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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

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

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

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

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

That pact was lie.

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

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

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

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

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

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

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

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

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

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

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

“Sam Winchester?”

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

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Kev-“

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

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

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

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

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

Kevin stared at the black ink.

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

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

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

Sam wished he could say the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

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

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

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

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

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

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

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

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

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

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

“Crowley?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

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

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

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

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

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

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

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

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

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

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

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

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

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

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

Until he couldn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

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

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

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

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

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

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

And then something curious happened.

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

Well, that was a first.

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

What.

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

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

“You are welcome?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Angels are real!?”

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

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

A lot.

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

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

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

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

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

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

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

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out.

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

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

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

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

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

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

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

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

“Just keep them going, please.”

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

Sam was tired.

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

What a fucking waste of space he was.

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

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

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

The next day he hit a dog.

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

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

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

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

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

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

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

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

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

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

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

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

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

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

“No idea.”

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

“What and how does it kill then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I like our-“

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

“Sam!”

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

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

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

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

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

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

“Alright. Directions?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Gabriel has said “no”.

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

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

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

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

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

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

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

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

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

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

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

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

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

Another dead end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

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

And they were right in that assessment.

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

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

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

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Irv! Good to see you.”

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

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

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

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

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

They left two days later.

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

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s not enough!”

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

Kevin was used to it, though.

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

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

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

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

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

#spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #kevin tran #supernatural #fanfic #I AM STILL SALTY AND I HAVE CONSUMED 3 SEASONS MORE SINCE

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lambbled-archive · 4 years

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NESS & HER MOTHER

warnings for: child death, historical misogynistic views, religion ah, yes, MELISSA CHRISTIE (who i’m pretty sure has only really been mentioned in fc5 threads so far). she’s an interesting case. ness tries to love her, she really does, and to some extent there’s still a mother-daughter bond, but melissa is only interested in trying to maintain their relationship if she’ll benefit from it. her mom also had a really traumatic experience as a child and ness is much more understanding of that than melissa is of her trauma.

ness is an only child because of melissa’s very rocky relationship with her brother alan due to an incident while exploring an old mine shaft as kids which resulting in their best friend’s death. it was even more traumatic due to them encountering the creature that the founders made their deal with and it being the thing that slaughtered their friend in front of them. understandably, this fucked them both up a lot. the rest of the town not believing their monster story doesn’t help matters. melissa’s brother ends up as a sort of local conspiracy theorist who is obsessed with whatever shady is happening in town. melissa ends up completely blocking out all memory of the creature and convincing herself that it was all in their heads.

because they encountered the creature, the claythornes try to keep them both close to prevent word about it from spreading. they succeed by hiring melissa as a secretary for mayor claythorne, but are unable to ever really get a handle on alan. ness loves her uncle, even if she thinks he’s a little odd, and melissa unfortunately sees a lot of her brother in ness, particularly her hair-trigger temper. she’s a helicopter mom because of it, and the underlying fear that a similar incident could happen to her very curious daughter. it puts a strain on their relationship, even if ness grows to understand why her mother is so protective.

melissa is also very much a social ladder climber, and would do literally anything mayor claythorne asks of her. her loyalty to the founders keeps her quiet about anything under the table or any suspicious disappearances and doubles as a cover for them. she organizes block parties, is in several women’s clubs, and frequents higher social circles due to her association with the claythornes. wanting to bolster her social status is also why she offers to let ness babysit andy without asking her daughter first.

she’s a very devout christian, as well, even more so than her husband and daughter. she really settled into her faith after that childhood incident and it’s one of the few things that has kept her going. melissa often puts her daughter and family on the back burner for church organizations. this combined with her attributing most of her failings as a mother to some biblical verse leaves a very sour taste in ness’ mouth when it comes to religion.

melissa is not supportive of ness’ art or her decision to be a teacher. mostly, she sees art as a worthless distraction. she’s also very adamant that ness will marry into the claythorne family via connor, and give their middle class family a boost socially and financially. so she sees no reason for ness to waste money on college or time on a hobby when she’ll inevitably end up as connor’s little housewife. i honestly wrote my novel based loosely in the 70s-80s because that’s considered to be the classic slasher era, and as a very isolated town that survives because of old traditions, bethel is behind the times, so to speak. a lot of the town and ness’ parents’ views are very old-fashioned and outdated.

melissa is almost more upset at the deaths of the claythorne family, and thus her dream of a place in a founders’ family, than she is about her daughter’s trauma. it’s ness’ father who pushes the most for an out of town lawyer, ness’ innocence, and for her to get help to regain some sort of normalcy. melissa has her doubts about ness’ story due to having more loyalty and trust in the claythornes than in her own child. after having to listen to all the gory details of what her daughter did over and over in court hearings and discussions with her lawyer, melissa finds herself genuinely afraid of ness.

no one ever believes that their child could have it in them to murder another human being, even in self-defense, and melissa isn’t able to view ness the same way as before. she often brings up her uncertainty in ness’ mental stability and believes that she could ‘snap’ one day and kill them, too. this is all despite ness showing no signs of violence toward anyone. her views often cause arguments between her and her husband, and ness has overheard enough to know how her mother really feels. she goes and cries in her room for hours the night she hears her own mother call her a ‘monster.’

#tw: child death #tw: misogyny #in honor of mother's day #is melissa just projecting all her fears of the creature onto her own daughter???#yeah pretty much #🐑 h e a d c a n o n s … ❛ the truth is i am terribly weak ❜

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superlucky777boy · 4 years

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Amazing dream I want to make a book

I had a dream last night of a slightly different world than the one I live in. It was extremely vivid and I don’t want to lose it so I’m posting what I can remember here. So instead of being born where I was, I was born in a town further north in Texas and it was called Ritz, Texas. It had white rock gulleys and restored 20’s hotels and a thriving music and arts community and a huge diversity of people, like to the point there were embassies for countries like Cyprus and Armenia and Cameroon etc. I had lived a similar life except my mom was the superintendent of the school district and had her doctorate and my dad was a freelance programmer and I was a total punk like I’d dreamed of being. Like tatted up, crazy hair, androgyny, the works, and I even worked in a record store and knew like the underbelly of town. Lastly, my brother was still dead but he had died much more mysteriously than in real life. Instead of an accident, he was found dead in a campsite, beaten but not lethally so and had had a heart attack even though he was 20 (he’d made it a bit older in this world).

So the story starts with my folks and I doing a seedy investigation (which was routine for us apparently in the year or two after my brother had died) of some of the mysterious circumstances of my brother’s death (namely we were trying to figure out what gang or underground op had beaten him) and were led to find some strange things that ultimately don’t stick, except for finding a boy who was suspicious there. He was Cypriot and Iraqi. His name was Makshika, which is I’m sure a nonsense name my brain came up with because I don’t know anyone who is Cypriot and Iraqi and so don’t know a name to come up with for him and would want to give better justice to him if I wrote a book. He was gorgeous, skin like caramel, eyes like the dead of winter and jet black hair. He was a rap and hip-hop kinda guy and dressed accordingly.

At the point I met him, he was suspicious where he was because he was acting real shady and secretive (I find out later he thought he was in a sort of secret cruising spot, but he definitely wasn’t) and so I go to act like someone he’s supposed to meet to get information from him and he gets spooked as we talk and bolts. I kinda catch hold of him at a registration office of some kind and prove I can be trusted because I keep him from getting into a situation where the (I think) drug running manager (for some reason he has no name, but I think he was Ukrainian and that was important for some unknown reason) had his two lieutenants, both names Vinnie and with biceps the size of Matty’s (the boy I mentioned earlier’s nickname which I know doesn’t make sense) head, beat him.

Some time skips and we’re secretly dating, which is how I learn he’s Cypriot and Iraqi and Muslim and that he’s very much in the closet because I think his family is super old school and would not approve. In the dream he is like the love of my life though. Like I intend to find a way to run away and marry this boy. So I do anything I can to help him keep the secret, including attending a dance with him as my date in like full drag and he looks just as gorgeous all feminine as he does all masculine and hip-hop and I know I’m lost in the sauce on this guy. He has to run though because he sees my mom for the first time at this dance and recognises her: his mom works at the Cypriot embassy and particularly works with my mom on education stuff.

So he has to run because he can’t chance that she recognises him as my date (she knows I’m dating a boy and that he’s there in drag to preserve his identity but she doesn’t know who he is exactly) and I have to pick up a shift at the record store with some jerks I don’t like and I’m all distraught (some time has passsed since the dance and I haven’t seen Matty) when Matty comes in in drag. You can’t recognise him as Matty but you can tell a bit more he’s in drag as he hasn’t been home in two or three days and so hasn’t taken any of it off. The jerks start making fun of him and I square off immediately saying that’s my man and I’ll thank you to not say anything untoward. Matty gets a little bit uncomfortable at being semi-publicly called my boyfriend but relaxes a bit cuz he knows he doesn’t look like himself either.

Then the jerks try to start a fight and I thoroughly kick their asses (Matty assists by dumping a milk crate of records out and bashing a guy who has me in a headlock with it). The manager comes in and asks what happened and I tell him they started something with.... I think we agreed to call him Missy while he was in drag so people didn’t catch on it was him..... and that I needed to get him out of there and take care of some things. Manager wins boss of the year and let’s me out to go get Matty into his real clothes at my hideaway by taking him down a sneaky route but his brother catches us while he’s making a deal for pot (he sells it). So we have a heart to heart and Matty’s brother agrees to keep us secret because while we were wrong about him and probably a cousin or two, the rest of his family definitely wouldn’t be accepting.

Fast forward again because I’m missing some in between events but Matty and I are on the run from his folks and mine are trying to find me cuz I’m their last son and they think I’m making a mistake chasing a boy with a family that hates us both (and also I think because they’re Christian and want me to marry Christian as well) and wants me to leave him. Hassan (Matty’s brother) calls us ahead of time in secret (as does my friend Amanda from the record store who is only introduced at that point in the dream but seems awesome and deserves more than a disembodied voice cameo if I write this as a book). Suddenly he’s calling us and he’s frantic as hell saying “Matthias (I just remembered that’s his actual name while I was typing this and it makes so much more sense that his nickname is Matty now) you have to run! Baba is coming your way he figured out I was lying for you and he’ll be there soon!!”

We pack up camp and start racing to get things back in the truck we’ve been living out of when a man walks up to us and just yells out, “Matthias!!! Stop!!!” And he and I both freeze and slump and turn around because we’ve been caught. His dad’s here and that means he rest of his family isn’t far behind and neither are my folks. Matty gets this brave burst and just grabs my hand and says, “Please, Baba, I love him.” They both cry and just stare at each other before having a heart to heart I can’t remember most of, but his dad agrees to let us go and live life and promises to stand our families down as long as we never come back to Ritz. We agree. There’s a lot of tears and I call my mom from a payphone to tell her to stop looking for me, if she wants to know me anymore she’ll know me with Matty after what’s about to happen. I think his dad fakes our deaths to the city and his mom accepts it as truth even though he lets her in on the truth. It hurts Matty a lot.

Fast forward again and it’s two years later and we live in some big city somewhere (I wanna say either DFW, Chicago or San Francisco but I’m not sure). Matty has done some mocha brown highlights in his hair and wears sundresses every so often because it turns out he likes them. I’ve gotten him one in every colour imaginable because I started working at a recording studio as an audio tech and I make pretty good money now (as does Matty, he works for a Streetwear/Retro line of clothing as an advertising manager). We have a really cute house in a quiet part of town together. On Sundays I still go to church and he regularly attends a local mosque (both progressive enough to our standards of course, we’ve dealt with being chased out enough thank you). Matty has also come out as enby (like me) but still uses he/him pronouns (don’t remember why, but who am I to ask him? Those are his pronouns thank you). His father visits us from time to time with Hassan (his father’s been doing some growing over those two years but he still is a little awkward about the whole thing). I’m walking on my way home and take a box out of my pocket, open it to see a ring as gorgeous as my love, and then close it up and put it back in my pocket as I go to enter our house. Then I woke up.

It was so vivid that it took several minutes to remember that this was not my life and that my boyfriend Justin existed and I’d never fallen in love with a boy named Matthias or who even looks like Matthias. I want to write it as a book but do my research and make it more coherent. Obviously I’d do more research cuz I just don’t know much about a lot of the cultures mentioned, but I want to do this story justice. Would any of y’all read that?

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welcometoteamz · 5 years

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I’ve ranted about what I didn’t like in iZombie S4 and what I would do differently, but tbh, I would go back and apply a lil bit in S3 tbh as well.Most of it involves my trash boi Blaine.

I had multiple verses set during the year long hiatus between S2 and S3 where I wrote Blaine’s amnesia as being legitimate. That said, I’ve made my peace with the fact it became a lie. It honestly makes more sense for him to try to turn his life around, but get caught in a lie and fuck it up for himself due to his own insecurities and fear of rejection. I’ll stand firm on that.

Which is why the reveal of having him be the one steal the cure irritates me.It’d honestly would have more tragic if he still tried to behave himself even after his lie was exposed, and it was the hit from Angus that dragged him back into his old life after he got his retribution.The fact he was with Peyton while lying is no doubt problematic and I’m mad at them for getting me on board with that and then pulling the rug out from under me... but in my mind?He was still going to try and start anew even if she chose Ravi. If Ravi hadn’t slept with Katty Kupps, and Pavi sailed in S3, and Blaine continued to be a lounge singer while working at Shady Plots…I think he would have been content.

Which goes into ways he could have gotten out of his lie, which someone as cunning as Blaine should have thought about.Like. Why not get out of the lie, with another lie? Say that Ravi’s memory serum works? That way Major is injected with both at the same time, and no one suspects anything is afoot when his memories came back? Then they do the same thing to all the other zombies when it is possible to mass produce the cure.Blaine gets his fresh start, a new job, and to be happy with Peyton.

Sure, he loses the brain business, but I think he’d give all that up for being actually truly content and happy. Let’s not forget, that was the same episode Angus took his inheritance back. Had that not happened, would that be something Blaine would have done? Knowing that even if he didn’t have the business, he had those millions to fall back on? I think so.Going back to his stealing the cure, though… and why that doesn’t entirely work for me…

Let’s be honest. There was a lot of inconsistency. At the end of episode six Blaine apparently is cooking up blue brain juice, and you may think ok, he is still thinking about the brain business. It may be possible he stole the cures after all.

The very next episode, though. He was in a depressed funk. He had caring about the business when he was in his depressed funk. Candy had to get on him about the orders. When Don E. and Dino show up at Shady Plots to tell him they’re taking his brain supply and customers, he’s visibly angry, but also looks defeated before Dino shoots him. Like he’s just so broken down at that point that he’s just accepted it. Would that guy even have bothered to steal the cures, if he didn’t care about the business?

Hell, if you hadn’t seen the prior episode, would you have thought that Blaine bothered to cook up blue brain juice before going to drunkenly sing at his lounge gig?It’s not until his sense of self preservation kicks in when he’s shot, that he has a sense of what to do with himself. First things first, that’s revenge.

Then he discovers Angus’ plan to team up with Fillmore-Graves (WHICH DOESN’T EVEN COME INTO PLAY AT ALL IN S4 WHEN FUCKFACE RETURNS. NO ONE CALLS HIM OUT ON HATING FILLMORE-GRAVES, REMINDING HIM OF HIS PLAN. HOW AWESOME WOULD IT HAVE BEEN IF THIS WAS EXPOSED TO HIS CHURCH AND THEY TORE HIM APART LIKE THE HYENAS DID SCAR IN THE LION KING) and that’s what reinvigorates him.

Now there are two tangents I could go into here. So I will.

The first is how Blaine’s storyline in the back half of S3 may have suffered due to Andrea Savage leaving the show for her own series, I’m Sorry. It’s possible we would have seen her and Blaine face off if she learned he presumably killed her husband Harrison.Which. Is an issue I have with S4 as well. Chase is Harrison’s brother. He works with Blaine.

Upon meeting him, he would be smart enough and would easily be able to figure out that Blaine was the OG brain supplier and would have been the one to kill his brother.Once he no longer needed Blaine, i.e. was done with his blackmail? He would have put him in the guillotine. I expected this, honestly. I expected Blaine to pull the same card he pulled on Liv in S1. That without him, they have a zombie apocalypse on their hands. There was a brain shortage prior to the outbreak when Blaine approached him in the S3 finale. In S4 it’s even worse than it was then. There’s even a plot about Major tracking down watered down brain tube dealers.

Chase is a proud man, he wouldn’t have gone back to Blaine automatically… but after the US Government cuts off the brain supply in the finale, Major enlists Blaine to increase his operations.You don’t think that in the middle of the brain shortage crisis, Chase would have bitten the bullet and remembered Blaine’s proposal? Ok, at this point, you’re probably asking yourself. “Mmhm, okay, so maybe that’s a better plot for Blaine… but then who did steal the cures?”

Osborn Oates.

Don’t remember him? Yeah, neither do any of the characters, apparently.He was the guy who was Natalie’s captor. Who apparently had the the influence to bribe Max Rager guards under Vaughn Du Clark’s nose. He was described by Ravi as being like a Bond villain.Natalie warns Major that wherever he goes, he’ll find her, but then… he doesn’t. She travels the world. He doesn’t track her down. Even when she herself would have been vulnerable and amnesiac.He doesn’t even try to track down Major and find out what he knows, or if he was responsible for her escape. We know he is aware of Major. Major and Ravi followed he and his body guard.His body guard even checked Ravi’s morgue ID, and would have known where the cures were kept had he known about the cures.

Which… I think, Natalie might have told him about, in an effort to barter her freedom.Remember when we first met her? She said that since she was paid in brains by Blaine, who had become her pimp after turning her, that she ran through her savings and was broke.Yet… when she returns in S3, she tells Major that she traveled the world and had a place in Italy that she got thanks to her savings earned as sex worker.So… what is the truth?

I don’t want to speculate about a villainous lying Natalie. I actually liked her character, and she was certainly victimized and I don’t want to take away from that at all. Given her desperate situation though, might she have made some choices out of self preservation? Her own best interest?I think there was more to the Natalie situation than we got. I think it suffered because they went from 19 episodes in season 2 back to a 13 episode order. I don’t know if her exit had more to do with propelling Major’s character’s decisions, or if because Natalie’s actress Brooke Lyons had gotten work as a series regular on the show Life Sentence. Maybe a bit of both?

Maybe they did plan to kill her at the end of the arc, but the arc happened sooner than anticipated due to the shortened season? Knowing that they’d be losing her, they couldn’t carry that thread over to S4? So instead they just dropped Osborn Oates, and over the summer Rob Thomas decided to change it to Blaine in S4 because no one would question it?

Sorry Rob, I question it. You said in post S3 interviews that you planned to reveal who stole the cures in the finale, but there was no time so you’d get to it in S4.Really? That’s why? No time? If you had the time, how would it have come into play? The way it did come into play was Blaine seeking out Mama Leone, because Chase was blackmailing him. Are you telling me Chase would have done so in the S3 finale? That you would have seeded Renegade as a plotline even then?

I’m calling bullshit.I think it’s far more likely that your plans fell through, and you needed the time over the hiatus to do a rewrite.Even if Natalie had nothing to do with the cures being stolen, if it was planned to be Blaine all along…

You kill her off, and she doesn’t even get to confront Blaine? They never have a scene together? He’s responsible for her being a zombie, which led to her being kidnapped, and then held hostage.Yet he helped Major find her when he could have pleaded ignorance. He gave him Oates’ address and let him know when he was back in town.

He didn’t have to do that. He could have said that it’s not the address on record, said “I guess Oates is thorough and has someone else handle his pickups” and Major wouldn’t have questioned him.

He could have elected not to tip Major off that he was back in town. To stay out of it. Had he done so? Major wouldn’t have been able to find Natalie and give her the cure when he did.I’m not saying this excuses Blaine of what he did to her at all, or that the two would have been “even” or made peace. Not at all. There is no retribution for what he did to her.It does however, go back to my belief he was legit trying to change.

As for why Chase never mentions or figures out Blaine killed his brother? Why wasn’t that a thing? Why didn’t we get more time to know Chase and see his conflict, rather than having it rushed to him buckling under the pressure of the job?

In hindsight, knowing what we do about the actor who played Blaine’s father… I kind of wish Chase had gotten that series regular promotion instead. What did the Angus stuff really add to the season, at the end of the day? Blaine would have taken Major’s deal regardless, whether or not he was in debt. He would have done it just if it meant he wouldn’t be put in prison, and because he’d get a kick out of having Major at his mercy.

Which… he shouldn’t be in debt right now either... because now Angus is dead for real and he should have those millions. Or did he spend those millions, when he came back, to feed his flock? I imagine someone else took over his business, but he still had all his personal accounts.

At the end of the day, all the Brother Love stuff was just a bunch of filler. You know what would have been interesting? If Brother Love used Enzo to reach out to those remaining dissenting Fillmore-Graves employees that Carey Gold told us existed but we never saw in S4. We saw corruption in S4 with Russ Roche, but the only real zombie supremacist within the organization was Enzo himself.

Speaking of which, what happened to Enzo? Did he die along with Angus’ flock? It seemed like they were building to a big finale that was going to be Angus’ church throwing a revolution against Fillmore-Graves, with Liv and her Renegade folks stuck in the middle.By the filming of the last episode, did they just decide they didn’t want to give Angus’ actor any more screentime than it would take to organically write him out? Cause his exit was anticlimactic. I mean, the actor didn’t deserve any more screentime. I wouldn’t want to see him on my screen, but...

It happened in a news report.Thing is though, I don’t know if that was why. I mean, they made Angus a regular, and he only interacted with each series regular save Blaine once. He interacted with Peyton in 3x03, before he was even a regular. His only conscious interaction with Major was when he and his squad checked out the church. He interacted with Liv when she and Levon went there seeing if he could help them get more brains. Another thing which is never touched upon after that episode.His only interaction with Ravi and Clive took place at the same time in the interrogation room

.Yet we had that whole subplot of that kid Tucker who was a zombie hater who became a Brother Love devotee after being kicked out of the Romero’s basement by Blaine? Okay, what happened to that kid? Did he die with the flock as well? We never saw him. We spent all that time with him, and why? Just so he could kill someone and Enzo could let him go, and pass word on to Angus?

…Enzo couldn’t have just approached Angus himself, after attending his sermon? Or did he feel like he needed to prove himself, considering Angus’ distrust of Fillmore-Graves? Ok, but then...

Again, Angus himself wanted to partner up with them in S3. Inconsistent. Yes, you could say he changed his mind after seeing their regime and how Chase led them. That he lost his mind in the well, which he did.…but in hindsight… given what they did with him, and the fact he was played by a man accused of multiple accounts of sexual assault?

I wish we hadn’t seen him come back at all. He should have been left in the well to turn into a Romero. Blaine should have just not fed him. All that extra screentime, we could have gotten Blaine vs Chase (in the wake of Vivian) with Liv caught in the middle and just trying to help people. Instead we got… a mess…

In my personal opinion.

#iZombie #Blaine DeBeers #Chase Graves #Major Lilywhite #Liv Moore #long post #long post for ts

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ask-de-writer · 5 years

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CARAMEL TREAT’S SWEETS : Part 3 of 4 : MLP Fan Fiction

Return to the Master Story Index Return to MLP Fan Fiction Return to Caramel Treat, werewolf

Caramel Treat’s Sweets

Part 3 of 4

by De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

18671 words

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author. ////////////// Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged. ///////////////////////

For those wishing to read the whole story, this link leads to the entire tale.

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<==Previous Next==>

Caramel nodded her head, framed by her shaggy black ruff. “That is what they agreed to do, Your Ladyship. It was the assistance given to a friend and neighbor.

“If any of you have knife or sword, it would be good to free my mother Brightmane and Nurse Fields. They were bound by the criminals.”

Baron Dran Dale, a tan unicorn in the garb of the Far Northern Dales stepped in through the broken door, a big dirk floating in the firm grip of his magic. In a trice, the ropes were cut by his razor sharp blade.

Heather Bloom examined the broken door and pronounced, “It is unsafe that this be. Ye shall all three come up to the Hall o Red Hoof and there abide until yer home be proper repaired.”

The green pony curled a lip and sneered, “Afraid of the deadly wolves, aren't you?”

Brightmane answered him, “Not at all. The Stone Ridge Pack have been excellent neighbors. With the door broken so badly, it is more rotten ponies like you that we want to avoid. You are not the first, though you are by far the worst.”

Shortly, the party was joined by Daphne Crager in her livery as a carlene of Red Hoof! She was panting as she led her father, Constable Crager, to the house.

Heather Bloom turned her head to speak to her. “There ye be, Daph. We did wonder wha ha became o ye. Got yer father to carry out the arrest. That be fine thinking. Wha led ye to do it wi'oot orders?”

Daphne pointed to Caramel, still in wolf form. “As soon as I heard her emergency howl, your Ladyship, I knew that something bad was happening here. Dad was the closest constable who could deal with whatever the problem is.”

Duchess Heather Bloom quickly filled in Constable Crager on the happenings of the night.

He efficiently manacled the green pony and they all left. Heather Bloom detailed one of her House's Guard to watch the cottage and another was left to protect the scene where Stort had been killed.

The green pony looked on, face set with anger and sorrow. “Aren't you afraid that the wolves will pull you down too?”

The guard shrugged, “Not really. I would be more worried if you and your brother were on the loose armed with toothpicks. Ever since Caramel was born, we have lived as neighbors to the Stone Ridge wolf pack. They have turned out to be pretty good neighbors.”

The next day, as Caramel was watching and assisting the work on her new shop where she could, Sawnax came barging up waving the latest edition of the Ponyville Prancer and carrying a broadax!

He was loudly demanding, “The Monster has gone too far! An innocent pony has been murdered and she did it! It is right here on the front page of the Prancer! I have brought an ax to take the head of rampaging beast!”

Houser, seeing Caramel pull her Magic Net mirror from her saddlebag, returned, “Some rampage! She is helping us to set foundation stones for this project!

“Are you sure that you can read at all? The story says nothing about Caramel killing anypony.”

Sawnax waved the paper dramatically, exclaiming, “He was killed by a wolf in the Everfree, right on the path to the Murdering Monster's Lair!

“We must destroy her before any more fall victim to her bloodthirsty rampage of murder!”

Houser snatched the flailing paper from Sawnax's hooves! He read out loud for all to hear, “Stort Greene, the victim of the wolf attack, was fleeing the scene of a failed attempt at MASS MURDER FOR PERSONAL GAIN. He appears to have been killed by the joint attack of least three Everfree Ridgeback wolves.

“All witnesses agree that Caramel Treat was in her well known wolf form and INSIDE the cabin of Brightmane Treat when the killing happened.

“It is worthy of note that Caramel Treat, in wolf form, not only captured one of the attempted killers without inflicting any actual injury to him, she rescued her mother, Brightmane Treat and the family's long time companion, Nurse Fields.”

Sawnax tapped his temple as he replied, “She done the killing by using her mind to control the attacking wolves!”

A police pony, who had approached while Houser was reading the paper, said, “Sawnax, you are under arrest. The charges are violation of the protective order of Judge Coldheart, violation of the Edict of Equality, and while carrying a weapon, threatening to murder a Citizen of Equestria.”

Caramel, speaking into her Magic Net mirror, said, “Thank you, Emergency Services, the officer is now here!” Smiling grimly, she put the mirror away in her saddlebag.

As Sawnax was led away, protesting bitterly, Caramel told Houser, “It looks as though I will be going to the courthouse sooner than I had planned!”

She turned at the sound of a new voice. “Perhaps I can help. My name is Grumpeter. Grumpy for short.”

A black, brown and white piebald goat with full curl horns stood there. He smiled and offered, “I know that my kind are not popular but one place where we are listened to is the courtroom. Edict of Equality and all of that.

“I not only saw and heard this whole thing, I saw Sawnax come out of a conference in Hortimer's Rectory, next to their detestable church. He went straight to his lumber yard and got that ax. Then he came here. The rest, you know.”

Houser eyed the goat askance and asked, “How did you happen to see all this?”

The goat nodded, making his ears flop comically, as he agreed, “Fair question. The Celestian Church fronts on a park down on the other side of the Town Hall. I live about three blocks from the park, luckily, on the side AWAY from those jerks.

“I was taking the air in the park and, I admit, snacking on a bush or two. Broke student and all that. Had a clear view of the rectory.

“Being a curious sort, I tagged along after Sawnax because HE is an Earth pony and they are Unicorn Supremacists. I wondered what was up. When he got here, I found out.”

Caramel looked thoughtfully at the goat for a few moments and offered, “If you are willing to go and give Judge Coldheart a sworn statement on this, come back after my restaurant is open.

“I will give you special low prices or even free if you need it. I am a werewolf. I know what it is like to have nutcases after me. Has to be bad for you, too.

“Broke student? Let me get my place started and maybe I can find a way to help you out.”

The goat flipped his tail happily. “I am on my way! It is great to meet somepony besides Reverend Smallflower who is nice to goats!”

Grumpy trotted away down Mane St. toward the town hall.

Houser and his crew returned to work. Caramel went back to assisting where she could. It was not long before the foundation was all laid and the cut for the outside loading ramp into the basement was well underway.

It was time for lunch!

The workers all looked expectantly at Caramel.

She patted a fat saddle bag, grinned and offered, “Clover burgers and fries with Rom black tea to wash it down?”

There was a near stampede for the shady park tables!

As Caramel was starting to pass out the wrapped sandwiches and open the package of fries with dipping sauce, several of the work crew turned their backs and snapped, “Get out of here, Goat! This is for decent ponies!”

Caramel quietly closed the fries package and retrieved most of the wrapped burgers. She left the table and chose a vacant one. She invited, “Want some lunch, Grumpy? I seem to have plenty. How did the deposition go?”

The piebald goat looked troubled. “Miss Caramel, I did not mean to cause you any trouble. I just wanted to tell you that my deposition has been copied and added to both your Celestian Church case and to your Sawnax case. Because of it, they have been linked.”

Caramel patted the bench. “Go ahead and have a seat, Grumpy. That was a huge favor that you did for me.

“Here, have some tea. That is a clover burger with onions, lettuce, tomato, and sauteed mushrooms. The big box has fries and dipping sauce.”

Having seen to Grumpy, she returned to the table with the work crew. “Lunch is over there.” She pointed.

“A lot of ponies don't like him because he is a goat. That is something that he can't do anything about. A lot of ponies, including Sawnax, this morning, don't like me because I am a werewolf. That is something that I can't do anything about, either.

“Share a table with us, the social outcasts and eat for free, or go BUY your lunch somewhere else.”

She turned her back on the crew and went back to sit by Grumpy. Shortly Houser came over and sat with them. Caramel smiled and hoofed him a burger, tea and a portion of fries.

The workers saw their boss at the table with the goat. More importantly, he was eating his sandwich with gusto! One by one, they joined in.

To their surprise, the goat turned out to actually be pleasant company and had a great sense of humor. When one of them thoughtlessly told a goat joke, he laughed right along with the rest of them.

One of the workers paused in mid laugh to ask, “Didn't that bother you, Mister Goat?”

Grumpy's floppy ears lifted a bit and he smiled. “Yes, it did a bit. It was also a classical situation that would have been funny regardless of who it was told about. I have found that it is easier to laugh than try telling off every pony in Equestria.”

Caramel asked him, “What are you studying and where? Ponyville does not have any school but Miss Cherrilee's that I know of.”

Grumpy smiled as he answered, “Non Equine University is open to all, regardless of kind. Princess Luna is the Chancellor and all classes are by mail at the student's own pace. We even get our textbooks by mail. Unfortunately, it isn't free! Hence, me being a broke student!”

The whole table laughed at that.

Soon, lunch was over. The crew went back to work. By the end of the day the timber framing was started.

Houser told her, “If nothing happens, we should be ready to begin installing the kitchens and pantries the day after tomorrow.

The next morning, Caramel showed up early. The Ponyville Fire Department was there first.

Concerned, Caramel picked her way past the hoses from the pumper wagon to ask, “What happened, Battalion Chief? My place seems to be standing.”

The Battalion Chief pushed back her helmet to wipe sweat from her brow as she replied, “It is, thanks to an early tip. You have one timber that got fairly badly scorched. It was attempted arson.

“Between the tipster and forensic magic, we already have APB out on a suspect.” She chuckled. “He did everything without using any magic. Soaked the timber in lamp oil, laid a wick, and put a candle on it for a timer, so that he could be far away when the fire started.”

Now very interested, Caramel inquired, “How did forensic magic trip him up if he didn't use any magic?”

The chief's face lit with a grin. “He tried to use matches but he was not used to using them. Unicorns like to use their magic for candle lighting. He broke all of the matches! Between the broken matches and his finally lighting the candle by magic, we got a really good signature on him.

“He has been in trouble with the law before this, so the station had a copy of his magic signature on file! His name is Pect. Disre Pect. The beat cops have been notified already.”

Houser and his work crew showed up. The Battalion Chief quickly filled in Houser on the problem.

He looked over the damage and pronounced, “Still sound. We will need to do a little cosmetic work to the timber. Nothing major.

“Not really surprised that Pect did this. He used to be a pretty good worker. Got tied up with that Celestian Church that Celestia herself dislikes so much. Went bad real quick. He pushed the other workers around. Called them Lesser Sorts. I had to fire him after I caught him stealing from work sites.”

Caramel asked, “Are any of the things that Disre handled still here, Battalion Chief? I would like to get his scent.”

The Chief pointed. “Don't know if they will do you much good, Caramel. Those broken matches got pretty well soaked while stopping the fire.”

Caramel shifted, the change running down her body from nose to tail. The caramel color of her pony form turning to the gray of the wolf. It looked like she got bigger, but that was actually just the change from fuller barreled pony to the leaner body and proportionately longer legs, of the wolf. Her tail changed from the long flowing hair of a pony to the wolf's brush-like gray with a black tip. Her mane changed to a black ruff framing her head and protecting her neck. From ruff to tail a ridge of stiff black hair stood up. Her ears became the black tufted cones of the wolf. Her snout and jaw grew longer and filled with huge razor sharp fangs.

She turned her head to the chief and asked, “Have you got my Fire Helmet and Department ID badge, Chief?”

“I do, Caramel. Why?”

“Because I want to underline a point and make any action that I take part of an official investigation. I already have his scent from the scene, here. I am pretty sure that he is in that crowd of spectators, just over there in the park.”

With a grin, the Chief hoofed over Caramel's famous Volunteer Fire Fighter and Hazmat Team badge on its fireproof sash. As soon as it was settled, she donned her helmet, securing it into place.

She turned at once and trotted over to the spectators in the park. Several unicorns among them moved to block her way but she simply sat.

In her disarmingly innocent filly voice, she addressed the group. “I am assisting in the investigation of the small fire over there. Do any of you happen to have a Magic Net mirror?”

Several chuckled, “We ain't doing anything for you, werewolf!”

Sullenly an indigo unicorn among them replied, “I do. What do you want it for?”

Caramel smiled a wolf's smile full of fangs. “We want to check the current listing of Wants and Warrants. Would you please open that posting for us?”

Curling a lip in irritation, he pulled out his mirror and tapped the codes. His eyes widened at what he saw. Eyes barely flicking back to see, he snapped, “Not helping you, Wolf!”

His magic gathered about his horn and lashed out!

Disre Pect, near the back of the crowd, fell heavily! His feet were yanked out from under him by the indigo unicorn's magic!

The indigo unicorn crowed, “Easiest five hundred bits I ever made!”

Shouldering through the rest, Caramel reached the fallen Disre Pect and gave two quick jabs at his forehead. She informed him, “Mister Pect, you must not use your magic, or you will die. I have given you a temporary horn tangle.

“You are under arrest for attempted arson by the authority of the Ponyville Fire Department and the Ponyville Police.”

She sat on his neck to keep him down. She told the indigo unicorn, “Sir, for your assistance in this arrest, you will be paid one hundred and fifty bits at the police department when the suspect is booked. You will get the remaining three hundred and fifty bits of the reward after his first hearing.

“I see the police arriving now. Shall we accompany them to assure your reward?”

Just to remind ponies of the part that she already played in the Fire Department, Caramel, in wolf form, trotted back from the police department to the construction site, wearing her badge and fire helmet.

There, she was in time to assist with stowing the fire equipment back into the pumper cart and return her helmet and badge to the Chief.

Houser, watching her careful work setting the stone masonry in the half timbered front of the building, commented, “I wish that all of my help was as quick and careful as you are.”

Seeing that some of his workers had overheard the remark, Caramel replied, “Being a werewolf helps a lot. I have faster reflexes and am stronger than most. Your workers showed me not only how to do it, but what made for the best work. They are a fine crew.” They overheard her reply too, just as Caramel meant for them to.

Caramel found a calm satisfaction in setting and mortaring the stones into place. The others of the crew were doing mostly carpentry on the interior spaces, side and back walls. Two were putting the finishing touches on the back stairs to the basement.

They were sitting to lunch in the park and talking over how fast the work was going, ”We will be ready for the interior finish work and plastering in only another day if the roofers get their work done on time!”

Houser nodded, reaching for one of the covered boxes that Caramel had set out, “They will be. It is all set up. They should arrive this afternoon.”

Glancing over to the park's bushes, Houser noticed the piebald goat from the other day. Rather than wait for Caramel's OK, Houser gestured welcomingly, “Come on over, Grumpy! I see that Caramel either planned on you or she miscounted boxes!”

Caramel grinned, “I didn't! How do you like Sea Grass Puffs and Alfalfa patties, Grumpy? I have three different dipping sauces for the puffs!”

There was a goat at the table that fast! “Sea Grass puffs? Really? I only had Sea Grass at the Fair before this!”

The whole crew laughed, but also agreed, “It is pretty unusual, all right! We never see it in the markets here in Ponyville. Did you try the sweet/sour sorrel sauce?”

The roofers arrived before lunch was over, actually.

The shingles were going on rapidly. A pile of shingles started to slip on the pitched roof. A roofer, trying to stop it began to slide for the edge of the roof!

The whole crew watched aghast as the potentially fatal accident developed. Caramel bunched and started her spring as a pony. It was the huge wolf who landed in the path of the sliding pony!

Wide braced, she caught him! As his mass hit her, she started to slide, herself! Sliding shingles cascading from the roof made regular footing impossible! She slammed a forepaw right through the new shingle work and used the grip that created to stop them both!

The last of the shingles clattered to the stone patio below.

Concerned, she asked the roofer, “Are you OK? Did I hurt you?”

He replied, “No, Ma'am! You did not hurt me! That is a stone patio down there. I would likely have at least broken bones when I hit it. Maybe could have died. I can sure see why the Fire Department values you so high.”

Chuckling with relief, he joked, “You put a big leak in the roof, though! Gonna have to charge extra for fixing that!”

Caramel made sure that he was OK and that he had his footing as she retorted, “Some ponies will do anything to get a few extra bits!” She bounded lightly down from the roof and gave the heap of fallen shingles a long sniff.

She waived Houser and his workers away from the shingles and ordered, “Houser! Call the Police! We need a forensic magic expert to get a signature off these shingles! This was no accident! Some pony has tried to murder your worker!”

That brought everything to an instant stand-still! They all looked at each other in worry. Caramel added, “It was nopony on this crew. See? The bundle tie is still up on the roof. We know that it was tied securely when it was put up there. Charl still has the half bundle that he was working on and it is still up there. It did not slip, even though he was working with it.

“My nose verified that nopony has handled the fallen shingle bundle except those of our crew who had proper business handling it. The answer is magic. Unicorn magic, specifically.

“That is why we need the forensic magic expert. He or she can sort out the magical signature of whoever did this and it can be compared to those of known criminals. There is a good chance that the signature is already on file.”

Soon two uniformed police arrived, the iron shod wheels of the Forensic Investigation cart making a clatter on the street cobbles as they pulled up. One of them was opening lockers on the cart while the other began to speak to Houser.

They carefully gathered their evidence, including the shingle tie and several of the shingles themselves. The expert, who was an Earth pony, ran his tests, using Non-Equine magic to avoid contamination of the magical traces left on the tie and shingles.

He turned to his partner, face grave. “Confirmed, Jeral. Got a weak but really clear signature. Worse, we have a match. Those three recent industrial accident cases? Four injuries and one death? Same unicorn. Call it in and put out an All Points. This is another attempted murder charge on this individual.

Caramel looked over to the park, brows furrowed in puzzlement. Then she glanced down the street, where the piebald black, brown and white goat was trotting up, announcing his presence with clip clopping hooves.

He politely spoke to the officers, “Sirs, my name is Grumpeter. I know how it looks like I came here. I was in the park. I sneaked out of the park and down two blocks to come back and give you my information. I did that to mislead your suspect.

“He is the gray unicorn with dirty pink mane and tail, right over there in the park. His cutie mark is a broken ruler.

“I came here because Caramel Treat had a lunch for me, which I ate along with the work crew. I stayed in the park afterwards. The gray and a buddy ran me off, so I hid in the bushes and watched.

“The gray pulled up his magic, really thin like. Near invisible to a pony. Goats, and you can check this, see unicorn magic more clearly than ponies do. He sneaked it across to the roof work that was going on. I could not see what he did, but I saw the result. When the shingles started to slide, Charl tried to stop them. He lost his footing. He almost went off the roof but Caramel leaped up and stopped his slide by slamming a hole in the roof for a grip.”

The Earth pony forensic expert took careful notes and asked Grumpeter for his address and other basic information.

Across the street, in the park, the two unicorns started to quietly sneak away.

The other member of the forensic team noticed them trying to leave! He blew his whistle and yelled, “You two in the park! Halt in the name of the Law!”

They broke into a flat out run! Caramel changed as she charged! By the time that she had crossed the street, the two were being pursued by a giant of an Everfree Ridgeback Wolf!

Ignoring the other one, she homed in on the gray unicorn with the broken ruler cutie mark! An educated, low, nearly flat, leap caused her shoulder to slam his right hind leg at the hip while her massive paw and foreleg tangled his lower leg! They fell in a wild tumble of wolf and pony!

Rolling free, Caramel struck the unicorn's forehead just at the base of the horn, on both sides. As she did, she demanded, “Do not try to use your magic! You can feel the horn tangle!”

She followed by simply putting her full weight on his neck to keep him from rising! The officer arrived on the scene and efficiently horn capped and manacled the prisoner.

Caramel changed back to her normal pony self, slowly, so that she would not alarm any watchers.

The forensic expert watched her change and asked, “Do you have a magical profile in our files, Miss Treat?”

She nodded, “When I was inducted into the Fire Department's Hazmat team. They took one then. They did say that it was really distinctive.”

That was when the police department's open tumbrel arrived to transport the prisoner. He was informed, “Sir, you are under arrest. The charges are vandalism of a work site, four cases of injury great enough to require Horspital treatment, two counts of attempted murder and one count of murder.”

Police unicorns lifted him into the tumbrel for the “free ride” through town to the jail.

<==Previous Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index Return to MLP Fan Fiction Return to Caramel Treat, werewolf

#CARAMEL TREAT'S SWEETS #Part 3 of 4 #MLP Fan Fiction #Caramel Treat - werewolf #Written by De Writer

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readingraebow · 5 years

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Gone With the Wind Section Seven

Chapters 44-52

1. Why can’t Sam stay in Atlanta? He killed a Yankee soldier and the Yankees are out looking for him. That's why he says he's staying in Shantytown and is trying to get back to Tara where they won't be able to find him.

2. What trouble does Scarlett encounter at the end of Ch. 44? She said she'd pick up Sam by the side of the road and when she gets back, he isn't there. So she stops to wait and she hears footsteps and thinks it's him. But it turns out to be a black man and a white man and they ask her for money for food. She refuses and starts to leave but one of them yells that she's probably hiding money in her bosom so the black man runs at her and she shoots at him but he climbs into the coach and rips her dress. She's screaming and she bits him and that's when Sam shows up and pulls them off. Then she drives away and Sam jumps in the coach and gets them out of there.

3. What political meeting did Frank go to? Why did he? Frank and Ashley are both members of the Klan and every time they're at one of their "political meetings" it's actually a meeting of the Klan. And since Scarlett was attacked that day, that night's Klan meeting was to be an attack on Shantytown to kill the two men who attacked Scarlett. And it seems that even though Frank had promised Scarlett that he wouldn't join the Klan, he's actually been a member since the beginning. All of their neighbors have.

4. What happened that night? Do you blame Scarlett? So after Scarlett's attack, the men stage a raid on Shantytown but it goes horribly wrong. Ashley comes back wounded and Frank is dead. And when the Yankees come to arrest Ashley, Rhett, however, manages to give them all an alibi and say they were at Belle Waitling's and he even took them there and had them all kicked out. He comes with Ashley, both pretending like they're super drunk but really Ashley has a shoulder wound. Rhett then sends Archie off to take care of the dead. He's to set it up like they died in a drunken brawl and shot each other. That way it will look like Frank's death was an accident and the others won't be implicated as Klan members. And I honestly don't blame Scarlett. I think the men were stupid enough to create and join the Klan and it was their choice to raid Shantytown. I honestly think Scarlett's attack was just an excuse to do it. I think they would've taken any such opportunity to raid the place, Scarlett's attack was just what happened to give them the opportunity. But I definitely agree with Rhett: "Men are never too old to be fools." I think this was their own foolish choice, not Scarlett's.

5. What is the irony in how the men of Atlanta were saved? So the testimony before the Yankees depended on three people: Ashley, who would need to convince them that he was not injured and had no more than a bad hangover, Belle, who would say that they'd all been at her house all night, and Rhett, who would say that he'd been with them. The last two are the ironic part because the Southern women in Atlanta all hate Belle because she's a Madam and they all cross the street to avoid her when they see her in town. And Rhett is a known Scallawag and basically the most hated man in Atlanta because he didn't join the army and he's still rich and now he hangs out with Yankees, all that jazz. And the fact that everyone will owe Belle and Rhett for their testimony saving the men of Atlanta from hanging is basically more than most of the women can bare.

6. Do you agree with what Belle Watling says about Scarlett? You know, I used to really hate Scarlett. I used to think she was selfish and entitled and I would've been the first one to say she was awful. But I don't think that anymore. In fact, I basically feel that way about everyone else except Melanie. I love the way the war changed Scarlett and taught her to think of others and to be a strong, independent woman and, most of all, to just do what she has to. And so I really don't agree with Belle at all. I think all of the other Southern women are stuck in the past and even though they're doing little jobs to help provide for their families, I think deep down they're all waiting for the world to go back to the way it was. Scarlett isn't and I think that's why they all hate her. Because she progressed with the world and they haven't figured out how to do that yet. And so I honestly love Scarlett now. It's everyone else who irritates me. (Except for Melanie. 10/10 would recommend this human. Probably going to name my next cat after her, haha.) Though Belle does say that Scarlett isn't in the same class as Melanie, which I do think is true. But that's mostly because Melanie is literally better than everyone else??? She's kind and gentle and always takes care of everyone else, no matter the cost. And there's literally no one else in Atlanta like that. Melanie is definitely one of a kind.

7. What news does Rhett give Scarlett? What do you think of this turn of events? He tells her that he still wants her more than any woman he's ever seen and now that Frank is gone, he has his chance. So he asks her to marry him and he's telling her now because he's going to England for a long while and he wants her to think about it while he's gone. He tells her he'll wait the respectable period since Frank just died but he wants to marry her when he returns. He also says he can't keep waiting to catch her between husbands, ahaha. And honestly, I knew Scarlett eventually ended up with Rhett, it was just a matter of when. So, I wasn't shocked. MOSTLY JUST EXCITED. FINALLY. I love Rhett and this means he'll! be! in! the! book! so! much! more! YESSSSS!!!!

8. How do you feel about the end of Part 4? Are you enjoying the book? I feel like we're just under 200 pages from the end of this book and we finally got to the part I've been waiting for and I am completely and totally on board. I feel like Scarlett is probably about to have a hard life socially from here on out though it doesn't seem like she's really cared about that since the war ended and especially since she married Frank? But I think her life with Rhett will be interesting and it will be a completely different kind of marriage (and better??) than what she's had before. So I can't wait to see how all of that plays out and to finish this tome. It's been a long time coming but I'm finally almost there and it's such a good feeling. I didn't enjoy this book a whole lot in the beginning but I am honestly really enjoying it now and I'm so glad I'm finally back to reading it. I can't wait to read the rest of it!!

9. What is the recurring dream Scarlett has? She dreams that she's at Tara and Tara is desolate and Ellen is dead so there's no one to depend upon or to help her. And she's running and running through a thick fog but she can't find whatever she's looking for. She doesn't know what, exactly, she's looking for either. Just that it's some kind of safety since, in the dream, she's so cold and hungry and tired.

10. Who does Scarlett surround herself with? Why? Once Scarlett marries Rhett, basically no one from the Old Guard wants anything to do with her. They all still blame her for Frank's death and can't believe she remarried less than a year after his death. Rhett they're, oddly, okay with but it's Scarlett that most of them hate. So Scarlett surrounds herself with all of the newcomers. Most of them are other Scallawags or people who profited either from the war or some kind of shady dealings, like Rhett. Others are former harlots (or, at least, barmaids, chambermaids, that kind of thing). Most of these were acquired when Scarlett and Rhett were living in the National Hotel, waiting for their house to be built. There Scarlett used to keep a crowd of whist players on hand at all times. But after their home was completed, the members of the Old Guard stopped calling and Scarlett found a new crowd to content herself with because she honestly no longer cares about society.

11. What does Ashley confront Scarlett about? How does she react? He basically says that Rhett made Scarlett cold and hard and changed her from the sweet girl she once was. He says that Rhett poisons everything he touches and he's poisoned Scarlett just the same. And, honestly, it was the war that changed Scarlett, not Rhett. And the need to survive is what made her business practices so severe but Scarlett lets Ashley believe that it was Rhett who changed her. And by saying all of this, and Ashley insinuating that he doesn't like to think of Rhett and Scarlett's intimacies, Scarlett decides she and Ashley can both be physically faithful to each other while married to other people. So she basically decides that she doesn't want to have sex with Rhett anymore and tells Rhett that it's because she doesn't want to have any more children. And Rhett takes it better than Scarlett thinks he would and is honestly disappointed by it. And I seriously wanted to slap Scarlett through the book for this. Just. Let. Ashley. Go. Already. I am so utterly and completely sick of him and Scarlett's constant obsession with him. Rhett is better. And Scarlett is already ruining it. Cool. Good job. Proud of you. *throws the book across the room*

12. How does Bonnie Blue change Rhett? She makes him want to be respectable. When Wade isn't invited to any of the birthday parties of the other boys, Rhett realizes that his conduct and Scarlett's is not so much hurting them as it is affecting their children. And he realizes he wants a better life for Bonnie which he'll have to start working on right now. So he stops seeing Yankee officers socially and openly going to Belle's and he starts going to church and calling on the men he saved. And when Scarlett has parties with people he doesn't approve of (white trash, as Mammy calls them), Rhett takes the children and goes out. And Rhett cares for Bonnie, and all of the children, with a kind and tender hand (completely unlike Scarlett who seems to show no love for any of them??). When Bonnie starts having night terrors and is afraid of the dark, instead of allowing her to scream and "get over it," as Scarlett wants, he moves her bed into his room and leaves a lamp on all night in case she wakes up. So basically Bonnie gives Rhett a purpose and makes him realize that he wants to be a different man. So that's what he becomes. *heart completely melts*

Section Seven Reading Journal

Okay so. I thought Scarlett and Rhett’s marriage was exactly what I wanted out of this novel but while this section was fun and there were lots of things in it I loved, Scarlett is still so hung up on Ashley that it’s just frustrating me. It’s like being married to Rhett brings back out everything I hated in herself. Because she’s rich again so she’s right back to being selfish and entitled. When she was poor and had to work, that made her stronger and made her easier to like. But now I almost agree with everyone in town’s opinion of her.

That being said, I love the way Rhett evolved in this section. I love his treatment of the children and the way he genuinely seemed happier being married. That is, until Scarlett talked to Ashley. But I love his relationship with Bonnie and how he cares about Wade when Scarlett doesn’t seem to. So I’m hoping the last section treats him a little bit better? (Though, uh, doubtful.)

But also. Melanie. If you need me, I’ll be the president of the Melanie Hamilton Wilkes fanclub. Because that meeting where she discovered all of her closest friends and relatives talking behind Scarlett’s back and literally threatened to never seen any of them again socially if they didn’t at least treat Scarlett with respect was AMAZING. I was fangirling the entire time.

So, yeah. This wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for. But I’m definitely excited to have made it this far and to be so close to finishing this book. I can’t wait to read the last section and then probably immediately watch the movie. Because I’ve been waiting SO LONG. So. Can’t wait for all the things!!

#trcbooks #film I: gone with the wind #film crossover reading list: part I

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asheewrites · 6 years

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Scholary endeavour

More of this...

The search for the missing book continued. But unlike last time, I did not find a translator anxious to tell me what ruined their life. This time, I only found an empty building. An old bindery, abandoned years ago and the people scattered in all four winds.

Showing the ‘Trial of the Twelve’ part seven to the townspeople did nothing but inspire questions and curiosity. No one remembered part six or the people working on it. The bindery had been abandoned since the war eight years ago. It was likely the workers – together with the book – had left this world.

It was a shame.

Russell tried his best to help as well. He knew the community by now, Dominic and he had published their book and he got known as a proper author, without his failings in Atlasdam ever getting known. He spread his knowledge, as any scholar should. I was glad he got his second chance.

At the end of the day, I still only poked at my food.

“Are you sure I should not ask the church as well?” It was one last hopeful attempt.

Ophelia’s nose scrunched up in a manner H’aanit had immediately deemed adorable, whispered it under her breath, too, and she said: “I’m… actually not sure if this might be considered blasphemy. You have read the seventh’ volume. Maybe there is a reason they disappeared”

Ah. Yes. The religious approach, of course. All the same it was part of history. It should not be forgotten. “So you assume they would actively hinder my search…”

“It could be, at least,” she looked slightly apologetic, and uncomfortable, the good soul.

“Well, then I shall trust your advice, flame bearer” She looked a little relieved at that, and returned to her discussions with H’aanit and Primrose. Apparently, the followers each of them could summon in battle were now rated? By… cuteness? And Linde was winning? Sometimes the Primrose-led discussions were a bit too much for me.

Meanwhile, Tressa, Alfyn and Therion arrived, the first with a triumphant smile on her face, the second looking confused and the last with his hands in his pockets and kicking invisible stones.

Well, it was the last day in town, so I supposed a decision had been made. Admittedly, I was slightly surprised Tressa had won.

When Therion plonked down on the opposite site of the table, I did raise my brows: “You could not gather the means to best our resident merchant, then?”

He sneered. Tressa answered for him, proudly proclaiming: “He even asked me for help!”

“Then I congratulate you to your triumph,” I smiled at her.

“Hrm, not only her, needed Alfyn, too,” he huffed.

Alfyn shrugged: “I… just talked to the people, asked them how they are, what they were doing, got them their medicine”

I looked back at our thief, he said: “Yes, he’s like a walking tavern. Whenever he talks, tongues loosen and people tell him more than they want. You’ve seen it. It’s ridiculous”

Admittedly, his social and friendly way with everyone almost equals my scrutinising eye in gathering information. We usually do not travel together, though. Maybe for that reason?

“I think I was more of a distraction? Was I? I still don’t know…” Poor Alfyn rubbed his face. “And they were all a little shady”

“Yeah, you could have told us what this is all about, really! It was interesting, and their wares made a terribly good price, but I still don’t know what you got out of all of this!” Tressa tapped her foot under the table, staring over at Therion.

Said thief only rolled his eyes: “You were on a small black market. Wellspring has a big one, but every town has a little bit of an underground meeting place… and I don’t think you would have come with if I’d told you, Alfyn”

“Mh. I… might not have thought they wat medical advi- … some of these people were in their sixties!” There was a little it of affront in his voice.

“Aaaaaaah… yes, that does explain their lack of challenge and pride in their business. But I did learn a lot! I prefer the real trading business,” she said, optimistic as ever. But-

“Don’t look like that, professor,” Therion huffed, “I know black markets aren’t your thing. But sometimes it can’t be helped”

“I am aware that these dealings hold items of greater value, priceless, even, forever lost to the public they rightfully belong to, so I suppose it sometimes is necessary,” it was regrettable they existed in the first place, “But now, please lift the curtain of suspense. What kind of object has caught your interest enough to involve others, it is quite unlike you”

“… for that, you owe me double, seriously,” a deep frown was etched into his forehead, but he did reach into his robes and produced a bundle of papers, hand-written and tacked together. He put them In the middle of the table, hands still on the stack: “This is all I could find on a short notice. Tressa distracted the traders and Alfyn got me the final hint who got the old storage-items from the bindery you looked at,” after he looked at the apothecary in question, he waved a hand at him, “The dude got his lung problems after the war, but nothing here got destroyed, paper gets dusty, he had to sight everything, It happens” then he returned his eye to me, “… these are the translator notes from the book your search. It still exists somewhere. But that’s a start”

He shoved the paper over, lifting his hand: “There”

I sat and stared, blinking. The text was damn near illegible, but it said atop the first page: ‘Trial of the Twelve VI’. I was almost certain it was the full book, crossed out and rewritten as it sometimes was, both pages were filled with small, scribbling writing detailing the words and trying out different translations. It would take some time. But I would be able to figure it out. I could bring the world the knowledge taken away from them.

Therion cleared his throat. And I looked up: “You owe me”, he said.

I blinked. “Err… alright, I… if you wish to obtain money, I can of course provide-“

“No,” he interrupted, “… that’s not it. I lost, it’s fine. I… need you to explain to me how the scholar class works” He eyed our companions after he said that. Not looking happy.

I only smiled wider: “But of course! Of course I will teach you! It is without a question! I am always glad to spread knowledge to the seeking! That is in no way a problem, I would have done so with the greatest pleasure” And I meant it.

“Well, now there is an incentive to do it well,” he huffed.

I took a breath and frowned: “I’ll have you know that the professor position in Atlasdam comes with a wide varietyof pre-conditions, ne of them is pedagogics, aside from an extensive knowledge in all fields, there is a test to complete, additional to a trial professorship. The trial is rated by several people” I continued my explanation.

After about ten minutes, he stared at me with a somewhat vacant look in his eyes. I… better took my trial a little bit to heart, there.

#Therius #Octopath Traveller #1228 words

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underappreciatedsterek · 6 years

Text

UnderappreciatedSterek 2017 Masterpost

I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I started this blog, or that I’ve managed to rack up a total of 108 recs so far!

Special thanks to @notvirginawoolf for the many recs they sent in over the year, and also to every other person who made a submission. I still have plenty to get around to, so keep an eye out for many more recs to come!

I’ve started the list with some of my personal favourites, with everything under the cut in rec order (sorry in advance for mobile users!) I can guarantee no matter which fic you pick, you’ll find an overlooked gem on the other side.

(I ended up having trouble whenever I exited edit mode when making this post where all the links would disappear. I had to remove some of the author tags to keep them working, but then they disappeared if I used the banner I’d made. So if the links aren’t there when this goes live... I’ll try working on it again T_T If you find any mistakes, please let me know, though I’m honestly loath to touch this again!)

A Bid from Midnight by Zercalo | 5572w | General

Derek’s been holed up in the middle of nowhere for a few months now, so Stiles makes a detour to check up on him. Because Scott is worried. (Scott is not that worried.)

And Pink Shoelaces by LupusScintilla (inkandblade) | 8842w | Mature

It was Derek’s turn. It had to be. He looked at the comm-disc in his hand. Even if he had to debase himself with going to this damned matchmaking service, he was determined to find his mate.

Any Other Name by twobirdsonesong | 979w | General

Stiles just wants to know what he smells like to Derek.

Counting Kisses by carolion | 327w | General

Derek has not kissed anyone in a very long time. But this is the first time he really wants to again.

Dealing with Werewolves by foolish_mortal | 2565w | General

In which Stiles runs away to live with the dragons and meets a werewolf.

In spite of all you knew and said by Azul_Bleu | 2700w | Mature

The road streams behind them, mile upon mile until Stiles can’t say where they even started, and Stiles talks so he won’t have to remember.

Or, Derek and Stiles deal with being the ones left behind. They’re not great at it.

(Set post an imaginary S3, where the Alphas win. Spectacularly.)

i've got someone else in mind by blueinkedbones | 2845w | General

“That’s just a mutual thing we have going on!” Stiles argues. “Like an unspoken arrangement, you know?”

Erica is generally smug at him. Stiles slumps.

“Of love, you’re saying. We have an unspoken arrangement of love, and it’s so unspoken neither of us knows about it.”

Keystone (3-part series) by Chandri / @chandri | 106,961w | Explicit

A world without parents is a lonely, portless world with no safety and no justice - this is a truth Stiles Stilinski learned when he was very young. But at nine years old, at twelve, he couldn’t understand just how true it was; that the powerful, indefinable wrongness that obscured his memories of his mother was more than a child’s sense of unfairness at having his mom taken away.

It’s not until a globetrotting great-aunt blows back into town after a many-years absence that it starts to dawn on him: that his mother’s death was anything but natural; that it was certainly anything but fair.

Reindeer in the (Library) Closet by Rainfallen | 3247w | Teen

Derek just wanted to put the spare network cables away and escape from Erica, not get accosted in the storage closet by a boy wearing the most atrocious Christmas sweater he’s ever seen. On second thought, though, the accosting maybe wasn’t such a bad idea.

The Field by Gimmie | 1625w | General

When he turned back to the field, he zoned in on the sudden appearance of Derek Hale, being led by the hand toward the meadow. He looked hesitant, but the girl was smiling with her head tilted and persuading him, pulling him along. Stiles stopped eating, stopped breathing, and stared as the older boy that he always noticed, as if he had a radar that could detect his presence, was finally led onto the field. The delay was not for lack of trying by the human girls of Beacon Hills High.

the pivot point by subnivean | 461w | General

Don’t be nice to me.

We Pick Ourselves Undone by StilesInTheGlade | 1583w | General

It was a habit, maybe even a compulsion, that Derek noticed in the aftermath of the Nogitsune. Stiles would periodically count off his fingers. One by one, from the thumb of his left hand to the thumb of his right, long fingers ticking as he marked them off, lips silently moving along, one, two, three…

when i look at you (oh, i don't know what's real) by verity | 1304w | Mature

Scott slows his pace during cross-country and falls back from Isaac to join Stiles at the rear of the group. “Hey, have you seen Derek recently?” Scott says, faux-casual like Stiles hasn’t watched him try to lie to their parents since they were five.

“Nope,” Stiles says. “Haven’t seen him in a week.” Unless he counts the Derek he dreams about on the regular, but if Stiles has learned anything from Lydia Martin and his umpteen-year-plan, it’s that the people in your dreams and the people in your reality are never one and the same.

Fuck Me in the Ass Cause I Love Jesus by WriteByNight | 3370w | Mature

Now that Stiles was a college graduate and still living at home, he had decided to help out as the organ player for the duration of the summer. The last organist had unexpectedly kicked the bucket and although there were a few people with more experience than Stiles, no one had the free time that he did so he’d reluctantly accepted the position.

Stiles thought it would put him back in the big guy’s good graces after all the fucking up he’d done as a kid…teen…okay, his entire life.

There wasn’t really another benefit to the arrangement. Stiles didn’t even have a keyboard at home, so he had to come to church every Wednesday and Saturday and practice for the Sunday services. Luckily, some of the more experienced players covered the choir practices for him. Playing and hearing hymns three times a week was more than enough for him.

However, about a week and a half into his time as organist he’d come across another perk. The groundskeeper and maintenance man, Derek Hale.

You’ve got me slippin’ and a slidin’ by ElisAttack / @iamonlydancing | 3683w | General

The snowmobile stutters to a halt on the banks of the river and Derek smiles when he sees a few ravens flying in circles in the distance. The salmon are here.

“Seems like I’m your lucky charm,” Stiles says with a wink.

Or the one where Derek lives in the middle of nowhere, and is probably in love with his delivery boy.

The Truth Behind The Pictures by Boy_On_Strings | 7796w | Explicit

Stiles learns to paint. Derek learns something about Stiles.

Ember by heavy_cream | 2825w | Explicit

Sleepy sunday morning sex.

Never Been Kissed by TheLittlestBoho | 2103w | General

Derek and Stiles touch, but they don’t kiss.

"My Wolf-Man" by write_light | 12,935w | Mature

Forest and castle, wolf and man, a vengeful spirit and true love, so much misfortune and so many masks. And a tray full of desserts. How do happy endings work? Prince Stiles, a human; Derek Hale, a werewolf; Talia & the ghost of Derek’s father; Uncle Peter and Evil Aunt Kate; Stiles’ parents, the king and queen.

The Time John Stilinski Learned To Knock by 42hrb / @exhuastedpigeon | 819w | Mature

John Stilinski comes home from a long shift and just wants to relax, then he hears a noise coming from Stiles’ room. (Prompts: 76. “Please put your penis away.”)

Like Immortality by Idday | 4815w | Teen

Dear Derek,

All these words, and what I’m trying to say is simple.

I want to love you like you deserve to be loved. I want to share your triumphs, your burdens, your full moons and your new. I want you to be as sure of my love as you are the phases of the moon.

I want to love you like the moon loves you.

(I told you that one day I would write you a love letter).

…

OR, Stiles and Derek, in letters, through the years.

carry me to love again by nighimpossible | 3000w | Mature

Stiles picks up Derek on the side of the road. Post 3A.

Thin Mints and Meddling by myhomeboy_stilinski | 5388w | Teen

Stiles would be the first person to admit that living in a small town had its drawbacks, with privacy being non-existent and sneaking around near impossible. But there was something to be said about the solidarity and loyalty that filled a close-knit community. People stood up for one another. They contributed and helped. They loved each other. Truthfully, Stiles pitied those who incited the wrath of someone from Beacon Hills.

To Stiles’ eternal gratitude, he had never prompted said wrath.

That is, until he met Derek Hale.

**** The one where the people of Beacon Hills realize that Derek Hale deserves nice things (in case you missed the tags.)

Whiskey Haze by Piscaria | 3221w | Teen

Stiles blinks drunkenly up at the ceiling, wondering who he knows who’s over 21 and a little bit shady.

Stiles had been dreading this day for years.

Leap of Faith by Batwynn | 710w | General

Derek watches his somewhat-friend become weather worn and tired, and thinks, ‘Why Stiles? Why him?’

Okay Will Get Us Through by clotpolesonly / @clotpolesonly | 41,955w | Mature

It was supposed to be a peaceful fucking protest. Stiles heard the first shot loud and clear, though, and was too boxed in to duck, even as his stomach felt like it fell out of his body entirely. For a second all he could think was “Scott is gonna be so mad, I said it would be fine, I promised,” and then he was falling.

First Born Unicorn by dragon-temeraire / @dragon-temeraire | 1982w | General

Something mysterious has returned to the preserve, but for once it’s not dangerous.

Decision by verushka70 | 17,398w | Explicit

Derek goes out to bars wishing he’d never been born and gives himself to almost anyone who wants to take him home. He wets his face in the sweat that runs down men’s chests and doesn’t shower after. Back home, the scents dare Laura to say something. She never does.

Derek grabs her in a quick hug. “I’m fine,” he murmurs, face tucked into her hair, scenting sister, pack, family, love. They both know it’s not true. But she lets it go.

The Devil You Know by verushka70 | 14,629w | Explicit

“So,” Derek says like it’s utterly obvious. (It’s not, it’s totally not). It’s hard to know how to take someone you can’t really read.

His tongue licks between Stiles’ lips like all of this was never in question. Was it? No, not really, because: Derek.

Gut Feeling by Chubstilinski / @chubstilinski | 29,842w | Explicit

Stiles was maybe, possibly, mildly obsessed with his favorite regular, Deputy Derek Hale. But in his defense, Derek seemed just as obsessed with Stiles. Or at least, Stiles’s baked goods, if his appetite for sweets and increasing waistline were anything to go by.

Comfort Drabble by wildwerewolfweirdness | 100w | General

They didn’t get on, Stiles and Isaac.

Happily Ever After by endoftheline7 | 3080w | Teen

The Sheriff finds out about Derek and Stiles, and doesn’t react well. At all. In fact, he ends up asking for the worst.

Family dinner.

Peter Plays The Long Game by HurrahForSmut | 2314w | Teen

She’d almost forgotten Peter, which is always a mistake.

Unchained Melody (2 part series) by swing set in december | 3825w |

Teen

Haunting requires skill and showmanship. Something werewolves will never understand.

Amber by cobrilee | 1283w | Teen

Derek stood by the bar, ostensibly waiting for the bartender to swing by and take his order, but in reality, he couldn’t care less if the bartender ever noticed him. He just wanted to have a legitimate reason to not have to hang out with his friends.

A Taunting of Ravens to You by keelover | 17,830w | Mature

Stiles, plagued by uncertainty, would like to know whether or not he would be strong enough to survive the bite. Lydia, awake, but not entirely the same after her ordeal, offers him some insight with that tricky moon mirror of hers. And what does Derek think about all of this? The hell if anyone knew.

the wilderness (3-part series) by ceserabeau | 9202w | Explicit

When Stiles pictured Derek’s return to Beacon Hills, he never imagined this: late night in the cereal aisle at the grocery store, Stiles in sweatpants and a shirt long overdue a wash, glancing left from the Captain Crunch and Lucky Charms to find Derek Hale, four feet away, pulling a box of muesli off the shelf.

Lock Me Up by FairydustOnRoses | 3410w | Explicit

Stiles is home for Thanksgiving break. He traveled across the country from Columbia University and is looking forward to spending time with Scott and his dad and stuffing his face on Thursday. He is not looking forward to running into a certain broody werewolf that he may or may not have left in bed after a hookup only hours before he got on the plane to New York back in August.

Swallow by carolion | 469w | Teen

Stiles looks good when he swallows. Derek tells him so.

He’ll bleed you ‘til you’re just bone and skin by ElisAttack | 2236w | Explicit

It’s moments when Stiles feels the dull pull of the bruises on his hips, moments when he can’t sleep on his stomach because the throbbing ache does nothing for a good night’s sleep, it’s those moments that make him feel worthless.

Makes him hate Derek with a passion that burns brighter than anything else he feels.

Or the one where Derek doesn’t know his strength, but Stiles knows he deserves it.

Moon Fever (10-part series) by mytimehaspassed | 30,612w | Mature

Derek moves into Stiles’ old house on a Monday.

Jacket by thatmcbastard (blueb1rd) | 335w | General

Stiles just keeps shivering and looking all vulnerable and pathetic. It’s annoying, alright?

Scream Wolf by grangerinvestigations | 13,966w | Teen

Someone’s taken their love of werewolf movies one step too far.

what in carnation? by haleofStilesheart | 2985w | General

Deliveryman wasn't exactly Derek's dream job but it helped put him through school so he couldn't complain. Especially since it helped him meet the love of his life.

Breathe a Little Easier by Scavenger | 3492w | Teen

Five years ago, he would never have imagined life being this easy, this good.

Take A Breath, Let It Out by northern | 2703w | Teen

Derek can smell the discomfort radiating off of Stiles. What going against his instincts is doing to his sweat and his breath. But as long as Derek can’t smell hesitation, it’s fine. He can deal with Stiles hating himself a little. He can’t deal with having killed Stiles.

We Den Our Hearts Here by LadyLade | 1921w | Teen

Somehow, having a pack of wolf pups has made Derek’s life easier.

Staying by secretagentwolf / @secretagentwolf | 4571w | Teen

Stiles shows up at Derek’s apartment door one day asking to stay. Derek surprises them both by accepting. He does his best to make Stiles feel safe and he doesn’t ask. Eventually, though, Stiles tells him.

This Will Definitely Hurt by write_light | 285w | General

That time when Stiles pulled a back muscle and Derek and the Sheriff had a (thankfully not literal) pissing match about how to take care of him. (est. relationship, Sheriff knows)

Seven Wonders by dadvans / @dadvans | 2988w | General

Stiles sees Beacon Hills through ancient parallels. Derek thinks he’s cursed.

The Amazing Part Is by TroubleIWant / @troubleiwant | 2407w | General

You’re in love with a beautiful boy, and the amazing part is that he loves you back. He’s all dark honey eyes and buttermilk skin, moles down his neck that he lets you kiss and kiss again. He’s all sharp laughter and too wide sweeps of his arms, and it’s been ten months but you’re not thinking about your first anniversary, you’re thinking about forever.

and in your hand a skeleton key by faerielissa | 5474w | Teen

How was it that, of everyone from home, besides his dad of course, he missed Derek the most?

Find Me Sitting Fireside by kaistrex | 13,282w | Teen

With the news that an Alpha wants Beacon Hills for their own, Derek and Stiles are forced to attend a couples retreat at a ski resort to learn their enemy’s identity. However, the threat is the least of Derek’s problems when he’s expected to fake a relationship, share a bed and suffer through candlelit dinners with the man he’s secretly been in love with for the past four years.

At Least Our Theme Song Rocks by Deviousness_Carter | 907w | Teen

After years of being a technician, Stiles finally passes his field exam and gets to save the world. Unfortunately, he gets neither a mask nor a tux.

punitive acts by subnivean | 3881w | Explicit

Two idiots, both alike in indignity, or something, whatever.

Let Me Catch Your Laughter Upon My Tongue by monopolizeme | 1295w

| Teen

Stiles doesn’t laugh.

It’s not something that Derek has ever put much thought into before, because he’s never had a reason to focus on something that’s never been there before. But Stiles doesn’t laugh – he snarks with sly lips and snorts in indignation when he thinks that he’s heard something completely foolish and he huffs out a noise of victory when he succeeds at something but Stiles doesn’t laugh.

Laura Was Right by Sheepnamedpig | 1446w | Explicit

The first and last time Derek and his ghost boyfriend ever have sex in front of a mirror.

(I Will) Remember Your Name by saraubs | 1088w | Mature

Forced onto the sands to pay for his crimes against the Empire (also see: avenging his family), Derek just fights to unleash the anger, not caring if he lives or dies. Well, that is, until he comes face to face with a certain smart-mouthed body slave, and finds there are still some things worth fighting for.

I Know by Nival_Vixen / @nivalvixen | 1050w | Mature

Stiles has lost himself, he’s drowning, and he doesn’t know if he’ll make it back up to the surface.

The - Mistake by kaistrex | 504w | General

Four-year-old Derek mistakes Sheriff Stilinski for his mate.

That's Where It Is by LupusScintilla (inkandblade) | 22,815w | Mature

At twenty-two, the age of a Master-Builder according to the Number Law the Elder Council used, Derek was at the perfect age to break away from his family’s over extended pack and construct his own. As with all Alphas ready to take that step, he needed a Mate: no pack could be led by only one mind.

This Must Be What Going Mad Feels Like by LadyLade | 902w | Teen

Then Derek twitches, sees Scott looking at him, and glares. “What?” he snarls.

Does…does Derek look a little guilty?

Oh Jesus. This is not happening.

Teen Wolf kink meme prompt: Holy shit, Scott thinks, horrified. Because Derek isn’t staring creepily at some unidentified point in the distance. Derek is staring at his best friend’s ass.

Know Thy Worth (2-part series) by Ishtar12 / @mommalosthermind | 15,983w | General

His Dad’s been snatched by a rival pack. His first kiss with Derek anchored his magic, sealed him to the pack, and maybe even Derek himself. Stiles has no idea what’s going on in his life right now, and less time to figure it out.

Day 4: On a date by starkology (jawnwatson) | 501w | General

Stiles and Derek try to go on a date.

With You (You'll Find Me) by CigarettesandCider / @kieren-fucking-walker | 1993w | Teen

“I need a fic of Stiles leaving Beacon Hills to find Derek because he can’t deal with that town and it’s people anymore. I want Derek doing some grocery shopping and then Stiles scent hits him hard and he just kinda whimpers and follows it till he finds Stiles there looking at him. I want Derek asking Stiles how did he find him and Stiles just shrugs and says he had a feeling. I want Stiles following Derek to his car when Derek tilts his head motioning to the parking lot because they don’t need words. And then finally when they’re inside Derek’s little apartment (there’s nothing fancy about it but it’s homey and there are pictures of Cora and him on the walls) Stiles finally crumbles and Derek just holds him.”

Meddling Ghosts by haipanda / @haihaipanda | 1837w | General

Stiles would like to remind everyone that he is not crazy and he does not see hallucinations. The fact that no one else can see ghosts is really not his fault and the rest of the world could be a bit more understanding.

Corpse Flower by Spikedluv / @spikedluv | 2253w | Teen

Stiles thinks that having sex with Derek will make him less distracting.

Lightsabers and Leverage by SourwolfSymphony | 581w | Teen

Stiles avoids studying for exams by calling Derek to rant about Star Wars; he doesn’t realize it’s 3am. Derek is worried and displeased.

REASONS I WOULD DATE DEREK HALE by Idday | 7284w | Teen

When Stiles moves back to Beacon Hills after college, he pretty much immediately decides to convince Derek Hale to date him.

Unfortunately for him, it seems as though they’re not on the same page. Like, Derek thinks Stiles hates him (and apparently, so does everybody else). And surprisingly, none of Stiles SUPER ROMANTIC (screw you, Scott) plans to woo Derek seem to be working. Probably because Derek still thinks Stiles is making fun of him. Or something.

But Stiles is nothing if not stubborn. He’s going to win Derek over. No matter what.

His 10 point lists are definitely going to help (no matter what Lydia says).

Get Me With Those Green Eyes, Baby by penlex | 2110w | Teen

Stiles wakes up alone, but that’s okay because he has to go to school anyway. Right. It’s totally fine.

“What’s your problem, Stilinski?” Jackson barked, right when Stiles blurted, “I feel like my life’s soundtrack is made up of Taylor Swift hits.”

Nightcall by oldestcharm / @oldestcharm | 3086w | General

Getting as far away from Beacon Hills as humanly possible is much easier when you have supernatural friends… acquaintances… err, something.

Can't Control Myself by JueJueBahn | 10,940w | Explicit

Stiles is showering innocently but then omg a wild Derek appears and might or might not be intoxicated with weird supernatural stuff.

This Was How Legends Were Made by Delta_Immortal | 108,501w | Explicit

Caught between the Hales and the Argents in their war, Stiles finds himself a slave of the great Hale pack. Stiles spends each day working hard, hoping to earn his freedom and see his sick father. It also seems each day he’s capturing more and more attention from Derek, the young Hale lord. Stiles tells himself it’s mostly because Derek is merely trying to figure out how to send the annoying, useless slave away- not because of affection, despite the tales coming from the rumor mill.

It doesn’t matter what Derek’s intentions are. Stiles can’t bother with love right now. He’s got to keep his head down and survive long enough to keep his promise to Kate Argent. After all, she’s promised to keep his father safe.

Occasionally Domestic (Series) by Little Spoon (JaydenNara) | 36,523~w | Explicit

The day of graduation, Stiles left Beacon Hills behind when he hopped into Derek’s car and never looked back. He’s living in New York with Derek and attending Columbia University on a partial scholarship. Only, no one seems to realize that Derek and Stiles are very much together, and sickeningly happily so, because that had never been on anyone’s radar.

(or – Stiles and Derek, occasionally domestic.)

No Filter by kaistrex | 1213w | Teen

When Derek was hired to photograph some up-and-coming novelist for his book jacket, he was expecting someone stuffy, middle-aged and, well, bookish.

That’s not what he gets. At all.

Beacon Gills by kitsunequeen | 4226w | Teen

When Stiles accompanies Scott on a trip to his uncle’s beach house, he gets more than he bargained for after running into a pack of mermaids with a particularly attractive leader…

Last Word by Sheepnamedpig | 953w | Explicit

Someone is wrong on the internet.

Bravado by orphan_account | 3545w | Explicit

Something good finally happens to Derek Hale.

(Spoiler alert: that something is Stiles.)

Put a spell on me please? by ssleif | 3154w | Explicit

Derek has a dilemma, and figures Stiles, sneaky clever Slytherin that he is, might be able to help. Or: Teenage wizards having an illicit first-time rendezvous while their dorm mates are elsewhere.

Gnashing Teeth and Criminal Tongues (conspire against the odds) by

LadySlytherin | 14,269w | Mature

When Stiles mouths off to the wrong set of witches, he finds himself unable to control his tongue around a certain alpha werewolf. As Stiles struggles with the lesson the witches want him to learn, he knows it’s only a matter of time until the truth comes out. It always does.

Tie [taɪ] by LupusScintilla (inkandblade) | 5164w | Mature

Unable to talk his way out of attending the Wordsmith’s Masquerade, Derek thinks he’ll have to suffer through in silence. Luckily, someone else is there to do the talking for him.

Everything to Destruction by MajorAccent | 559w | Teen

Potentially evil. Potentially good. Just this huge powerful potentiality waiting to be shaped.

Wooden Smiles, Raging Sea by dedougal | 3466w | Mature

Stiles had no idea where the black smoke had come from and he had a feeling he really didn’t want to know.

Make us laugh (or nothing will) by rohkeutta | 31,005w | Teen

When Derek Hale left Beacon Hills at 18 to become a kickboxing champion, he thought he would never return. But here he is, seven years later: trying to salvage something from the ruins of his life, eighteen months after the house fire that killed his parents and left him limping and without a future. Enter Stiles, a college dropout Derek might or might not have been friends with in high school, and the unexpected interest he manifests towards the love of Derek’s life.

The Theory of No Control by howl-to-the-wind (greenleaf) | 27,989w |

Mature

“–kick your scrawny butt all over the Muertes Archipelago, Bilinski! Get out of there or I will feed you to a Stegosaurus!”

“First of all, having me come out from here and then tossing me to the dinos kinda defeats the purpose of it all, since I already am in a dinosaur cage. Second, Stegosauruses are herbivores, which means they will definitely pass on biting my rear end. And third, my butt is not scrawny, though I didn’t know you were even looking, Coach. I’m flattered.”

“BILINSKI!!”

Derek groaned. “Oh no.”

“Oh, yes.” Scott grinned. He ran off, no doubt excited to watch his reckless best friend and cheer him on. He was such a damn enabler.

trick or treat (say something sweet) by dyobrienz (Muffintine) | 2712w |

General

“And,” Bat Kid sniffles, “a werewolf stole my candy, mommy – a werewolf!”

or: Three Halloweens from Derek’s perspective. Past, Present, Future.

Haleoween by redhoodedwolf | 6952w | Teen

“So what are you looking to get?” he inquired.

“Alright, well, the theme I’m going for is Badass Little Red Riding Hood.”

Derek arched an eyebrow, not judgingly, but curiously. “Interesting. Skirt and all?”

Stiles’ cheeks flushed at the joke. “Pfft, nah, not for this one.” Derek’s face flushed at that.

temporary tattoos make meaningful love tokens by Siriusstuff | 2126w |

General

Trick-or-treating with young Stiles, Scott, Derek and his sisters.

The Best Thing Since Peanuts by phlossie | 2042w | Teen

At this moment in time though, with gyrating attractive people who were not even remotely interested in gyrating in his vicinity also pretending he didn’t exist, Stiles felt that maybe the several month long moratorium should come to an end.

At least that way they could be miserable together.

Spell It Out For Me by chubstilinski | 14,766w | Explicit

But now Stiles was, well. He was fat. Not extremely so, just a little chubby, really, but it was exaggerated, every curve highlighted by the tightness of clothes made for a slender body. His Clark Kent slacks clung to thick thighs and cut into his hips. A substantial belly and small muffin top spilled over the waistband, stretching the buttons on his clean shirt. Derek could see the swell of his chest where the Superman logo peeked out from the undone top buttons, and he felt like he was going crazy. Stiles was gorgeous.

Or, on Halloween, Stiles gets jinxed by a hoodoo practitioner into gaining weight very rapidly. Derek thinks it’s sexy. Stiles thinks Derek is sexy. Shenanigans ensue.

Tricky to Treat by khasael | 2524w | Mature

Stiles loves Halloween. Derek hates it. Luckily, Stiles has a plan.

who nursey says is dead by demonicweirdo | 6357w | Mature

“I’m fine,” Stiles mutters, gritting his teeth through the searing pain. The hand pressed to his neck comes away drenched in blood. “Maybe not. I’m going to die here, in this shitty house, on Halloween.”

Haunted by kitsunequeen | 436w | General

First thing’s first, Derek is a liar.

1) Stiles is absolutely not afraid. 

2) He did not shriek. He may have gasped, like, once.  

3) Clinging to Derek’s arm is in no way an indication of fear. He just really loves his boyfriend, okay? Really really. And his arm is comfortable to hold on to. That is all.

Rescue my cat from me by Hepzheba | 897w | General

Firefighter Derek has to retrieve a cat from a tree. He’d rather ogle the cat’s owner, despite the ridiculous sweater said owner is wearing.

Halloween by MissDizzyD | 903w | Teen

Stiles and Derek spend Halloween night watching horror films and dishing out candy.

Hallowe'en at Hale's! by lunaraindrop | 635w | General

After months of not hearing from Derek, Stiles decides to throw a Halloween Party at Derek’s loft. Could Stiles have ulterior motives besides dressing up and dancing?

Garbage Bag Ghosts by twisting_vine_x | 759w | General

This is literally just Stiles and Derek being dorky boyfriends and decorating for Halloween.

One Of These Days by dedougal | 552w | Teen

Stiles knows he shouldn’t just walk in on Derek. Anyway, Derek should hear him coming.

It Takes Time by kingandmoon | 3585w | Teen

He had no job, his pack had scattered for college, and he paid the delivery guy extra to unload all his food into his kitchen. So really, what was the point?

Take-out Turkey Day by captaintinymite (augopher) | 3071w | Teen

Graduate Student Stiles Stilinski is alone as he studies in New York- well, aside from his only friend in the City. Derek lives in the same apartment building, and circumstances mean they will both be spending Thanksgiving alone. When Derek suggests they spend it together, Stiles jumps on the idea.

The only problem? Neither one of them can cook.

a fable of some sort by thatworldinverted / @thatworldinverted | 5706w | Explicit

Stiles isn’t stupid. He knows something’s wrong with him, something rotten at the core like an apple in a fairytale.

He just doesn’t care. Not as long as he has Derek, as long as he can look up from the knife and the steel table and meet wolf-bright eyes and red-tipped claws.

And I Promise You Kid, I'll Give So Much More Than I Get by nerdyderekhale | 4855 | General

Stiles and Derek have been roommates for years, friends for longer. When Derek decides to bring Christmas spirit to Stiles for a change, unintentional wooing leads to Christmas confessions.

A Modern-Day Christmas Carol by Peasantaries | 2876 | Teen

Derek Hale is an adult: he doesn’t drink beverages with the title ‘Christmas Cookie Latte.’

Catahoula by zjofierose | 6761 | Teen

A late flight, an ESL Uber driver, and a simple mistake are all it takes for Stiles to have his most… memorable… Christmas yet.

New Traditions by baneofawolf (InTheArmsofaThief) | 4576 | General

Stiles fiddled with his phone, absently closing and reopening the same app over and over. He’d been thinking about this day for months. Well, for years, if he was being honest with himself, but the actual plan for this actual day had only started forming a few months ago. He’d been thinking about this ever since he found out where Derek was.

No Objections For Stiles by kaistrex | 2168 | General

While fighting a witch on Christmas Eve, Derek and Stiles end up stuck in a snow globe. Deaton says it should take a few days to wear off, but perhaps there’s another solution…

all I want for Christmas (is you) by BansheeLydia | 647 | Teen

Stiles just wants to get home in time for Christmas.

Lover's Eyes by yodasyoyo / @yodas-yo-yo | 3792 | Teen

Derek has a complicated relationship with Christmas at the best of times, Stiles may be the one person who can make it better. or Five Christmas Days over the years told from Derek’s POV

#eternalsterek #masterposts #2017 masterpost

488 notes · View notes

kylieryanette · 3 years

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SELF LOVE BURIED

So, you've gotten through the beginning years! Buckle up, it gets worse from here. I will be getting into the more severe abuse from here on out, so this is a trigger warning for anyone who may have difficulties reading from here. The next few blogs will discuss years 6ish through my adolescent years and high school, how my self-love got buried under years of being told I was worthless, sexual assault, mental and emotional abuse, among other things.

After we left Wisconsin, my mother once again left Dirk, and we moved to Bloomfield, IA where we lived with my great-grandmother again, and Dirk moved to Omaha, NE, 3.5 hours away. During this time, Dirk started dating a lady named Sandy. My sister and myself went to visit Dirk in Omaha, and we met Sandy and went to Fuddruckers. At this time, I was approximately 8-9 and I was not dealing with Dirk dating another woman, so I called my mother bawling, wanting to go home. Little did I know that Sandy would be a permanent force in my parents marriage (she isn't the villain I made her out to be in my mind).

When my parents got back together, we moved to Glenwood, IA, a bedroom community of Omaha, and my parents were both working in LTL (less than truckload) sales, so they were gone all day, and once again, Dirk was gone on "business trips" all of the time. He was working for Midland Transportation at this time, and brought a couple of shady characters to our home, disguising them as "friends". It wasn't until later that I learned he was involved in a theft scheme with these gentlemen, but alas, he was never caught, only his partners.

There are many shady instances that I remember happening at this time, to include Dirk threatening a backhoe operator, who conveniently passed away less than one week later from "heart issues". I was 12 years old when this occurred, and I had the forethought at that age to walk away from the situation. When Dirk asked me later why I had walked away, I simply stated "because I didn't want to testify against you". Please tell me what 12 year old thinks that way, or has had to make that decision, well this 12 year old, as I knew he had a body count at this point, he used to brag about how no one would ever find the bodies. Something he has recently said about my mother and myself, which has caused us to get security cameras installed around our home. During this time, I also started experiencing disturbing and severe health issues, which were dismissed by Dirk and doctors for over 25 years, but I remained active and high achieving, as to not deal with the abuse at home if I did not perform at peak level at all times.

I remember one time sitting at the coffee table eating cereal from a pottery bowl. Dirk was going through my backpack (one of the rare times he actually gave a shit about what I was doing). I had gotten a B on a math test (I struggle with math), not the class itself, just a test. He proceeded to walk over to me, grab my bowl, and throw it against the wall, sending pottery fragments and cereal flying all over the living room. It was at this moment that I realized the only way I was going to make him happy was to be perfect, absolutely perfect, no mistakes, ever. You can imagine what that did to my 12 year old psyche. He would call me "half-assed Kylie" if things weren't done to his standard, which was unobtainable most of the time.

During this time, my parents fought incessantly. I would hear them at all hours of the night, Dirk telling my mother that he hated her, didn't love her and that he wouldn't have to have affairs if she were a better wife, even though she literally drove herself to the brink of insanity trying to make him happy. She was focused on us, her career and her weight, as Dirk covetted good looks and a slim, beautiful figure, anything short of that was embarrassing for him. This caused a lot of issues with not only my mother, but me and my baby sister as well. Both Kaitie and I had an unhealthy relationship with food; her, not wanting to eat and making sure she stayed slim, me, yo-yo dieting and making myself sick to keep that ideal. One of those instances where parents don't directly instill these ideals in their children, but through watching and listening, we learned. We also learned about alcoholism, extensively, during this time. large

I watched Dirk drink himself into oblivion every single night that he was home. He couldn't have a meal, including breakfast, without a drink. Johnny Walker Red and water was his drink of choice, although I knew how to make a mean screwdriver by the age of 10. If it wasn't hard liquor, it was Bud Light. If Dirk wasn't drinking, I was wondering what was wrong. He once got to drunk that he decided it would be a great idea to take my sister and I on a ride in our Porsche on the icy country roads, after having an argument with my mother, resulting in us losing control and spinning on the ice, something that gravely scared my mother as well as us. Scaring people was something he absolutely loved doing, and would talk about his intimidation tactics and whom he had used them on frequently, violence and intimidation were standard ways of dealing with issues. During this time I dealt with issues of self worth at school as well, trying to fit in and not really knowing where to turn.

My friends at this time consisted of a mixture of personalities. Most of the kids had their groups that they had since elementary school, but I had gone to 5 different elementaries, so I didn't have that core group of friends. I threw myself into basketball and school, trying to be the best at everything I did, not the best I could be, but the absolute best, because anything short of that, in my mind, was unacceptable. The basketball court was my happy place, and I spent every free minute I had at one of the basketball courts in town, playing pick-up games or one-on-one with my mother, which was always a tough game as she is an extremely talented ball player. I dealt with a lot of rumors and nasty comments as my mother was my coach and comments such as "you only start because your mom is the coach" were thrown at me almost daily. Comments like these stuck with me, making me work that much harder. I was constantly trying to outdo myself and my peers, just to feel some sense of worthiness.

Social functions were a huge source of anxiety for me, as I was constantly second guessing the words that came out of my mouth. Something I still deal with daily, at the grocery store, church, wherever really. One school function will never leave my memory, unfortunately. I was at the Corn Festival dance in Glenwood with a bunch of my friends, and their parents who were chaperoning. Dirk had gone out with some of his friends and decided to come crash the kids dance. He came into the church, found me in the middle of the dance floor, and just starting screaming nonsense at me, in front of everyone, drunk, I was mortified. My friends mom jumped into action, shooing me away into the girls bathroom until they had successfully gotten him out of the building, to say I was embarrassed is an understatement. This wasn't the worst thing to happen in middle school though, that would come where I least expected it, and with zero support.

When we lived in Glenwood, a family with 3 young kids moved in across the street. The father befriended Dirk, and we all became family friends. I would babysit for them a lot when they would go out together, this was a very normal thing until one night. The mom was out of town, the oldest daughter at her father's house, and the dad out with his friends at the bars. I went to bed in the oldest daughters bed, waiting to fall asleep. Around 1 am, the dad came stumbling in, drunk as a skunk. He then proceeded to come into the room I was sleeping in, and crawl into bed. I told him that he was in the wrong room, he proceeded to say "I know", and continued to lay there. I was paralyzed, what was I supposed to do? I had been raised to be a people pleaser, how was I going to gracefully get out of this situation? He then proceeded to try to touch me, I finally came to my senses and jumped up and ran home. I cried all night long, waiting for Dirk to wake up so I could tell him. The time came, he woke up and I told him. He told me "He was just drunk and probably thought you were his wife." I was dumbfounded, his wife?! are you serious?! This bedroom was on the other side of the house! I felt worthless, dirty, and that my body didn't matter. This is not a lesson a little impressionable girl should learn. I learned more about sex, unhealthy sex, in the next few years than any young person should.

Ok, I promise I will get to the lighter, easier things, but the only way to get to that point, is to get through the hard stuff. Stick with me! You don't get to appreciate the beautiful light without trudging through the darkness :)

#self healing #trauma #mental health #growth #living with cptsd #bpd

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undiscovereduniverse · 6 years

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I don’t have any hopes for this fic ever getting finished. I do have headcanons about Silver’s past that I want to share, which is why I’m spoiling them here.

First of all: I believe that canonically Silver has been through the worst shit you can possibly imagine, but I didn’t want to go with “shock value” in my own story for him, so with this fic I’ve mostly tried to figure out why he is who he is.

John Silver is born on 31 July 1688 as Nicolaas Maria Exalto d’Almaras, in a small town in the Dutch Republic.

His father, Alvaro, is a merchant from Spain. His mother, Katlijne, is Dutch. Silver has two older siblings: a brother, Martinus, and a sister, Johanna. Martinus dies when Silver is still very young - Silver doesn’t have any memories of him. In Martinus’ place, Silver is now the one who will inherit his father’s business.

Silver’s sister is mentally impaired. Silver adores her. He thinks he is a fucking genius until he meets other kids.

His early youth is pretty quiet. The family is not rich, but not poor either. They are deeply religious: they pray before all their meals, they go to church twice on Sundays. Silver’s mother often visits the nuns at the convent just outside town.

Silver is a quiet kid in school. He can lose himself in his own imaginations for hours on end. The other kids tease him with his name, Nicolaas, and he starts to hate it. He isn’t exactly bullied but he doesn’t belong with anyone either. He is invisible. But he has one close friend: Solomon Little.

It turns out that Silver’s father is into some shady, foul business. He has angered some important people and as a result of that he and his family have to flee the country.

They move to England. Silver’s mother becomes depressed because she misses her old life. Silver tries to take care of her, cheer her up, but it’s no use.

(a little headcanon for my own fic: Silver’s mother was in love with one of the nuns at the convent).

Silver tries to keep in touch with Solomon. After a year of sending letters, Silver receives one letter in reply. It’s short, and filled with lousy excuses for why Solomon didn’t write to him sooner. Silver answers, and sends some more letters after that, but no other reply comes. Silver stops writing.

Silver’s father prepares Silver to take over his business. He teaches Silver all his tricks, how to manipulate people, how to talk to them and get what you want from them.

Silver admires his father, thinks his father is smart. He wants to do well and impress him, make him proud of his son.

Silver’s mother tries to kill herself, multiple times. One day she succeeds. She is buried outside the church’s cemetery, in unconsecrated ground. Silver can’t bring himself to believe in a God who has witnessed his mother’s struggles and decided that she must be punished for them. Silver used to feel scared whenever he entered a church: like he was being watched and judged. Now, he doesn’t feel anything. The rituals, the decorations - they all seem empty to him.

Silver’s father descends into drinking, and Silver finallly sees him for who he truly is: a weak little man, unable to deal with his problems, always running away when things get hard.

Silver is now the one who mostly takes care of the family: who provides a meager income, who looks after his sister.

Silver’s sister is at the age when she should find a husband. There is a man who wants to marry her - he knows how she is, but he promises to take care of her. Silver thinks it will be good to do this - his sister will be taken care of (he loves her, but she isn’t easy to deal with), and the man is from a good family: Silver’s sister marrying into that family would be a way to restore their own family name after everything Silver’s father has done to destroy it.

Silver’s sister marries the man and comes to live with him.

She withers like a flower. Silver starts to doubt the man’s good intentions, but it is too late.

One day, Silver’s sister goes missing. After five days, her body washes up on the river banks. Drowned. Silver will never know if it was an accident, if she jumped into the water herself, or if her husband had anything to do with it.

Silver desperately tries to make money, but his name is tainted by his father’s actions and his mother’s suicide.

So he chooses another name for himself: John Silver. He chooses his first name after his sister’s name - Johanna. He chooses his last name after his mother’s maiden name: Zilver.

Silver does well for himself. He takes on all kinds of jobs, never stays in one place for long, never gets attached to anything or anyone. He sends money to his father, and visits him regularly, but there is no love between them.

During one of his jobs, Silver meets a woman who he connects with. She becomes something like a mother to him, perhaps more than his own mother was able to be. She helps him improve his English. He trusts her. That is, until he finds out that she has opened accounts with people in town under Silver’s name but never payed for anything. She is gone before he can confront her, and Silver is now in debt with dozens of people.

The funny thing is, Silver tried to be good. He tried to be decent, unlike his father, and yet he has somehow ended up exactly like him: broke and despised.

Silver speaks Dutch, and English, and some Spanish: he could go anywhere in the world if he wished. He decides to be selfish and leave his father be. There is nothing lost between them anyway.

Silver joins a merchant ship to the Bahamas and never looks back. He feels light, and hopeful that he will be able to start anew in a different place. Just like his father when he brought them to England.

Some final thoughts:

Silver’s sister being simple was inspired by Silver’s dealings with Randall.

Silver’s sister drowned - Silver had to watch Muldoon drown.

Silver’s mother tried to kill herself multiple times - Flint is self-destructive but Silver stops him from dying multiple times.

I wanted to write a story in which Silver’s father plays a significant role. Somehow I’m always thinking about his relationship with his mother, which is exactly why I wanted to try and write something different.

Silver’s story is a patchwork of truth and fiction. Most parts of his story have really happened, to me, to my ancestors, to people I’ve never known.

#john silver #sjuul writes fic #headcanon #headcanons #i dont believe that any of this comes close to canon but it is a story

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seven-dragons · 7 years

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Quick thoughts on 5.8 (RIP Ned)

I had only called these quick thoughts because while on vacation I didn't have a lot of time to do a write up. Now that I am no longer in Hawaii I can spend as much time Blakeing that I want. Good thing I am no longer in Hawaii. *brakes down sobbing*

Despite everything that happened I don't feel like this ep was the tour du force that previous season finales were. But after the amazing 4.8 that bar may be set impossibly high. And also maybe because being on Tumblr and following every last bit of press and social media and obsessing about everything, the things that intended to surprise didn't. But it was still a good ep.

Speaking of surprises that weren't, dear Ned. Knowing didn't make it any easier. As soon as I saw him with a girlfriend I knew he was doomed. Above all I feel sorry for the actor. "Hey I finally get a bigger role yay oh wait." I had hoped Ned would be one of those minor characters that we got to see more of. Not this way.

Munro still a hypocritical prick to the end. He is in disgrace for corruption which we know is more than an isolated incident and happens in at least two stations. He is on shady business not fully made clear in this ep but related to corruption, and he still finds the gall to lecture Blake on the rules. I don't understand why he jumped in front of Blake. I can't lie though, I won't miss him. Kudos to the writers for keeping that huge event such a secret. I only regret he didn't get to have one last profiterole.

What is Patrick's deal with Jean? Does he have a thing for her? He finally shows himself to have a conscience but also again a moral coward. I never believed his hands were tied. I am glad he finally did the right thing in the end. Almost the right thing. Paying Edward to leave is just foisting the problem on someone else.

Why is Munro not the obvious suspect? Lawson makes out like this is Blake being petty and given the evidence it really wasn't.

Someone finally acknowledged the town's unusually high murder rate! I feel like that was a wink to the fans.

I am glad the Ballarat police have finally discovered radio communications so they don't need to drive everywhere to deliver a message anymore.

The Norm/Munro fake-out over several episodes was beautifully played. I didn't totally buy Norm as the avenging bad guy who killed everyone but his penchant for revenge is well documented. But at some point someone needed to have said to his face that his daughter was a murderer. She went to jail for a reason.

Oh my beautiful Jean. The scenes in church and at the grave broke my heart. I swear they are reading the fanfiction. But I am so glad Jean is finally ready to embrace a new life.

Jean yelling at Norm and jumping in front of Blake - OMG I have missed this Jean!! This woman is fearless!

What the heck happened to Malice? We didn't make this up, it was in an official press release.

I can feel Rose and Charlie breaking apart. I don't mind. At least Charlie finally got some and Rose learned a little humanity.

Christmas dinner. Hobart with them! I thought he hated Blake. All of them together made me so happy. Jean calling them "you lot" at the end. SHE HAS ADOPTED THEM ALL.

Lastly - Blake and Jean have a wedding date? Do they have a divorce???? BLAKE SNORES. I could die. This whole scene made me so happy.

#the doctor blake mysteries #tdbm

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happy-hiking · 6 years

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The Whitney Experience

Whitney Portal- June 12, 2018

On June 12, we set out from our hotel in Palmdale, CA, passing through our first taste of the agricultural belt that passes through California. I have watched a documentary on the shady dealings that go along with the water rights in this area. It is always fascinating to see in real life, a place you have only heard or read about. We crossed through Mojave and swung around to the East to approach the Sierra Nevada.

While stopping to pick up our permits at the Eastern Sierra Ranger Station, we caught our first glimpses of Mt. Whitney, popping up beside several sharp spires, a few layers back into the Sierra Nevada. The length of the long walk ahead of us became immediately apparent. Inside the visitor center, the Ranger solidified what we had been expecting- news that the switchbacks are still unusable and that the best route to the summit is still currently climbing the chute. Oh, well. Time and nature weren’t quite on our side this time. We make the best of it anyway.

After leaving the Ranger station, we made our way into the small gateway town of Lone Pine. Expecting it to be like most other little gateway towns (overpriced as hell), I was pleasantly surprised when we stopped in at a few shops to pick up some last minute items. Not only were prices fair, the shop owners all willingly help each other out throughout town- if you go into a store looking for something they don’t have, they will provide you with suggestions of other businesses in town to check out that will likely have what we need. One shop worker even leveled with us when we asked if there would be any cheaper options to buy elsewhere for a backpacking stove top. You cannot travel with used stove tops on an airplane, and seeing as how we already have several at home, we wanted the cheapest option available while still being conducive to carrying up a big ass mountain. We were sent to another store down the road, where he assured us we would likely find something cheaper (we did!).

Once we picked up the last of what we needed in town, we kissed our cell phone service goodbye and began winding through the Alabama Hills, on our way up the infamous Whitney Portal Road. I tell you, the early days of bringing public lands to the masses led to some insanely ingenuous road building. The Whitney portal road switchbacks precariously up into a canyon, bringing us and our huge rental SUV 4,000 vertical feet closer to the summit of Mt. Whitney. The road ends in a gorgeous little bowl of civilization nestled up in the mountains, complete with summer cabins, a campground, a store with burgers and beer, and various wondrous water works in the form of ponds, rivers, and waterfalls.

After navigating ridiculously narrow campground roads, we pulled into our home site for the evening, sandwiched between lots of other campsites occupied by a variety of people- hikers, like us, camping to acclimatize before heading up the trail, families looking to spend a week in the trees, retired couples running their generator in their big ole motorhomes, and everything in between. It was certainly strange to see people enjoying campfires. This has been a dry year in the southwest, and fire restrictions have been in place for months where we come from.

We decided that it would be infinitely easier to take advantage of our huge SUV and “camp” by just sleeping in the back. That would allow us to pack our backpacks today with everything needed for an early start tomorrow. While initially bummed that we had to be upgraded to this huge beast (gas money), it turned out to be a comfy home-chariot on wheels. We laid both the middle and back row of seats down, leaving us a huge, comfy sleeping platform that accommodated Kevin’s 6’5” tallness! After testing out our cozy digs, we tied up our hiking shoes and left for some Whitney Portal adventuring.

We set out from our campsite and took the trail passing by towards the Whitney Portal Pond. This hilly trail took us through some gorgeous wooded areas, following the raging river and crossing it several times with small footbridges. The trail lead us to a gorgeous pond, reminiscent of a reflecting pool, nearby the Whitney Portal store. Deer were grazing in the picnic area, people were discussing the trail conditions in the store, and all was right in the world. I was reminded in this moment of a song I once heard at a street fair in Farmington, MI. The Reflecting Pool- Steve Schriemer

While wandering through the picnic area, we came across a HUGE waterfall. Being unsatisfied with the view from the bottom, we began climbing up steep, crumbly surfaces ranging from granite to dirt to moss. Upon climbing a couple hundred vertical feet, we saw that we were still nowhere near the top of these falls. We enjoyed the cool spray from the water cascading over smooth granite. How refreshing, invigorating.

We spent the rest of our evening preparing dinner, packing our backpacks, and stuffing everything into the provided bear lockers to prevent bears from eating us or our stuff. Not only do bears just steal from campsites, they have really upped their theft skills and also enjoy breaking into cars (which apparently happens quite often!) After readying everything for our hike the next morning, we went to bed pretty early, although I can’t say that the butterflies weren’t keeping me up for a while. This hike has had months of planning going into it, from gear purchases to airline tickets to permits. A lot has gone into this. No pressure, or anything.

Setting Forth- June 13, 2018

5am. The alarm is ringing relentlessly at us. Kevin rummages around, finds the phone, and turns it off. I laid in my very cozy bed (okay, is an inflatable sleeping pad in the back of an SUV a bed? I think so) for about 5 minutes before forcing myself to emerge from my sleeping bag. That is pretty good time for me. Knowing we already had our bags packed and didn’t have much in the way of prep for the morning helped.

We planned for a nice, early start to avoid hiking up sunny switchbacks in the heat of midday. By 6am, we had stashed all of our scented items not going on the trip with us in bear lockers in the hiker’s parking lot. Bears really have a hankering for our deodorant and cheese sticks, apparently. We threw everything we could into our styrofoam cooler and our 10 cent walmart bags (Oh California, and your ways… why does no one warn you to bring your own bags to Walmart!?), labeled them with our name and return date, and then set off for the trailhead, which has a literal wooden portal that you walk through to begin your trek.

Before setting off, we stopped for the obligatory picture, and of course, to weigh our backpacks. I have always wanted to use one of those hanging scales to see how heavy my pack is. I usually suffice for weighing myself on my scale at home, and then weighing myself wearing my bag (but...math). Coming in at about 32.5 lbs, I was pretty pleased. It was about 6am and the sun was already coming up. Here we go!

The trail begins with some gradual switchbacks, seemingly leading us in the exact opposite direction of Mt. Whitney. Switchbacks have a way of throwing you off a little bit- they can be kind of mind numbing, while at the same time, making life easier for you at the expense of a little extra distance. After about a mile, we were treated to a gorgeous river crossing before passing into the John Muir wilderness.

I always wondered what the Sierras would look like in real life. Is it possible that they are really as beautiful as they look in pictures? Can these mind-bending alpine lakes, sheer cliffs, and towering trees really be all that I expected? As I marched on into John Muir’s personal church, a cathedral of pines, I considered the scenery around me. It really IS beautiful… but have all my travels turned me into someone who is no longer surprised by anything? In that moment, I longed for the days when I lived in Cortez, and stared awe-struck each day into the beautiful mesas of Southwest Colorado, constantly asking myself if any of what I was seeing could possibly be *real*. I’ve seen a lot of very real beauty, and while these places do not become less beautiful, that fleeting feeling of sheer amazement, that sense of being tiny in a grandiose world, comes to me less than it used to. As my mind wandered, I looked up to the sheer cliffs on either side, thinking of how they remind me of Zion, but gray.

Before long, we are hiding in the shade of a pine tree from the heat. I checked the GPS on my phone, and we were nearing Lone Pine Lake already!! This hike, thus far, has been less steep than I had spent months imagining it would be. The picture below shows the route we had hiked up until this point..

Leaving the trail to meander downhill towards the lake, my inspiration was renewed with an absolutely gorgeous view. There on the shores of this pristine, glasslike alpine lake, there were six teenagers scheming about what to do, while their proud dad-like person watched quietly from the side. All six of them wound around the shore of the lake to a huge boulder jetting out into the water. The fact that they were crazy enough to jump into an alpine lake at 8 in the morning invigorated my senses. Listening to them scream and cuss as soon as they hit the frigid water was quite entertaining! Kevin asked the older man if he planned to jump in. He said, with a twinge of nostalgia in his voice, “I’ve done it before, but not this time.” He continued to watch his kids (and maybe their friends, I don’t know), laughing on the shore, with a look that said more than words. Sharing nature with your loved ones can be so powerful.

After walking (uphill) back to the trail from Lone Pine Lake, we encountered some water on the trail. One section had lovely log bridges that allowed us to cross a swampy area without being (at least) ankle deep in water. Following that section, the trail passes through a gorgeous, life-filled meadow with a stream running through it. The stream, swelling with snowmelt from high up in the Sierras, could not be contained to its river banks and completely flooded the trail. There was a tiny scrap of hope of keeping my shoes dry by rock hopping, but soon the rocks became so small and far between that I just succumbed to the fact that my feet were going to be soaked.

I didn’t pull my phone out to take pictures of the flooded trail, but here is a picture below of the trail when it is not flooded (courtesy of californiathroughmylens.com)

We slogged through the flooded trail, knowing we only had about a mile until Outpost Camp. For my own personal mentality, I need to know the next landmark on the trail and how far it is until that point. Before long, we passed the sign signifying the boundary of the “Whitney Zone” (ooh, ahh, fancy!). Beyond this point, you need a permit to be there. We felt pretty legit with our pretty pink tags on our bag. Kevin commented on how fabulous it was that we were not inundated with crowds of people on the trail- the permitting system, although a pain, actually did a pretty job of ensuring that this wilderness trail actually *felt* like a wilderness trail, and not a bad-crowd day at Zion. (Can you tell I’m not fond of crowds?)

After switchbacking a couple more times, we came into Outpost Camp- a big, open, rocky area with a massive waterfall to the side, featuring campsites with fun, rocky walls built up around them. It also featured a few more water crossings, which for a person who is challenged with maintaining proper balance, was of course, super fun. I stepped off a rock and directly into the river at one point, filling my shoe completely with icy, fresh, water that was probably snow the day before. Luckily, that meant I had an excuse to stop and relax at Mirror Lake, just another half-mile up the trail. :-)

Here, you can see the big waterfall on the edge of Outpost Camp. I read some stories from last year’s hikers about a missing hiker who fell to her death on a chute, which apparently was right near this waterfall.

After climbing up some serious incline, we rounded the corner to the welcoming sight of Mirror Lake. This lake, quiet and serene, was teeming with fish (which just doesn’t make sense in the middle of the mountains.. .later found out the lakes are stocked...by USFS I’m assuming?). My shoes were still squishy with water, so we crossed a log to the far side of the lake where a huge boulder laid on the shore. Suddenly feeling incredibly relaxed, I kicked off my shoes, ate some moon cheese (Moon Cheese is life, you guys.), and promptly fell asleep on the boulder. I slept for almost an hour. I wasn’t even that tired, but just so incredibly relaxed that I couldn’t help myself. The warm sun felt incredible, there was no one else around, my heavy pack was off my shoulders, and everything was just quiet and scenic.

-My resting place-

Next, onward...above treeline, to Trail Camp!

After a while of picking our way across the rocks, we came to Consultation Lake on our left. This large lake was still mostly frozen over. I read that some people camp at Consultation Lake, as it is less crowded than Trail Camp, and only about a half mile away, however, I saw no one camping there, and no real campsites jumped out at me. I also had a little bit of tunnel vision at that point- I knew we were close to Trail Camp and I just wanted to get there already!!

About another half mile up the trail, we were finally greeted by a blank, beat up sign that I am assuming said “Trail Camp” at some point. 12,000 ft elevation, here it was. I imagined this place many, many times. It would be my first time camping above 12k feet, and my first time camping above treeline (although we did make it pretty close on Memorial Day, camping at 11,700 ft but below treeline). Lots of campsites were scattered about, delineated by little rock-walls constructed by campers past. We scooted into a campsite as a group was packing up their last items and leaving it. It wasn’t too far off trail, was close enough to the Trail Camp Pond without being too close, and gave us a tiny bit of wind protection Now, down to the business of setting up camp.

Since you can’t stake down a tent on solid rock, we found little boulders to stick inside our tent in the four corners to hold it down. I made sure all my snacks and such were stashed in the bear bin, and hid the bear bin among the rocky walls. No bears to worry about here, but marmots and chipmunks were running amuck like kids at recess. I hear they have absolutely no problem chewing holes right through your backpack or your tent to get to the goods.

Now, down to the important business of finding somewhere to pee when there are no trees to hide behind, and a bunch of random dudes lounging around. I climbed up some rocks to discover some really cool campsites perched up in the boulders, overlooking where we had set up our tent. Can you see our abode in the picture below!? I climbed up over another ridge and found a quiet spot to go pee. Luckily, I didn’t need my WAG bag (SWAG bag if you’re Kevin). Yes, you actually have to poop in a bag and carry it around with you when you’re up here. Good thing, too, because, I don’t know… camping among a bunch of piles of poop doesn’t sound so awesome. It’s not like there’s somewhere to bury it up here. I even accidentally came across some gross person’s poop spot. They just left it there. Sitting on the rock. Toilet paper and everything. PLEASE. I bet you didn’t think the conversation would steer towards poop. Sorry.

After returning from my bathroom search, I laid around on the rocks a little bit. I probably ate more Moon Cheese. I don’t know. After a little bit, I headed down to the shore of Trail Camp “pond” which is a really lame-sounding name. Ponds are gross. This body of water was gorgeous, and clear, and cold. I tried to soak my ankle in the water, as it had been hurting me and swelling a little bit since Memorial Day. The water was way too cold, though, and I only made it about 30 seconds of soaking in the water. I grabbed my filter and filtered a liter of water, sitting by the shore drinking it, watching marmots, and staring Mt. Whitney in the face. After a while, two men came over to filter some water for their journey down. They had summited that morning. I spent a while chatting with them about their hike (it was sketchy), and about their lives in general. They were from Indiana. It was the second time summiting for the one man. His friend hung at Camp while the other made the treacherous climb up the chute to the summit. The guy who summited was super awesome in that he had had a serious bike accident and several surgeries just a year ago. And then he summited the tallest mountain in the lower 48 despite that. Badass.

Later in the afternoon, Kevin and I saw a group of guys coming down the trail who were all wearing Detroit Tigers hats. I called out to them, asking if they were from Michigan. Sometimes, I talk to people a little bit. I only did it because after spending so much time reading about this hike, visiting the trail report pages and scouring Facebook group, I gathered that a big part of this hike is the social aspect. People up here on this hike look out for each other, adopt trail friends to hike with, and then, in a fleeting moment, leave them at the trailhead, never to talk to again. Or, you exchange numbers and become real friends.

The social aspect of hiking is something I’ve always felt very conflicted about. I don’t seek out conversation with those I don’t know very often (almost never), and I often tell myself that going out into nature is my way of getting a break from humanity. Yet, in all the obsessive reading/instagram stalking that I do, many people who hike, particularly thru hikers who are on multi-thousand-mile journeys, share how the camaraderie, friendship, and social aspect of the trail is what they cherish the most. So, knowing this, and knowing I should work on not being an antisocial weirdo, I decided to just go for it and talk to people! That I don’t know!!

It turns out that the group was from Michigan, and it also turns out that one man in their group just HAD to summit, and split from the entire rest of his group to pursue the highest point in the lower 48 without them. The rest of the group had turned around halfway up the chute, and were wondering if, since we were kind folk from Michigan as well, would be able to keep an eye out for their friend, a bearded, tall dude wearing a Detroit Tigers hat, on his descent. He had left his water bottle and filter with them, and they wanted us to return it to him whenever he passed through.

While we were happy to stop and have conversation, that request freaked me out. I was now obsessively watching the mountain to see if he was okay and coming down. After a while, I saw a group of four slowly descending the chute in the passing afternoon, the snow getting softer and slushier by the minute. Kevin and I discussed what we should do if this tall bearded John guy never showed. No cell service. Do we find someone with satellite phone or locator-beacon and call search and rescue? Do we look for him? It had been an hour since his friends passed through. Why would they leave him? But also, is it really their fault if John didn’t want to stay with the group? The first of the four descending the chute started a glissade. They were going super fast. They glissaded down, down, down, past a ridge in front of us that blocked our view.

“Okay..” we decided, “.we will give them 10 minutes to pop out from behind that ridge before we assume his self arrest did not go so well.” About 20 minutes of panic passed Then, the person FINALLY popped out from behind that ridge! “That’s John for sure,” I declared, but I really had no idea. (Guess what? It totally was John.) About 20-30 minutes later, as he approached our camp, the sun lined up so perfectly against the mountain, I had to snap a picture.

When he got close enough, I called out to him, saying “Hey, are you John from Michigan?” Looking thoroughly creeped out, he hesitantly admitted, that yes, he was. Kevin and I explained the situation, gave him his water bottle, and proceeded to have a pretty fantastic hour-long conversation with him. He had joined a group of three others to finish the summit when his group bailed (See!? People just adopt each other out here.). We chatted until the rest of his adoptive group made their way down to where we waited. They were all day hikers, got to us by 6pm, and still had a good 4-6 hour hike all the way back down to the trailhead. John was super honest and eagerly shared his experiences and photos with us. Great guy.

After they set off for their long and grueling hike all the way down to the Portal, Kevin and I cooked and retired early. I spent a bit more time staring Whitney down, and slept with my feet pointing right towards it, much like I did for Blanca Peak on Memorial Day. Maybe it would give me good luck, I thought. Our 2:50am alarm was going to come mighty early. All groups we talked to that day said to shoot for being on the chute by 4am when it is still nice and icy (so we could grip it with our traction devices better) However, most groups used crampons, rather than microspikes, and seemed pretty nervous when we said we were gonna go for it with microspikes. Let’s see how this goes. Butterflies, for sure.

-end of our first day on the mountain-

The Chute- June 14, 2018

The alarm rang bright and early at 2:50am. It only took me five minutes to get up today. I am nervous as hell. We packed our day packs, grabbed our ice axes, microspikes, and helmets. We left all the tent doors open so that if a marmot was feeling adventurous, he could come snuggle in our tent without having to chew a hole through it first.

In case you thought things happen differently at 12,000 ft, it was very dark outside. The moon was nowhere in sight either. It must have been hiding behind one of the many massive peaks surrounding us. We started off on the trail, which had gone from flooded and wet the night before to icy and sketchy in the early morning hours. The trail led us up towards the mystery ridge I talked about yesterday. The intention was to take the trail up the first couple switchbacks, and cross over onto the chute where we had seen people crossing over the day before. Well…things are easier said than done when you’re living by the light strapped to your head. We totally missed the crossover point. I still don’t know how we would have seen it.

We climbed switchback after switchback, wondering what the hell was going on, but unable to see more than ~25 ft in front of us? (I’m really bad at estimation.) We ended up on the switchbacks all the way up until the cables section- which is pretty much what it sounds like- a shelf of trail so sketchy that they installed cables on the exposed side to prevent you from falling down and going boom. The cables are still icy and questionable, a week later (although a group came through a few days ago and used their ice axes to cut a bit of a “path” to pave the way. On our way up to the switchbacks, we passed two people who somehow told us that they summited Whitney at midnight? And were on their way down? Why? Why would you summit in the middle of the night….but I was too nervous to be asking these kinds of questions.

When we realized we totally overshot and that the cables were impassible with our skill level, we backtracked down all of those switchbacks, searching for a good place to cross over to the chute. The switchbacks were incredibly icy in parts- the snow is melting off fast, and the trail is the path of least resistance. Parts of the trail became streams of snowmelt, and before sunrise, in the cold, many of the rocks you would use to stay out of the water are a sheet of ice. Guys, I only fell twice. I only soaked both of my feet and one of my gloves. At 4 in the morning. In the dark. Yeah!

I would say it was probably close to 5 by the time we had found a good crossover spot. The very first light of the day was dying the horizon a dark red-orange. We sat down, strapped on our microspikes, readied our ice axes, and plopped our helmets on. Here we go.

We began by crossing the snowfield where those two tiny people were approaching Trail Camp in the picture from yesterday. Although not as steep as the rest of the chute, it wasn’t a walk through the Great Plains. Along the way, we adopted two partners. They were both from LA, and both donned crampons. One of the guys asked if we were climbers (we had matching helmets). We told him no, and he laughed and said, “Me either”. I guess those helmets are a telltale sign- just like the many, many matching ice axes out on the chute. You could tell who knew what the hell they were doing, and who was out here just tryna figure it all out (like us.)

I really hated all the condescending comments from so many people online before coming, yelling at others about not doing anything to prepare themselves. If you live in California, it might be easy to sign yourself up for an ice axe course at REI, or go out and practice on your own on weekends. I don’t remember the last time I saw snow in Albuquerque, and even after driving 4 hours to Colorado for some practice, we were skunked. The southwest is bone dry this year, and it has been all winter. Oh, well.

As we were approaching the steeper part of the chute, the sun was coming up, opposite of the chute. The dark, burning purple glow on the horizon gave way to reds, then oranges, and then, a wave of sunlight which immediately began softening the snow.

Each step was a process of thrusting your axe into the crunchy snow/ice, kicking your spiky feet into the snow, checking to make sure you had traction, and so on. Over and over. I was able to maintain decent grip on the incline with my microspikes. I consciously tried to not stay directly behind anyone on the chute. The night before we left the portal, word came through of a terrifying accident that had happened that Monday. Someone was climbing the chute without an ice axe, slipped, fell, and began sliding quickly down the steep mountain. In the process, she took out two others below her on the chute, causing horrific injuries to two of the three people. I am talking smashed pelvises, crampon to the face, spinal injuries. Nothing like getting that kind of news the day before heading out for that very same chute. I kept an eye ahead of me, while also, stupidly, keeping an eye out behind me, just so I could panic at the steepness!

Our adopted climbing partners stuck with us, the younger one leading the way for the four of us. I looked over at one point to our other partner, climbing next to me. Suddenly, his crampon detached from his shoe. He didn’t notice at first, and kept kicking his right foot into the snow, wondering why he couldn’t get traction. I called his attention to this, and he got the most panicked look on his face. He positioned himself so that he could very carefully, take a seat on the steep hill to make some adjustments.

As he worked on his crampon, I kept climbing on. He took a while to adjust, and began climbing again. Boom. A few steps later, the crampon came off AGAIN. He again hunkered down on the steep slope to try to remedy this very scary problem. Within a couple minutes, he called it. He was going to descend. It wasn’t worth the risk. He encouraged his climbing partner to continue on and make the summit with Kevin and I, but being a respectable climbing partner of sound mind, declined. They needed to stick together. They summit together or they don’t summit at all. Our adopted climbing partners descended, leaving Kevin and I on the chute. Ahead a ways, about halfway up the chute, there was a large, exposed boulder to the left. Kevin asked if I wanted to try to make my way over to it to take a rest and discuss our plans.

After climbing up to the boulder, traversing the chute over to the left (I did not like that), we perched ourselves on the high side of the boulder. For a moment, I felt pretty anchored in my position. I wasn’t in immediate danger of sliding to an untimely ending. In all honesty, if our climbing partners had pushed on, we likely would have as well. We spent probably 15 minutes on that rock. I knew, in my mind, that I didn’t want to go past that point. After climbing the switchbacks to the cables that morning in the dark, and realizing how really not bad they were, I knew I could come back and make that summit in summer conditions without much of a hitch. I had been nervous about my skills, and just wasn’t 100% sure that I could get myself out of whatever I would end up getting into if we continued. I know Kevin wanted to go on, but I was frozen in fear. At that moment, I decided that I need to spend the remainder of this year working on handing my fears. There have been so many instances in life where fear has dictated my decision making, and in many cases, it has been unwarranted. I allow myself to get worked into a panic, created in my own mind. Ahh, life decision making on a mountain side. Classic.

I really sadly and disappointedly told Kevin I was pretty much done, we went back and forth for about five more minutes, and then decided that today wasn’t our day. We stepped out, onto the chute, out from behind our protective rock, and began the process of descending. It is not easy. The chute was riddled with a mixture of footprints, deep holes from people postholing (sinking into deep snow, sometimes up to your hip), and deep, rutted paths made by people’s butts while glissading. Using these glissade paths for walking or side-stepping down was out of the question. They were still extremely slick with ice. Slowly, deliberately, we picked out footprints in the icy Cliffside, slowly descending. One. Step. At. A. Time.

This was really tiring, as you can imagine (or maybe not, but take my word for it.) Once far enough down the chute that I felt like I wouldn’t 100% die if I couldn’t stop myself, I figured it was time to glissade the rest of the way. I am embarrassed to admit that this was my first time ever. I know, everyone hates those people. But, read above. What could I have done? I found a path where someone had glissaded before me, sat my butt down on the cold ice, picked up my feet, and let gravity do its thang, ice axe in hand, ready to self-arrest when/if needed. I let myself slide for about 10 seconds (or more or less, like I said, I am horrible at estimation. Especially when I am scared shitless). I got going pretty fast, which I did not like (I’m no adrenaline junky). Digging the bottom of my ice axe in as a brake was not stopping me, so I went for it. I wound up all my strength, gripped my ice axe hard, and dug into the snow over my right shoulder, flipping onto my stomach and picking my feet up. It worked! I actually stopped! #proud.

I decided that since I successfully saved myself once, I could maybe do it again. At that time, Kevin was below me. He glissaded, and when he dug in for a self-arrest, his grip was apparently not gorilla-glue level. His axe slid right from his hands, stuck in the snow while he kept going. He came to a stop below by digging his feet into the snow. I slid down to where his axe was and retrieved it. Once I returned it to him, I gave it one more go with glissading. This is where I saw almost everyone glissade yesterday, as I sat at camp obsessively watching every single person’s path. I self-arrested at the bottom to stop myself, and a random passer-by climbing up said it was YouTube worthy. Aw yeah.

A little sad, we traversed the last field of snow before coming back to where we crossed over from the trail. Taking off our crampons and helmets, and stowing our axes away, I felt disappointed in myself, while simultaneously being thankful that I am not so obsessed with a goal that I put myself or others at risk (real risk, not imagined risk.) We wound our way down the last of the switchbacks, and came back into Trail Camp.

I honestly don’t remember if we packed up right away or not. I had so much going on in my mind at the time. We eventually broke camp, filtered a ton of water, and headed down the mountain. My senses were already heightened from my adrenaline-pumping morning, and with the weight of making the summit off of my shoulders, I took the time to pause, observe, take pictures, and be as present as possible for the remainder of our time in the Whitney Zone. Here is where I was able to stop and crouch down a bunch of times to take pictures of the beautiful little flowers sprouting up everywhere. Crouching down repeatedly wearing a 33 pound pack is fun. You should try it.

As we made our way down, I again thought about how my experiences the last few years have shaped me as a person. I used to dream of grandiose places. No joke, I would spend hours scouring Google Earth, combing the surface of our planet, zooming in on places that looked like they might be something other than the flatland forests I grew up in. Years ago, I vividly remember coming across Mono Lake on a random Google Maps exploration. The lake looked abnormal from high up, so I zoomed in, got the name of the lake, looked it up, and went research crazy. Now, I thought about how I would have never imagined that I would be descending the tallest mountain in the lower 48, a mere couple of hours from that insane lake I discovered by chance on a map years ago.

Fast forward from exploring the world through my computer screen. I am now doing it in real life. Not because anyone told me to or anything. But because I made a series of choices that allowed me to do all of this. Additionally, the pure luck of having an incredible partner who wants to do these things with me has changed my entire life for the better. I also cannot leave out the fact that I was privileged enough to be raised in a good family with the ability to go into ridiculous debt to get the degree that allowed me to pursue a teaching career out in the mountains in the first place.

I then think back to the very start of my trip through the portal- worrying that my experiences have been so frequently humbling and frankly, unreal, that I have become somewhat numb to that pure feeling of exhilaration when you see nature in its most incredible forms. While I may not be able to go back to how things were when I came to the mountains for the first time, I think I can make a conscious effort to allow myself to continue to be humbled by nature. There are still so many beautiful places in this world that I have yet to experience. While every work of art/nature may not knock me flat on my ass, or make me feel like a speck of dust in the universe, I learn something about myself in almost every walk with nature. And while I may have failed at my goal this time, perhaps I needed to fail to realize that I still need to let nature humble me. And, while I may have not made that summit, I was able to spend two days in the wilderness, experiencing new and gorgeous forms of life, rock, water. I will take these memories with me everywhere I go, until I come back for another taste, and hopefully, a summit. It won’t be Mt. Whitney that I conquer, but rather myself.

PS- When we were about 1.5 miles from the trailhead, a SAR (Search and Rescue) helicopter flew over us directly towards Mt. Whitney. That helped me solidify and be at peace with my decision to call it (although it turns out it was just some a-hole who activated his personal locator beacon just because wanted a ride to his car from Trail Camp???)

See ya later, Whitney. Through the portal we went again, back to life that’s not in the clouds.

#backpacking #mt whitney #california

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