 a pound.”

“AND HOW WOULD I KNOW THIS IS TRUE?!” Demanded the Hell Princess.

Larry shrugged “It’s called going to Wegmart? Dumba$$.”

And that’s how we got a fifteen minute recess while Raposa went to check this stuff out. Since everyone went outside, taking bets on whether she would actually find the werebacon or not, that meant it was just F-Bomb and I in the hall. All was quiet, save for the soft rumbling of my stake, which I’d set to ‘massage’.

Then, out of nowhere “Well, now forkin’ what?”

I looked around to see where the voice had come from.

I shrugged, or tried to. “Well, who knows, if those anime you’ve made me watch has taught me anything, maybe we’ll unlock some secret superpower to save our butts at the last minute.”

F-Bomb smiled a bit at that.

“Well, at least you’ve been learning, Watter-chan.”

“And as a matter of fact, I think I feel a new power coming in…NOW!”

A great force surged through me before coming out as a weak toot from my behind.

Just like that, F-Bomb got all sullen again.

“Whelp. We are FORKED.”

“But you can bet your toe claws we aren’t going down without a fight!”

. . .

As if on cue, in walked Raposa and her posse of subjects. In her hand she carried a reusable shopping bag made of flayed human skin.

“Hey guys, guess who just brought home the bacon?!”

“Uhh…you did?”

The Hell Princess smiled at me, flashing her serrated teeth. “If that was you trying to be funny, then you failed miserably and you should feel bad.” She took out the the demonic delicacy. “Now, prepare to DIE!”

“But we’re already-“

“It’s an expression, nerd! And just for that, prepare to ULTRA die!”

“What’s that even-“

“Turd,” F-Bomb hissed “please just shut the fork up for one forkin’ second. I’m not exactly in the mood to get SUPER MEGA ULTRA killed.”

From there, Raposa and company wasted no time. With the press of a button the whole place rumbled, the ground beneath F-Bomb and I sinking lower and lower until we were stuck in the bottom of a funnel-like pit, kind of like the ones where Romans fed their prisoners to lions. On the rim of the pit, glareing down at us fierce, the crowd was going crazy, chanting “EAT THEM! EAT THEM! EAT THEM!” while punk rock with a lot of brass in it blared loud enough to make my ears explode. For some reason, this reminded me of the time my parents took me roller skating. Maybe it was the flashing strobe lights.

Moments later Raposa stood on the edge of the pit, wearing a black and white referee shirt and carrying a microphone in one hand. “Hellspawn and gentledemons!” She clamored, her voice so loud even at the bottom of the lit I could hear it clearly. “Are you itching for a fight?”

She paused, just long enough for the crowd to holler their all too enthusiastic response.

“’Cause boy do we have about tonight! On the left side of the arena we have the dastardly duo, the irredeemable of irredeemables, Mr. WEENIE AND WEENIE HUT JR!”

Cue the crowd booing and throwing Dora the Explorer DVD box sets at our heads.

“And on the other side, the greatest breakfast meat in this underworld, this continent, I daresay even this universe… WEREBAAAACCCCOOOONNNNN!”

She threw it, still in the package, into the pit, where it hit the ground with a hearty SLAP!

The crowd, as expected, went so nuts they literally started turning into peanuts, which the other demons tore apart and began eating. Despite having not eaten in a few days, I wasn’t really jealous of them. If communion at church taught me anything, it was that drinking a guy’s blood and eating his flesh was a very overrated experience.

“Hey!” I screamed, trying to buy us time “C-couldn’t you at least cook it first? I don’t want to die by raw bacon!”

Amazingly, Raposa somehow heard me over everything else that was going on. “Oh, we’ll cook it alright… in unhallowed moonlight!”

A disco ball the size of the Hell Princess’ ego was lowered into the arena, its’ sparling light nearly blinding me. Slowly, but them more quickly, I could see the bacon begin to change. Something on the inside pushed and shoved against its’ plastic prison, struggling to get out, like a bag of popcorn in the microwave. And if microwave popcorn has taught me anything, it’s that once the package explodes, things go downhill fast. (Then again, this was at a time when I thought you didn’t take popcorn bags out of the plastic before microwaving them.)

“Couldn’t you at least untie us?!” I pleaded, giving my best puppy dog eyes.

“Suck it, NERD!”

And wouldn’t you know it, that was it! You see, I’ve always been a twig my whole life, and with the competition and being cast in the woods and all, I didn’t exactly have the time to eat stuff. So all it took was one suck of my guts and I slipped out of my ropes. Followed up with a slash of the old toe claws, F-Bomb was free, too. Meanwhile, the package had swollen tall as I was and still the werebacon couldn’t escape.

“Oh, screw it!” Hollered Raposa. With one well-placed toss, a pair of the sharpest scissors I’ve ever seen sliced right through the plastic packaging, sticking in the Earth with a Tong! From there, the werebacon burst out, looking furry and crispy and horribly overcooked.

“So, uh, any ideas?” I asked F-Bomb.

“Well, we could always run for our lives.”

I shrugged. It was as good an idea as any.

#My writing #Nature Trail To Hell #hell #bacon #velociraptor #demon

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ltleflrt · 5 years

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YAY!!! I'm so greedy for your writing... Coworker & Immortal AU, Please and thank you

I’m kinda stretching the definition of coworkers here, but in the eyes of an Immortal, human definitions are probably fleeting anyway :)

Warning for people dying.

Little fingers press against Dean’s palm, and he gives them a reassuring squeeze as he watches the heartbreak spread across the faces of the nurses as the doctor calls time of death. The soft crying of the witnesses turns into broken sobs that make even Dean’s ancient heart squeeze painfully.

“Will they be sad for a long time?”

Dean looks down at the spirit of the child gripping his hand. In the last days of her life, her body was thin, and ravaged by sores. In death, she’s beautiful, practically glowing with the the power of a young soul that hasn’t dimmed from a long lifetime of use. “They might,” he answers honestly. “But not forever.”

“I wish I could tell them I feel better now.” Her large brown eyes swim with metaphysical tears as she watches her parents mourn.

He smiles at her. What a gentle heart. Many children make wishes when they pass from the world of the living. Sometimes they don’t want to leave, and they wish to go back. Some wish they could see a beloved pet again, or say goodbye to their friends. A large number of them wish they could take their toys with them, which always delights Dean.

If he had the power to grant wishes, the ones made on behalf of their lost loved ones are the wishes he’d be most eager to fulfill. Alas, he’s the embodiment of Death, not a Djinn. “I wish you could too.”

She heaves a sigh that expresses a knowledge only gained by death. “Thanks.” She gives him a watery smile. “So what’s next?”

“You have a journey to make,” Dean says.

“Like Dora the Explorer?”

He laughs at her sudden excitement. “Yes, just like that.”

She bounces on her toes when he introduces her to the Reaper assigned to lead her to her next destination. Only once does she look back, waving goodbye to him and to her parents who have yet to come to terms with the sudden termination of her short life. Then she fades away, her spirit absorbed into the larger fabric of the Universe.

“I’d feel more sorry for them if they weren’t anti-vaxxers,” Sam says from nearby. “How many of the other kids here do you think might be dying because their daughter was patient zero at her school?”

“All of them,” Dean answers. He spares a glance for the mourning parents, and grimaces. Crowley’s anti-vax movement has been very effective.

He always does his best work using misinformation rather than spreading actual plagues. Even the Black Death became the massive killing machine that it did because he’d convinced people that cats were The Devil’s creatures. So many cats were wiped out, they could no longer keep up with the plague carrying rats infesting human cities. Crowley was quite proud of that one.

That many falling to him at once was overwhelming. He and his reapers had been overworked, and he’d been pretty pissed about it. Especially since each death had been so intensely miserable. Dean is neutral to death because everyone succumbs to it eventually, but that doesn’t mean he condones such cruel methods.

Which means it’s time to intervene. “Crowley.” He feels the other horseman’s presence fill the hospital before it condenses down into the form of a small man in a tailored suit.

“You called?” Crowley asks in his crisp British accent. It’s an affect; Crowley has existed since before English started stealing words from other languages, and long before the most ancient forms of verbal communication.

“You’ve made your mark here,” Dean says. “It’s time to lift your touch from this town.”

Crowley scoffs. “Only 9 have been infected. I’ve barely started--”

“It’s enough,” Dean commands sharply. “The Fates have other plans for these people, and you’ve already interfered with their work enough.”

“Fine,” Crowley drawls, clearly unhappy with the order but unwilling to go against one of the few beings that has the power to demote him from demi-god to corpse. “I’ve got some mosquito populations to check on.” He smiles tightly. “Can’t let all the rainforest loggers get off without a touch of Malaria.”

He’s not asking for permission, but Dean tips his head in acknowledgement anyway. It isn’t his goal to anger the spirit of Pestilence, only to maintain a balance. “I’ll send some Reapers with you.”

That perks Crowley up, because it means that his victims won’t survive the disease. “Splendid. See you around, Boss.” He nods to the gaunt shadow at Dean’s elbow. “You too, Sam.”

He disappears before either of them can respond.

“He’s such a bag of dicks,” Sam sighs.

“No shit,” Dean agrees. “Good at this job though.”

Sam makes a noncommittal sound. His eyes follow the spirits being led to their next destination by Dean’s reapers.

A tug behind Dean’s sternum pulls his attention across the country. His lover rarely summons him so urgently, so Dean sets aside his current plans to see what Castiel needs. “I’m needed elsewhere,” he says out loud, sending the message to all the local Reapers.

“Dean,” Sam says softly. “Please. You summoned me here for a reason.”

“I did. I’m sorry I forgot.” Dean grimaces and rubs a hand over Sam’s shoulder. “There’s a janitor downstairs. He’s been sneaking into patients rooms that he has no business in.”

Sam’s eyes darken with greed. “A damaged soul?”

“Let’s just say that he’s worse for children than measles,” Dean says. “He’s scheduled to slip and crack his head open in a few hours. I’ve instructed my Reapers to leave him to you.”

“I appreciate it.”

Dean pats him again, and hopes the touch conveys how proud his of Sam’s current restraint. He knows how difficult it is for him, being the only horseman who suffers when he doesn’t use his powers. An eternity of addiction and starvation is a punishment he doesn’t deserve, and Dean would shoulder that pain for him if it were within his powers. But he can only settle for helping Sam maintain his balance, by making sure he feeds often enough that he stays strong enough to keep his powers reined in.

The love and gratitude in his brother’s eyes tells him that Sam knows. It’s enough for now.

They say their goodbyes and Dean spreads the great shadow of his wings. In the scope of the universe Earth is miniscule and it takes barely half a flap to reach his destination. He stretches them wide before folding them back into his essence, and looks around.

The Oval Office is dark, the current president not the type to stay up late worrying about matters of state. But there is still a figure slumped in the chair behind the huge desk. A smile tugs at the corners of Dean’s mouth when his eyes fall on his lover. “I thought you’d given up stealing thrones.”

Castiel huffs a soft laugh. “I’ve been given more thrones than I stole.”

“Hmm, my mistake.” Dean walks around the desk, and when Castiel swivels the chair to face him, he straddles his thighs and anchors himself in place with arms wrapped around Castiel’s shoulders.

Their lips meet in a kiss that is mostly greeting, with a tiny lick of heat. Even after eons, the passion driving their relationship has hardly dimmed. But Dean can sense that Castiel needs him for more than a quick fuck over the desk. There’s a different need emanating from his skin.

Dean tilts his head until their foreheads bump. “What’s wrong, Cas?”

Castiel’s sigh warms the space between them. “I’m finding it very difficult to maintain the balance. Between the rise of despots with a hunger for nuclear weapons, and dictators draping themselves in the flag of democracy whipping up their most frenzied followers into violence, I find myself very busy for how little actual battle these humans participate in.”

“I’ve noticed.” Dean doesn’t offer platitudes or advice. War is Castiel’s domain, not his. And often, Castiel just needs a sympathetic ear, which Dean is qualified to provide.

“I miss the Cold War,” Castiel grumbles.

Dean laughs. “Bullshit. You were tearing your hair out trying to get someone to push the big button.”

Castiel’s icy glare could drop a human on the spot, dead of heart failure. Dean just thinks it’s adorable. “Don’t be ridiculous. Wiping out all of humanity would render me obsolete.”

“You still wanted to see it happen though,” Dean counters with a grin.

“I’ve seen civilizations wiped out by supernovae.”

“But that was my work.” Dean wiggles in Castiel’s lap. “It’s not the same.”

Castiel huffs his annoyance and wraps his arms tightly around Dean’s hips, holding him still. He presses his face into Dean’s chest. “Please don’t mock me.”

Dean sobers, and runs fingers through Castiel’s hair. Sometimes he can pull Castiel out of his existential funks with a little teasing, but this is apparently not one of those times. “Talk to me, Cas.”

“Maybe I am just God’s Hammer.” His voice is muffled by Dean’s shirt. “And this battle against my baser nature has only one inevitable end.”

“You wouldn’t have these doubts if that were true.” Dean refrains from pointing out that these internal ‘battles’ are part of his nature as a god of War. It’s a lesson Castiel will eventually learn on his own. As the youngest of the horsemen he still has a long life of learning ahead of him.

Castiel hums and nuzzles closer. “Tell me of your doubts.”

“I set my Reapers on a hospital full of kids with measles today,” Dean says. “And I’m not seeing that trend stopping any time soon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s the nature of the job.”

“Still.” Castiel lifts his head and looks up at Dean with kindness and understanding. “I know you don’t enjoy when your touch lands on children.”

He doesn’t enjoy any aspect of his job. Okay, maybe he enjoys feeding the souls of the truly terrible to his little brother sometimes. But being the instrument of entropy in the universe isn’t exactly fun, even if he knows that there’s no other way it can function.

“Yeah,” he says. “It always sucks. But none of our jobs are exactly easy.”

“Crowley seems to enjoy himself.”

“He’s a bag of dicks.”

Castiel laughs and pushes his face against Dean’s chest. “I wonder if this is what a mid life crisis feels like.”

He’s nowhere near the midpoint of his life, but Dean can’t--won’t--tell him that. “Is that what’s going on?”

“Well I’m very old,” Castiel says dryly. “I believe I’m entitled.”

“Pfft.” Dean flicks a finger against the collar of Castiel’s current favorite outfit. “You’re just a baby in a trench coat.”

“I watched the first fish crawl from the ocean, Dean.”

“I’m literally older than dirt,” Dean counters. “And molecules.”

Castiel’s essense brightens, and Dean knows that he’s finally broken through the shell of his bad mood. “Dirty old man.”

“You make me young.” Dean nudges Castiel’s chin, forcing him out of hiding. He presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead and then another to his lips. “My existence started with yours.”

It’s sappy as fuck, but as much as he loves his brother, and occasionally enjoys Crowley’s antics, his heart finally found true joy when Castiel joined their ranks.

“You are not a Hammer,” he continues. He cups his hands around Castiel’s face so he can’t look away, and strokes his thumbs across Castiel’s cheekbones. “You are a Weaver. Spiders would cry in awe if they could conceive the delicate webs you create. You weave nets to contain and stabilize the balance of the universe.”

He kisses Castiel again, nudging until lips part under his own. He’s rewarded with a moan, and Castiel tilts his head, leaning into Dean’s touch. Castiel kisses like he’s trying to win a battle, but Dean calms him with his touch, keeping the passion at a simmer instead of letting it turn into an inferno. When he finally lifts his head, Castiel blinks dazedly up at him.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers. “I am a creature of destruction. I don’t--”

“You are an creature of peace as well as war,” Dean whispers. “Balance.”

Castiel closes his eyes, and settles under Dean’s touch. “Sometimes I internalize the vision humans have of me. Thank you for reminding me that there’s more to me than violence and death.”

“I’ll always be here for you. As leader, and lover.” Dean peppers more kisses over Castiel’s face. “Until Time itself fades, and I reap the last vestiges of the universe.”

“Thank you.” Castiel stays pliant under Dean’s touch, and he smiles. “And I love you too.”

Dean pecks him right on the lips again. “Existential crisis averted?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good,” Dean says brightly. “Now what do you say to desecrating this desk?”

Castiel surges to his feet, carrying Dean’s weight with him and depositing it on the polished surface. “There’s nothing holy about this desk.”

Dean is already tugging at Castiel’s clothing. They could dismiss it with a thought, but they’ve both spent far too long with humanity, and enjoy the trappings of physicality. “It’ll be the most holy, after I make you see god tonight.”

“We’ll see who’s crying for god’s mercy when I’m through with you,” Castiel growls.

Dean laughs and allows himself to be pushed flat. He already knows they’re both going to win.

#destiel #death!dean #war!cas #4 horseman au #oops i ficced #kazshero

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thepunishersgf · 5 years

Text

Wakandan Summers (part 1/?)

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader

Word Count (thus far): 625

A/N: Umm so this is a thing! I was really interested in exploring an alternative plot where Erik grew up navigating the worlds of both Wakanda and America and, surprise of all surprises, he actually made a friend (?) Wild, I know. This is basically just an excuse to write a series of random fic about you (my lovely reader) and Erik, getting together. It’s a slow-ish burn. Lmk what you think!

...

You palm a fruit from a nearby stand, twisting smoothly out of view as the merchant turns to look over their wears. The shade is a welcome reprieve to the punishing swelter of the sun, darkness settles over your skin and brings with it a cool breeze. You sigh and bring the apple to your lips as you lean back against a vibranium pillar, quietly observing the city from your little alcove.

“You shouldn’t steal,” a voice reprimands. The apple cracks under the pressure of your teeth, juices dripping down your chin before you get the chance to wipe your forearm across your face.

You tilt your chin to the left to observe your intruder, smiling to yourself when you find Erik seated on a stone step a few paces away.

He’s dressed in what you have coined his street clothes, soft dark robes falling across the shape of him like water. You very pointedly don’t stare at the space where his neck is exposed, feeling the heat of the afternoon burn up the sides of your neck and face.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were stalking me,” you respond, nonplussed. You take another hearty bite of the apple and spit out a seed.

Erik’s eyes don’t quite meet yours, staring out at the calamity beyond, where the world is a loud hum of noise and excitement. The sound thrums through the alcove like static, over your skin and through your very marrow.

You’ve been to plenty of cities.

Big ones, small ones, ones with skyscrapers that faded into the clouds and others with ravines deep enough to unsettle the core of the earth, but nothing beat home.

Nothing compared to Wakanda.

“You could’a just bought it,” Erik continues, that all too familiar American slang twisting at the corner of his lips. “Doubt anyone would say no to a Dora.”

You want to counter and say that you saw him steal a mango just the other day but there’s a mischievous glint to his eyes that tells you he’s already anticipating the remark.

Instead, you roll your eyes and lift a shoulder, “I’m not a Dora.”

You try not to waver under Erik’s gaze when it settles on you but you feel it all the same. Even after all these years spent in his company, learning his habits and carefully building up walls against him, Erik’s always had a way of seeing right through you. Like he knew exactly what you were thinking at any given moment. You’ve always found it to be incredibly unsettling.

Thank god he’s only here during the summer, you can’t help but think and feel a pang of guilt at the thought. You didn’t actually mind his company but you’d never tell him that to his face. Smug asshole would tease you about it relentlessly if he knew.

He hums at your statement, thoughtful.

“You wear the uniform,” he says eventually, “you train with them.”

“There’s a difference between training and being,” you retort, lowering your voice when you notice that the merchant you lifted from is staring quizzically at his pyramid of apples. You watch as he scratches his head, slowly counting them up once, then twice.

“Yeah, I guess,” Erik says. You turn to face him when the merchants' eyes lift to your little hiding spot. You can see them opening their mouth to shout after you in outrage. You throw the apple core to Erik who catches it on reflex and looks at you in surprise.

The merchant is stumbling over to the alcove, shaking an angry fist at the two of you as he shouts.

You smile at him as he approaches.

“Catch ya later, your highness.”

You break into a sprint.

#erik x reader #erik killmonger x reader #erik x poc!reader #erik stevens x reader #black panther imagines #black panther fic #black panther fanfiction #erik x black reader #I can't stress that enough #erik killmonger fanfiction #poc reader #black panther #yuh yuh yuh!#boneswrites #sorry about the spacing idk why it's doing that

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starberry-cupcake · 5 years

Text

Overall thoughts on Les Mis BBC

I decided, after all those summaries I made, to write what I hope can be a more coherent opinion on what I thought of the adaptation as a whole. I wanted to make sure to state that my critical reactions weren’t for entertainment purposes only or exaggerated for the fun of it but based on real concerns I’ll expand in this post. This is like the “serious companion”, if you will.

I don’t know if anyone cares about it at this point, but I feel that even though my summaries helped me go through the immediate frustrations in a (mostly) lighthearted way, it’s the distance from having watched it all what gave me a little bit more clarity to order my thoughts.

I’ve established my opinion isn’t worth a damn, I’m not smart or knowledgeable enough for this fandom and, needless to say, these are all my personal opinions, take them with a grain of salt or a bathtub of it. I’m a worthless nobody and my words have no value, but the internet is still (sort of) free, so here I go.

Introduction: the initial news, Andrew Davies & the PR mess

BBC announced the adaptations of 2 media phenomenons which started as books that I love so much I’m considering tattoos of both. And, for both of them, my main concerns were on the person adapting the script.

On the one hand, there’s His Dark Materials, a book series that made me the person I am today, pretty much. One of the directors is none other than Tom Hooper (what are the odds) and the script adaptation was in the hands of Jack Thorne. Cursed Child Jack Thorne. Yeah, not thrilled about that.

Surprisingly enough, His Dark Materials was given a projection of 3 possible seasons, rather than just one, the 3rd hasn’t been yet confirmed but the fact that the script was made thinking on one season per major book on the series, and that each season has 8 episodes planned, at least gives me a bit of hope, even if the person adapting it isn’t in my favorites list.

Les Mis, on the other hand, went to the hands of Andrew Davies, another person I don’t trust.

I’m one of those folk who was never too fond of the ‘95 version of Pride and Prejudice, mainly because of how Darcy was made into a sort of sex symbol, where his flaws were seen as “attractive marks of broody character” rather than vulnerability and with gratuitous sexualizing fanservice. I know a lot of people love it for that and that’s cool, you do you, but it’s not for me.

Then, when he adapted War and Peace, he talked about adding more sex to it and had the Kuragin siblings shown explicitly sleeping together from the get-go in episode 1 and that’s when I stopped watching (there were other things I didn’t like but that one was my limit).

To make matters worse, it made me weary that Les Mis was getting an overall amount of only 6 episodes whereas HDM was getting a potential 24-ish. That was an odd choice.

So, as you can guess, I knew coming in that Davies writing the script, a script with a limited time-frame for the story, was a huge risk.

But, on the other hand, as the cast was announced, I got excited. Especially for people like Archie Madekwe, Turlough Convery, Erin Kellyman and some famous actors like David Oyelowo. Their filming logs on social media, how nice they all were and how much fun they had filming made me happy. I felt that maybe these great folks could turn around whatever the scrip had to disappoint me.

But then came all the PR stuff.

The more I read Davies & co. talking about the show, the less hope I had for it. Talking very badly about the musical and the 2012 movie, calling female characters “not complicated”, insulting Cosette, saying that Javert’s lack of explicit heterosexual sex in the brick was reason enough to push a homosexual narrative centered on an unhealthy behavior, patting themselves on the back for having a diverse cast as if no other adaptation of Les Mis had ever done it before...even their talks about Fantine’s make up made me weary. And, let’s not forget their ridiculous insistence on not having songs.

By the time the show premiered, my hopes had dwindled. The excitement I had upon knowing there would be another Les Mis adaptation so soon, a BBC one at that, and with a cast I had hopes for, was blurred by all the nonsense of PR and I was more afraid than hopeful.

In the end, after having watched it completely, and as you can see for my summaries, I was heavily disappointed. I’ll try to list some of my biggest concerns, in no particular order.

I can’t be super extensive about it, because there are a lot of points to go over, but there are a lot of amazing opinion pieces out there about specific issues, so you don’t need me for that.

Anyway, let’s delve into some of my biggest problems with BBC Les Mis.

Problem #1: The portrayal of femininity

Solely by the fact that Davies stated that women on Les Mis “are not terribly complicated” you know that things are not going to go all too well on that front.

I’m going to pick 3 characters to showcase how badly women were portrayed in this: Fantine, Cosette and Éponine. I’ll leave other characters for another section.

1. Fantine

I’ve talked about Fantine before, upon receiving some questions on my summaries, but I’ll try to explain it all in a more understandable way.

The lens in which Fantine was seen was sexist from the get-go. The way in which the story was framed made the audience complicit in the choices she was making, choices that were negatively regarded by the narrative perspective alone. Her “fall to disgrace” was framed as her own decisions being incorrect, silly mistakes that were easily avoidable, and never regarded as the result of living in a society that was unable to contain her and see her as a valid human being. But we’ll get to that when we talk about the politics (or lack thereof) on this show.

Like I said in my response before, the way in which Fantine is portrayed, even in the musical itself, varies greatly performance to performance. Patti LuPone performing I Dreamed a Dream after Fantine gets dismissed isn’t like Anne Hathaway performing it after she has become a prostitute and neither carry the same implications as Allison Blackwell in the Liesl Tommy’s Dallas modern production, influenced by her experience in apartheid South Africa.

Still, the key element to developing Fantine’s portrayal, when it comes to sexism and the showcasing of her environment, has two layers: the actual oppression showcased in the source material and the contemporary interpretation or lens in which an adaptation will view it.

In this version, Fantine’s character was toned down in her attitude. She was less reactive than in the brick, a lot more passive, a lot more of a tragic figure, which paired up with the fact that this adaptation covered her entire “fall to ruin”, from meeting Tholomyès onward, made her a victim of everything that happened to her.

A victim of her own bad decisions, though, not of a social context that was failing her.

But the worst part is in how the focus of the show is placed. You can have Fantine being a summarized version of herself, with less spunk, and still showcase through her that the circumstances she was in were permeated by an escalating force of social disadvantage and oppression.

This adaptation made, like I said, the audience complicit in Fantine’s decisions as if she was a princess in a movie, unaware of the threats she was getting herself into by her own naive foolishness.

Tholomyès is blatantly shady, clearly dishonest, not at all charming or in any way trustworthy and Fantine gets a “voice of reason” on a friend who tells her various times that he will eventually leave. There are a lot of red flags, blatant for the audience, that Fantine chooses to dismiss. The show focuses less on why Fantine trusted Tholomyès and more on her making a clear bad choice we all knew was doomed from the start.

This becomes a problem once again when she chooses to leave Cosette with the Thénardiers. They are very clearly shady, very blatantly aggressive and ready to take advantage of her, visibly manhandling Cosette in front of her and asking for more money on the spot, and Fantine again naively ignores all of this.

They do it again when she enters employment in Montreuil. She talks to Valjean himself in this version, and is asked repeatedly and with kindness if she has a family. The scene makes it seem as if she could have easily told the truth, especially because we were previously given a scene in which Fantine hears a speech talking about how Valjean is the Best Person Ever and could potentially help her. Still, she chooses to repeatedly lie and the show makes it seem less for necessity and more for a sense of pride of some sort.

(Also, as a foreshadowing of creepy Valjean to come, there are some insinuations from her co-workers that she could seduce Valjean, which is confusingly placed and awkwardly added where it is.)

Then, after she’s dismissed, there’s a man in a post office who asks her, after receiving letters from the Thénardiers (to which she reacts a lot more passively than in the brick), why she doesn’t bring Cosette to live with her, in a condescending tone, as if he was stating the obvious. Fantine responds again as if she was doing it out of pride. The same man is the one to suggest her to start selling her body and then tell her she should have done it before selling her hair and teeth because “nobody would pay for her after that”.

Every turn we’re met with ways in which Fantine’s decisions are seen as foolish in the eyes of the viewer. It’s like Blue’s Clues or Dora the Explorer when they ask stuff to the audience for the kids to say they shouldn’t do something. It’s patronizing as fuck, is what it is. And, yes, sexist.

These narrative choices are sexist because they erase most of the social and political situation which made Fantine vulnerable in the first place, to push the tragic drama as if she was a victim of being “too naive”. It’s sexist because it makes the audience know from the get go that what Fantine is doing is a “bad choice”, easily avoidable mistakes that whoever writes is smart enough to sense are bad but poor naive Fantine can’t understand.

It isn’t just that she’s called a whore a lot of times, that she’s smashed against walls and the ground hard enough that Lily Collins was actually hurt, that she’s shown explicitly being used by a patron on the street. It’s that all of it is done with the added layer of her having “chosen wrong”. That everything is framed as the consequences of actions that the narrative voice, as well as the audience, are smart enough to know are wrong, but poor little Fantine can’t handle.

Like many things in this adaptation we’ll see later, Fantine’s journey is framed more like the tragic end of a woman who didn’t know how to choose right and was punished for said choices rather than the result of an unfair society which didn’t allow women any freedom to choose and didn’t see them as worthy human beings.

2. Cosette

When Andrew Davies called Cosette a “pretty nauseating character” in need of change, I knew I was up against one of those people.

Cosette is probably one of the most underestimated female characters in literature, and adaptations tend to do her dirty very often. I’m not even fond of her interpretation in the musical all that much, which goes in tow with the interpretation of Éponine. I’ve seen my fair share of men on youtube claiming Gavroche should be the face of Les Mis rather than Cosette, I’ve received my fair amount of messages claiming she’s The Worst, I’ve seen it all.

This adaptation does with Cosette something that, out of context, I would have thought impossible. They manage to somehow attempt to make her more “active” (they would call it “strong” but I have problems with that denomination) while making her even more of a helpless victim. It’s a pretty impressive oxymoron.

Let’s begin with little Cosette.

This adaptation does something very weird in that it only showcases Cosette’s storyline as a child when it serves other characters, but then intends to build upon the abuse by mentioning it or making it clear that adult Cosette remembers it well.

So we see Cosette when she’s important to Fantine’s storyline, the Thénardiers’s storyline or Valjean’s storyline, but not much about her on her own, aside from one time she’s looking at dolls and another time when she’s being beaten up by Madame Thénardier, which could be also a moment for the Thénardiers and not solely for Cosette’s narrative.

What I mean with this is that the view on her is reduced to a side character rather than a main one and, with that, her perspective on her own abuse isn’t taken into account. You don’t know how Cosette feels about things, you don’t see her perspective on it, you only see what others do to her but never get to see her side of it. For all the musical erases of her narrative, at least they give her Castle on a Cloud.

It’s with little Cosette where we start to see this weird sense of sexually charged perception towards her relationship with Valjean.

For some inexplicable and highly alarming reason, it’s implied by various witnesses in different occasions that Valjean’s intentions with Cosette may be inappropriate, and I would have let it slide as just people thinking The Worst out of living in a social context in which The Worst is most often the truth, hadn’t that perception carried throughout the series and mixed with Valjean’s erratic and possessive characterization.

When Cosette grows up, she gains a bit more focus, but she also starts to be charged a lot more sexually.

Both Cosette and Éponine are sexualized and objectivized in this adaptation. This will be addressed later, but most often than not this sexualization acts as an accessory to a narrative about masculinity.

Cosette’s virtue, beauty and body are talked about and even exposed in various moments. They tell her she can’t be a nun because that would be “a waste of her beauty”. In that dreadful scene in the dress shop I talked about in summary 4, the shop assistant again implies that Cosette is Valjean’s lover and lets him see her in undergarments through the curtain, with clear intentions. Valjean’s erratic persona is intent on separating her from Marius, explicitly telling her he’s worried that she will be taken advantage of by men, bringing up Fantine’s history to her with that in mind, while putting her in danger and in the company of the Thénardiers again, in more than one occasion.

Adult Cosette has visible signs of the trauma she suffered, which is an interesting direction to go. I haven’t seen an adaptation taking such a big route on her remembering her past abuse, and is a change that worked in performance, Ellie did some great visible responses like covering herself when Valjean wakes her up or going fight or flight every time she sees Thénardier. She is visibly upset when Marius gives him money and looks both angry yet still hesitant when she sees the man for the last time.

But all that kind of loses its importance when the men around her not only don’t give a shit but also do their worst.

Valjean manhandles her, harms her even, pushes her to the limits of her emotional state by taking her to see the prisoners intentionally after she mentioned prison, acting more possessive than caring and more erratically violent than conflicted and concerned.

Marius has a somewhat wet dream about her and then again dreams with her in confusing ways when he’s out of the barricade, with his grandfather talking about her as if she’s a piece of meat even after he meets her and she’s right in front of him.

They tried to make Cosette more aggressive, I think, more reactive, which in some moments worked. But when the lens in which she’s viewed is objectivizing, when she’s being commented on, offered and treated as an object, then it isn’t enough. It makes it worse, actually.

I’m sorry for Ellie, though, she did good.

3. Éponine

Much like Cosette, Éponine’s childhood was all but a few cameos. It’s very often that adaptations try to “tone down” Éponine in order to pull a narrative of her as an underdog in a love triangle, the “friendzoned” girl who tragically dies. The musical does that, for example.

Some of Éponine’s most controversial actions in the brick tend to be most often deleted or changed, except for adaptations in which she’s an “enemy” to Cosette’s narrative of a classic heroine.

It isn’t easy to find adaptations that are able to make Éponine showcase the complexity of her canon character not as a problem but as what makes her character so good and important in the overall story. Hey, even fandom sometimes tends to romanticize Éponine as if she had to be “redeemed” in order to be seen as a worthy character (but that happens a lot with female characters in general).

Éponine doesn’t exist for Marius’s narrative, as the other girl in a love triangle, or for Cosette’s narrative, as an enemy, she’s her own character with her own reason for existing and complex human dynamics that are extremely permeated by the social circumstances she’s immersed in and represents.

I’d say this adaptation is on the group that uses her for Marius’s storyline.

Added to that, it’s one of the worst I’ve seen on that case, because in this one, Marius is complicit of Éponine’s intentions, which are sexualized to a degree I don’t feel comfortable with.

We’ll talk a bit more about the Marius side of things later, but for Éponine, it meant she was reduced to a character that exists to sexually awaken Marius rather than a tragic figure on her own or even a piece of a love triangle. So, basically, this is the worst I’ve seen in a while.

This is clearly seen in that interview when Davies explained why he added that “wet dream” scene, saying:

“One of the best things Hugo does is to have Eponine tease Marius with her sexiness because he is a bit of a prig. So I have introduced a scene where Marius, even though he is in love with Cosette, has a wet dream about Eponine and feels rather guilty about it. I think it fits into the psychology of the book.” Source

Let’s leave out the part where he considers that to be “one of the best things Hugo does” because I cannot deal with that right now. Let’s focus on the other bit.

Like this quote suggests and I said before, Éponine was rather reduced to a tool for Marius’s sexual awakening. In this version, it isn’t only the “wet dream” which precedes more crucial interactions between Marius and Éponine, there’s also a scene where she strips for him through the hole in the wall and another where Courfeyrac is commenting on her and Azelma as Marius moves into the building for the first time.

By the time Marius gives her his money and any sort of bond can occur, it’s evidently clear in this version that Éponine has been teasing Marius and he is fully aware of it. He looks at her through the peep hole licking his lips and then has that disturbing dream where she’s kind of forcing him onto her in a very questionable way.

So, this Marius is by no means unaware of the fact that Éponine was attracted to him in some capacity and has played along her seduction, which makes his dismissal of her and his request for her to find Cosette a lot like he is using her for his own gain and replacing her for another girl.

Éponine’s attitude, much like Cosette’s, tries to be more active at times. She’s confrontational to her parents, seems protective of Azelma and is pleased to see her mother stuck in jail.

However, much like with Cosette, any kind of agency is compromised for having her narrative be serving a male character’s development rather than her own. Her involvement in the barricade is also somewhat modified but, by that time, her journey has already been substantially affected.

Much like Ellie, Erin was a very good Éponine when she was allowed to perform at her best and I wish she had been involved in an adaptation that was able to portray Éponine with more justice.

I’ll talk a bit more about women on the show in general in problem #3 but, for now, let’s move on.

Problem #2: The portrayal of masculinity

1. Javert

I am not the best person to write an essay on Javert, there are a lot of people more capable than me for that, and I may be called out for this and mess everything up, but I can’t write overall opinions without mentioning my issues with his characterization, at least summarized.

Javert is a complicated character. He is, as much as everyone else, affected by the circumstances and a man who goes through a huge emotional impact and sees his values questioned and compromised. His and Valjean’s journeys have a lot in common, in different ways and with different outcomes.

Sadly, Javert tends to be seen as a villain in a lot of adaptations. It’s a way to simplify the plot in the way movies tend to do: something is defined by what the other isn’t, if Valjean is the protagonist, then Javert must be his antagonist. I was worried that this version was going to fall into that trap, because of time restraint and Davies’s tendencies of simplifying complex characters.

Javert’s characterization was erratic, much like Valjean’s. His attitude was blurred by fits of rage and moments of confusing violence, followed by charged pauses in strange cadences which tended to fluctuate. I don’t think his attitude was as all-over-the-place as Valjean’s, but it was certainly not as well defined as other Javerts I’ve seen through the years.

This Javert, however, had a choice made for him that separates him from other versions:

Over tea in central London, Davies tells me that he was surprised to discover that, in Hugo’s 1862 novel, neither character [Javert or Valjean] mentions any sort of sexual experience, leaving the 82-year-old screenwriter wondering, at least in the case of Javert, whether it was indicative of a latent homosexuality. Source

There is a lot to unpack there.

First, there’s this idea of masculinity in which the lack of explicit heterosexual intercourse in canon is directly representative of homosexuality. I’m not gonna delve a lot in the brick but there are a good bunch of characters you can easily read as gay. Hell, there’s that whole thing going on with comparing Enjolras and Grantaire to greek couples. And if you want to write Javert as gay, go ahead, there’s a lot of fanfiction out there who is with you on that and I’m here for all interpretations, no problem at all.

But if you’re going to take that route, you need to be careful with your optics.

This Javert is, at the end of the day, in this adaptation, a gay man of color. He is also explicitly obsessed with Valjean in a way that exceeds his sense of justice. He looks at him undress in prison, is all over his personal space while he’s in chains and later interrogates him believing Marius is his lover, clearly attempting Valjean to confess to him if he was. He receives a lot of comments from an officer who touches him and looks at him strangely in the last episode, prompting an immediate rejection from him.

Everything points to Javert’s homosexuality being in the plot only as a further motivator for his need to capture Valjean, which makes for both a problematic portrayal of predatory homosexuality and a subsequent narrative of police abuse, both very problematic aspects to portray through a gay man of color. The way he acts and the way in which people act around him make it seem like his obsession with capturing him is fueled by the fact that Valjean represents his closeted feelings and that is all kinds of messed up.

He is also clearly not as involved in other aspects of the law as he is in capturing Valjean, since Thénardier ends up being a secondary worry to him, even explicitly knowing he has been mistreating and abusing a child, and he also explicitly doesn’t care about his achievements or the ones of his other officers as long as Valjean is on the loose. He lets Thénardier escape prison on his watch and doesn’t take care of it himself, prioritizing Valjean.

It isn’t about what happens in canon or not but in how all of this, in this version, is framed under this idea that Javert is also gay and has an obsession with Valjean that seems predatory in part, rather than fueled by his beliefs. And that is a dangerous optic to write a gay character under. Especially a police officer who is also a man of color.

I’m not the one to talk about that, it’s not my experience to tell and I’m not going to speak over those whose experience this is, but as a content creator, I’d question if my need to diversify is stepping over the lines of problematic aspects that may ill represent the identities I’m trying to integrate. Just saying.

David’s performance hits some very good moments, especially when Javert starts contemplating suicide. That is a very important scene in every adaptation and a very amazing chapter in canon and David does well in performing the turmoil in Javert’s decision. They also add, as a voice in off, the notes he left to improve the service, which is a great touch.

But, much like the other characters I mentioned, his performance is blurred by these writing choices in which Javert has been added this sort of predatory sense in which Valjean in jail symbolizes also keeping his identity hidden away. Davies would probably say his “desires” because that’s the kind of guy he is.

I hope my opinion isn’t overstepping anyone’s voice and I’ll leave the further of this discussion to someone more appropriate, but I felt it was an important matter to include and something we all, as media consumers, must pay attention to.

2. Marius

I had higher hopes for this boy, I really did.

The good thing this adaptation does for Marius is give him a bit more room than others do. They touch more on his relationship with his father and his grandfather, they bring up the Thénardier connection to his dad, they introduce Mabeuf, and they bring him on as a kid in the beginning, which even though questionable in comparison to him having more development as a child than Cosette and Éponine, at least helped to introduce him as another key character of the whole story.

I had hopes that this earlier introduction, albeit unfairly unbalanced with Cosette’s and Éponine’s, would allow for his character to develop more strongly, especially since politics were very present in his conversations with his grandfather and the ideals of his dad. I thought that by introducing politics through Marius that would allow his connection to Les Amis de l’ABC be more profound when the moment for revolution came.

Yeah, no, that didn’t happen.

Les Mis is a book where people are the heart and soul of it. With that in mind, characters aren’t like each other, they aren’t repetitions of the other’s attitude, they are diverse reflections of the complexity of humanity. The portrayal of masculinity in characters like Javert, Valjean, Gavroche or each individual member of Les Amis aren’t the same between each other, and neither are the same as Marius’s.

Marius represents a very wide emotional spectrum. He’s sensitive and vulnerable, passionate and driven, but at the same time can take action into his own hands when he has to and fight, even at the cost of his own life. There are layers in Marius. Like a Rogel cake.

I don’t want to generalize but a problem I have often with older male writers is that they see emotional complexity as weakness, especially when it comes to the portrayal of masculinity. There’s this idea in which something that is undefined or conflicting isn’t “strong” enough and therefore requires forcing.

Remember that quote I brought up for Éponine’s characterization? we’re going back to that. To Davies calling Marius “a prig” in need of being seduced.

Like I said, this version made Marius complicit in Éponine’s advances and aware of her sexually charged intentions, and this was made in an attempt to “upgrade” Marius’s masculinity and make him “less of a prig”. Because in order to be a Man, Marius needs to objectivize women. Apparently.

Like I mentioned, the gesture of Marius giving Éponine the little money he had ended up being a lot less effective by the fact that he had already fantasized about her more than once, and with her knowing that. He is taken to a brothel by Courfeyrac and Grantaire in which women pretty much throw themselves at him while he looks for Cosette. The “wet dream” he has is a very eerie combination of idealization and assault, in which Éponine, taking Cosette’s place, forces him onto her (much like Davies is forcing this onto Marius).

It isn’t about sex or eroticism being introduced to Marius’s storyline, is that they appear forced and almost violently thrust upon him in order to validate him in this idea of masculinity the adaptation seems to have, which seems to be very narrow.

And, with that in mind, we’ll move on to the last bit of this section.

3. Valjean

I am unable to write a piece about how many layers of wrong this Valjean embodied.

There are a lot of good tumblr scholars and Les Mis experts talking about it already, they can explain better than I ever could, but we need to, at least, try to glimpse at the mess this was, because this is a post on problems and this was a major one.

There are a lot of interpretations of Valjean, some of which are astronomically awful. He’s a character that can be easily fucked up, maybe because he also represents a very complex range of emotions, a very wide spectrum of masculinity, and is inserted in a wide variety of social contexts and spheres during his lifetime, which permeate his way of living as well as his agency to do things.

Any adaptation of Les Mis from the get go starts with the challenge of representing all of this in a limited time frame and with a limited perspective. It’s very difficult to translate not only all of this complexity but also all the thoughts the narrator can rely, all the feelings and conflicts and internal turmoil that we can get from the book because it’s written.

The musical, in that sense, has some elements from its medium that help, like the soliloquies, the changes of key, the ability for characters to bear their souls through song without interrupting the believability of the story.

Representing Valjean without a medium that allows a peek inside his head is a big challenge. He is a character whose turmoil is most often interior, so showcasing that externally poses difficulty.

Still, you can’t fuck up this much, my dude.

I’ve seen bad Valjeans in my life, this one is...complicated. He’s not good, don’t get me wrong, but he isn’t as clear-cut godawful as others I’ve seen, he’s too erratic to be easily described.

I think this adaptation tried to showcase complexity through visible emotional distress and physical violence. Instead of having a soliloquy or symbolism, we have Valjean shouting or screaming or burning his hand with a coin and staring at it for a while or shouting at nuns or carrying Cosette by force so hard her arm is in pain.

Everything gets even more confusing when everyone around him treats him weirdly.

You get years of exposition clumsily thrown at you via a speech Fantine hears when she arrives at Montreuil and he’s been elected. You get girls looking at him naughtily and suggesting Fantine to try to seduce him. You get inkeepers and Thénardier suggesting his intentions with child Cosette aren’t appropriate. You get women in dress shops thinking his intentions with young adult Cosette aren’t appropriate. You get Javert thinking his intentions with Marius aren’t appropriate. Everyone wants to talk about Valjean’s sex life or something, I don’t know.

His attitude towards Cosette is also muddled by this erratic behavior and the very strange way in which he sees her and Fantine.

He is visibly more worried about men taking advantage of her, of “defiling” her, than other dangers she could be in, like his identity being found out by the police or her falling in the hands of the Thénardiers again. He forcibly removes her from Marius’s presence and has a fight with her about it that ends on him taking her to see the prisoners. He knows she still, as an adult, visibly flinches when she’s approached harshly yet manhandles her when he wants to keep her locked up.

There’s something possessive about this Valjean that ties in to how Cosette is portrayed as an object. He talks about Cosette as if she was something he needs to keep, says Marius will “rob” her, not because he wants to be a good father or see her happy but because she is his to have.

This Valjean feels as if Cosette was his attempt to get rid of the guilt he feels for having failed Fantine more so than anything else. She’s less of a person and more an object he needs to keep for himself like a third candlestick. That’s the impression I got of their relationship with his characterization.

By the time the series ended, I felt upset with Valjean.

I didn’t care if he died, I didn’t care if he suffered. And that’s pretty shitty for a Les Mis adaptation to prompt. He made me feel uncomfortable, uneasy, as if he was the last person I would trust to take care of a young girl. And whatever internal journey he was going on wasn’t developed well enough to understand any of these choices.

I don’t know, like I said, I’m not an expert of the subject of Jean Valjean, but I’m pretty sure this is not how you adapt him.

Problem #3: Diversity without optics

This show hadn’t even started and it was already patting itself on the back for being diverse.

Now, if you haven’t been in the world of Les Mis for too long, let me tell you there are a lot of adaptations which are diverse, and not only of the musical. In itself, it wasn’t a pioneer move, but I was nonetheless happy that they were going to pay attention to that. At the end of the day, Les Mis is about society, about oppression, and adaptations of it should represent the diversity of the social landscape of the time and place they’re created in.

That being said, diversity in a highly political storyline needs to be carefully worked through, because without optics you can make questionable choices. And, you guessed it, questionable choices were made here.

I can’t and won’t go over all of the issues with this that there are, but I can give a few examples.

There is, of course, the always present argument of casting Fantine and Cosette white and the majority of the Thénardiers and Éponine as poc. And of casting the majority of Les Amis as white and the majority or most visible part of Patron Minette as poc. People have discussed this at length so I won’t go over that.

There is also how constantly woc were cast in roles of service, some of which were questionable given the context. Simplice, for example, is cast this way, which I overlooked at the time but as it kept escalating with other characters like Matelote and eventually Toussaint, it grew a bit more complex.

Toussaint was...a very problematic choice.

When you present the character of a “housekeeper” in a period series which is meant to represent France in the 1800s, and she is a woman of color, some alarms start ringing. I don’t specialize in French history, but my instincts were proven correct when I checked various sources on dates, after seeing the episode, and I’m quoting wiki for easier access here:

Slavery was first abolished by the French Republic in 1794, but Napoleon revoked that decree in 1802. In 1815, the Republic abolished the slave trade but the decree did not come into effect until 1826. France re-abolished slavery in her colonies in 1848 with a general and unconditional emancipation.

This series has a weirdly set timeline in comparison to the book but, for all intents and purposes, we’re in the early 1830s at the time she’s first introduced, correct? There was still an unstable situation regarding abolition at the time. The general emancipation hadn’t been yet stated in the colonies and the decree had just been starting to hold effect.

I know this show is casting in a general way as a suspension of disbelief of some historical facts and I’m all for diversity in casting in period dramas, regardless of anything else, if it’s allowing for representation in media.

But, at the same time, you need to be careful with your optics. She could have been cast as anyone else.

I don’t wanna go over this a lot because I don’t know enough about these parts of French history nor is it my story to tell, but the problem is in the erasure of conflicts or racism altogether as a way to prompt a shallow sense of diversity in a story that is directly linked with the subject of oppression.

Let’s continue with another similar optics problem involving “diversity” to exemplify this issue further, so that I can clarify.

This barricade had women on it and didn’t have Combeferre.

Now, here is the thing about that. In the barricade my man Combeferre gives an amazing speech about women and children.

In case you weren’t aware, the 1800s were the moment when European women and children barely started to be seen as separate members of society and not only “men but worse” and “men but small”. There are a lot of good articles about that, including one by Martyn Lyons about the new readers of the 19th Century, which changed the course of the editorial market, those being women, children and working class men, who didn’t have access to literature or literacy before that. The idea of childhood as we know it started then, and the later editions of the Grimm fairy tales was one of the first published books of fairy tales explicitly aimed at children’s education. And since a lot of us, in other places of the world that aren’t Europe, were colonized af or barely getting free from colonial governments in the 1800s, we kinda had to go with the flow, regardless of the social structure of native peoples, because colonialism sucks.

But you all came here for Les Mis so, let��s get back to that.

As this terrible and summarized dive into history implies, women and children were vulnerable to the fucked up state of social strife. Education was scarce and only accessible to some, employment was scarce and only accessible to some, food was scarce and only accessible to some. Most often than not, “some” did not include women and children.

In comes the the sun to my moon, Combeferre, with his speech.

He talks about all of this. Basically he talks to men who are the main providers of families, providers of women and children who depend on them and goes (I’ll paraphrase) “it’s our fault as a society that women can’t be here now, it’s our fault they don’t have the same possibilities and education we do, so at least do them a solid and don’t die today here if they depend on you to live, because the only possibility they have without your support is prostitution”. It was a fucking power move to include that on Les Mis. I mean, the entire book is a call out to the social and political situation, but damn.

So yes, there aren’t women there but the reason for it is that patriarchy sucks and the consequences would be disastrous for them.

Davies & co. pretty much didn’t give a shit about this. But, at this point, considering Problem #1, who’s surprised.

They removed Combeferre, his speech and placed random women on the barricade, as if nothing of that was going on and the patriarchy didn’t exist. Because ~diversity~.

The fact that they thought more woke to put some random women there on the barricade to die fighting instead of acknowledging the existence of sexism altogether pretty much sums up what this whole show thought diversity was.

For them, diversity wasn’t a political and social standpoint born from reality, a way to represent the dynamics of oppression that are at stake even on this day, but an aesthetic.

And, talking about speeches, let’s move on to the next bit.

Problem #4: Where are the politics?

1. The social and political landscape

Les Mis adaptations have a fluctuating balance with politics and social conflicts.

That is, at the end of the day, the very core of the existence of this story, the reason why still, to this very day, it is relevant and quoted, adapted and regarded is the fact that we still need it.

All of us, as human beings living as members of society, are always immersed in political decisions. It’s not only unavoidable, it’s part of our lives as people living together.

In the same way, the personal narratives of the characters of Les Mis are intrinsically linked to this landscape. They are set in different places of the social spectrum and hold different power dynamics and actions that relate to political standpoints.

Adaptations tend to work this in very different ways.

Some focus less on the politics and more on the social strife, with a greater focus on the characters. Others re-insert the characters in other different historical moments with the same levels of social and political strife. Others just copy-paste the situations and put them in another context, without really explaining what revolution it is, what they’re fighting for and why they’re being killed. The focus varies.

It seems, for how this adaptation starts, with Waterloo and a subsequent argument between Gillenormand and Baron Pontmercy about Napoleon, that politics are going to be important. This doesn’t last very long.

My biggest issue with the introduction of these circumstances is that they don’t bother on them but then attempt to use them for gratuitous self righteousness. It isn’t that they abandon them altogether, they overlook them but then attempt to use them for shock value.

There is a constant use of exaggerated, almost cartoon-y, stagings of social depiction:

- You have Gillenormand dining with his boys, in a luxurious and incredibly flamboyant scenery, while dissing political views in an almost comical fashion

- You have beggars downright assaulting Valjean and Cosette on the street right outside the convent, as a means of shock to Cosette’s expectations of the world outside of it

- You have Fantine’s entire sequences as a prostitute with higher and higher degrees of abuse

- You have the streets before the barricades, in some sort of confusing clamor that loses focus in favor of Valjean’s storyline

- You have a god awful last scene which attempts to say something socially compromising by showcasing the kids Gavroche was helping (I don’t think they’re siblings in this version), as a means to say “the revolution wasn’t successful and social strife will always continue” I guess, I don’t know, because it’s not like they gave a shit about it all before, so this kind of Perrault-ish moral of the story at the end makes no goddamn sense

They are exaggerated snippets of things without context, with very little exposition, that are used more as props to shock than they are to actually take a stand on what the original story is trying to tell.

Even the reality Fantine has to suffer is blurred by the fact that the social situation isn’t seen as much as a reality in itself but a combination of Fantine’s “choices” and Valjean’s “guilt”.

But, in order to delve more into the non-political aspect of this adaptation, let’s focus on some specific characters.

2. Enjolras

Well, I’ve seen a lot of Enjolrai in my life (is that be the plural of Enjolras? yes? no? can it be?).

Enjolras has very different characterizations, even within fandom itself, but we can all agree that he’s a) highly political, b) highly committed to the cause and c) extremely charismatic.

And when I say “charismatic” I mean it in the sense that his speeches are so beautifully crafted, so certain and commanding, that you just wanna listen to what he has to say, regardless of your views. They’re political discourse but also very poetic, which is a very interesting literary opposite to Grantaire’s voice, but I digress.

Still, Enjolras doesn’t stand on his own.

He represents a part of a whole, an important part, but a part nonetheless. Les Amis are a very diverse mixture of individuals, and the main triumvirate represents different stances on the same political action that coexist together.

Without others to stand with, Enjolras loses context. Not because he can’t support himself as a character, but because his biggest value is within other people.

This Enjolras is confusing, angry and loses a lot of steam when most of the people who should be around him aren’t really paying attention.

Courfeyrac, although performed really well, doesn’t really get a chance to show his political ideas without Enjolras around, and that makes it seem like he’s being convinced to participate rather than doing it for his own reasons and being one key part of the group.

In the barricade, Enjolras acts as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, and the other half he doesn’t give a shit about killing soldiers, smiling and laughing while shooting people.

It isn’t just that the scene with Le Cabuc doesn’t exist, Enjolras doesn’t seem to have empathy, which is all given to Grantaire instead.

By taking away Enjolras’s vulnerability, his complexity, they make him seem more shallow overall, and in tow, make his cause lose importance.

And without a clear political standpoint, because his expositions about the situation are very shout-y and unclear, and his speeches are summarized with some actual quotes but without their meaning and true feeling, he seems to be fighting just because, rather than having strong ideals.

Enjolras in the brick is eloquent enough, humane enough, that you understand what he’s doing and why. This Enjolras is a mess that I couldn’t understand at all.

I don’t think people who have never seen, read or heard of Les Mis before will understand Enjolras as a character through this. He’s just a very angry student with weird facial hair (why?) who rants in a cafe while his friends are playing games and making jokes, who is friends with some workers and is the leader because he shouts the loudest but doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing.

And, worst of all, doesn’t seem to care for human life. Which brings me to the next bit...

3. Grantaire

Man, was I excited with this casting choice.

When I heard Turlough was playing Grantaire, I was delighted. And, at the end of the day, his performance was very good, but for a character who wasn’t quite Grantaire at times.

I mean, he wasn’t as off as Enjolras, but he was also so erratically written.

They decided to make Grantaire hesitant rather than a cynic. He didn’t get to express his cynicism or his attachment to his friends (what friends though? only Bossuet had a name other than Courfeyrac and Enjolras) and his involvement with the fight was shown as insecure rather than questioning of ideals.

He is shown conflicted when he decides to fight with them, he doesn’t have any of his long speeches, the Barrière du Maine scene or anything of the sort. He is just...hesitant about death, I guess. About dying and killing people. That’s his conflict.

This has, to me, two big problems attached to it.

First, it’s a simplification of the entirety of Grantaire’s thoughts. It’s taking the cornucopia of drunken philosophy that Grantaire’s voice in the brick represents and replacing it with a single fear, which while very valid doesn’t reflect Grantaire’s true extensive complexities.

Second, it takes away from Enjolras’s humanity. Enjolras is showcased as an indiscriminate machine of shooting soldiers while Grantaire is conflicted about having to do this and, in tow, makes Enjolras’s rejection of him when he leaves and gets drunk like a jerk move of an insensitive asshole.

There isn’t a clear instance of Enjolras giving Grantaire a chance to do something before the barricade and Grantaire failing at it, with all the dominoes symbolism and all the stuff it implies. There isn’t a complementary set of complexities between each other. Grantaire seems to care about human life more than Enjolras does in this version, at the end of the day, because Enjolras’s speeches, even if carrying canon quotes, are inserted in a context in which he laughs while shooting people, knowingly sends Gavroche into danger and chastises Grantaire for being conflicted about human lives at stake.

So, instead of representing Grantaire’s true complexity as a character, they chose to give him something else that they think makes him more dimensional, when, in reality, takes away from his (and Enjolras’s) worth as a character.

All of this is very weirdly intersected with drunken jokes. Sometimes, the jokes and the behavior pays off and is inserted in good moments, sometimes they just don’t know when to stop and they kind of ruin their death scene with them, which is even worse considering it’s one of the few where they’re actually holding hands.

Overall, I think this was a simplification of Grantaire, in a way, a simplification which falls apart without a solid context to exist in. And it’s a pity, because Turlough was good.

4. Gavroche

The only reason I’d want an immediate new adaptation of Les Mis is so we can cast this same Gavroche in a decent one. He’s one of the best Gavroches I’ve ever seen, hands down.

In this case, the problem isn’t with his interpretation or how he was written, necessarily, and all time frame and socio-political simplifications aside, the problem is in how the context reacts to him.

A lot of Gavroche’s agency is deleted in this version.

For starters, his age is kind of all over the place at the beginning. He’s fine by the time of the barricade, but before it’s kind of a mess. As a result, he lives with his parents for a bit longer than necessary and the few times we see him on his own, being his independent self, are in conflict with how his involvement in the main events come to happen.

It feels as if he’s been used in the barricade. When he’s off to find bullets, only Marius tries to get him back to safety, while the rest cheer him and laugh.

His character is well performed and we get to see his personality and his situation when he’s allowed to act on his own, but within the context he’s inserted in, he seems more like a prop than a character.

This makes it so that when he dies, you’re upset more so than sad. It doesn’t feel like a tragic circumstance born out of a lot of layers of social strife which culminate in a dead end for a kid who deserved a better life. It feels like every adult around him, every person he encounters, either neglects him, mistreats him or sends him into danger. It feels, much like with Fantine, like an easily avoidable situation.

And things get worse with this guy:

Like I said in my summary, this David Harbour-ish soldier is the one who is shown to mercilessly kill both Gavroche and execute Enjolras and Grantaire.

This is another layer in the modus operandi of an adaptation who uses social oppression and political strife as shock value rather than commentary and discourse.

By personalizing “evil” in one stern, mean, unreasonable, power-hungry soldier, they’re villanizing (and trivializing) the social context as a whole. It isn’t about how Gavroche got to that point, how we as a society failed so hard that he has to die in that way. It’s just one bad guy.

But then, they try to be fake deep about it, by doing that last scene with his brothers or by placing him alongside Mabeuf and Éponine but not explaining what that means, why those juxtapositions are socially relevant and important to the plot (maybe they don’t know why).

Overall, this was such a waste of a great Gavroche that I just feel really bad. Reece deserved so much better.

5. The barricade

Needless to say, this barricade was more of a mess than you would have expected.

The lack of proper introduction to the political landscape, the clumsy exposition, the out of context shout-y speeches and the erratic behavior of its characters, paired together with the fact that it ends about 1/4 into the last episode, giving more time to personal drama than any of what happens in it, makes it one confusing mess.

It’s also in the barricade where it’s super clear how visually similar this series is to the 2012 movie. A lot of visual choices are extremely similar, even when they didn’t need to be (Fantine’s and Cosette’s hair choices? the shots in the hulks? the scaled down yet very similar camera angles and movements during the entire fight? the color schemes of some particular scenes?), and it’s pretty heightened in this barricade.

Which I wouldn’t care about hadn’t they talked crap about the movie during their entire PR campaign.

Like I said, there were so many issues within the people involved in the barricade. With the women, with the characters, with the soldiers. There was also a very strangely set line between workers and students that they were very clumsy about setting yet didn’t get to do much aside from having the leader of the working class men leave when Enjolras prompted it.

By the way, Enjolras was a lot less convinced about the whole ordeal in this version, which made his characterization even more confusing.

The barricade had a lot of messed up ingredients and not enough time to even simmer. At least the musical, which doesn’t have a lot of time dedicated to the students either, has Drink With Me, which doesn’t only serve as a way to characterize different students and their beliefs and personalities (“Is your life just one more lie?”) but also brings some melancholic change of pace, a pause between the action.

The highlight of this barricade, though, is Marius going apeshit with the torch.

But, all in all, there’s no much we can expect from a barricade born of confused ideas and even more confusing characterizations. This barricade feels less like a climax and more like a thing they had to do because it was in the book.

And don’t even make me talk about how they butchered my favorite speech. I’d rather not have it there at all, tbh.

Conclusion: A writer’s ego

We arrive to the end of this long and boring trip through my thoughts. If you’re reached this point, thank you for your time.

All in all, I feel like a lot of the issues of this adaptation stem from the fact that Davies thinks he’s better than everyone else and other men around him agree so much that they let him do as he pleases, without questioning anything.

I can’t really understand how you’re going through the script of this and see some of these choices (like the dress shop scene, the carriage scene and let’s not even mention the peeing in the park scene) and you go, and I’m quoting Shankland here:

“Andrew’s scripts made these characters feel modern. That was nothing to do with having them speak in a very modern way or changing their behaviour, he just found the humanity and earthiness of it,” Shankland says, recalling a scene in which Fantine and her companions urinate in a Paris park. “I thought, ‘Oh god, they’re going to pee in Les Misérables, that’s exciting.’” Source

That just sums it all up, doesn’t it?

After I watched this, I let some time pass. I watched all 3 fanmade adaptations that are currently out at this moment (back to back), revisited some of the ones I had seen before, read fics, read people’s articles and rants, looked into other adaptations on stage, from the classic ones to the more interpretative versions, and other current tv adaptations being done in other countries.

All of those things are vastly different. Some are more similar to each other, some are widely different, but they’re all different points of view on the same canon.

This is a canon that has some of the wildest possible interpretations coexisting. You can have a play centered on one specific character told through the songs of a specific album, a tv drama in modern times with a lawyer Valjean, a coffee shop au starring Les Amis, a parody comedy set in 1832, all happening at the same exact time.

And that’s great. That’s fascinating. That means this book is still alive because we need it still today.

Some days you’re in the mood for a heavily political adaptation which gives you goosebumps for setting canon in a context that is closer to your everyday reality, other days you just want all the Amis to live and have movie marathons cuddled together. It’s all valid.

But what all of those adaptations have in common is that they aren’t trying to be more than they are. They aren’t acting brand new, they aren’t pretending they’re re-inventing the wheel or that they are smarter than Victor Hugo himself because what Hugo didn’t know he needed in the “psychology of the book” was a soulmate au or a documentary series.

This adaptation, through what they said and how it was written, acted as if it was going to be the ultimate Les Mis adaptation to end them all. It presented itself as smarter than us all, as holding the keys to the meaning of Victor Hugo’s thoughts, as being able to fix his “mistakes”, fix other adaptation’s “mistakes” and deliver the best interpretation of canon possible.

And it managed to be a sexist, socially insensitive, problematic, un-political, homophobic mess.

Which, is a problem in itself, but even more so when the canon you’re adapting should be, first and foremost, against all that. It isn’t about how many brick quotes you use, it’s about channeling the soul of the story.

#les mis #les miserables #les mis bbc #les mis bbc a summary #jean valjean #cosette #fantine #eponine #marius pontmercy #enjolras #grantaire #gavroche #death cw #long post when expanded #luly rambles #bbc les mis

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storibambino · 6 years

Text

Art and Lessons

A/N: Happy birthday to my boo @therevolution-willbelive This is the first installment of my fics for her birthday bash featuring Shuri and Michelle (Spiderman Homecoming). I barely edited this so if you find a mistake let a sista know.

On Ao3

Warnings: None really. Just some education

Prompt: You pay for your friends

Words: 1.7k

“Are we there yet?” Shuri was growing impatient.

“Princess, we’ve only been in New York for three hours. There will be plenty of time to see everything.” There was a warning in Ayo’s tone but her eyes were soft.

“I am just ready to be out of this vehicle. It’s quite uncomfortable.” Ayo gave a small smile but didn’t respond to the whining princess.

Shuri had good reason to be excited. She was finally able to go out in America without the supervisor of her brother or cousin. Things had been going so well at the institute in Oakland that she was in New York City to scout a new location for expansion. Erik immediately suggested Harlem, citing it was the birthplace of black culture in the city. Shuri had taken to researching the neighborhood and history with such vigor that T’Challa allowed her to go explore without him. It was her first taste of real responsibility in the two years since Erik’s invasion and the battle.

Now she could barely contain herself as the motorcade rode down Malcolm X approaching 135th and she made a point to let the driver know, to the dismay of her Dora Milaje guard. She had reached out to Sam to get an itinerary together. He truly was a bird brain but gave her a list of must-see spots for art, food, and music. The first stop was The Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture. The car came to a stop and Shuri quickly hopped out to get a look at her surroundings.

The city was not so different from her home, albeit a lot greyer. There were a lot more people that looked like her in the area opposed to the Manhattan hotel they would be staying in. Across the street, a statue caught her eye. It was a bronze sculpture of a black family above a burgundy canopy. The mother and father standing proudly with their children in two large hands. It was like they were being presented as a gift by some body-less god. The building itsself wasn’t all that grand but she couldn’t take her eyes away from the statue.

“That’s the Harlem Hospital Center.” The guide’s words startled Shuri.

“Why does it have that sculpture on the front?”

“To remind us that this was all we had at one point. There was a time that black families could only get medical assistance here in Harlem,” The guide cast a far-away look on the building then a bright smile to the princess “My name Is Vardia, I’ll be showing you around today your highness”

“Ah! No need for all that. Today I’m just a teenager on a tour.” Shuri chuckled.

“Fine by me! Will your, um entourage be joining us?”

Shuri glanced over to Ayo and the other personnel charged with keeping her safe. “Give me one moment and we can go in.” She jogged over to Ayo, waiting by the car. “Do you think I could do the tour alone? The place isn’t too big and it’s just art and stuff, no real danger.”

“I have to advise against that,” Ayo said, throwing a curious eyebrow in her direction.

“I promise I will keep my kimoyo beads on and if anything happens I have my tech with me,” She bats her eyelashes and gives her most innocent smile. “This would be a nice opportunity to see the sights and enjoy yourself, you really do work too hard.” Flattery never worked on the Dora but it didn’t stop her from trying. She technically wasn’t lying either, Ayo worked so hard and this was supposed to be as much a vacation for them as a mission.

“Fine. I will see the sights as you suggested but I will not be far.” With that, she gave a salute and got back into the car.

After a celebratory fist pump, Shuri returned to her guide to begin the tour. They entered the building, walking by the security desk and into a lobby with an intricate painting on the floor. There was a sign on the far wall explaining that the mural was supposed to represent different rivers. Five blue streams ran from different corners of the room to the center where a large blue circle outlined a reddish brown center covered in golden arrows and mathematical symbols. Around the center were the names of the rivers depicted. Shuri was able to make out Congo, Mississippi, and Euphrates before the guide motioned for them to move onto the first gallery.

They went downstairs and came to another mural on the wall that read The American Negro Theater. Further down the hall, they came to a room with art on every wall.

“These are works of the students we have here at the research center. The assignment was identity. Feel free to look around at the pieces and listen to the videos the students made to describe their works.”

The collection was as beautiful as it was varied. There were paintings, charcoal drawings, sculptures and a picture that was made up of quotes from an original poem. Shuri spent at least five minutes in front of each one, taking it in and trying to get into the headspace of the artist. She never considered herself an artist although she constantly marveled at the beauty of her technology and machines. There was a slight pang of jealousy at those that could get pick up a pencil or paint brush and put their story and emotions onto a canvas.

Vardia allowed her to take her time with the pieces, periodically checking her email on her phone. Shuri was wearing the provided headphones for a video presentation when she tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m so sorry about this Shuri but I have to go to an emergency meeting. Feel free to stay down here as long as you like then we can meet in the Black Power exhibit upstairs.” She said apologetically.

“No worries. Go and handle your business and I will be up there.” Shuri smiled and went back to her video. She spent a little more time revisiting her favorite pieces and headed upstairs to the second floor. A security guard greeted her at the entrance of the gallery. He was an older gentleman with soft eyes and a cheery demeanor. He gave a playful warning about not bringing food into the gallery or he would chase her down. However, he didn’t bother getting up from his seat so she laughed it off and walked in. Passing the theatre playing something called ‘Blaxploitation’ movies, she put a mental pin in that to come back to later.

Upon entering the open gallery she was greeted by a large mural, purple background with a solid black fist and the words ‘Black Power!’ written in white.

It was breathtaking, only two words but it was like they carried a weight with them. The gallery itself was filled with posters, excerpts from books and speeches, art, and pictures. She didn’t notice the group of other teenage girls eyeing her while she picked up headphones to listen to s documentary on Angela Davis and the Black Panther party. That was until one of them tapped her on her shoulder. “Hi. It’s almost finished I think then you can have a turn.” Shuri said with a smile.

“I’m not waiting for a turn. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck you’re doing here.” She spat. The girl and her friends couldn’t have been more than seventeen. They were all well dressed and their hair was laid nice in neat puffs, braids, and a twist out. If it wasn’t for her accusing tone Shuri might have thought of them as new friends.

“I’m sorry but what are you talking about?”

“Come on Liz, let’s just leave it.” The girl with the puffs said.

“No, I wanna know what the uppity princess is doing here in little ole Harlem with us regular blacks.” Liz quipped back.

“I am not uppity. I’m Shuri you don’t have to call me princess.” Shuri said in a light-hearted tone and extended her hand. The leader, Liz, just stared at it like she was offered a dead cat. “I’m being polite.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Polite would have been never stepping foot in Harlem. Yo Wakandan ass could’ve stayed overseas, we good over here. Your family sat by while we dealt with shit schools, poverty, violence, not to mention the police and our own government trying to kill us.” She gestured to the exhibit. “This is a testament to US. Everything we did we lost without you or your precious Wakanda”

Shuri just stood there. She didn’t know what to say. This was the first time she’d ever been put in this kind of situation and her entire world was off kilter.

“What’s wrong princess not used to people being honest with you,” Liz said with a smirk. “Or are you not used to people not liking you.”

“I-I was just trying to be friendly.” She said in a small voice.

“Friends?” The girls let out a cackle “I bet you pay for your friends. Yeah, got a royal court of bitches that just laugh at all your jokes and give you compliments.” They laughed again. Heat began to rise in Shuri’s cheeks and tears prickled the back of her eyes.

“Hey! Leave her alone you loser assholes.” The words came from a new girl in the gallery. She was glaring at the group of girls harassing Shuri. “You don’t have anything better to do than bother literal royalty.”

“Stay out of this light bright”

“Ah, of course, we go straight from gatekeeping to colorism. Why don’t you just stop the performative activism and let people enjoy the information here.” Her eyes were intense as she spoke but she lazily tossed her long curls over her shoulder when she was finished speaking.

The girls looked between Shuri and the new girl that saved her. The new girl stood straight as they sized her up. Deciding against continuing their assault they turned to leave, Liz being sure to throw an especially dirty look at Shuri on their way out.

Shuri was still looking at the door when the girl approached. “Don’t worry about them. They just have a lot of misplaced frustration and you were an easy target. I’m Michelle.”

“Shuri.”

“Now that’s over would you like a real tour of the exhibit?” Michelle had a bright smile.

“I would like that very much, Michelle.” Shuri returned the smile.

“Actually, you can call me MJ.”

Part 2

If you enjoyed my writing please reblog and send me some feedback!!

#abff #amier's birthday fic fest #shuri x mj #black panther #StoriesbyStori #spiderman homecoming #fanfic

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just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms · 6 years

Text

I’ll Always Need You

Title: I’ll Always Need You

Characters: Dean, Reader, and a few OFC’s to add to the story

Word Count: 4,800 <-- This was not planned!!!

Warning: This gets a little nerve wracking, but it’s very similar to a Supernatural episode or a Criminal Minds episode

A/N: This started as a “fun little road trip” and then got very, almost Criminal Minds. I personally really like it, so I hope you enjoy it!! Send feedback please!!!

“Come on! Wake up!” You shoved Dean’s shoulder, trying to get him out of his beer coma. “Come...on!” Giving him one good shove, he “accidentally” rolled off the other side of the bed.

“Wha-Y.N! Damnit! No shoving before noon!”

“It’s 2pm dude, shut up and let’s go.”

Grabbing your things you left the motel room and tossed your bags in Baby’s back seat. Looking around, you opened the door and slid smoothly into Baby’s drivers seat.

Running your hands over her steering wheel you got butterflies in your stomach. You couldn’t even count how many times you’d been in this car, desperate to know what she feels like. Your hands caressed her dash before they found the seat beneath you. Everything was just so...perfect.

“Hey! Dip shit!” And the moment was gone. “Move over! You know better.”

Grumbling under your breath you slid to the side as Dean found his spot. You looked out the window so you didn’t have to see Dean’s look of disbelief that you were actually ballsy enough to sit in his spot.

Baby revved to life, and you two were back on the road.

The view from Kansas to South Dakota is mind-numbingly boring. You messed with your hair, picked your nails, tried to read the same five magazines for the billionth time, and tried to find every possible position to sit in.

At one point you were curled up in Baby’s seat with your head on your sweatshirt.

“Hey,” Dean nudged you. “Go sleep in the back.”

“No.”

“Go!”

You sat up a bit. “No!”

Deans arm reached up and over you and attacked your most ticklish spot. You started writhing and screaming as you tried to get away. You ended up rolling onto the floor board to get away from him. You looked up at Dean’s cocky grin. “That was for the wake up call this morning.”

Four hours into the drive, Dean pulled off to a gas station. You went in and grabbed the standard snacks and drinks for the two of you. Dean filled Baby up. This routine was so identical to all the other ones your brain hurt.

“Come on, let’s do something fun!”

“Like what?” Dean slid into Baby and slammed her door in an effort to end the conversation.

“Bobby isn’t expecting us at a certain time. Let’s just...do something other than keep driving. I’m so bored!”

Dean gave you a blank look, revved Baby back to life, and took off. Your grumbles of protest were completely ignored.

When you got to a stretch of fields with some dense groups of trees, you made Dean pull over and get out.

“Come on! Let’s explore!”

“You are not Dora, and we are not exploring!”

Before Dean could get back into Baby, you dove across the front seat and grabbed her keys. Dean barely processed it before you were hightailing it into the trees.

“Oh come on!”

“Gotta catch me!” You screamed as you darted between the trees. You could hear Dean crunching behind you, and your smile just got bigger. You spotted what looked like an old treehouse and tried to climb part of the tree.

Just as you got decent footing, Dean ripped you back from the trees. The two of you fell back and hit the ground hard. The wind got knocked out of both of you, but as soon as you got yourself together you fell back laughing.

Dean was panting a little. “Why...do you…have to be so fucking annoying.”

“Because you’re funny when you’re pissed off.” You grinned. “Oh relax old man.”

Dean pulled you off the ground, and you both looked around you. There were lots of broken trees, some stumps ripped up from the ground, and the treehouse was more a rundown platform of wood than anything else. Parts of it were scattered around the base of the tree.

“Want to build a treehouse?”

“No. I want to drive.”

“Woooow, someone really has a hornets nest in their pants today!” A dull orange caught your eye and you took a few steps towards it.

“Dean! It’s an old shack or something. Let’s go!” You took off towards it, as Dean took off away from it. “Oh come on!”

“Rundown shack in the middle of some trees in the middle of nowhere. You’re a dumbass hunter if you think that’s a good idea.”

“Nah, just adventurous. Come on!”

Dean slowly walked over to you. “This is only so you don’t die. Bobby knows your with me. Otherwise I’d leave you here.”

The two of you tried to see if there was more to the shack than just the two outer walls you could see. The roof looked like it was caved in, and there was window frame just to the side of the house. The shack wasn’t very large.

The two of you came around the side of the house, and found that everything in the house was destroyed. The roof had caved in and the two back walls were destroyed. There was what looked like a chair, and maybe a stove visible.

Dean tapped your shoulder. “I think that’s a bed, maybe?”

“I think so. Look a this,” you pointed to your left. “This kind of looks like a table.”

Each of you gave the house a good look and headed back towards the road. At least you guys were pretty sure it was the road.

Finally reaching an edge of the tree line, you realized that you were not on the side Baby was on. Both of you looked down the tree line, stepping into the cornfield, trying to figure out if there was any sign of a curve in the trees or an open spot to figure out where you were.

You felt a sharp pain and then a burn in the back of your neck. Dean felt the same.

There was a trail through the cornfield made by your bodies being dragged deeper into the field.

Several hours later, you started to wake up. Your arms were incredibly sore, and tied above your head. You let out a long groan as the pain in your body started to hit you. Everything was dark and you realized it was your blindfold.

“Y/N?” Dean whispered. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Dean? Yeah, yeah it’s me. Do you-”

“No. I have no idea what’s going on.”

“Dean…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“I know, Y/N. I know.”

For hours the two of you laid there. You kept sweeping your legs, that were bound together, back a forth, trying to feel for something around you. Dean kept trying to figure out a way to escape his wrist restraints.Both of you listened for anything that might tell you where you were or let you know if anyone was coming for you.

When huge stomps of what sounded like boots started coming towards you, both of you froze. There was a disgusting stench that neither of you could describe coming from whatever was standing over you.

What felt like a rough, calloused hand, grabbed your jaw, opened it, and forced oatmeal into your mouth. You were given 5 spoonfuls, and then the boots started to move away from you. When he came to Dean, and grabbed his jaw, Dean spit at him. The creature was still for a moment, and then fed Dean the 5 spoonfuls of oatmeal.

When the boots started to move away, both of you waited until you couldn’t hear them. A door was never opened or shut. It sounded like whatever it was could walk in and out easily.

When you heard Dean start to cough, you panicked. “Dean! Dean!”

After a few more coughs, his throat was clear. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down. I’m sure it can hear us.”

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Does your mouth taste like brown sugar?”

Dean was silent for a moment. “Yeah. It tastes like oatmeal with the brown sugar. What the fuck? Is this some sort of mind game?”

“I….I don’t know. Did I hear you spit at him?”

“Yeah. Whatever it was didn’t care. It fed me almost like you feed a kid.”

“Same here.”

You both laid there silent, trying to think your way through this.

You had found a rundown treehouse. Then the broken shack. Now you were being fed oatmeal.

It was all something a kid would like, but how did that tie in with the kidnapping?

“Dean, are you getting the kid connection?”

“Yeah, but I have no idea what it means.”

The loud voice made you scream. “I want friends.”

“What?” Dean shot back.

“I....I’m alone...I don’t have anyone.”

“Well, dumbass, kidnapping people doesn’t fucking help with that!”

“Dean!” you hissed. “Stop!”

Before Dean could say anything back, whatever it was started crying.

As the noise faded as it walked away, you hissed at Dean. “Stop trying to piss it off!”

Dean was struggling harder against his restraints. “I just want this fucker to tell us what’s going on and let us out of here!”

“Well, let’s be his friend.”

“What?!”

“He said that’s what he wants! If we give it to him he might let us leave.”

Dean kept working at getting his hands free while you tried to come up with some sort of plan. You couldn’t see whatever it was to maybe gauge what they are looking for in a friend. But considering it kidnapped both of you, you had a feeling that anything that could become a friend would work.

The boots started to stomp and you both froze. Dean’s body went limp, and yours did too. You both silently thought that if you looked less threatening, then maybe there was a chance.

Again, there were no words or sounds that came from their capture. He came to you first, lifted your head from the ground, and gave you cold water, letting you drink as much as you could handle. He never forced you to drink.

When he laid your head gently back on the floor, he moved to the Dean. He was much better behaved this time and let his head be lifted to drink.

The boots stopped between the two of you. You could somehow feel you were being watched.

Once again the boots walked away. The silence was extremely uncomfortable.

You were the first to speak. “He’s keeping us alive.”

“I just...this is so fucked up. I just don’t understand this. There’s no logic.”

Before you could respond, the boots were coming close again. Your bodies went limp. The air was tense as you each waited for what was going to happen next.

The moment you had dreaded had come. He removed your blindfolds.

If you could see your captor, there’s a good chance they have no intention of letting you leave if you know what they look like.

A short, stocky man that was about 5’5”, extremely overweight, and looked as if he hadn’t showered in years stood over you.

“I-I’m, um, Ed. Eddy if you want.”

Dean gave you a concerned look, but you ignored it. “Hi, Ed. I’m Y/N, and this is Dean. We heard that you might like friends?”

Ed nodded and looked at the ground. “I...She didn’t allow it.”

“Who didn’t?”

“The...She’s...I can’t say.”

“Well,” Dean joined in. “We can help you with her. Just tell us how. We can help you, and you can help us by letting us go.”

Ed’s eyes flew to Dean. “But I can’t! She won’t let me! If I lose more friends, then She will be angry!”

“Lose more friends?” You shot a terrified look at Dean. “What do you mean you ‘lose’ friends?”

“She...if She doesn’t like them, if they don’t play, they...the room of fire.”

Dean tried to jump up. “What room of fire? Ed, where are we?”

“In my new playhouse!” Ed beamed. “I dug it myself! It goes under the old field I used to play in, and I got it to go into the bottom of the house! She said it was easier this way!!”

“Ed,” you leaned in. “How do you know this woman?”

“She found me. I was a baby. She saw me, thought I was a good little boy, and took me home.”

“Ed...did She take you from another woman?”

“Yes.” He paused before throwing his hands out. “But she was mean! That other lady hurt me! She saved me!”

Dean gave you a long look. It was a mix of “this poor guy,” “we need to get out of here,” and “this is really bad.”

“Hey, Ed,” Dean got his attention. “Does She hurt you too?” He shook his head. “Does She make you take new friends?” This time he nodded.

“She said that my new friends were important so She could have her new friends.”

“Ed,” he turned to you. “Why don’t you go back, She might worry about you. We want to sleep if that’s okay?”

Ed gave you a smile and nodded. He grabbed two blankets from a cabinet and put them over each of you.

“Goodnight Dean. Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight Ed.”

The two of you were trapped in your minds trying to make sense of everything that had been said tonight.

“Y/N...do you think that She might be…”

“Yes,” you finished his thought. “He’s finding people for her to probably torture and kill.”

“The fire room?”

“I don’t know about that one yet. Maybe we can find out more from Ed tomorrow.”

Dean was silent for a few minutes. “The blankets were nice.”

“Yes they were.”

Neither of you could look at the other. You would have thought that since you had the blindfolds removed you would be trying to communicate face to face.

But, if you actually looked at each other, it made it real. Neither of you could deal with that right now.

“Yay! Y/N! Dean!” The words echoed through the tunnel and woke both of you up.

“Guess what! Guess what!”

“What Ed?” You tried to be excited.

“She still has friends! So we can be friends longer!”

Both of you visibly relaxed and finally looked at each other. There was still hope that you could get out of there.

“Who are her friends?” Dean really didn’t want to know the answer to that.

“Um,” Ed looked at the ground. “A mean man. He hurt me.”

Ed lifted part of what looked like a pant leg, and showed a scar with lots of dots around it.”

“Ed,” his eyes found yours. “Was he a hunter? Did he have any bright orange or camouflage on?” He nodded slowly. “She got mad I didn’t have anyone new. He tried to kill a deer that by my old

house!”

Dean looked from you, to Ed. “Your old house? Did you not live with Her for a while?”

Ed shook his head again. “She didn’t like me when I was little. I didn’t play with her friends, and they didn’t want to play with me. So I lived there!” He beamed. “It was fun!”

You had to admit. It broke your heart a little. You knew deep down that this poor guy had been thrown into a horrible world.

“Hey, Ed? Do you make people sleep so they aren’t hurt when you take them to Her?”

Dean’s eyes went a little wide before they fell to the ground. “Would you like to not have to bring people here? You know she hurts them.”

Ed started to shift his weight. He clearly was torn. He definitely had a big heart. You had no doubt that he treated all of his “guests” the same way he had treated both of you. He knew it was bad what She did, but she also “raised” him.

“I don’t want to hurt people. But I don’t want to leave her. She would be so mad. She might hurt people on her own again.”

You nodded and looked to Dean before turning back to Ed.

“Can you get us something to eat maybe, Ed?”

Ed nodded his head and smiled before taking off down the tunnel to get them food.

“Y/N, we have to get him to at least let us go.”

“But he needs to come too.”

“What? No. You and me. That’s it. He’s done enough bad that he deserves to stay.”

“Dean…”

“Y/N. No.”

Dean turned as much as he could away from you. You could understand Dean’s point. But you had developed a soft spot for Ed. Maybe if you took him with, he could go to the police. Tell them where She is, what She’s done. Sure, he would go to jail, but at least he wouldn’t be trapped with Her anymore.

Before you could share your thoughts with Dean, Ed was back. He had two plates with what looked like sandwiches. “Okay, now I have to tie you up again.”

Ed came over, and grabbed two medium length ropes from the corners. He grabbed your feet, and tied them to the new ropes. You let him re-bind your hands as he moved them in front of you. Dean wasn’t quite as cooperative at first, but you shot daggers at him to behave.

Ed handed you each a plate with a peanut butter sandwich on it.

“Eat and when I come back I’ll bring water.”

“Thank you, Ed.”

“Thanks.”

The two of you ate in silence.

Ed had “tucked” you both in and left you for the night.

“Dean, I just think we sho-”

“No.” Dean’s voice echoed loudly. “You. And. Me. That’s it. I need you. You need me. And we need to get out of here.”

“I just…”

“What!”

“Dean! Listen! He has been forced into this. We could save him and get Her arrested. He comes with us. We call the cops. She gets arrested. Her new “friend” might live. And we make sure he goes to jail. He will still be punished. Come on, Dean.”

It was a very uncomfortable silence as you fell asleep. Knowing Ed was not currently showing signs of harming you, you were able to sleep the past couple nights.

Dean woke you up and scared you half to death. He was standing over you, grabbing your wrists to unbind you.

“Shut up! Y/N, come on!”

“How did yo-”

“Not important. We have to find something for light, or something. We have to move.”

As the two of you looked around the area, you weren’t able to hear Ed coming down the tunnel. He had heard your scream, and was actually coming to see if you were okay. When he turned the corner and saw you both free and moving around, he froze.

“No!” His voice bellowed through the tunnel. Each of you froze, and couldn’t look towards Ed.

“You…” he started to get choked up. “You...I thought…”

Slowly you started to turn around. “Ed...Ed please. Let me talk to you for a minute. Please.”

When he didn’t stop you, you got a nod from Dean and went on.

“Ed, we want you to come with us. Before you say no, let me talk.” You felt a little bold, and took a step forward. “We want you to come with us, and help us to stop Her. We are going to tell the police. She can’t hurt people like that. You will have to go to jail.”

“You will have to go to jail,” Dean jumped in. “Because you helped her. But, if you tell them the truth about everything, She will go to prison. She has done so many bad things, to good people, and we need your help to stop Her.”

You beamed a grateful smile to Dean, before turning back to Ed.

“Please. Come with us.”

Ed took a deep breath, and stood a little straighter. “No.”

“Please.” You almost started to cry. If this didn’t work, you didn’t even want to imagine what would happen.

“Not right now. Let me get Her friend.” “The hunter?” Both of you were confused.

“She made him hurt way more than he hurt me. Let me get him. Then we go.”

For roughly 20 agonizing minutes, the two of you sat there. Nothing in the area around you could be used as a weapon unfortunately. But each of you hoped he wouldn’t physically harm either of you.

The large stomps of Ed’s boots came closer and closer. Suddenly they stopped, there was a thud, and then silence. The noise of his boots ran away from you.

Aman’s voice called out. “Y/N? Dean?”

Dean pushed you behind him. “Who are you?”

“Miles. I’m the hunter.”

“The wha-” Dean stopped as he saw the man drag himself across the floor, coming towards you.

One of his legs was cut off in the middle of his calf. A blood soaked bandage trailed behind him. There were scars on his neck and face. His back looked like he’d been whipped several times.

“Here, here let us help you up.”

You took one side, and Dean took the other as you lifted the man onto one of the boxes so he could sit.

“How did Ed get you out?”

“She fell asleep for a while. He came into the basement where I was through a tunnel, untied me, and carried me here.”

“Why did he go back?” Dean checked around the corner into the tunnel as you looked over Miles’s wounds.

“No idea. He just dropped me and turned back.” He looked between you. “You guys have any idea how to get out of here?”

Both of you shook your heads. “We were waiting for his help,” you nodded your head towards the tunnel.

“Y/N, stay here with Miles. I’m going to check out this other side to the tunnel.”

“What?! You’re not going alone.”

“Miles needs someone to stay with him. I promise I will only take 30 foot steps out. Deal?”

You didn’t like it, but you nodded. “Then I’m going to watch the other side while I stay with Miles.”

Dean gave you a long look, and then started pacing his way out. You checked that Miles was sitting comfortably, and peered around the corner.

“So, how long have you two been married?”

“Married?” You started to laugh. “Yeah, no way that’s happening. We’re really good friends though. Probably why we always look like a married couple fighting.”

“Y/N,” Dean yelled. “I think I got it. There’s a slope I can only sort of see that looks like it runs up.”

“Come back and we can make a plan.”

Dean returned just as a thundering noise came towards you.

“Run!” It was Ed. “Go! Now!”

Before you and Dean could grab Miles, Ed was there. He crashed his way between you, scooped up Miles, and the three of you bolted for the slope.

Halfway up, Ed turned around. “She’s coming.”

“What?” You panted. How can you tell?”

“I can smell her.”

Each of you exchanged looks before taking a deep breath in.

Fire.

It was filling the tunnel. The flames were only just starting to fill the tunnel as the four of you got to the top of the slope. There was a huge metal latch that held the trap door down. Ed handed Miles to you and Dean, while he pushed up the door.

He set Miles on the ground as he helped each of you up and out into the cornfield. He handed Miles up to each of you.

“Come on!” You reached your hand down to Ed. Let’s go!” You could see the light from the flames getting stronger, and closer.

“Come on man!” Dean yelled. “Get out of there!”

Ed stared into the flames. Something about his demeanor changed. His jaw tightened, and he looked back to the three of you.

“Goodbye, friends.”

Before anyone could move, Ed slammed the door shut above him. The sound of the large old latch shut.

You dropped to your knees, pounding on the door. “Ed! No! Please! Stop! Open the door!”

“Ed!” Dean dropped down next to you. Miles pulled himself so he could hit the door too.

The three of you yelled as loud as you could. The smoke started to float through the wooden trap door, and despite it making all of you cough, you never stopped yelling.

Dean finally stopped you both when the door became too hot to touch.

“Dean!” You fought against him. “Stop! We need to help him! Please!”

You started to bawl and fight to get out of his grip.

Miles pulled himself from the door, and laid on his back, crying.

“We have to do!” Dean yelled at both of you. “We have to. This whole field is going to go up in flames.”

“But-”

“Y/N.” Dean locked eyes with you, and you immediately started to settle down.

“Let’s go.” You wiped the tears from your eyes so you could help carry Miles.

It felt like hours before you were able to navigate the woods, and get back to Baby. The cracking of the forest trees meant the fire was reaching them. Looking up at the sky, there was nothing but billowing smoke.

Dean tossed you the keys, and you grabbed a spare blanket from the trunk. He let Miles down gently and you got him comfortable.

Dean called 911 as you walked down the road a little ways. The entire field was on fire.

“That bitch,” you muttered before yelling to Dean. “She burned the fucking place down!”

“Fire department already knows. They got to the house about a minute or so ago. It doesn’t look good.”

The three of you looked at each other, contemplating if it was worth going back. She was dead, and so was Ed. But when you both looked down at Miles, you knew you had to go.

Everyone was confused, and shocked, at the three of you arriving, saying you knew the owner.

The police and fire chiefs both spoke to you. Officers were sent to standby while the fire was controlled. The area was officially a crime scene.

Miles was seen by the paramedics. It looked like Ed had tried to sew his limb back together, and it held out for longer than expected. When Miles was loaded into the ambulance, Dean got permission for the two of you to follow them to the hospital.

It was several hours before Miles was out of surgery, and each of you had finished giving your statements for the moment. You had both made the point to explain Ed’s situation.

Once Miles was awake, he backed up all of their stories.

It turned out that the woman had a crematorium in her home. The cornfield had been planted to grow over what had been a cemetary. Her family had owned a funeral home for over 50 years. They had gone out of business roughly 10 years before She had become the owner of the estate.

It was later discovered that She had lived in the next state for roughly 15 years. After looking into that residence, and then examining her current residence, the numbers were staggering.

In total, roughly 22 people’s remains were found between the two residences. This discovery was able to close at least 7 cold cases.

To this day, Dean, Miles, and yourself would get together for a drink every year. Another pint would be ordered in memory of Ed.

A lot of conversations were had between Dean and yourself. There were bad dreams. Flashbacks. Milestones that you wanted to share together because of all you had been through.

Since then, you were a “travel hunter.” Whenever a hunter needed an extra hand, you went to help. You didn’t necessarily find cases on your own.

You’d met Sam, and became good friends with him. On occasion you would hunt with the boys.

Around 5 years later, you got a call from Dean.

“Hey,” you smiled into the phone. “How are you?”

“Not bad, not bad at all.”

There was a long pause. You weren’t really sure what to say since Dean was the one that called.

“I…” Dean paused. “I had another one.”

“Dream? Me too. A few days ago actually.”

“You still need me?”

You smiled and started nodding your head. “I need you.”

“I’ll need you too.”

There was a pause, and Dean laughed softly.

“Want to go on an adventure?”

You let out a loud laugh. “Dean, you’re not Dora. We are not going exploring. Sound familiar?”

“Yep. It was a hell of an adventure though.”

“Damn straight.” You laughed. “Damn straight.”

“Well,” Dean cleared his throat. “I’ll let you go I guess.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll always need you.”

“I’ll always need you too.”

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