no-story-ever-ends

[no-story-ever-ends]

Author: Arwen

Fandom: Supernatural

Character(s): Castiel, Sam, Dean, Reader

The boys are sitting at the table in the bunker, their focus on whatever case they are working on. You told them you wanted to help, that it seemed like the type of case that you would be good at, but they refused. After the close call last time, they want you to take some time off before getting back into hunting.

Especially Cas.

You two had grown very fond of each other when he popped into the bunker while you were walking around in nothing but a towel. You didn’t think angels could turn bright red, but Cas disproved it that day.

Ever since he saved you from a group of vamps out on the east coast, the two of you have been seeing each other. You tried to keep it a secret from your best friends the Winchester’s, and managed to for only a month before they figured it out. Sam didn’t stop laughing for ten minutes straight, and Dean turned on the “big brother” role and threatened Cas until he was blue in the face, which only amused the angel.

The Winchester’s quickly grew used to it though, even though Cas was very protective of you. They constantly teased the pair of you about your relationship, but you just brushed it off.

“Hey guys did you look through the town’s news yet?” You lie on the cushioned bench across from the table, in front of the boys. Sam has his hands poised above the keyboard of his laptop, dark circles coloring the skin under his eyes. Dean is standing, his elbow against the wood of the table as he leans over an old book. They aren’t sure what they are hunting yet, only that they are on to something.

You have your phone poised above your face, scrolling through news articles in Holt, Missouri. People are disappearing without a trace, and the most recent one has gone missing three days ago. The news you want to know if the boys have seen yet was the fact that they had found the body of one of the missing people.

“What I don’t understand is the pattern. There is none. A forty-five year old male, and then a nineteen year old female? One of them is a marathon runner, the other a dairy farmer? It doesn’t make any sense,” Sam says, running his hand tiredly across his face. Wrinkles crease in your forehead; you don’t like it when they ignore you.

“Guys!” In the midst of trying to get their attention, your phone slips. It crashes onto your face, and you grunt as it hits a nerve in your nose. You scramble to a sitting position, eyes watering as your nose stings. You are lucky you don’t have a bloody nose.

“Bloody hel-” you start, but your words are cut off by the flurry of wings and then your boyfriend is standing in front of you, concern already etched into his eyes.

“Are you alright?” His head tilts in that adorable fashion you love so much, and his fingers are softly padding your nose as you protest, flinching involuntarily from his touch. His eyes peer into yours, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

“Did you just hit yourself with your phone?” Dean’s voice cut through the moment you and Cas are having. Fits of laughter ensue soon after, and you glance over Cas’s shoulder to see Dean wiping tears from his eyes and Sam staring at you, mouth open in laughter.

“Cas you’re way too protective, dude. She'll fine,” Dean says in between laughter. Cas’s face is a mixture of confusion and hurt, and he shrinks into you, as if you can protect him from the boy’s words.

“Hey!” You yell, wrapping your arms around Cas’s waist and pulling into onto the bench next to you, where you rest your head. “I think it’s cute when he does that.” You press your fingers to his chin, turning his head. “He’s my guardian angel.” You smile at him, heart swelling with love as his eyes light up in excitement. He pressed his lips to yours, and you return the kiss, despite the Winchester’s teasing the both of you with mocks of disgust.

You are happy to see your guardian angel, whether he’s worrying over you or not.

#supernatural #castiel #castiel x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #fluff fic #spn fic #spn #fan fic #writing

[no-story-ever-ends]

Please could someone do a Supernatural one-shot where the reader and Cas are in a relationship and he is very protective of her and always comes when he thinks she might be hurt. and one time she pokes herself in the eye or something stupid, and he comes running (flying, whatever) only for the boys to find it hilarious, so he is upset that they laugh at him, until the reader says its cute. Basically a really fluffy fic? Thanks xx

Our Arwen has offered to write it! She says she'll get to it in the next day or two! If anyone else would like to write a version, you're welcome to submit it as well!

~Dany

#request #spn request #Dany speaking #Anonymous

[no-story-ever-ends]

Not Fade Away

Author: Dany

Fandom: Angel

Characters: Cordelia, Lorne

Warning: Post Season 5 Episode 22.

Cordelia Chase stepped cautiously over the corpses of demons scattered throughout the alleyway. Tears left traces down her numb cheeks, and whatever her internal anguish, none showed in her passive expression. There was nothing more to feel, nothing more to say.

It was beneath the wing of a dragon, his legs crushed by the beast's massive weight, that she found Gunn. His hands dripped with blood, most of which, she knew, was his own. She closed his eyes gently, bowing her head and fighting the return of sobs.

“Why did you come here, Cordelia?” a male voice, familiar, asked from behind her.

“I had to see,” she answered, her voice choking as a sob tore through her, her words opening the gates to her unbridled emotions.

“Oh, sweetie...” Lorne said, find himself more at a loss for words than he ever had been before. “Come here...”

He took her into his arms, let her cry her tears out. “Why...” she began once they subsided, stuttering as she tried to pull herself back together. “Why are you here? You told them you wouldn't...”

He was silent for a moment. “I had a change of heart. I should have been in this with them, a fighter or not.” More silence. “Are they all gone then?”

Cordelia nodded.

“So it's just the two of us,” Lorne said softly.

A sad smile appeared on Cordelia's face. “No, Lorne,” she corrected him. “It's just you. I'm dead, remember? But I had to come. I had to say goodbye.”

His voice broke for the first time when he said, “You can't stay then.” She gave a weak nod. Rain resumed, soaking them through within minutes as they stood motionless, lacking in any desire, any motivation. There was nothing left.

“They did what they had to,” Cordelia said at last. “I'm proud of them. Go down fighting. No more compromises, no more allowing evil to continue. It meant something.” She turned suddenly to Lorne. “You have to make it mean something, Lorne.”

He frowned at her. “Whatever do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Don't run away,” she stated, as though it explained everything. He just looked at her in greater confusion, and she smiled. “Higher powers or no, Lorne, everything we do here matters. But evil....it's always there. Keep fighting, Lorne. In your own way. Our warriors went down in battle. That's not for you. But don't run. Don't hide. Don't slink into the shadows and let everything you have done, everything they gave their lives for, mean nothing.”

“I can't...” he protested. “Not alone.”

Now she laughed. “Cordy, sweetie, are you alright?” he asked, sounding entirely convinced that she was far from alright.

“You won't be alone, Lorne,” she protested. “They're together, you know. Wherever they are. And they'll always be there to give you strength. And I'll keep watching. And whenever you think you can't do it, well...you won't be alone. You have their strength, and my love.”

“Cordelia...”

“Find others, Lorne, others who can fight the good fight in any way they can. Music, art, fighting. Love.”

“Now you're starting to sound like Jasmine,” he interrupted.

She gave him a guilty smile. “But I mean it. You had to live. It's how it had to be. Someone had to get through, to carry on fighting.” Cordy shrugged slightly. “And one day, you'll join them. All together again, the old gang. It's not all that bad.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “What happened to the Cordelia who was in tears minutes ago?”

“She's still here,” Cordelia answered, putting her hand to her heart. “And she always will be. But I gave Angel the vision that set them on this path, Lorne. I knew what would come to be. What had to be. What will be. Trust me.”

He hesitated a long moment, holding her gaze, searching her expression for anything to help him understand, to say this was all a bad dream. They weren't gone. But at last he nodded. She was all he had left. “I trust you.”

With one last, warm smile, she turned away, walking down the alley until her form faded, leaving Lorne alone in the rain, his tears indistinguishable from the water pouring from above. Not alone, he reminded himself. Never alone. They fought in order that everything they were would not fade. And it wouldn't, hand't. They were there, with him, waiting for him. And his path would lead him to them in the end. But he had to fight on, to not fade away.

#ats #angel the series #cordelia chase #lorne #fanfiction

[no-story-ever-ends]

One upon on december

     (requested by hunter-of-mirkwood)

Author: Donna

Fandom: The hobbit

Characters: Adis*, Bard

I was desperately trying to warm up my hands, putting them around my cup of tea. For at least three weeks, a great cold had wrapped Laketown and every day was more freezing than the one before. I missed so much my southern city, I’ve always been very sensitive to the weather, but this cold was something I wasn’t prepared for.

     It’s been six years since I moved here, from the joyful day I united my life to Bard’s. It was the summer then, and I remember the warmth of the sun on my skin. But now, it sounds like a dream, one of those that vanish when you try to remember them. Off course, we had other summers, and the springs in this area are so charming, all the flowers emerging out of the earth. I did enjoy walking along the lake with Bard and our children; Tilda was still too young to walk but Sigrid and Bain were always galloping ahead.But this year was terrible, we only had seen the sun for a few days during summer, and it had disappeared from our sight for long now. The rain had fallen continuously for months, before being replaced by snow. And in the streets of our city, the pure and shining snow was replaced by mud, transforming any move in an endurance trial. Bard was working really hard, thankfully the weather didn’t stop him from transporting furniture on the lake, but with three children at home, the money was always lacking. When the children were sleeping, I worked too, repairing the clothes of the master and sewing new ones. He loved my work; coming from the south, I always used warm colors and shapes he wasn’t used too. I tried to stay alone with him as little as possible, he is not really the kind of man you want to be friends with, except if you want to be stabbed in the back after saying the wrong word.

With this cold, my hands refused to work on any precise piece of clothes, my fingers kept skidding and many times already, the needle pierced my hand instead of the fabric. After a fierce fight against the cloak I was trying to stitch, I finally abandoned my task, my sweet Tilda requiring some attention. Sigrid and Bain were playing close to the fire we had so much pain to maintain, but I refused to let my children in the cold all day and night, I was ready to sell everything I had to spare them from that.

My neighbor arrived one hour before twilight; she agreed to take care of the children for a couple of hours in exchange of a place near the hearth. Bard would not be there before at least three hours. I took the basket containing all of our dirty clothing, having a baby, there was quite a lot, and left the house in direction of the washing place. I was the only one there, the other women would never go here this late, but it was the single moment I had. At least it was quiet and I didn’t have to listen to all the chatters of the women of the city. I’ve never succeeded in adapting to this town. I went there for love and love was the only thing keeping me in this place.

My father was a merchant who traveled to the North to sell his rich silks and velour. He met my mother there and brought her back with him after their marriage. I begged him to let me go on one of his journeys abroad and, one day, he finally agreed. I remember how excited I was to discover new people and countries. One month after we left, we arrived in Laketown, it was summer and the city was celebrating the harvest. The water on the lake was shining under the bright sun, music came from everywhere and everybody seemed to have hearts full of joy. Meeting Bard was like fate. Convincing my father to let me marry him, not so much! But in the end, my happiness coming first for him, he agreed and, one day after we met, Bard and I got married. I didn’t know yet how cold this city was in winter…

I try to hide it, I do not want my love to worry, but I feel my heart becoming more frozen every day. It’s like a shadow growing in my chest, which, little by little, prevents me from savoring all the small joys of life. Even spending time with my children, who I love with all my soul, isn’t enough to take the gloom away. I have not seen Bard a lot for a couple of months and it pains me more than I can say. I know that he does it for us, but, is it worth the pain when it means we can’t have time together anymore? He is losing his life trying to earn it…

I desire so much for the heating sun to come back, I just can’t handle more shivering nights, alone in this cold bed. I often take my children with me, trying to warm their little bodies with mine. Bard does not come home before late at night, and when he comes back, he spends hours watching to the fire, lost in his thoughts, not saying a word to me. Every night, it breaks my heart, slowly and painfully. How do we let this happen to us? Him working all day to sustain us, me, sinking into darkness and loneliness. I feel so selfish for being that way. So I do not speak a world and wait for it to get better. But it doesn’t.

Lost in my thoughts, I do not realize that my hands are bleeding: my skin, already dry by the cold, did not stand for the freezing water, all the chaps I had are now opened and I watch my blood slowly flowing in the current. How did I get there? When did the glee leave my heart?

Suddenly, I realize the presence of someone behind me; before I have the opportunity to turn around, manly hands, hands I know very well, take mine and pull them out of the water. I can feel the tears pouring on my cheeks when I raise my head to Bard’s. Silently, softly, he wraps my hands in dry cloth; I let him do it, holding my breath. I want to talk but I can’t, the words stay tight in my throat. I hope my eyes express what my heart wants to say. I feel his rough hand wipping off the tears and immobilize on my cheek. I let my head rest in the warm of his palm for a while, not wanting to end this moment of peace. But, eventually, I have to get up. While I’m pushing on my feet to stand up, Bard took my wrists and drew me to his chest, his arms holding me tight.

“- Adis*, I am so sorry, my love. I should have been there to help you. I know you are exhausted and knowing that you are here, in this cold, tired to the point that you hurt yourself without noticing it”

“-Please Bard, don’t, you do so much for us, every day, so do not worry for me… I’ll be alright. I just wish for the winter to end…”

“The spring will be there soon, and your beloved sun too. I will spend more time at home and with the children, so you can’t rest” Bard whispered in my ears.

I open my mouth, trying to tell him that I do not want to rest; I just want him to clutch me and protect me against the frigid nights. But I can’t spit out a word, so I just kiss him with all my love, hoping it to be enough.

We come back home together, him still holding me on his side, trying to comfort me. But when I look at his face, full of concern, I feel only like a burden to him. He must regret so much having married a woman who can’t endure winter.

When we arrive, Sigrid and Bain rush towards us and hug us with their tiny arms; for a moment, I forget my dark thoughts and take them in my bosom, trying not to injure my hands more. Bard stayed with me that night, and for the first time, I stop shivering for a few hours.

The day after, and all the followings, are lost in the blur that has seized my mind. I can only remember the permanent cold of my feet and hands. And someone trying to warm me up.

I think I am confined to bed for a while now. I don’t know for how long. I don’t remember. Just the cold…

*Adis comes fron the old Norse Adal = noble and dis = woman, goddess

#adris #bard #the hobbit #one shot #written by Donna

[no-story-ever-ends]

A valar's tale

(thanks to thranduilfics and mhyssaofdragons for being my beta readers)

Author: Donna

Fandom: J R R Tolkien

Characters: The Valar, Eru Iluvatar

It is said that, when Arda was still very young, before the Awakening of the Elves, Melkor did his worst work.  Something so terrible that Eru decided to erase it from the memories of the Valar that he loved with a great benevolence, as they were parts of him. Only Nienna remembers, because she knows all the pains, the ones that were, the ones that are and the ones that will be. And what happened that day was one of the most terrible sufferings she had endured…

It was the time where the Valar were discovering Arda. They lived in peace, under the light of Telperion and Laurelin, protected in Valinor.  When Eru created the Valar, in his mind, some were closer than others and became brothers and sisters, or husbands and wives. It was like this for  Manwë and Varda, Aulë and Yavanna, Irmo and Estë, Oromë and Vana and finally Tulkas and Nessa. Only Ulmo, preferring the loneliness of the sea, and Nienna, surrounded by all the misery of the world, yet to come, were alone.

The Valar only took a physical form by easiness, because they had seen what the children of Eru Iluvatar will look like and they were fascinated by their appearance.  And so, the stories reported that they could not conceive life and have children, even if they later care of Eru’s ones like their own. But the stories are wrong, they have been told by those who had forgotten, they have been spread in the ignorance of the truth, in the oblivion created by Iluvatar.

Even if they weren’t made of flesh and blood, tender feelings existed between the Valar. Love and respect united their relationships. And because of these bonds, sometimes, when they left their physical envelopes, their vital energies mingled, filling the sky with bright colors: shades of red, yellow, green, blue and violet, forming rippling curtains through the star-spangled sky.

In the heart of these dancing lights, energies melted, scattered, twisted and reunited, in a perpetual and beautiful ballet. And once in a while, sparkles of energy couldn’t be separate anymore, and what they created was much more important than their own additions: it was something unique. Minuscule offsprings, born from the union of the essence of two Valar, and existing by their own.  Not already a thought, not even a material being. Only the shadow of a future life…

When the Valar separated their essences and took back their physical aspect, those shining and moving forms remained. Manwë and Varda were the first to witness this event, deep was their attachment and from their union were born the first Children of the Valar. At the beginning, they believed them to be stars, because their light were close to the bright one of Varda’s creations. By observing them closely, they realized that those concentrations of energy were shining on their own, murmuring an unknown song, calling for a future not yet written. Even if they didn’t understand what they were, Manwë and Varda could feel that these lights were developing the spark of life.  

Afraid to destroy them before they could achieve their destiny, Manwë created a sweet breeze, letting them float around, but that gently brought them to the Taniquetil. Once arrived, he searched his heart to understand what Eru could tell him about those living lights. But this was something Eru hadn’t thought about, and he stayed silent for a long time, even for the Valar, before bringing an answer to Manwë. Then, Manwë gathered all the Valar and repeated in front of their assembly what Iluvatar had said: “By sharing our Flame Imperishable, we have created something different from ourselves, something with its own Flame, something that, one day, could become more than we are and sing its own Theme. We do not know yet what will be their appearance or when they will be ready to join our world, but I present you the first Children of the Valar”. At those words, the audience remained quiet, too astonished to make even the slightest move. And then, tears started to pour from their cheeks, reflecting the melting of their souls. Because the impossible had happened, and it was far beyond what any of them could have imagined.

Their first priority rapidly became to find a way to protect those future beings, until they were ready to awake in the world. For this purpose, Yavanna, Ulmo and Irmo created something they could only achieve once in their existence: Iluimbëlyana , the Place between the Worlds. As moving as the sea, protecting the lives growing in its bosom, surrounding them with beautiful and peaceful reveries.

And so it was, for years and years. When their union created one of these dancing sparkles, the Valar placed them in Iluimbëlyana, waiting patiently for them to be ready.

But at this time, Melkor was already working in the shadow, sending his spies beneath the earth, hidden in the clouds, masked in the most unexpected places. And one day, some of them reported to him what they had seen: the Valar carrying unbearable lights throughout the sky. This was enough to make Melkor curious, what could have been so powerful and pure that his servants couldn’t support its presence? It took him innumerous years, but his cunning finally allowed him to understand what those lights were. Once he knew, he couldn’t stand for them to exist and invented a plan to destroy them.

During one of Valinor’s nights, under the light of Telperion, he sent a black cloud to cover his tracks and hide the light of the stars. How he successfully entered into Iluimbëlyana? Nobody knows. We can only imagine that the Valar couldn’t conceive someone wanting to destroy something as pure as their Children. But in their joy, they had forgotten the depth of Melkor’s darkness.

Once entered in this place between the world of the thoughts and souls and the material world, Melkor succumbed to an indescribable suffering, his black heart not able to bear all the goodness and love coming from the sparkles of light. But his rage grew stronger and stronger, and he was taken by a furious need to rip apart the place. As fast as a hurricane, he tore Iluimbëlyana into pieces, making it fall into the material world, or disappear into the Void. The Children of the Valar, unrestrained, flee into the entire space, flared by the Void. By the time the Valar realized what happened, it was too late. Melkor was already gone, his heart full of satisfaction. And the future Flames, all of them, has been destroyed…

Devastated, the Valar felt a new emotion in their heart, loss. An immense and irreplaceable loss. Paralyzed, they cried and felt their souls falling apart. Then, Tulkas found the strength to roam Arda. He searched in every place, every cave, every cloud, but he could not find their lost Children. From this day, just as the heart of the Valar, Arda began to decay, the light of the two trees became less bright, plants died before their time and birds fall in an eternal sleep. Melkor was jubilating, feeding off of the pain he had caused.

Witnessing the decline of his beloved creatures, of the world he had sung, Eru Iluvatar took a decision that weighted heavily on his heart: oblivion. He launched into a new song, a song that he will never sing again, a song that made the Valar forget about their Children, and prevent them from having others.

And that is how the knowledge of the Children of the Valar vanished. Except in Nienna’s memories. But she could not say a word about it, even if she had wanted to. Only in her memory remained the pain, and since that day, tears never stop pouring from her eyes…

What happened to the fragments of light? Did they completely disappear into the Void, too fragile to survive? Or did they find another way to live, bearers of a sparkle of the Flame Imperishable?

We can imagine that they have traveled across the universe, for thousands and thousands of years, lost and incomplete. But maybe, one day, randomly or thanks to Eru’s will, they have found other incomplete beings, more material and containing a different Flame. Their light, finding a close being, merged with them. And, from this union of a sparkle of the Flame Imperishable with a soul attached to a mortal envelope, was born a new spirit. A dual being, torn between an ephemeral body and an infinite soul. Some says that this encounter happened on Earth, a long time ago, and gave us the greatest artists of all time, the most beautiful and imperishable souls. And, who knows, maybe you are one them….

#valar #eru iluvatar #cirionentinw #j r r tolkien

[no-story-ever-ends]

A providential encounter

(requested by hunter-of-mirkwood)

Author: Donna

Fandom: Lord of the rings

Characters: Reader, little boy

You are lost. Completely lost. And hungry. How could this situation be worse? Wherever your eyes wander, you only see the dense foliage of the trees, oaks it seems. The sun is poking through the branches, but you can’t see it enough to find out where is East. What an idea to do the journey to Imladris on your own! You should have listened to your friends and waited for the official delegation to leave. Sometimes you wonder if you are not half-dwarf, no elf is supposed to get lost like you do all the time! A rustle gets you out of your thoughts. Attuning your ears, you try to discover the source of this sound disrupting the quiet of the forest.

“Well, apparently the situation can be worse”, you murmur to yourself once you’ve found out the origin of the noise: a pack of orcs is approaching! What can they do here? It is too far south from their usual territory…There is no time for reflection right now; you have to make your decision quickly! Fight them to punish those creatures for soiling this beautiful land..or fly away? Not knowing how many they are, the best solution seems to be to hide and observe them passing, before doing one more reckless thing. Without wasting any more time, you leave the path and move in the direction of the oldest and tallest trees, pushing aside the bushes to reach their ancient trunks.

And that’s how you find him. Or rather trip over him. He is curled up on the ground, his tiny arms around his bended legs. You only see his wavy dark hair and the shaking of his hands. A human child!  Slowly, trying not to frighten him, you kneel, staying reasonably away from him.

“What are you doing here, little one?” you ask gently; “It is not safe to wander alone in this forest.”

At your words, he straightens his head and stares at you with grey wide opened eyes. “I am lost.”

Well, that makes two of you…

“I just wanted to see where the river goes..but I’ve walked too far, and now I can’t find my way back home,” he adds, his voice trembling as he tries to restrain the tears you can see in his eyes.

“Where is your home?” you wonder, while you try to estimate how far the orcs are. Not that you do not like this conversation. You would just prefer it not to end in an orc’s stomach.

“Imladris, the home of Lord Elrond,” he answers, as if it was the only possible response.

A quite surprising answer, but you read in his eyes that he is telling you the truth. And why would he be lying?

“Well, henig, we can’t stay here longer, a danger is coming, right toward us, and we must hurry if we want to see another sunset”. On these words, you reach out your hand, hoping that he won’t be too long to put his faith in you, time being limited before the orcs go near.

Hopefully, he decides that you worth his trust and grabs your hand while getting up.

“Alright, child, are you ready for a little climb?”

The only answer you get is an interrogative, slightly scared, glance.

Turning around, you shift your bow and arrows and place them on your torso, freeing your back, and knee.

“Just climb on my back, pass your arms around my neck and I’ll do the rest!”

You wait for him to comply and pray to the Valar that he does not hesitate too much, you can already hear the grunts that orcs call a language.

Finally, you feel his little arms around your neck and his weight on your back. You help him to take the right position and place his legs around you.

“Hang on, henig, I hope you do not fear the heights,” you joke, hoping to relax him before the climb.

You take a few steps between the trees, trying to find one not too hard to climb, but solid enough to bear both of you.

You estimate that the orcs are now only a few hundred meters away.. you must hurry!

This tree right there seems perfect; it has to be anyway, you do not have more time.

“Are you alright there?” You do not want him to panic when you start the climb, risking  both of you falling.

“Yes” he replies in a whisper.

Poor boy, he hasn’t seen more than seven summers, you could swear it. How could he be wandering alone? Who was in charge of him and let him go away like that? You’ll think about those questions later, for now, you have to escape from the orcs.

A short jump and you reach the lower branch, you haul up until you can put your knees on it. With confident gestures, you pursue your ascent, while verifying that the little human is still well hanging on you. In seconds, you are already several meters away from the ground. But you keep climbing, until the branches are too thin to support you. You are now at least twenty meters high, far enough from the path to be unseen (and un-smelt) of the orcs.

“Stay quiet, child, our survival depends on it.” On these words, you can hear him holding his breath and tightening his grip. You place an appeasing hand on his harm, maintaining your balance with the other one.

That’s it, you can hear the orcs galloping where you stood a few minutes ago. Both of you stay silent and immobile for a very long time. And when even the whispers of the wind stop bringing you the echo of their steps, you finally move and start going down the tree, not too fast to be sure you do not lose your “package” on the way down.

At last, your feet touch the tender grass; you bend to let the child get down from your back, which he does in a moment.

“The first danger is averted, now, let’s try to find Imladris! Do you remember from where you were coming?” you ask the boy, not hoping for a positive answer.

“I think…I think I came from there” he says, pointing out a direction where you can’t see any path or footpath. But this direction works as much as any other.

“Here we go then!” you exclaim, trying to see behind the old trees. At this moment, you feel a small hand taking yours. You lay down your eyes and see that the little human is smiling at you, trustfully.

If only Men kept this innocence while growing up…

You’ve only started to walk for a few minutes when you realize that you can perceive the murmur of water, coming from your left.

“Didn’t you say that you wanted to follow the river?”

“Yes, but I had to leave it to stay on the path, but it disappeared suddenly and I couldn’t find it again”

“I think I might have found the river! If we get there and then run up it, we will certainly arrive to Imladris,” you proclaim joyfully, squeezing his hand with excitement.

It seems that this encounter was actually providential, and will allow you to reach your goal!

“Oh, I’m sorry, henig, I didn’t even tell you my name, I am [your name], from Green Wood, sadly known now as Mirkwood. What is your name, young one?”

“The elves call me Elessar, but my real name is Aragorn. Aragorn son of Arathorn”

#LOTR #reader #fan fic #LOTR fanfic #aragornxreader #aragorn

[no-story-ever-ends]

Do I know you?

[Requested by  purpl3mariposa]

Author: Daenerys

Fandom: Doctor Who

Characters: Eleventh Doctor, Donna Noble, Wilf

It was a familiar noise...but somehow she was convinced she had never before heard it. Which, of course, was impossible, for something to both be familiar and new at the same time. Whatever opinions those around her had (mostly that she was a simple, unintelligent temp who would never make anything of her life), she could piece that much together. “Gramps, do you hear that?” she called to the other room.

Silence replied. “Gramps?” she called again, and frowned when she thought she heard the screen door click shut.

Donna Noble made her way into the kitchen, looking around. The paper and a cup of tea were left on the table, the tea still steaming. That was all the conformation she needed that her grandfather had been there a moment before. At least that she had not imagined. However, she found nothing outside, but it was only on a second glance down the road that she noticed, on the sidewalk, a blue police box that tugged on her memory in the same way that earlier sound had. Only this time...

Well, this time she was certain that she knew it, be it in a past life or dreams. And so, while the gazes of neighbors making their way past just slid off it, seeing nothing remarkable in it, Donna made her way at a run to yank open the door. Three steps in, her eyes roaming across the huge room it contained (far larger than the box would have implied... “it's bigger on the inside” drifted into her mind, as though she recalled some past conversation.), she paused, noticing both her gramps and a flop-haired man wearing, of all ridiculous things, a bow-tie, staring at her aghast.

“Donna!” her grandfather, Wilf, exclaimed after a moment. “You should really go back inside, dear, I...”

“I know this place,” Donna interrupted, ignoring him. “Only I don't. This” - she gestured around the room - “this I don't recognize. But the blue box. The blue police box. And that wheezing sound...”

She broke off as the man standing with Wilf imitated the sound. What a strange person. “Gramps, who is this?”

“It's no one, Donna, just an old friend,” he grandfather hurried to reply.

She gave him a stern expression. “I'm standing in a box that is bigger on the inside and is clearly a machine of some sort” - she gestured up at the control panel behind the two men - “and you tell me this person, wearing a bow-tie, is just a friend of yours.”

“Ay!” the man exclaimed. “Bow-ties are cool.”

“Donna, I need you to back to the house,” Wilf begged, his tone turning to one of increasing desperation, and he glanced to the man beside him as if pleading for help.

“I don't think that's necessary,” the man corrected, leaping down the stairs that separated him from her. He came straight to her, getting right in her face, and she slapped him hard on the cheek, stepping back.

For just a moment he looked stunned, but then he grinned. “That's my Donna!” he exclaimed. “But,” he said, turning back to Wilf with a particularly unnecessary flourish of his hand, “a lot has happened since last we met, Wilf...”

“I gathered that much by your face.”

“What's wrong with his face?” Donna asked.”

“It's different,” Wilf answered, shrugging slightly.

“As I was saying,” the man interrupted again grumpily, “a lot's happened. And I rebooted the universe...”

“You did what?” both asked together.

“It's complicated!” he whined. “The point is, it might very well be safe for her to remember now. Given how well she's holding up under the intrusion of some of the memories.” He turned back to look at her keenly after he finished. “So, Donna Noble, the most important person in the whole wide world, would you like to remember?”

#Doctor Who #Eleventh Doctor #Donna Noble #Wilf #fanfic #writing

[no-story-ever-ends]

Changes to the Blog:

It goes without saying that I have been exceedingly inactive as far as this blog goes. So, let us start over again. So, a few words on how things will be from now on.

The intent behind the blog stays the same, so it remains open both for submissions of fics you have writen and for requests (please, we thrive off the inspiration and having motivation to actually write). Share it with any friends or followers you think might be interested. Once we have requests, we'll open some up to followers as well. This is meant as a collaboration!

I will no longer be running this blog singlehandedly.  My two dearest Tumblr friends, hunter-of-mirkwood and purpl3mariposa will be joining me. Expect more LOTR-related fics, and a special note that purpl3mariposa is happy to write in French, if anyone would like. So we're your official writing team, for now.

I will also no longer be signing off as Loki, much to my partial regret. Instead of King of Asgard (and this blog), call me Khaleesi, as I will instead be signing off as Daenerys Targaryen. hunter-of-mirkwood will be signing as Arwen, and purpl3mariposa as Donna Noble.

Here's hoping with more support we can get this up and running!

~Dany

#about this blog

[no-story-ever-ends]

An Accidental Criminal

Written in response to a request on this blog.

.

It was with the greatest bewilderment and fear that you wandered the streets of this strange city. Where you were, how you had gotten here...you honestly hadn’t the faintest idea. How your exploration of the small network of caves tucked away in the forest on your Grandfather’s property had led you here…

Wherever you were, you weren’t where you’d been. The attire, the architecture, even the sky was unfamiliar. Eerily so. You caught the shifty glances of some of the inhabitants wandering the streets, saw the hushed whispers they passed back and forth. With a shudder, you kept walking. You had tried to return home, but found the tunnel system entirely unfamiliar. You didn’t have much choice but to continue, even though you wandered entirely lost and unnerved by the disturbed reactions around you.

A clattering of hooves rang on the street behind you, and you sidled over out of the way as far as you could. Yet the horse didn’t pass you, and you glanced up at the dark-haired man now riding beside you.

“Generally,” he said, as soon as he knew you were looking at him, “if you’re going to break into a world, dressing so as to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to you would be an advisable precaution to take.”

“I...I didn’t…” you begin, but he doesn’t allow you to finish, not that you knew what you were saying anyways.

“I cannot fathom your intention, or how you hoped to accomplish the end for which you came here, whatever that may be, attired as such. Was it the artifacts contained in the vaults? You would never have reached the palace gates, much less gone un-accosted by the guards.”

His words, his assumptions, anger you. “I’m not here for any ‘end,” you snap. “I got lost, and if someone could get me home I would be very thankful!”

The man shook his head, but suddenly, with a surprisingly gentle tone, said, “Here,” and reached down to you.

With uncertainty you look between his hand and his face, not entirely understanding. “You asked for help returning home?” he tells you. “Come with me.”

“I’ll walk,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest.

He sits back up, looking amused. “Do you not trust me?”

“You did just accuse me of having illegal intentions,” you remind him. “No, I don’t trust you.”

He laughs, saying, “Well, follow on foot if you will, but if you would leave Asgard and return...to Midgard, I would guess, you would do well to come.”

You repeat the strange names he used under his breath to yourself. At least you knew the name of this place, even if it gave you no assistance in understanding where you were…or how you got here. You trail the path the man and his mount take, still looking around with uneasiness.

Its to the palace that he takes you, deepening your sense of dread. The very place he indicated you would have been captured had he not happened across you.

“Why are we here?” you demand, shouting ahead to him.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “Because this is home, silly girl,” he says, laughing. “It is my father who will help you return to Midgard.”

You glare at him suspiciously, but lacking any true proof of his intentions either way, you have no choice but to trust him and follow him through the gates. You’ve not taken more than five steps past them when you see your guide, having dismounted from his horse, gesture silently towards you. Hands wrap firmly around your arms, holding you in place. You don’t struggle, scarcely understanding what happened as you look with wide eyes to the guards now standing on either side of you and the others closing in around you.

“Lock her up,” the voice of the man who brought you here carries over to you. “I will speak to the All-father.”

“But who is she, Loki?” one of the guards asks.

“I’m just lost!” you exclaim, but one of the guards stamps on your foot to silence you. At least you have a name for your would-be rescuer now.

“An intruder, and therefore a threat,” Loki says. “Do as I say.”

* * *

Absentmindedly drumming patterns with your fingers on the table, you sit in the stark cell, no longer even bothering to glance hopefully to the force fields and the hallway beyond them. No one had yet told you why you were here, or what was to be done with you. Although there was no way here to mark the time,  you are certain it must have been hours since you were left here.

“I am sorry for the deceit,” a quiet voice remarks, and your eyes fly up, searching for the owner. Loki stands in the hallway beyond, his hands folded behind his back, watching you boldly.

“Are you now?” you snarl. “I even knew, and yet still I followed you.”

“Why did you?” he asks.

You search back, trying to find any answer in your conscious mind. “I felt, I suppose, that it was my only option,” you say slowly. Snapping your mind back to the present, however, you add, “What happens now?”

“Now, my dear girl, you wait here. The All-father is looking into your arrival. A trial will be held. If you are found guilty, a sentence will be determined. If you are found innocent, you will be returned to Midgard.”

“I’m not from….”

“Earth? It is the realm we call Midgard.”

“Oh…” is all you can think to say. “Where am I?” you manage after an unendurably uncomfortable silence.

He raises his eyebrows at you. “I do not believe you do not know this already, mortal…”

“Will you stop with the insults?” you interrupt, having thoroughly had enough. “I don’t care who you are, but you have locked me up when I have done nothing, and I am tired of being called ‘girl’ and ‘mortal’ and just stop.”

Loki looks thoroughly taken aback, and you can’t deny the pleasure the thought gives you. The tables turned, finally. “Now, where am I?” you repeat.

It takes him a few minutes to recover from his surprise, but then he answers, “You are in Asgard, in the palace of Odin All-Father.”

Odin….that name is familiar. Norse mythology? For that matter, Loki rings a bell too. “You’re telling me that I have found my way through to a world out of legend.”

He looks doubtfully at you, distrustfully. “If I was right to send you here, then you are a good liar.”

“I am not lying!”

*  *  *

    “I am not lying!” There are tears in your eyes as you sit before the panel before you, staring directly, boldly (perhaps too boldly) at Odin. “I knew nothing of Asgard when I came here. I got lost, and if your son hadn’t started making assumptions we wouldn’t be sitting here!”

    “No, we wouldn’t,” one of the judges before you said. “But who knows what you would have stollen.”

    Its a scoffing sound that comes from your mouth, unbidden. “Do I look as dangerous as that?” you demand, outraged. “What is it with you people that you are so distrustful?”

    “Take her away,” Odin commands, gesturing impatiently with his hands. Guards again seize you.

    Its with unreleasable pent-up energy that you pace back and forth in your cell, slamming your hands against the wall at either side.

    “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

    “Loki!” you exclaim as you turn, walking towards the force-field where he waits. “I can’t stand this anymore! They won’t believe a word I say. What did I do to deserve this?” You’re in tears now, and you want to stop, want to avoid causing the pained look you can see on his face, but you can’t control it.

    “Shhh,” he consoles you, reaching out to the force-field, as if wishing he could reach through it to you. “____, it’s okay. It will be okay.”

    “And what if it isn’t?” you’re hysterical now. A month of captivity, a month of knowing that somewhere, back home, your family would be panicked, desperate to find you. “They’re determined to find me guilty, just like you were when you started all of this!”

    Loki flinches at the accusation, and for just a moment guilt troubles you, but you push it away. He had started this.

    “If they find you guilty, ____,” he says, “I will get you out of here.”

    You look up in surprise, having not expected a willingness for such treason from him. Over the past month, he had come often to talk to you, at first obviously trying to trick some lie, some confession from you, but over time you came to think he came because he enjoyed your company as much as you had come to appreciate his. But to betray his father…

    “I promise,” he says, and this time, unlike a month ago, you don’t doubt him. You manage a weak smile, but you know it doesn’t reach your eyes. There is too much that can go wrong. But he pushes aside your worries, turning to a terribly sarcastic account of a particular argument he had had with Thor earlier that day. You can’t help but laugh. Its a miracle both brothers were still alive and talking to one another, the way they bickered. And eventually you forgot your trial, even forgot the barricade separating you from Loki and the white walls surrounding you.

*  *  *

    “Where are you taking me?” you demand of the two guards on either side of you. Had a decision been reached then? Were they taking you to be sentenced to some terrible end?

    “The Bifrost,” one answers, and you roll your eyes.

    “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” you remind him.

    “You have been found innocent,” another guard explains, approaching you in the hallway. “Release her. I will escort her to the Bifrost.” The two did as commanded, bowed, and departed. You looked nervously over your shoulder at them.

    “What is the Bifrost?” you ask. Surely if she had been found innocent of Loki’s original accusations they should be sending her home.

    The guard doesn’t answer, turning and gesturing you to follow. “Excuse you,” you say, crossing your arms and removing right where you are. “I’m not going anywhere until you answer me. I’m not a prisoner anymore, if I’m innocent.”

    “The Bifrost is our portal between worlds,” the guard answers irritably, turning half way back to you but looking determinedly at the wall, not at you. “Heimdall, who guards it, will see you home.”

    “And we are going straight there?” you ask, your heart skipping beats erratically.

    “Yes. You do not belong here.”

    “I have to say goodbye…”

    “The All-father has ordered me to escort you directly to the Bifrost. I shall not defy those orders.”

    “But Loki.”

    He’s lost patience with you, grabbing your arm and dragging you along the hallway, ignoring your protestations and demands to be allowed a goodbye. Surely Loki had learned of your release and would have come to find you himself? Why had Odin sent guards instead?

    You receive no answers to your questions as you’re taken through the city and across the the bridge. It was with great difficulty that the guard had even convinced you to step onto that bridge...it seemed too strange, too fragile to support you, and you weren’t pleased with your ability to see, if only vaguely, through it to the waters below. But under threat of being forcibly hauled across or going on your own two stable feet, you chose the latter.

    And when you stood before Heimdall, you turned to watch the guard make his way alone back across the bridge, and you frown slightly, for just a moment wanting to run back across, return to the palace and find Loki, say the goodbye denied you.

    But when Heimdall says softly behind you, “It is time,” you turn away.

*  *  *

    “I wish you’d tell me what happened,” your sister remarks, for probably the tenth time since she arrived the previous day. You’ve heard the same words from the rest of your family for the last week. Over and over again.

    You’re on the verge of telling her that the next person to ask that is going to get a reaction they don’t want, when she continues, “You’re not yourself, _____. Mother and Father are panicked, sure you know.”

    “I’m fine!” you almost shout. “And I can look after myself! Can’t you all back off?”

    She sighs. “____, you disappeared for a month, and you wonder why we are all worried?”

    You glare at her. Of course, there’s nothing else you can do. You can’t tell your family that you were held captive in a world out of Norse mythology, that you fell in love with the god who caused your imprisonment, that a lot of your angsty behaviour was because you were plagued by constant guilt that you had not said farewell, worry that he hadn’t wanted to say farewell.

    But Kayla seems to get that asking you questions won’t get you anywhere and falls silent. “Just know,” she adds after several moments, “that you can talk to us, okay? If and when you need to.”

    You nodd curtly, hoping she’ll stop, finally. Silence falls, uncomfortable, and you pick up the newspaper in desperation to have something to distract yourself. Not that you have the faintest idea what is going on in the world anymore.

    A knock sounds at the door, and Kayla practically springs out of her seat to go answer it, as glad as you for an interruption. Something about the lilt of her conversant’s voice is familiar to you, but until she calls for you, you remain in your seat.

    She meets you in the doorway, grabbing your arm to stop you for a moment. “It’s a man, wearing some sort of weird costume. He says he’s looking for you….do you want me to call the police?”

    You can hear the concern in her voice, know she’s worried that this man had abducted you, you had escaped, and here he was looking for you again. But given that it cannot possibly be Loki, and even if it were, you wouldn’t want the police called on him, you shake your head. She seems to hesitate for a moment before releasing you and returning to the living room. You take a deep breath, fashion what semblance of a smile you can onto your face and make your way to the front door.

    Kayla’s closed it on the visitor, and you freeze as you open it, staring in shock at back of the man shifting uneasily from foot to foot on your porch.

    “Loki?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper, and as he turns he looks as uncertain as his body language had indicated before. His smile is as uneasy as he forces it across his face.

    “Father didn’t tell me when he let you go.” The words rush from his mouth, flowing so swiftly one after the other that you can barely comprehend them. “That’s why I didn’t say farewell..”

    You laugh, surprising yourself as much as him. “Why are you here?” you demand, even as you throw your arms around him in a hug, realizing only a moment later that this is the first time since the first day you met that there has not been a force-field separating you two. The same thought seems to come to him, and it takes him a moment to embrace you back.

    “Do you not want me here?” He sounds confused, concerned, and again you laugh.

    “No, but…if Odin wouldn’t even tell you I left, surely he can’t want you to be here.”

    Loki pulls away from you, grinning wickedly. “And that would stop me?” he asks, and you can’t help but smile wryly as well. “But no...I…” He hesitates here, and you raise your eyebrows. Smooth-talking Loki stumbling over his words? Something was up.

    “What?” you demand impatiently, trying to sound encouraging.

    “I have left Asgard.”

    You give him a look. “Obviously.”

    He shakes his head. “I mean that I will not be returning,” he explains. “I asked Father, begged, rather, demanded, coerced…. But...he has taken from me what made me a god. I am mortal, as much as you. I...I wanted to remain here, with you, if I can?”

    You must look completely dumbfounded, because he looks even more uncharacteristically nervous. “I do not intend to be…”

    “Of course you can stay, silly!” you manage to say, desperate for him to be himself again, not this timid, nervous creature. And the smile your answer earns is just that: completely Loki.

#Marvel #Loki #reader #fanfic

[no-story-ever-ends]

A New Sort of Christmas

To counter the the Marvel- (and Loki-)centrism of this blog, here's a Supernatural fic inspired by this imagine.

--

    She peered uneasily through the window, glancing up the street. No one was visible. Still. She slipped back onto the couch, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling. Christmas Eve, and here she was alone. Life hadn’t been any worse with her demon-possessed parents. 

    The thought brought the threat of tears, and she rolled over, curling up in a ball and sobbing. Life had been worse with her “parents”. The knowing something was wrong, the months of being unable to figure out what….until the Winchesters arrived. Her parents hadn’t survived the resulting scuffle, although she wondered if that wasn’t a blessing in disguise. What memories would they have retained from their possession? What atrocities had the demons committed with their bodies? How many murders?

    She slid to the floor, grimacing at the resulting thud. Looking around sheepishly, she sighed. What foolishness, to fear making that much of a sound! Yes, Dean had left her very firm instructions to remain silent and in the dark, to in no way draw attention to herself, but now she was just overdoing it. Twelve years old, under the care of tho men who hunted monsters, and she was scared of the dark.

    The thought made her giggle, and she quickly clasped her hand over her mouth. “Quiet, Amanda!” she reminded herself silently.

    A key rattled in the lock, and she froze, crouching motionless, ready to run. What she was afraid of, she didn’t even know. What Dean had gone hunting, she didn’t know. Sam was off on a case in another state. The boys were, she gathered, in one of their occasional arguments

    “Amanda?” Dean’s voice asked as he flipped on the lights. She slowly stood, watching him distrustfully.

    “Don’t…” he began, but she had already splashed his face with the salted holy water she had kept on the coffee table.

    He glared at her through the water dripping from his forehead. “Was that necessary?” he demanded. “Must I cut my arm with silver too?”

    Amanda looked down guiltily. She hadn’t meant to anger him...she’d just been afraid. He sighed, realizing that his anger had upset her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

    Realizing how much of a ruckus they were making, Amanda asked, still sniffling slightly, “Why did I have to be quiet that whole time?”

    “Because I’m as paranoid as you,” he answered, teasingly as he unscrewed the lid on a flask and poured the holy water it contained over the top of her head.

    Shrieking, she shouted, “Not fair! Not fair!”

    He grabbed her before she could run away and dumped her back on the couch. “Fair,” he retorted, laughing with her.

    But then, to her confusion, Dean sobered. “Look, Amanda...you said you wanted to come with us. But it’s not safe…”

    “Don’t try to send me away again, Dean!” she protested. It had been Sam who had insisted she be given the choice, to go into custody of the state or to stay in their care. Her big brothers, she had taken to calling them, now. But Dean had, on more than one occasion, out of fear for her safety, tried to talk her out of it.

    “I’m not,” he reassured her. “But I brought you something.” He left the couch to fetch the bag he had dropped when she soaked him with holy water.

    He handed her the box it contained, and although she looked at him uncertainly, he gave her an encouraging smile. She hesitantly opened it. Lying inside was a gun. Nothing ornate like Dean’s, but simple, and, Amanda had no doubt, effective. A tear pricked the corner of her eye, and Dean uncertainly, as if doubting his decision, said, “It’s not what you’re used to, I’m sure, but...Merry Christmas.”

    It wasn’t what she was used to. Tonight was scarcely Christmas Eve. But here Dean was, offering her a gun. Offering, implicitly, to teach her. Trusting her, despite her age. Treating her like a little sister.

    Amanda flung her arms around his neck, sobbing. “Thank you!” she whispered through her tears.

#Supernatural #spn #fanfic #Dean Winchester #original character #Christmas

[no-story-ever-ends]

Out of the Cold

Based on this imagine as requested on this blog.

    You had known what you were doing, you thought, when you moved to the middle of nowhere to live in what was little more than a log cabin. A winter-time writing retreat, you told your family. Self-imposed isolation, they called it. They didn’t understand, unsurprisingly. But a burning fire, a cozy armchair, a stack of blank papers, a thorough supply of pens, and all the tea and hot chocolate you could desire was just what you needed.

    Except that it was so cold, even with the fire, that your fingers were too stiff to write. The radiator had broken that morning, and rather than calling into town for someone to fix it, you assumed you could get by with a fire and blankets. You shake your head sadly, curling your fingers around your already cooling mug of hot chocolate. Your phone rings, and you consider answering it, but only until you realize it is on your bedside table across the room. No way you’re moving from that chair and your warm pile of blankets!

    So you snuggle in deeper instead, staring over your mug at the flames. You don’t realize you’ve put the mug down and fallen into a doze until a loud rapping rouses you, nearly sending you sliding out of the chair as you twist and get caught in the blankets wrapped around you. Once you rebalance yourself and untangle your legs (without baring them to the chill air around you), you sit motionless, trying to decide whether the sound you heard was just clumps of snow falling onto the roof or something else.

    Three raps, again, loud, from the door. Cursing late night visitors with no consideration for freezing temperatures,  you awkwardly wrap your blankets around your shoulders and hobble over to open the door, pulling it open and squinting as a cold blast of air sweeps in over you.

    “I am sorry,” the man standing there begins, sounding uncertain. “I... lost my way.”

    Taking in his strange green and black costume of leather and metal, you raise your eyebrows but gesture him inside, anything to be able to close the door on the frigid, creeping frosts outside. “From where?” you demand once the door is closed behind you. “You look like you belong on some sci-fi movie set or something.”

    “I am sorry?” he asks, clearly not understanding.

    Assuming his wits to be slightly hindered by the chill, you gesture him to the fireplace. “Go sit there, warm up.” After a moment’s hesitation you relinquish one of your blankets to him. “I’ll bring something warm for you to drink.”

    When you return from the kitchen, two mugs of tea in your hands, you find him sitting, knees drawn up to his chin, before the fire. “There is a chair,” you remind him.

    He only shrugs slightly. You sigh, entirely at a loss for what to do with the confused, untalkative man who made his way to your doorstep. “How long were you out there?” you demand, handing him one of the mugs and dragging a chair over from the table to sit a few feet from him.

    “I don’t know…” he begins. “A few hours?”

    “Why did you wander out in such weather?”

    An unexpected smile breaks his flat expression. “Is this an interrogation now?” he asks, sounding almost playful. You slide your chair back several inches instinctively.

    “Who are you?” you say, ignoring his question.

    “I am Loki, of Asgard,” he answers, still smiling.

    “What’s Asgard?” But something about his name, Loki, reminds you of something. Of reports you read, whispers you gathered, things you learned that you shouldn’t have known. “No,” you interrupt him before he can answer, standing so suddenly you tip your chair over backward. “You can’t be. The Loki who ripped New York apart a few years ago? Why have you returned?”

    He shrugs slightly, indolently. “I got bored,” he confesses, but there’s something untruthful about his words.

    Narrowing your eyes, you retort, “Don’t lie!”

    “I, what was it Stark once said? Oh, I pissed people off,” he answers, only now standing and turning to face you. “Something about impersonating my father.”

    “And why here?”

    “Fled through the Bifrost...didn’t really have time to stop and choose a destination...It was this or return to prison...again.”

    “Well, that’s exactly what you’re doing,” you retort, striding across the room towards your phone, fully intent on calling the police, which you realize you should have done as soon as you permitted him across the threshold.

    “Oh, don’t do that,” he says, grabbing your arm and stopping you. “Really, don’t. Things might get...ugly.”

    You try, but can’t, twist out of his grasp, and the seemingly confused and harmless man you allowed inside is entirely gone, replaced by this dangerous, unpredictable, malevolent god.

    He seems to realize he’s frightened you, and, shaking his head, he releases your arm, stepping away slightly. “I do not mean you, or anyone else, harm,” he says, and you laugh coldly. After what he did to New York, this scarcely seems possible.

    “I knocked on your door seeking shelter, warmth,” he continues, his tone gentle, coaxing, no trace of the anger and violence remaining. “That is all. Let me remain here until I may safely leave. That is all I ask.”

    You know you shouldn’t allow it. You know you should dive for the phone and call the police, not that you think they could restrain him, if New York was any example. But if he speaks truth, if all he wants is shelter…

    And you can’t say no. Whether its his words, or his smile, or the knowledge that there is truly nothing the police could do anyways, you cannot say no. “Yes. You can stay.”

#Marvel #Loki #Reader #fanfic #writing

[no-story-ever-ends]

Just a note: Tumblr and I are in a constant battle over whether it should actually deliver messages sent to me/that I send to others, so if you ask/request something and get no acknowledgment, please send it again!

Loki love from me!

And I promise I'll be writing in the next few days. Jetlag has knocked me out all this week.

#about this blog #just a note #becaues tumblr hates me

[no-story-ever-ends]

Might you be considering continuing No Escape? I really loved it. :))

I meant it as a one-shot but as I was writing it kinda took on a life of its own and I realized it had turned into a prequel for something longer. I’d be happy to continue it! I have a paper to finish before I return to school, so because I think it needs to be a more substantial fic I might not get to it for a bit but I’ll keep it on my to-do list.

Thanks for the note, sweetie!

Loki love from me!

#No Escape #shotgunsandtardis #request #kinda sorta #close enough

[no-story-ever-ends]

No Escape

Don't really know what happened to this one... One-shot kind of based off this request for this blog: "Imagine Loki recapturing you after you escape from him". It ran away on me a bit..

    “Where are you going?” a quiet, sly voice asks from behind you in the dark, and you close your eyes. “You did not really think you could evade me, surely.”

    “Loki,” you acknowledge him as you turn, certain your grin matches even his own even though he hides in shadows. “I hoped.”

    He chuckles as he steps slowly forward. “You should have known better.”

    “You’re not infallible,” you say, stepping sideways to circle with him, keeping him always in your sight. “I had a chance.”

    “No,” he argues.

    “So what now?” you ask, interrupting the argument. “You take me back, lock me up again, wait until S.H.I.E.L.D. decides what to do about the fact that you kidnapped one of their agents?”

    “More or less.”

    “How about less? It’s so...dull…” you suggest.

    Loki pauses momentarily in his circling, and you can see the corner of his lips tweak up for just a moment. “So it is. And instead I should let you go?”

    You shake your head. “Also boring,” you say. “Try again.”

    He stops, turns to look at you directly, his head tipped slightly to the side as he considers. “What game are you playing?” he asks slowly.

    You grin. “If I tell you, its no longer a game, isn’t it?”

    “I like you,” Loki admits, still watching you closely. “Of all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents I could kidnap, I choose a feisty one.”

    “I’d prefer the word clever” you inform him. “Because when I win this little game, I’ll be free and you’ll be in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s custody.”

    “And when I win?”

    “You won’t,” you assure him, crossing your arms over your chest and narrowing your eyes. “But I suppose I’d be all yours, then. Until S.H.I.E.L.D. came to fetch me.”

    Loki rolls his eyes at you. “Such confidence in them.”

    You shrug. “They’ve beaten you before, Loki Laufeyson.”

    “And you think I have not learned from that?”

    Another shrug. “Here’s the game, Loki. Whatever plans you have, you take me along. I’ll help you. But I’ll also undermine you. You’ll have to stop me. Otherwise, obviously, I win. S.H.I.E.L.D. wins, and who knows what punishment your brother devises to keep you out of trouble.

    “And he will fail.”

    Laughing you answer, “How to keep the God of mischief out of mischief, aye? But what do you have to lose then? If you’re going to hold me hostage, we might as well make the most of it. Alternatively I just escape again, but that could get tedious very quickly.”

    Loki takes several moments to consider. “It is a game after my own heart,” he agrees at last. “And you will lose.”

#fanfic #one-shot #Marvel #Loki #reader

[no-story-ever-ends]

Dreams of Rose petals

Here is a super short one-shot based on a request for this blog.

    Twelve hours. Twelve long hours of meetings and arguments, and still nothing had been decided. You slammed your door behind you, not caring that the neighbors would call in a few minutes, complaining about your loud entry. You dropped your bag, even though it contained your laptop, on the ground and had not even reached the kitchen when the phone started ringing.

    “Must you always come in making such a racket?” Mrs. Richardson demanded through the phone when you pick it up. “Honestly, how inconsiderate can…” You tuned her out then, mimicking her silently and with great sarcasm as you walked across the kitchen to the fridge, frowning when your foot slid on something. You glance down, shocked to find a now-crushed rose petal beneath your foot. Picking it up and turning, you realize that there is a scattered path of them leading out of the kitchen.

    No one has access to your house. No one. You never allowed any of your boyfriends over the years to have a key, none of your family has one, only you. And your most recent boyfriend was now your ex-boyfriend, as of three weeks.

    Maybe first instinct should have been to call the police, but you still couldn’t deny an overwhelming curiosity, and so you followed the path laid out for you back to the hallway, up the stairs,and to your bedroom. You pause before the closed doorway, wondering again if you shouldn’t turn around and call the police. You still had the phone in your hand, but Mrs. Richardson must have realized you were no longer listening and hung up. Good riddance.

    However, you instead reached for the door,opening it and tossing it open, taking just enough of a step forward to be able to look in. And then you froze, hesitating, looking between the bed and the staircase, blankly trying to process.

    “Are you?” you began, before hesitating biting the side of your finger. You shook your head, because it couldn’t be.

    The man stretched out casually on his back on your bed only grinned more, waiting for you to think everything through.

    “Am I dreaming?” you demand finally, deciding it was the only explanation.

    Loki laughed. “Of course,” he said. “But you might as well enjoy it.”

#one-shot #fanfic #Loki #Marvel #reader

[no-story-ever-ends]

Old Memories and New Friends

In response to this request from this blog.

Steve shifted uneasily from foot to foot, crushing the piece of paper in his hand, smoothing it back out, crumpling it again, over and over. He still leaned back against his car (he had successfully arrived at his destination even though he was still trying to adjust to the newfangled gadgets and mechanisms it possessed), indecisive. Finally, he went to open the car door, deciding this was all a stupid idea and he never should have come in the first place.

He closed the door again immediately, crumpling the paper again. Finally, forcing himself step by step, he approached the house, your typical white-picket-fence house. The required pause as he opened the gate gave him just one more chance to consider turning around. She wouldn’t know who he was, he told himself. She wouldn’t care to meet the man who had stood up her grandmother almost seventy years before...even if it wasn’t his fault he was absent on that day.

But he had to meet her. He had resolved to do so after weeks and weeks of indecision, remaining undecided even after he had researched her address, ignoring the ribbing Stark gave him about it being stalker-ish. And, all considered, he obviously still wasn’t certain. Yet here he stood on the porch, and, really, he couldn’t turn back now.

When he rang the doorbell, he waited in anticipation, feeling more tempted than ever turn turn heel and run. No answer came, and for a moment he, convinced that no one was home, that his problems were solved, that he could just walk away and forget the whole thing.

“I’m sorry!” a woman exclaimed from behind him, and he turned to see her struggling up the path from the gate with grocery bags in her arms. “I’ve just been out shopping.”

Steve hurried down the porch steps, quickly taking the bags from her with a hasty but earnest, “Let me get those!”

She smiled at him, thanked him, led him to the door and into the house. “Thank you,” she repeated once he placed them down on the countertop. “Hannah Baker,” she introduced herself, extending a hand to him.

He took it, watching her face now for any trace that she was related to Peggy Carter. The resemblance wasn’t hard to see. “Steve Rogers,” he replied before hesitating.

She caught his sudden uneasiness and asked, “Is something wrong?”

Steve took a deep breath. “It’s just...I came here today because…” He broke off. “Nevermind. I’m sorry to have troubled you, ma’am.”

“Wait!” Hannah called from behind him as he turned to leave. “You aren’t honestly going to walk back out of that door without explaining yourself, are you?” When he hesitated, she informed him, “You owe me that much, I think.”

He sighed then, unable to argue or walk out feeling guilty, and turned back to her. “I...I knew Peggy Carter, your grandmother,” he said slowly, gauging her reaction and letting her words sink in.

Hannah’s eyes narrow momentarily in concentration before widening in shock. “Steve Rogers,” she repeated. “Captain Steve Rogers?”

His lips quirked unbidden in a smile. “It’s an honourary title, but yes.”

She laughed then, an almost hysterical laugh from which she could not recover for several minutes. Then she stood, watching him, her hands over her mouth, as if unable to believe him still. Steve shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have come,” he began. “I just...wanted to meet you.”

“I’m glad you came,” she said before suddenly realizing something. “Wait here a minute!” she exclaimed then, hurrying from the room.

She returned with a box. “Grandmother kept this,” she told him. “I think she would have wanted you to see it. Come sit in the living room?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, but Hannah’s eagerness and earnestness won him over. He was being no imposition, and this was why he was here. Tying up loose ends, one might say. So he smiled and nodded, following her to sit beside her as she opened the box.

Inside were his files from the 1940s, pictures, and, to his surprise, notes she had written him after the fact. Hannah sat with him, reading some of them aloud, listening as he read others, reaching out gently to comfort him when his voice broke and tears blurred his vision.

When they were done, Hannah asked about her grandmother as he had known her, not as the aging woman she had known, and he willingly told her all he could, both laughing and crying with her.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he said farewell that evening.

He smiled. “No, Hannah. Thank you. Thank you for not letting me walk back out this door.” 

#Steve Rogers #fanfic #writing #Marvel #Peggy Carter's granddaughter

[no-story-ever-ends]

Mistakes and Apologies

  Fic in response to this request. Fluff was requested but isn't my forte, except in very rare occasions, so if anyone would like to further indulge my lovely anon's request for fluff go ahead! Feel free to work off this fic or write your own. Loki love from me!

.

  “Miss ____?” a male voice asks, and you look up from your desk and computer in confusion. He is dressed in a suit, and you can see behind his ear the evidence of a communications device.

    “Yes?” you answer, unsure who he is or what business he could possibly have with you.

    “I’m from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” he explains, and your chest tightens for a moment. There was only one thing that could mean. “We...could use your help with Dr. Banner.”

    People joke about dropping everything and running, but for you it was almost true. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s agent stuck to a painfully slow walk as he led you from your workplace to the car he had brought. Well, it felt slow to you, but you could barely have walked swifter without running. “What happened?” you dare to ask once you’re seated in the car.

    “The details are classified, miss,” he answers. “Suffice it to say he…”

    “Hulked out?” you finish for him as he searches for appropriate words.

He nods. “They say you can calm him,” he remarks, although he sounds doubtful.

You can’t resist a small smirk. “I’ve done so in the past,” you say. He shrugs slightly, as if apologizing for his disbelief. Not that you blame him.

You know you’re close when you see the wreckage Bruce has inflicted on the buildings of the small town thirty miles outside of the city where the two of you live. He keeps insisting that he shouldn’t leave in a city, but you refuse to listen. Living his life in fear of the other side of him is not an acceptable thing, and besides, you’re a city girl born and bred.

“Stop here, you command when you catch a flash of green at the far end of the street. The car halts, and you climb out, stopped momentarily by the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

“What help do you need?” he asks, sounding concerned. “You can’t mean to go alone…”

“That’s exactly what I have to do,” you inform him, slamming the door behind you and running towards Bruce. In three years, you’ve only seen him like this twice, and it still simultaneously terrifies you and breaks your heart.

“Bruce,” you said, softly, just loud enough for him to hear, as you approach.

He tosses the car he had lifted in his arms, and you duck as it flies over your head. He roars at you, and you grimace slightly but mask it as best you can. “Bruce, it’s me,” you remind him, stepping resolutely forward. “It’s just me! Honey, listen to me. You can calm down. You’ve done it before. Just listen to me…”

You aren’t prepared for the metal bar which comes flying at you, and you fail to dodge it like you had the car.

When you wake, your head pounds sickeningly, the world spins when you open your eyes, and you don’t know where you are.

“____?” Bruce’s voice demands suddenly, and his shape, or you assume it is him, since your eyes won’t focus, moves into view. “Thank god you’re awake! I’m so sorry, I…”

“Awake, is she?” a woman’s voice interrupts. “Out with you, then! You’ll only upset her.”

“I’m not leaving,” he argues, and you recognize that tone. It’s his “I must keep calm no matter how angry I get” voice.

    “Out!” she commands again.

    Desperate to avoid further confrontation or the risk of Bruce losing his temper, again, you manage to say, “Let him stay.”

    “You aren’t the one making the decisions, missy,” the nurse, for that’s who you realize now it must be, replies. You can see the hospital room around you now, see Bruce’s pale face and the dark circles under his eyes. “You’re injured, we need to learn how badly, and your friend here will only be in the way.”

    “Let him stay,” you repeat. “Please.”

    Even if you had your wits about you you wouldn’t be able to explain to her why it was of such importance, and so you are relieved when she sighs and acquiesces, throwing her hands up in surrender. “You’d better not get in the way,” she threatens Bruce however, and you have to smile at the contrite look he gives her.

    “I’m so sorry,” he says for the hundredth time since you were released from the hospital with warnings that you have a concussion and need to rest.

    You reach up to pull him back down to the couch beside you. “It’s not your fault,” you insist, smiling.

    “It is!” he argues, but you cut him off with a kiss.

    “I’m fine,” you say. “You’re you again. All’s fine.”

    When he begins to protest you place a finger on his lips. “Instead of apologizing again,” you suggest, “why don’t you take me out?”

    “You need rest,” he says, reminding you of the doctor’s instructions.

    Rolling your eyes, you complain, “It’s been two days, Bruce. If I don’t get out of this house, I’m going to go crazy.”

    “You already are crazy,” he teases, and you slap at his arm, standing up and heading for the door.

    “Well, I am going out, with or without my boyfriend. But if you’re oh-so-concerned about me, you could come keep an eye on me.”

    You hear him laugh behind you as you open the door and step outside, and you’ve only taken a few steps before the door opens and closes behind you again. You grin, having known he would come.

    He takes your hand as you walk, and you lean against him just slightly, and you aren’t entirely sure which of you is reassuring the other. “You going to tell me what happened?” you ask after a long, amiable silence.

    “You know I can’t,” he answers, his tone full of guilt. “_____, I hate having to keep so much secret…”

    You stop, turning toward him. Gently, you ask, “Are you going to apologize again?” He hesitates, watching your expression, trying to figure out your mood and the reason behind the question. When he doesn’t answer immediately, you continue, “Because if so, I’m going to have to arrange something so you stop feeling so guilty about everything. I figure dropping a piano on your head might cancel everything out.”

    His lips quirk in a smile. “A piano?” he repeats. You grin and nod, and he shakes his head. “How about I stop apologizing, and you don’t drop a piano on my head?”

    You grin. “Deal.”

#fanfic #writing #Bruce Banner #Marvel #reader