#◟ ⋆ Hunter West › musing !

[ambitionslost]

Not Hunter constantly reminding me his birthday is this month.

[dxrknessembr8ced]

Meanwhile, Metro City...

' Hrrrrggg.. '

' Hniiff! hniff ! '

For a while now Rei along with his allies he had welcomed into forming into his pack continued their search for Rei's mother and the rest of his family. The ground had now decided to stay put catching a break from walking as one of the pack members is just searching for food through the garbage bin by the name of Chompy. Chompy is Rei's first pet and he's a B.O.W. created similarly like hunters except he was created using the T-virus combining human, Piranha, and the great white shark DNA making Chompy a proficient killing machine and those jaws and claws are made to cut through anything he sees as prey.

Rei watches chompy eating garbage out of a garbage bin while the boy wear both gloves in his hand and a scarf around his neck just cause it felt soft. The half breed turned to the others direction checking if they're fine.

" Tired yet? "

Koaru waves sitting besides Frank.

" Yeah we're good Rei by the way you looking pretty cute! "

His face becomes partially red.

" .... I'm not that cute but thanks. "

With a mutilated A-virus zombie in his hand the tyrant Blitzkrieger a ww1 themed tyrant created by the german scientists from the cult which went awol and killed the german scientists and met up with Rei and his rag tag team of monsters and one very noisy reporter. Blitzkrieger is by all accounts is a megalomaniac who enjoys destruction and all sorts of weapons mainly ones that burns or blow his victims to bits.

" Ja! This is going to be soo much fun, when are we killing Rei? I want to burn stuff! HAHAHAHA!! "

Koaru and Rei does not like blitzkrieger's thirst for blood since both he and Koaru like the rest follow their instinct. Unlike him.

" The hell is wrong with you blitz? "

" We're not killing anyone unless we're hungry or when they attack us first. We kill to survive, not for pleasure. Survival is our own war... "

Frank butts in still uneasy about the killing. He understands Rei but unfortunately he doesn't understand fully that Rei unlike some follows basic instincts like Koaru and the rest of the hunters. Rei and Koaru are more animal than man.

" God damn... "

The largest and most disfigured out of the hunters Gracie appeared besides Rei while she watches over the pack. An Hunter β who was created as not only as an perfect killing machine, a vast improvement of the hunters but also used for breeding they tortured her and forced her to lay eggs and take them away. Gracie had gone through a lot but now? She has now has a purpose to not only look after the boy Rei but also to look after the pack.

Gracie turned towards Rei-Rei as the two used sign language to communicate one another just like how some primates does this.

" I worry about the pack falling apart at man's hand. . . "

[morgansmornings]

"I heard it was your birthday and I was going to get you this drink but I drank it all. Can I buy you a cupcake for another year successful around the sun?"

She would be offended if it was anyone else. But Raylan had a magical ability to get away with a whole cosmos of random shit that would baffle anyone else. Still she was already deep into other birthday drinks that she had little to no cares in the world.

She leaned into his space, after stepping well within the 'possibly too close' zone. She looked at the aforementioned drink in his hand then back up at his unreasonably charming face. A grin spreading over her own as she thought of appropriate payback.

"Sure, I'll take the cupcake. But," she reached up to clasp her hand around the back of his neck. pulling him to meet her halfway into a kiss just to figure out what the drink had been if not for the sheer want to do so. She broke the kiss about five seconds into the act and stood back. "you now owe me a cupcake and a dance."

[heich0e]

bliss - vash/f!reader/wolfwood (trigun stampede) 3k, poly!au, wild west!au, bounty hunters, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, masturbation (m), cum eating, finger sucking, wolfwood calls reader 'kid' as a petname, there will be a part 3 where nico gets his moment i promise! 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

part 2 to bounty see also: BOUND - poly!au masterlist

you can taste the tobacco that clings to his mouth from this close, but you don't mind it when it tastes like home. “and it’s our bed, nicholas. so take me to it whenever you’d like.”

nicholas carries you inside with one hand underneath you, one on the small of your back, and your legs wrapped around his waist.

regardless of the familiarity, his strength always surprises you; the effortlessness with which he scoops you up into his arms and holds you there never fails to make your heart beat a little bit faster, no matter how many times he does it.

“aren’t you tired?” you mumble against his mouth between kisses as he totes you across the little timber ranch you call home. he nearly stumbles on the edge of a tattered old rug underfoot, the same one he's helped you hang on the clothesline a hundred times on sunny days, kicking it huffily back into place as he holds you tighter.

“not too tired for this,” nicholas replies easily, leaning forward and laying you flat across the wooden table that sits at the centre of the main room of your home. 

it’s the same table at which you’ve shared countless meals with him. the same table where you’ve sat the boys down and patched up their wounds after a bad hunt. the same table where you and vash play cards at night as the fire on the hearth burns low, where he always lets you win while nicholas watches on from his favourite rocking chair on the other side of the room with a sly smile on his face.

“i thought you were taking me to bed,” you say breathlessly as you stare up at him from the hard surface of the sturdy wooden tabletop.

nicholas smirks down at you, shucking the straps of his suspenders off his shoulders one at a time.

“thought maybe i’d have something to eat first,” he drawls as he drags the poplin of your nightdress up slowly over your thighs, baring your skin to him and revelling in the unhurried reveal, “i’m starving, you know.”

your breath hitches in your throat at his words, a heat flooding fast through your cheeks as you peer up at him. your lashes flutter slightly, blinking slowly as your desire for him builds inside of you, and you part your thighs for him invitingly.

nicholas’s playful smirk splits into a full-blown grin at the gesture, something so charmingly boyish in the expression, and he drags you down to the very edge of the table with his strong hands gripping your hips. he settles down on his knees, and you feel his warm breath against your aching centre, catching on the wetness that’s already begun to seep out from your core. above you, you stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling overhead as your pulse thumps under your skin. to calm yourself, you trace the shadows that the beams cast with only the oil lamp on the other side of the room to light the space.

nicholas hums from his place on the floor, dragging two fingers up through the sticky wetness between your legs.

“you’re already this wet?” he muses, unmistakably pleased. “did you know we’d be coming home to you tonight?”

he splits his fingers into a V shape to spread you open, and you can’t help but whimper at the slightest brush against the sensitive bud at the apex of your sex. you hear nicholas draw in a sharp breath.

“oh,” he says the word on his exhale, a little shaky though he’d deny it if you were to bring it up. “you missed us, didn’t you?”

you nod even though you know he can’t see you from his current position, fisting the skirt of your nightdress in your trembling hands.

he hums curiously, goading you, and you know he wants you to say it.

“'course i did,” you whimper the words out helplessly, breathlessly, and completely sincere. “missed you, nico.”

“yeah? how bad did you miss me, kid?” he asks, pressing featherlight against the pretty swell of your clit. “because it looks like it was a lot.”

all you can manage is some sort of affirmative little sound, your breaths a bit harder to drawn in now that he’s touching you. your tongue more leaden under his careful attention.

he peeks up at you over the curve of your tummy, his dark hair hanging into his voracious eyes.

“anything else you wanna tell me?” he asks, pressing a bit more firmly against you now, tracing a lazy circle with the very tips of his fingers. your hips jump and your eyes squeeze shut, your heartbeat thrumming underneath your tongue.

“…myself” it’s almost unintelligible with how quietly you say it, and you can feel the satisfaction rolling off of nicholas in waves, like a tide that threatens to pull you under.

“what was that?” his fingertips trail down, dipping just inside of you, a little stretch but less resistance than there usually would be.

“i touched myself,”—you gasp at the sensation of him finally pressing into you, two knuckles deep now and far fuller than it had been when they were your own fingers—“in the bath. before bed. 'cause i missed you s’much.”

“i can tell,” nicholas breathes, but it sounds like a prayer—reverent and pious. “poor little thing.”

“nico!” 

your back bows as he wraps his lips around the bundle of nerves between your legs and suckles against it, his two fingers taking the opportunity to slip all the way inside and curl in just the way you like. finally giving you what you’ve been aching for all this time.

it’s noisy—your panting breath, your whimpers, the slick sound of his mouth against your wet wet cunt. the table even creaks slightly, in spite of its sturdy construction, when he drags you down even closer to his mouth, looping your legs over his shoulders until there’s no space left between you at all.

so it’s really no surprise when a figure appears in the doorway to your bedroom, blonde hair totally unkempt and rubbing at tired blue eyes. vash had stripped himself bare before he crawled into bed with you, and he hasn’t covered himself up since, so his scarred skin is on full display as hesitates at the threshold, watching curiously at the sight unfolding before him.

“vash,” you mewl, your fingers tangled in nicholas’s hair as your hips grind against his face. you reach out towards him with your other hand, and the dainty gold ring on your finger glints in the warm lamplight. 

nicholas pulls away from you with a loud, lewd slurp at your call of the other man’s name—strings of spit and god only knows what else stretching from his swollen lips to your pussy. vash and nicholas’s eyes meet, and the blonde hesitates almost shyly on the other side of the room. after a moment, nicholas sighs, but there’s almost something mirthful in it as he wipes the slickness from his mouth with the back of his calloused hand.

“you gonna make her wait all night, or what?” he calls to him, nodding him over like he’s giving him permission to approach.

even in his half-asleep stupor, vash doesn’t need much more of an invitation.

he’s at your side in an instant.

vash, rather peculiarly, sits in a chair at the table while nicholas returns his attention to the throbbing heat between your legs. you’re too distracted by the pressure building in the pit of your stomach to question it too intently, and so the blonde leans his head on his crooked arm, watching your face carefully as your other partner slowly takes you apart.

“feel good?” vash asks you quietly, a fierce flush burning along his cheeks as he raptly observes at every minor change in your expression. your head lolls towards him, and you nod. 

“kiss please,” you whimper to him, and he’s so so quick to oblige you, pressing his mouth to your own and greedily swallowing every sound that nicholas is pulling out of you with his unfairly talented tongue and his lithe, nimble fingers.

vash’s mouth is warm and wet and eager against your own. he kisses you the same way every time, whether it’s a hello, or a goodbye, or just a moment like this. he kisses you like he’s chasing something that isn’t running from him; taking everything you give him, but still desperately needing more.

“oh!” you gasp against vash’s parted lips as nicholas’s fingertips find that spot inside of you he seems to be incapable of missing, but intentionally skirts around to drive you even more insane. panting against your mouth, vash’s eyes flutter open and peek down at where nicholas is still dutifully at work. 

you watch his pupils dilate a little in the low light, the inky black swallowing up the blue of his irises as his eyes hone in on the wet, messy sight of the other man between your legs. vash pulls away from you as though drawn towards nicholas by sheer magnetism. you’re not sure if nicholas senses him nearing, or has more of his wits about him than you’ve given him credit for, because he lifts his head from where he’d been dragging his tongue along your clit as vash slips behind him to get a better view.

nicholas tips his head back to rest against vash’s hip, and his breathing is ragged as the blonde’s hands reach to gently cup his face.

“she’s so wet,” nicholas rasps up towards him as vash drags a thumb over his slick chin.

“yeah,” vash murmurs, his voice strained. his keen eyes flicker from nicholas’s face to your dripping pussy and then back again, like he’s not sure which sight he likes more. you watch helplessly as he lifts his thumb, covered now in your arousal and nicholas’s spit, to his mouth and uses his tongue to taste you both. “tastes good,” he moans, the digit still caught between his teeth.

“yeah, she does,” nicholas agrees, and you wiggle your hips involuntarily at the remark, feeling the crest of your building pleasure slowly begin to fade.

he chuckles when he notices, leaning forward again to press his fingers inside of you again. he holds them still there, and vash leans forward, gently pinning one leg further open so he can get a better view. you whimper when nicholas gives you none of the satisfaction you’re chasing, and keeps his fingers inside of you unmoving.

“please, nico,” you beg him earnestly, your voice fracturing on the plea. your nightdress is sticking to the perspiration on your skin now, and you want it off, but you have more pressing issues at hand. 

or rather more issues with hands pressing you.

“does this feel better than touching yourself?” nicholas asks, giving one slow curl of his fingers that has your back bowing off the hard surface of the tabletop. “does it feel better now that you have the real thing?”

“y-yes,” you keen, a sob building in your too-tight chest that you can’t even drawn enough breath into to properly let form. “so much better. i-i wanna cum, please make me cum.” 

“that’s our girl,” nicholas breathes, grinning wolfishly up at vash who looks completely enamoured watching you fall apart quite literally at nicholas’s hand.

below you, vash begins to stroke himself to the sight of you coming undone, his other hand tangling in the short strands of nicholas’s hair at his crown. nicholas indulges him while he continues to please you, because he’s never denied either of you anything you want. vash’s little whimpers and moans as he watches you writhe on the table top only make your heart beat faster, and it doesn’t take much more until you’re crying out, the levee of pleasure giving way to the rush of your peak.

“oh, look at that,” nicholas hisses against your pussy as your walls clamp down around his fingers to the point he almost can’t move them at all. you aren’t sure if he’s speaking to you or to vash, but it scarcely matters with the way your head is spinning. “you close too?” nicholas asks, tilting his face towards where vash is leaning against the table, one hand pressed flat against the surface now while the other passes quickly over his flushed, leaking cock.

you watch him through the daze of your own pleasure, marvelling in it. everything about vash is just so pretty. his parted lips, slick with spit and swollen from the way he catches them between his teeth. his delicate cheekbones, and the rosy blush that curls across them, that stains his nose, and even curls down to his chest. even the silvery scars across his skin, stories from a lifetime he knew before you, adorn him like art.

“yeah,” he whimpers out brokenly, his teary blue eyes meeting yours as you blink at him from your place on the table. nicholas rests a hand on vash’s hip, a rough thumb sweeping encouragingly over a scar that’s etched into his skin, and you watch the blonde tip his head back as he cums with a drawn out moan—the final push over the edge. his spend drips down over the divots of his knuckles, and he gives a few more half-hearted pumps of his hand to ride out his own end with a shudder.

it’s quiet for a moment in the your house. you hear the wind whistling outside through the windchimes vash had made for you, the sound of panting breaths, and the slowing beat of your racing pulse.

“what a mess you two made,” nicholas is the first to shatter the stillness, his tone wry. he clicks his tongue behind his teeth, eyeing the smear of wetness at the edge of the table that’s dripped down the inside of your thighs to pool there and the cum dripping from vash’s trembling grip. nico reaches up and takes vash’s soiled hand, dragging his fingers through your mess. the brunette shoots you a mischievous look, and then lifts sticky digits to his swollen lips and cleans them off with a flick of his pink tongue.

vash slackens as nicholas’s lips wrap around him, like the tension he’s been carrying since they got home–from the botched hunt, the long days away, and the argument they'd had that has been weighing on him–dissipates with the gesture. once vash’s hand is mostly clean, nicholas pulls back and places a kiss to his palm.

the two of them share a look, and wordlessly you know that all has been forgiven.

their eyes return to you, next.

“how are you doing up there, princess?” nicholas teases, his eyes scanning over your dishevelled form.

“good,” you reply, your lips curling up into a soft, satisfied smile. with a bit of effort, you regain your bearings and push yourself onto your elbows. vash quickly slips a hand behind your back to steady you, and you shoot him a coy look of thanks.

“just good?” nicholas asks as rises from the floor, his knees crack and he winces, but he shakes it off quickly. his palm comes to rest flat against the tabletop and leans down close to you. the smell of tobacco is almost gone now, replaced with something a little headier, a little more primal, but you enjoy it just as much.

“great even,” you say softly, and he kisses you to hide the smile on his face. the kiss is brief but welcome, and soon nicholas is helping you up off the table and back onto your own feet, your nightdress falling back into place as he smoothes his palm along the curves of your body. you lean into his side, batting your lashes up at him as you purse your lips. “i distinctly remember someone making me me a promise about taking me to bed, though.”

nicholas rolls his eyes, but it’s an expression that bleeds fondness more than anything else. “yeah well, i didn’t wanna wake this one up,” he replies, reaching out and ruffling vash’s already messy hair.

“hey,” the blonde complains as he bats away his hand, and nicholas covers a laugh by burying his face in the crook of your neck. you giggle too and it only seems to make vash more wounded. “i’m awake now.”

nicholas lifts his face from the crook of your neck, resting his temple against your own. you can hear the smugness in his tone as he replies “want me to make you regret it?”

vash eyes widen, and he blushes a little more.

you reach up, and vash dips down like he knows what you're reaching for even without you having to say it. you take your time carefully brushing his hair back into something more closely resembling its usual state, and his eyes shut contently as you trace your fingertips along his scalp. once you're satisfied with the result, you take his face in your palms, enjoying the warmth of his blush against your skin.

“it's good to have you home, boys,” you whisper with nicholas still wrapped around you, cradling vash’s cheeks in your hands. "i was lonely without you."

vash's eyes open once more–his pupils wide again like they had been not long prior–and at your side nicholas's arm tightens around your waist. you feel the press of something hot and hard against your hip, and you swallow thickly as saliva pools under your tongue.

"jeez, you really know how to make us feel guilty, huh?" he murmurs, his tone dry but noticeably tight. you feel the soft brush of his lips against the shell of your ear as he nuzzles closer, and you can't miss the draw of his suddenly more laboured breaths.

"guess you'll just have to make it up to me," you whisper back to him. you hoped your tone would be playful, but it's too anticipatory, too breathless, to have bite. your eyes are still trained on vash's, watching as they grow hungrier with every passing thump of your quickening heart.

"well, you know where our bed is, kid," nicholas whispers, and his voice makes you shiver when the heat of his breath tickles the side of your cheek. he nips at the sensitive patch of skin just below your ear, the sharp drag of teeth that you know would never truly harm you. "or are you waiting for me to carry you there, too?"

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

Home

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

[freesia-writes]

Ch 6: Hikes and Hurts

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 3.2k

Hunter took a deep breath, pausing on the path as it wove its way across the cliffs of the island. Far below, the waves crashed against the shore, an ethereal mist rising to join the early morning fog that drifted equally across land and sea. A few fishing boats dotted the horizon, the creaking sounds of wood-hewn ships long lost in the distance and drowned out by the roar of the ocean. A river trickled down the cliffs, weaving its way down from the forest above and plummeting relentlessly toward the tumult below. 

Quiet sounds of cows and fathiers grazing and milling about on the hills above reached his ears. The air was crisp, and the distinct chill of the change in seasons had required Hunter to adopt a layer more than usual. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth, blowing hot air against icy fingers as he idly sorted through the myriad of scents that he could discern. Salty water, fragrant evergreens, dewy grass… the musky smells of various creatures… the hint of smoke from well-stoked hearths in the village to the west. 

He picked up something different suddenly – a soft, clean scent that he could only describe as floral linen. Chuckling dryly to himself and vowing to watch less trash holo with Omega, who had recently taken a liking to cheesy romantic adventure films, he turned from the vista point to scan the area. A large, hooded bundle was trundling toward the river, pausing here and there to bend over and inspect the ground before continuing on. When the bundle reached the river’s edge, which was a series of large, flat rocks full of pockets and spaces that gave the image of tide pools, it crouched all the way down and began picking around the shore. Curious and surprisingly defensive at someone else’s encroachment of this beautiful, peaceful space that he’d come to believe only he was privy to, Hunter tucked his hands into the pockets of his thick cloak and headed over to investigate. 

He was certain the bundle was human, judging by the gait and build, but he wondered what had drawn one of the locals out so early and so far. They didn’t often venture into The Forest (aptly named, he mused) but rather contented themselves on the western side of the island where it was full of meadows, hills, and a sense of community. He was a few feet away when he came to a halt, his approach concealed by the roaring river. 

“Looking for something?” he asked, raising his voice above the rushing water. 

The squawk that came from the bundle made him question if it really was human, and with one clumsy motion, it toppled onto its side, arms and legs flailing everywhere on the way. Hunter startled in response, backing up a few steps and raising his hands in front of him as the bundle scrambled to right itself. 

“Whoa, whoa… Sorry! You alright?” 

“Hunter?!” came a gasp, a slightly squeaky lilt in a familiar husky voice. “What the–” The words dissolved into grumbles as sand and rocks were brushed off and the figure rose to its feet, turning to face him. Beneath the hood he could see the center of Lyra’s face, and he nearly laughed out loud in equal parts surprise and mockery for her entirely unmeasured reaction. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said carefully, lips pressed in a firm line. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else, instead taking in her appearance head to toe. She must have been wearing layer upon layer of clothing, all covered by some kind of head-to-toe suit that he imagined was to keep out the wind and rain. It created a comically shapeless result, with boots poking out the bottom and a hooded head that looked small compared to the rest. “What… uh… Whatcha doin?” 

“You…” Lyra took a ragged breath, her arms lifting at her sides with the inflation of her lungs and lowering again as she blew it out in an attempt to calm down. “You scared the kark out of me,” she said, so quietly and conspiratorially that he almost couldn’t hear. He looked around, wondering if there were others nearby, but he hadn’t sensed anything. “I like to come out here on walks,” she continued, doing her best to speak normally but still sounding undeniably tight. “Neat stuff washes up on the banks, especially this time of year, and I thought I saw a piece of tumbled glass… before you robbed me of my dignity.”

Now Hunter did laugh, dipping his head in contrition before sneaking his eyes back up to hers, at least what little he could see beneath the thick layers. “I’m sorry… I guess I owe you a piece of… tumbled glass?”

“Yes, you do,” she answered pertly, shifting on her feet and wrapping her arms around herself. “What are you doing out here?”

“Taking the long way back from hunting.”

“Does the meat just walk itself to your shop?” she asked, tilting her head at his hands.

“Heh. I wish. Nothing today. Something’s a little off with the herds; I have no idea what.”

“Hmm. Well I’m sorry you came up empty-handed, although I imagine that’s just part of the job sometimes.”

“Yep.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. The early morning sun was just beginning to peek over the tops of the mountains above, sending inquisitive beams through the boughs of the trees and beginning to chase the dense fog back toward the sea. Hunter returned his hands to his pockets, trying to think of the best thing to say to excuse himself back on his way. 

“It might have something to do with the lunar festival?” Lyra offered, catching him off guard.

“What might?”

“The animals being weird…The moons are only full at the same time once a year, and some of the locals swear it affects everything on the island.”

“How?” was all he could muster, although he’d seen and heard of far stranger things in his travels across planets of virtually every size and setup. 

“I have no idea,” she shrugged, gazing off toward the sea for a moment. “But,” she continued, leaning toward him with a slightly dramatic air, “Last year around this time, my bread loaf wouldn’t rise. So they might be onto something.” 

He stared at her in response, unable to discern if this was deadpan, factual delivery, or some kind of attempt at wit. A small sigh from beneath the hood gave him a hint, and Lyra dropped her own head, mumbling something under her breath that even he couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” he asked, hoping it was something about having to be on her way.

“I said… Geez…” she paused, as though giving herself a hard time for her own delivery, “I said it’s hard to be funny under all these layers.”

“Yeah, what is all that for?” Hunter asked, trying to ignore his own wondering if her attempt at a joke would have been funny even without the excessive clothing. “You look like you’re ready to be rolled down a hill…”

Lyra laughed at that, a self-conscious little guffaw that was promptly followed by her hand covering the bundle’s face-hole. “Is that a regular pastime where you’re from?” 

“Not in the slightest,” he answered, although the mental image of troopers wrapped in layers of blacks, being rolled down the curving domes of the Kaminoan buildings brought a little lightness to his heart… But then it was quickly replaced by his last view of Tipoca City – burning wreckage sinking to the bottom of the sea.

“Sorry…” Lyra said uncertainly, and Hunter realized his face had been more telling than he’d assumed. He looked back at her with a little shake of the head, brushing away a lifetime of memories. 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he began.

“Would rolling me down the hill make you feel better?” she asked, mouth pressed in a serious line. His eyebrows rose, as did the corner of his mouth, glancing from her to the cascading river that poured off the edge of the island cliffs into the sea below. 

“Murder isn’t usually my first choice of pick-me-ups.”

“Ah, okay. That’s good,” she said solemnly, nodding slowly. “To answer your question…” she paused, giving him time to backtrack to what his question even was, “I like to bundle up when I come out in the early mornings because I’m always cold. And it’s really hard to leave my living room when the fire is going and there is some morning treat in the oven. But I also really like it out here. So this is how I stay warm.”

“You’re always cold? In a place like this?” 

“I mean, not always… But pretty much always. Bad circulation, maybe.”

Another shared chuckle.

“Fair enough.”

The conversation meandered from there across a few topics of little importance, and Hunter was finding himself intrigued by the hints of depth beneath the relatively plain exterior. He’d become so used to the ever-changing cast of characters that he’d been subjected to throughout the war, each one seeming to be more bold and brash than the last, that it was almost off-putting to encounter someone so… simple? They wrapped up with some simple well-wishes and went their separate ways, leaving Hunter feeling simultaneously confused and comforted.

* * * 

By @constant-brain-fog

.

“Whatcha got there, kid?” Hunter asked, falling into step beside Omega as they made their way down the hill from the school. 

“Oh, it’s for you, actually!” she answered, passing a large package wrapped in twine into his hands. “And you’ve got to stop calling me kid, Hunter…” 

“Right. Sorry,” he faltered, although he knew that she still liked it, beneath the inconsistent facade she’d grown since starting school. He sniffed the parcel and received a noseful of earthy vegetable scents. “Who’s this from?”

“Lyra.” Omega had a small smile on her face, casting a quick side glance at him before returning her gaze to the path. “She said she saw you hunting a few days ago, and she didn’t want you to go hungry.” 

“Oh really…” he murmured, squinting narrowly as he shifted the package to rest beneath an arm. “Well isn’t that nice.” 

“I thought so! No?” she asked, curious at the sarcasm dripping from his voice. 

“When she saw me, it was an empty hunt day,” he said, the faintest of wry grins tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So this seems more like a little jab than a generous gift.”

“I don’t think she’s like that…” Omega observed, brow furrowing as she scrutinized him. “She seemed so warm when she said it…And she offered to help me with my internship applications because they’ve been stressing me out.”

“Well, either way… Let’s see what we can do with this for dinner tonight.”

The parcel contained an impressive variety of produce that Hunter assumed came from Lyra’s garden; some were familiar, some not. Brightly-colored root vegetables lay next to plump green and yellow things that looked as though they’d been plucked from vines, and nestled among them were little blue and red balls that, upon being sliced open, revealed juicy interiors with tiny seeds. With their limited repertoire of culinary skills, Hunter and Omega had decided that the best course of action would be to roast them all in a large sheet pan in the oven. After quite a bit of chopping, the tray was filled and the oven was set. But the amount of vegetables it took to fill the sheet pan had barely made a dent in the pile they’d been given, and Omega laughed as she scooped the leftovers into bags, wrapping them and putting them in the cooling chamber for later use. Wrecker was notably absent that evening, and Hunter made a tongue-in-cheek observation that they could have used the extra mouth.

As they waited for the timer to go off, they busied themselves in their own endeavors – Omega had spread her school supplies across the table and was engrossed in her datapad while Hunter tried to organize all of the receipts that had been printed at the butcher shop over the last few days. Tech was his unofficial accountant, keeping track of inventory, overhead, and margins required to keep the shop profitable, but his continual frustration with Hunter’s messy ways had resulted in multiple threats of resignation. So the receipts were to be “ordered chronologically and delivered in a timely fashion to minimize the redundant work and avoid wasting time”, and Hunter had complied, mostly to avoid having to do the rest of it himself.

He sensed Omega’s mood changing quite rapidly between the dinner prep and the time they sat down to eat, and as they dug into their steaks, now with vegetable side dishes that were quite beautiful with their array of colors, he could almost see a proverbial dark cloud hanging over her head. A wave of discomfort washed over him as he pondered the possible causes, realizing he was wildly out of his league. He didn’t even really know what he was to her anymore – some kind of protective figure at the very least, but as she’d settled into young adulthood, her maturing perspective combined with the fact that she’d lived nearly twice as long as he had created a bit of complexity in an already-unfamiliar scenario. But considering the slump of her shoulders and the way it tugged at his heart, Hunter knew he had to at least give it a shot. 

“The vegetables are really good,” he ventured, stabbing one with his fork. “Good call on the seasoning.”

“Hmm,” was her only reply, pushing them around on her plate with enough dejection to make even a clanker feel compassion. 

“You… uh… want to talk?”

“Not really.”

“Alright.”

More silence ensued, punctuated only by the sounds of eating, which were disproportionately amplified in the discomfort of the situation. 

“What’s the next internship?” he tried again, hoping to spark her interest. She’d been thoroughly enjoying herself so far, with the occasional hiccup here and there, and had sounded excited about the rest of the year’s plans and opportunities.

“No idea,” she said, voice lower than usual. He frowned, tilting his head at her. 

“Why not?” he asked, with as warm and gentle a tone as he could muster. He was really trying to do it right, whatever “it” was, and fought back the rising frustration at his own inadequacy in this realm.

“It’s all different. The next round is more competitive. You have to apply for the assignments you want, and they only take the top two students for each position. If you don’t get any of the ones you want, you’re just shoved somewhere, whether you’re interested in it or not.”

“Ah. That’s… tricky.”

“It’s kriffing stupid!” Omega blurted out, face hardening with thinly-veiled anger. 

“Whoa, careful kiddo–” The thought was out before he could give it a second thought, and it apparently contained an unfortunate choice of words.

“You don’t get it!” she fumed, her lilting voice cracking with emotion. “The applications are stressful enough themselves, plus the lunar festival is coming up and everyone is telling me I need to have some kind of date for it, otherwise I’m total Bantha fodder, and it’s all just… unfair! I don’t know when everyone decided that I have to act or be or look a certain way, whether or not I want to, but it’s driving me crazy. And I bet that if I don’t play their little games, I’ll be stuck shadowing some dumb datapad programmer or something like that.”

Hunter was speechless, taken aback by the flood of information, most of which felt as though it were coming out of nowhere. She’d always seemed happy with her class, especially since it was made up of a handful of students who all knew each other and appeared to get along. When had it changed so drastically? He fumbled for something to say, trying to think strategically.

“I mean, datapad programming can be pretty handy…” he tried, cringing at the wave of emotion he felt from her in response. 

“It’s okay, Hunter. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. You can’t understand this. It’s not what you were made for,” she snapped, picking up her plate and heading for her room, where she kicked the door closed behind her. He was shocked at her uncharacteristic vehemence. 

An hour passed, leaving Hunter confused and alone as he finished his own plate, constantly warring with himself as to whether or not he should go after her. He cleaned up the kitchen, washing and drying everything by hand before putting it where it belonged. There was a flurry of emotions in his own mind as well: frustration at having apparently said the wrong thing, indignation at her seemingly disproportionate reactivity, and a deep, nagging, unsettling sense that perhaps she was right. He had been made for one purpose. How was he supposed to craft a life of his own outside of that?

As he made the final preparations to head to bed himself, he heard footsteps in Omega’s room, followed shortly by her door cracking open to reveal her small frame. She’d grown so much from when they’d first met, yet somehow still carried a sensitivity and fragility that the world had not yet robbed her of. At least, that was how he saw her. And now, deflated as she was, he only wanted to protect her now from the nuances of adolescent life, the way he had protected her from blaster bolts and tsunamis. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, approaching from the hallway to where he stood in their small living room. “I didn’t mean what I said… That was awful…” The light scent of her tears matched up to the redness of her eyes, and he shook his head slowly. 

“It’s fine. You’re not wrong–”

“Absolutely I’m wrong!” she exclaimed, drawing closer now. Her body language was odd, like a bird about to take flight, holding some kind of inexpressible tension as she continued. “You may have been created for war, but that’s not all of who you are, Hunter. I know you’re a clone, but you’re still human. And more unique than most.” Her voice was softer now, filled with a wistful nostalgia. “You always have been.”

“Well thanks, but–”

His words were cut off again by her sudden hug, arms wrapped firmly around him as she buried her face in his chest. She squeezed, heaving a great sigh as they stood there in silence, his own arms finding tentative support around her. 

“I kind of miss just being a soldier,” she confessed, and Hunter’s mind began to run with a million responses about how she wasn’t a soldier, she’d done so much more than that, etc. But he quieted it for a moment, taking a deep breath of his own, and tried to understand what she was really attempting to convey. Her time as a “soldier” had been their years of post-Republic adventures, scraping by with odd jobs and never quite knowing where they would end up. But they’d always had each other, and their missions were usually fairly singular in focus. It was a whole new world to navigate not only the basics of safety and provision, but also future planning, social nuance, and other pressures that he couldn’t even begin to understand. 

He hugged her tightly, silent in the shared sentiment. And in a way, he found himself missing it too.

.

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[artficlly]

a dish served cold (mini series - part four)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes. 

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, guns, violence, kidnapping, murder/death, attempted sa, head injuries, choking, vomiting, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, alcohol, betrayal, bounty hunters, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: part four!! things are starting to get moving now. let me know your thoughts sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

If you had expected peace and quiet once the sun set, you were sorely wrong. After being cramped up in a saddle for hours on end, you’d hoped exhaustion would take you the moment you were returned to solid ground. But aside from Barnes, it seemed like you were the only one who was fatigued. 

Your captors hooted and hollered between themselves, gathered around their small fire as they greedily swallowed down whiskey. You had never thought bounty hunters to be so lax. They did not seem to fear the security of their catch, simply relying on the strength of their knots. There was no fear of an attack from a roaming gang or that you or Bucky might slip from your binds. 

You lean against a fallen log a few paces away from them and wonder if they knew how you schemed. In every moment of travel, you pictured increasingly violent ways to escape. You were just waiting for a moment of vulnerability—a moment where you could strike and end this ordeal once and for all. Your thoughts had always been conflicted previously, a silent, crawling worry of judgement. It was a sin to kill; yes, the Bible and preachers always said so. But what of self-defence? What of the rising dread you felt, the knowing in your bones? Deep down, you knew. You knew that if you did not act, you might become yet another corpse that littered the deserts. Or you might be subjected to a range of much worse fates—the ones women truly feared. 

It is the crunch of boots against the rocks and sand that alerts you to one of them drawing closer. Not the ringleader, but another. Rumlow. The man pauses in front of you, crouching down to your height. You swallow hard, your posture straightening. He has a drunken grin, one rather close to a sneer. He brushes a strand of tangled hair from your face. 

“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t ya?” Rumlow muses, his eyes scanning across your dirty face. “I do wonder if we keep ya around after this bounty business is done. Could be nice to have some… female company around.”

You shift away as far as you can, but despite your efforts, you feel his hand reach under your skirts. You lift your leg, intending to kick the man, but his spare hand grips your shin, pinning it down. Filthy hands graze across your skin, up past your knee. Bile burns in your throat, your hips squirming as you try to put further distance between the two of you. Rumlow chuckles, fingers ghosting across your thighs. 

You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together to trap his hand in place, hoping and praying that he would not try to reach any further. “I would sooner put the barrel of a gun in my mouth and pull the trigger than be your whore.” You hiss.

The man goes to laugh but stops abruptly. The phlegmy wheeze caught short as you spit in his face. He froze, as if in disbelief. He releases your shins, his hand rising to his cheek, wiping the glob of saliva with one swipe. You watch in disgust as he brings the finger to his lips, sucking the fluid off with a twisted grin.

You are revolted to find that Rumlow appeared… delighted by your sudden will to fight.

He raises his free hand, swinging it down and cracking it firmly across your cheek. Your neck cranks as your head is struck to the side. The shock of it jolted you; your thoughts somewhat momentarily dazed as pain quickly radiates across your skin. You gasp, staring at the ground beneath you. Hesitantly, you run your tongue over your split lip, wincing as you taste blood. 

You feel heat flare across your cheeks, the steady hum of rage flooding your veins. He had released your shin. With a grunt, you raise your knee in a sharp, abrupt motion. Rumlow groans as it connects with his gut, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thigh. “You’re gonna regret that, you stupid bitch.” 

Before you could react, he rose to his feet. One hand seizes a fistful of your hair, and you let out a yelp as he tugs. Rocks dig sharply into your skin as he jerks you onto your stomach, grunting as he drags you across the clearing. You twist in his grip, letting out a gasp as he finally releases you. Your shoulders ache as you desperately tug at the binds keeping your arms tied behind your back, a blind panic setting in. 

You feel him tower over you, his hands digging into your sides. He flips you from your belly onto your back, and you let out a winded squeak, wriggling as you try to break free. 

“Get away from me.” You manage to gasp as the man huffs out a laugh, gripping you by your ankles as he tugs you towards him. You struggle in his grip, managing to free one of your feet, and kick him solidly in the nose. 

Rumlow pauses his movements, the crunching sound of bone reverberating across the campsite. 

He lets out a pained wheeze, his hands rushing upwards as blood streams from his nose. You watch mesmerised for a second as the crimson liquid spills over his hands, dripping down his forearms. 

With a grunt, you flip onto your stomach once more. You wriggle forward, hoping some distance might change your situation for the better. Your victory was short-lived, as you are left frozen as a pair of leather boots stand in your line of sight. 

“Ya know, I’m gettin’ a bit sick of you, little lady.” Pierce snarls, leaning over as he grips one of your arms. Without so much of another word, he hauls you across the ground. You wince and yelp as the rocks and twigs dig into your skin, tearing at your skirts. 

But, to your relief, the ring leader sits you upright once more. Gasping for breath, you are leaning up against a pole. Pierce pauses to stare at you, rubbing the stubble along his jaw. 

“You best stay put now, or I’ll set my boys on ya.” He warns, his eyes moving to look at something behind you. “You’ll keep an eye on her, now won’t ya Barnes?” He sneers teasingly.

You turn your head to look behind you. In your struggle, you haven’t realised the outlaw was tied up directly behind you. Barnes doesn’t respond, and you watch the profile of his face as he stares broodingly into the night. Pierce walks away to return to the fire, and you notice how the outlaw's fist and jaw are clenched. 

Quietly, you catch your breath, your head leaning against the post as you close your eyes. Your heart is beating wildly, and your chest is rising and falling as you try not to focus on the sting of your wounds and the pounding in your skull.

“You alright?” The low, gravelly voice of Bucky spoke up into the silence. You crack your eyes open, sighing heavily through your nose. You were surprised—very surprised, actually—that the outlaw was even interested in speaking to you. 

You run your tongue over your teeth, then your bottom lip, as you contemplate. The behaviour of your captors was elevating at a dangerous rate. If you remained with these men any longer, you weren’t sure you’d be lucky to escape as you had tonight. There was no way for you to untie your binds yourself, not without help. Mere days ago, you would’ve sworn Barnes was your enemy. You’d have to bite the bullet and consider a temporary allyship. 

You could not say you knew the man; you only knew the small acts of kindness he had shown you. You could offer a truce and hope that, in the end, he didn’t turn on you out of revenge for this whole messy situation. 

“Can I ask you a favour?” You hesitantly breach the silence that has fallen, ignoring his previous question. You might’ve answered yes, just to ease his mind that you were, in fact, okay. But you were too shaken to lie. It was hard to forget Rumlow’s dirty fingers had ghosted up your thigh. It was easy to picture what he might’ve done if you had not fought back.

“A favour?” Barnes asks. You could feel him shift behind you, adjusting his seat and trying to lean closer. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me, but I have a feelin’ the only way we can get out of here is to work together.” Your words were met with a contemplative silence. You swivel your head back again, your neck straining as you try to get a peek at his face to see if any emotion crosses his chiselled face. 

“And what were you proposin’?”

“My knife, it’s still in my boot; they missed it. I can’t grab it with my hands tied, but maybe you’ll be able to grab it.” You huff, snapping your head forward once more. Sliding your legs carefully underneath yourself so your feet were closer to where his hands were tied. Then, you shuffled backwards until your back was pressed against his shoulder. 

The outlaw bends closer to you in return, his hands blindly feeling around your calf, shin, and ankle, searching for an angle to stick his fingers into your boot. You keep your jaw clamped shut, ignoring the goosebumps that rise across your skin. You were thankful for your stockings, which prevent Barnes from feeling how your body reacts to his touch. It perplexes you how his unintentional caress felt so different from the type of touch Rumlow had subjected you to. 

“I get the knife, and then what?” Barnes puffs as he strains against the rope. His fingers press into your boot, searching for the thin blade tucked snuggly between the leather and your stockings. With your back arched, you tilt closer, trying to give the outlaw a fighting chance to retrieve the knife. The whalebone edge of your corset cut into your skin, and your breathing grew strained as your ribs were squeezed at the awkward angle. 

“You hold it for me, and I can cut myself loose, then I’ll cut you free.”

His fingers pause, as if he were suddenly second-guessing your proposal. “And what’s to say you don’t bolt the second I cut you free.”

You sigh, squeezing your eyes together in frustration. Your back and hips ached from the position in which you were bent, and your legs were cramped and quivering as you tried to stay upright. 

“I promise, okay? I know it ain’t worth much. I just know I can’t get out of here without your help.” You say, near begging. Your breath comes out in short pants, the tight lacing of your corset showing no mercy. His fingers are still frozen in place, and you can imagine the frown that has fallen across his face. “I am scared. Is that what you want to hear? Those men… those men are only get worse each night, and I ain’t gonna be able to fight them off much longer.”

You wait for his response, expecting him to ask how it would benefit him—other than the obvious possibility of him escaping his fate of swinging once the party reached civilisation. To your surprise, he doesn’t appear to question you. The outlaw grunts, as if not even able to find the word to reply, and to your relief, he begins digging for the knife once more. You release a sharp breath, clenching your jaw as you strain to stay twisted in place. 

When he finally manages to grip the blade after a few more minutes of fumbling around, you nearly sob out of joy. The outlaw succeeds in plucking the knife from your boot, and you moan in relief, flopping against him as you flex your legs back into place. Barnes is tense at your touch; his body is stiff as if it had turned to stone. 

“Hold still.” He mutters. The coarse fibres of your binds rubbed at your wrists, the pull of the knife tugging them back and forth. The two of you are dead silent as he works, eyes locked on your captors, who were still huddled around the fire, drinking and oblivious. They don’t notice anything amiss. 

With one final tug, the strands of the rope come apart. You gratefully pull your wrists apart, rolling your shoulders subtly with a relieved sigh. Your moment of bliss is short-lived, as you do not want to draw attention to yourself before you are able to free Barnes. You make quick work of his rope, your fingers gripping the blade expertly as you quickly cut. Your head snaps rapidly between the rope that disintegrates between your fingers and the group of captors. 

Only when the outlaws binds are removed do you shift back into your original position, so as to not rouse suspicion if they glanced over. Your pulse sounds like a drum in your ears as you lean back onto the wooden post. Half of you had expected the outlaw to leap to his feet, materialise a gun from thin air, and take them out expertly like a gunslinger of legend. Another half expected he might turn on you, that vengeance for your actions might outweigh his common sense. 

Barnes did neither. Instead, to your surprise, he presses your small knife into your palm and mutters to you in a low voice, “We should wait until they fall asleep. Easier to shoot without ‘em shootin’ back.” 

“You want to kill them?” You say, horrified. 

Even if you had pictured your captors deaths repeatedly, you did not actually intend to kill them. There was rage, frustartion, and fear inside of you, yes, but you did not want to become a murderess. Maybe there would be some satisfaction in causing them to be arrested and watching them swing, but were you truly capable of killing? Having a violent thought was no sin, but only if you did not act upon it. 

“As far as I’m concerned, they deserve it, darlin’.” Barnes replies gruffly. 

You think back to how the outlaw has watched as these men beat and torment you. How he had grit his teeth and clenched his fist. Your captors had found enjoyment in his suffering as equally as yours, laughing when he stumbled and dragging him by his neck. Thinking back, you recognised there was a growing darkness in his gaze, a hateful, vicious thing growing within him. 

“I think it’s up to the law to decide who deserves what.” You say, but deep down, you are unsure of your own words. Even if you escaped without killing your captors, what was to say they would give up the chase? How far would they travel through this godforsaken desert just to get to Barnes? And you could not simply let Barnes slip away; you still needed him. 

“Those men hurt you, hell, they were gonna do a lot worse. You’re tellin’ me that you’re not the least bit upset about that?” He asks, irritated. 

You cannot find the heart to reply.

—

It didn’t take long for your captors to fall asleep—a mixture of the exhaustion of the day and the indulgent pours of whiskey they allowed themselves. You were surprised; you’d never expected bounty hunters to be so sloppy. Maybe they could afford it due to their numbers, more firepower, and strength. You wondered why your captors didn’t have the foresight to leave one of their own awake to stand watch or why they didn’t sleep in shifts. Maybe they had too much faith in their knots or even their ears to wake them at the slightest noise. 

You had decided you would not kill. No. You would have Barnes do the dirty work if necessary. Whatever watched over you would have to forgive you for that sin, but at least you would not have blood on your hands. 

The camp grew silent until only the crackle of the fire, the nickering of the horses, and Barnes slow, deep breathing joined you. It was only when you heard the soft snores that Barnes nudged you with his elbow. The outlaw glances over his shoulder at you, his face dusty and eyebrows knit together in a look of determination. 

The two of you slowly rise to your feet, careful and purposeful with each step as you navigate your way through the small camp. One of the captors had fallen asleep next to the fire, while the other two had miraculously made it to their beds. 

You clutch your small knife in your hand. You had decided it would be suspicious if you left yourself unarmed—you didn’t want Barnes to suspect your plan to use him. Based on what you had heard from stories and personal experience, you did not think the man was particularly remorseful about using violence and taking lives. However, you did not want to give him any more reason to distrust you than he already likely did.

Trust would be key, as much as it disgusts you. 

You watch on like a hawk as Barnes hesitantly leans down, retrieving a pistol from the belt of one of the men. You hold your breath, momentarily captivated, as the light from the fire illuminates his side profile, strands of messy hair sweeping over his forehead. There is a strange feeling in your gut that was unfamiliar to you, one that made you feel weak in the knees. Without disturbing its owner, he withdraws the gun from its holster with deft, cautious, and slow fingerwork. 

You release a long, slow breath, and Barnes rises to his full height once more. He does not even glance in your direction, instead assessing the gun and checking the number of bullets left. You creep towards him, a small, anxious voice within thinking he might turn the gun on you. Those thoughts are quickly dismissed, the knot in your chest loosening as Barnes gestures his head towards one of the men, and you nod in response. 

You go to creep backward a few paces to allow the outlaw the space he needs to commit whatever crime he envisions, but find yourself frozen in your tracks as warm flesh wraps around your ankle. You glance down, your mouth opening in horror, as you realise the man next to the fire has awoken. With one hand clutched around your ankle in a vice-like grip, the other reaches for his second pistol, raising it to point it directly at you. You yank your leg backward sharply as his finger comes to rest over the trigger. Your whole body jolts as a loud gunshot rings through the camp, the scent of smoke filling your nostrils. 

Your hand flies to your stomach as you gasp, fear prickling across your skin. You quickly realise that, despite the sudden shock, you are unharmed. Wide-eyed, your head snaps upwards, and you see Barnes standing with his gun aimed squarely at the now deceased man. Blood splatters, bone, and brain matter paint your boots, skirts, and the soil. You could’ve sworn you heard the sizzle as droplets of blood sprinkle the open fire. You gape at the scene, fixed in place from the shock. Your joints feel frozen—a chill that not even the campfire could melt. The shock hits you in a rush that leaves your chest pounding as you gasp for breath. Only when you jerk your head upward to look at Barnes do you find the will to move. You pull your ankle free, your legs wobbling as you try to step over the body. 

There is a look of worry that haunts the outlaws features. 

He thrusts out his hand to assist you, his fingers brushing your hands. You gratefully grasp at him, your knees nearly buckling as he supports your weight. There is a strange comfort in feeling his arms wrap around your waist, hoisting you away. You look up, hoping to thank him, but your gaze moves past his concerned expression as you notice a dark, looming figure standing behind him. 

“Bucky!” You shriek and dive to the ground as his grip on you slips. Your palms meet the earth first, with rocks digging into your flesh. A choked gasp leaves your throat as you realise your hands were slippery, thick, crimson liquid painting your skin. For a moment, you think it is Bucky, and a sob rises in your chest. You look upward, but by some miracle, the outlaw is unharmed. He has gained his bearings and jumped forward to tackle Pierce. Bucky’s sculpted arms wrap around his middle as they begin to tussle on the ground. 

Your eyes flick back down to your palms, realising the blood you knelt in was from the body next to you. Mistakenly, you look at the corpse, then make a small gagging noise as you gain your footing. Bucky and Pierce are still brawling like a set of wild dogs, all teeth and claws, as they both struggle to reach a misplaced gun. You contemplate reaching for the pistol to assist the outlaw, but before you can do anything heroic, a large mass slams into your side. You let out a yelp as your shoulder smacked hard into the ground below, biting pain radiating up your arm. The heat of the fire is scalding, and your head has nearly fallen into the pit.

The man above you is Rumlow, still as loathsome as you remembered him. There was a thin layer of sweat across his forehead, his nose was bruised, and his yellowing teeth revealed an angry grimace. With one of his hands raised and his palm flat against your face, he attempts to shove your head into the fire. You grit your teeth, struggling to find your knife, which fell from your hand during the tackle. The heat from the fire continues to sear your flesh, and the flames are inching closer as your captor pushes your cheek closer and closer to the flames. The light blinds you, and in a moment of desperation, you bite down hard on one of his fingers, spitting blood as he yowls in pain. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, slam your knee into his stomach and roll out from under him. 

Your knife is discarded nearby, the glint of metal calls to you. You scramble towards it on your hands and knees, crying out as Rumlow grips you by the back of your head. Your scalp wails in agony as he takes a fistful of your tangled hair, yanking and tossing you to the ground. Your head cracks against the hard earth, a ringing in your ears as you roll onto your back coughing. 

Rumlow chuckled, lowering himself onto you. He straddles your waist, pinning you in place. You kick out wildly, trying your best to squirm your way out, but are unsuccessful. Wrapping his hands around your neck, he squeezes hard. Panic begins to rise as you fight for air, clawing at his hands desperately. Your vision zones in on his face, his crooked teeth, wrinkles, and slicked back hair. You turn your head, searching desperately for Bucky. Deep down, you knew he had no reason to help you, not while he thought you were some kind of bounty hunter. The edges of your vision begin to fade, the world growing grey as your lungs burn, your chest heaving in agony. 

Just moments before you consider closing your eyes and accepting this cruel and violent end, you notice a small light. A glint, not apart of the fire. A piece of metal, sharp and well-cared for. You knew this, as you had sharpened it yourself. Made in your Pa’s forge. It called to you once more. 

You reach out desperately, your palms dragging across the rough soil, until you can finally grasp between your fingers. With one last push, you clench your fist, driving the blade into the throat of your captor.

His mouth opens, eyes wide in shock, as he grabs at his neck. You gasp in air. Your throat burns, and your body suddenly grows possessed as you cough and heave. Blood spurts across your chest, neck, and face as Rumlow slumps over you. Still choking for air, you grunt loudly as you push the man off. Taking in large gulps of air, you roll onto your belly, close your eyes, and allow yourself a moment to breathe. The earth below you was warm from the fire, and you pres your forehead against it, not caring as you breathe in sand and dust. Beside you, Rumlow splutters, chokes, and gags before finally falling silent. 

These people had corrupted you. You were only a few weeks away from home, and you had become one of the characters in a cautionary tale your church would preach. There was blood on your hands; there was blood all over you. You were dripping in it, as if you had submerged yourself in a bath filled with it. It coated everything—your very being, your very soul. What would your Ma say? Her daughter, her only child, a sinner? You would surely go to hell for this, self defense or not. You could’ve stabbed him anywhere—the arm, the shoulder—but you chose the throat? It was never supposed to go this far, this… this idotic fantasy. You were a killer, a murderer. Had you completely abandoned your morals? All for what? Vengeance? 

Your arms shook as you rose up on all fours, gagging and heaving as you vomited up bile. You could not remember the last time you had a proper meal. Your stomach aches, and your throat stings from the acid. Eyes watering, you sniffle as you wipe at your face, pushing yourself to a kneeling position. 

Bucky stood over you, his hand extended. The outlaw looked as though he had been thoroughly tussled, his hair messy, and the beginnings of a bruise across his cheek. You take his hand, feeling like a ragdoll as he pulls you to your feet. His hand raises, coming to gently and hesitantly touch your shoulder. 

“You alright?” He asks, his voice laced with concern and hesitation. He seemed to regard you like a spooked horse, making slow and purposeful movements so as not to scare you away. You held his gaze, knowing there was a likeness of death within them.

“Yes.” You lie through your teeth, your voice hoarse. As if he can sense your lie, he shrinks back and grunts in response.

Any expressive or lively emotions from the outlaw moments previous were lost. Now, you were met by a brick wall. His visage was darkened and stoic. A void of a man. He took a seat in front of the fire, slumping as his back turned to you. Rage bubbles within you, the boil large enough that you consider biting your own fist as not to scream. This man had already taken everything from you, and now you were caught up in this mess. Innocent, you were no more. You look around at the destruction around you—blood and bullets littering the ground. 

He had caused this. He had caused this destruction in your life and led you astray into the desert. You stare at the back of his head, your skin crawling as you imagine how you would crack it open. Allies, you were no more, now that your captors had been dealt with. 

Hands shaking, you let out a sharp breath and turn around. 

You needed a drink. Something, anything to stop the pounding in your skull. 

You worked your way through camp slowly, checking the dead bodies, the tents, and then the saddlebags. There was no more whiskey to be found, and more alarmingly, there were little to no supplies. You had wondered if the lack of food and water given to you and Barnes while in captivity was purposeful, but now it seemed rather like a lack of provisions. No wonder they had been living off whiskey the entire journey. That, and it appeared that your captors had been dead broke, other than a few measly coins tucked into a saddlebag. They didn’t even have any damn cigarettes left.

Unfortunately, it left you in a similar predicament. They had brought along your saddlebag, but it was as bare as their own savings. There was little to no money—just a couple cans and half a waterskin full of warm water. Thankfully, they had tucked your rifle into one of the saddles, which you gratefully retrieve. Crimson Junction had certainly bled you dry, having to pay for a room, food, and stabling your horse while you waited for the roads to open. 

It seemed ridiculous now, thinking back to when you thought this would be easy. Hindsight was a cruel maiden. 

Stroking a hand down the wooden grain of your rifle, you wondered where the valuables Bucky and his companions had collected had gone. All the fancy jewellery that was stolen during the robbery... had it vanished into thin air? Was that their victims’ legacies? Maybe he had spent it all while on the run, or maybe the group of them had hidden it somewhere in the wilds. Either way, it didn’t seem like your captors had had the foresight to bring his saddlebag, which was presumably with his horse still loose in the canyons. 

Your hands tremble, and you grip the rifle in your hands harder. Taking deep breaths, you stalk over to Barnes, who obliviously stares into the shrinking flames. You gaze upon him and still feel grief squeeze your heart. The outlaw had been kind to you and even saved your life. But what of justice? What of your foolish mission that led you to this desert?

What of the retribution you deserved?

You had tried to be the girl you were raised to be. You had tried to be innocent, true, and kind. You had tried so hard to be what was expected of you—to marry well and be a good wife or even a mother. But there was so much anger within you—a rage you did not know how to smother. The flames burned higher and higher until they spewed from your mouth and engulfed you whole.

You were no longer gentle. No longer that girl you left behind in Aramiah.

“What were you diggin’ around for?” The outlaw asks, but he doesn't bother to turn his head. Probably for the better. Had he really regained faith in you that quickly? So blind to the different sides of you? He did not even know you, or maybe he thought he did? 

In that moment, you were unsure if you even knew yourself.

You raise the rifle and swing it over your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” You croak out. 

Bucky turns, but it is too late. You bring your arms down and strike him hard across the head. His head snaps back, a gash splitting across his temple. 

He is out cold before he can hit the ground.

PART FIVE

[holofizz]

More music I associate with these characters because I can't help it! Brace yourself it's still somehow a large list. I'm incapable of keeping my music playlists short, this is no different.

Crawford Tillinghast

Home Sweet Home - Arkavello

Love Me Dead - Ludo

Undisclosed Desires - Muse

Sticks and Stones - The Pierces

The Beginning Of The Twist - The Futureheads

The Waters Rising - Oceans of Slumber

Anton Mordrid

Rule #9 Child of the Stars - Fish in a birdcage

Impermanence - Major Parkinson

(The) Coffee Song - The Toxhards

Will I Find My Home Acoustic - Juniper Vale

Photo Voltaire Acoustic - Julien-K, The Birthday Massacre

Just Like Heaven - The Cure

John Reilly

The Drunk - Kiltro

Destroy Everything You Touch - Unwoman

Better Man - Pearl Jam

Eros - Viza

Neon Sunrise - I Am Giant

The Hands Are the Hardest

Herbert West

Murder Death - De Staat

Girl Anachronism - The dresden dolls

The Knack - Mother Mother

Wait - The Dear Hunter

Almost Human - Aurelio Voltaire

Dismantled - Nekonomicon, Kylee Brielle

Daniel Cain

Gloria - The Dear Hunter

(I Always Kill) The Things I Love

Lovefool - The Cardigans

Cemetery Breeding - Black Mountain

Push Me to the Floor - The Parlotones

Angeleyes - ABBA

Jonathan

For the Departed - Shayfer James

Serpentine - Anders Manga

Heard Somebody Cry - Oingo Boingo

The Killing Moon - Echo & the Bunnymen

Kiss Me You Animal - Burn The Ballroom

I/Me/Myself - Will Wood

Weyoun

Venus Ambassador - Bryan Scary

Stress - Jim's Big Ego

I'm A Princess - Bill Wurtz

The Other Me - Frost

Viva La Vida - Coldplay

Monkey Tree - Mother Mother

Kevin Burkhoff

Somebody's Home - Spock's Beard

Fractions - Juniper Vale

Create Myself - Gary Hesketh

Unwell - Matchbox Twenty

Voice in My Throat - Pearl and the Beard

Unwritten (acoustic) - Natasha Bedingfield

Milton Dammers

Devil's Plaything - Liv Sin

A Lifetime in the Service of Darkness - Ashbury Heights

Fill The Void - Oingo Boingo

People Are Strange - Johnny Hollow

¡Aikido! (Neurotic / Erotic) - Will Wood and the Tapeworms

Lecher Bitch - Genitoturers

50557

Blackest Eyes - Porcupine Tree

Can't Change Me - Chris Cornell

Laplace's Angel (Hurt people? Hurt People!) - Will Wood

The Mind Electric - Miracle Musical

Good For Your Soul - Oingo Boingo

Prosthetic - Haken

edit: fuck it, I put it all in it's own playlist.

[phantom1fanatic]

Em | 25 | She/Hers | PST | Minors DNI | 21+ preferred

━━━━━━━━━━━━

♕ LGBTQ+ member and friendly

♕ Searching for fandom and original universe roleplays

♕ Doubles and multiples preferred over single pairings

♕ I can play either gender

♕ Any gendered pairing is welcome

♕ Expect 200-2000+ word replies depending on muse and time

♕ Response times vary

♕ Love to chat ooc, share pinterests, memes, aesthetics, tiktoks, music, etc about our roleplay and characters

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Fandom Interests

Crossovers/Multifandoms

Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse

911/911 Lonestar

The Rookie

Ted Lasso

Z Nation

Marvel (MCU)

DC (cartoons mainly)

Young Justice

Detroit: Become Human

The Walking Dead

Arrowverse

Umbrella Academy

Prison Break

Midnight Texas

Suits

Kingsmen

Good Omens

Supernatural

Shameless

Disney Retellings

Deception

Jurassic World

Code Black

Station 19

Man from Uncle

Man from Toronto

Pokemon

Stranger Things

Altered Carbon

Terra Nova

LA Brea

Watch Dogs

Mr. Robot

Horizon: Zero Dawn

Reacher

The Boys

Hazbin Hotel

ATLA

Merlin

Note: I am more than willing to play multiple canons against an oc for you if asked. Would like if you could play at least one canon in return!

Note 2: Pink is what I’m craving most atm

━━━━━━━━━━━━

General Themes

Reincarnation

Time Travel

Natural Disasters

Past Lives

Soulmates

Hurt/comfort

Divine Enti

Dinosaurs

Hackers

Hanahaki Disease

Apocalypse

Deserted Islands

Fantasy

Sci-fi/Space

Slice of Life

Dark Themes/Dead Dove

Paranormal

Wild West

Medieval

Superpowers

Modern

Period Dramas

Mafia/Criminal Underworld

Egyptian Mythos/Pantheon

Dragons/Dragon Riders

Mermaids

Decade (20s, 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s)

Slowburn

Note: I’m always interested in your ideas, please feel free to reach out.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pairing Ideas

Throuple/Poly

Fallen Angel/Angel

Fallen Angel/Demon

Fallen Angel/Human

Angel/Demon

Angel/Human

Human/Demon

Half Angel/Demon

Half Angel/Human

Angel/Demon/Human

Angel/Demon/Fallen Angel

Human/Supernatural Creature

Supernatural Creature/Hunter

Royalty/Commoner

Rivals (sports, spies, etc)

Detective/Sidekick

Detective/Criminal

Ghost/Nonbeliver

Hero/Villain

Mermaid/Pirate

God/Human

God/Lesser Deity

Enemies to Lovers

Roommates

Arranged Marriages

Fake Dating

Opposites Attract

Forbidden Romance

Note: Love mixing/matching pairings so just lmk if you have any ideas!

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Are you interested? Perfect, I’d love to hear from ya! PM me for my discord and we can get to plotting!

Happy roleplaying 🌸

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

West Across the Salt

"A dragon?" Luvli repeated. "Here, in these parts?"

"It wouldn't have been recent." Riven said. "They may have come here a long time ago---roughly..." She trailed off, exhaling. Eorzeans were exotic enough to the Turalians as was, trying to explain the First Brood and their descendants would probably lead to a world of confusion.

"A thousand years ago." Estinien spoke. "Your people--would they have tales or stories of a creature that might have been similar to or mistaken for a tural vidraal?" Luvli frowned, crossing his arms.

"We certainly have stories of such creatures, but do you not have any sort of distinguishing information? How this...dragon may have looked? And are you certain it came here? Crossing the salt is no small feat." He replied.

"It would have scales as black as the darkest night here." Riven answered. Reinhardt at least been able to find a description of his quarry in old Knight-Dragoon records. "Black scales with a blue sheen, a body that you could liken to a serpent, and half the size of Valigarmanda. It was traveling with another of it's kind, but we don't know how the partner looked." Estinien blinked as a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"...Now that I think about it, the tural vidraal might have considered it an enemy." He said. Riven paused, looking at him.

"You think?" She asked.

"Granted we don't have much information to begin with, but aren't most tural vidraal territorial? A dragon would certainly cause a ruckus."

"That would help the search significantly." Luvli mused. "I can begin to make inquires, Sunforged, but..." The Pelupelu grinned toothily. Estinien groaned and facepalmed, as Riven chuckled softly.

"What would you have of us in exchange for this assistance then?" She asked.

"It would be a fine thing for one of the Vow of Resolve's Sunforged to purchase some of my mezcal to begin with." Luvli countered. "Another for her and this hunter to sit down and share a meal, and perhaps regale me with the story of why you are looking for a creature of your country here." Estinien narrowed his eyes.

"Seems fair enough." He rumbled.

"To start with." Riven added. She fixed Luvli with a smile. "What year amongst your wares would be considered fair and proper for me to purchase?"

[prestonfm]

⊹₊⟡⋆ nuno gallego + he/him ⊹₊⟡⋆ blasting i am a god by kanye west through their airpods is preston pruitt. oh , you don’t know them ? they’re the 23 year old ceo who just went viral for dumping a lukewarm cup of coffee on an intern (allegedly!!!). yup , the one that drives a rolls royce phantom . i hear they’re pretty diligent, but others have claimed that they’re quite volatile. that makes sense , considering they’re often labeled as the green-eyed monster.

stats:

full name:  preston reginald pruitt

nicknames:  prefers preston or mr. pruitt, will probably be snippy about it if anyone he's not especially close to tries anything else with him

gender:  cis man

pronouns:  he/him

sexuality:  bisexual, biromantic

age:  23

date of birth:  june 10th, 2001

zodiac sign:  gemini

height:  5'8"

occupation:  nepo baby ceo of pruitt yacht sales

interests:  interior design, mixology, watching old game shows (a pastime shared with his favorite nanny growing up), perfectly tailored suits, getting his way

visual inspo:

pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/aron_piper/oc-preston/ home: the styling of his mansion is very much this kind of vibe (i'm not too sure on exactly what the homes they live in here look like, but the decorating of his would be very similar to this) office: similar sort of look to the styling of his home, something along these lines. as mentioned above, he has an affinity for interior design, and would have worked closely with a decorator to get everything to his standards - regardless of the cost.

resembles:

scar (lion king), patrick bateman (american psycho), regina george (mean girls), hunter clarington (glee), dennis reynolds (it’s always sunny in philadelphia), light yagami (death note), sebastian valmont (cruel intentions), stewie griffin (family guy), plankton (spongebob), tashi duncan (challengers), lucille bluth (arrested development)

mini bio: tw - drug addiction of a family member

for as long as he can remember, preston has lived in the shadow of his older brother, playing second fiddle to a man, who, in his opinion, was totally incompetent, too focused on the dollar bill at the end of his nose to properly run the prestigious corporation that is pruitt yacht sales. despite it not being his birthright, preston believed he was the one destined to take over, going so far as to graduate from yale with a business degree to make sure he’d be ready – as well as sabotaging his brother’s newfound sobriety the night before his father was due to announce who would be taking over the company post his upcoming retirement. finally, he’s at the top, where he belongs, in charge of a multimillion dollar company, with little care for who he had to step on to get there.

family:

ward pruitt (father)

sabine pruitt (mother)

pierce pruitt (older brother, age 29)

peter pruitt (younger brother, age 17)

paisley pruitt (younger sister, age 16)

wanted connections:

older brother (m) - they've never been particularly close, but i'm assuming things would have only gotten worse after preston stole his ceo title (regardless of whether or not the brother actually knows the reasoning behind it yet)

ride or die (m/f/nb) - best friend, lowkey would love a sebastian/kathryn from cruel intentions kind of vibe (fully platonic or otherwise) but definitely open to other dynamics for sure!

frat brother (m) - he went to yale university; i don't have any sort of specific/actually existing fraternity in mind, it would just be a fictional one, definitely snobby, old money, legacy vibes (ik the odds of another muse already in play here having also attended yale/at the same time as preston/& could be in the same frat as him are pretty low so i'll most likely be sending a wanted connection into the main for this one, but just in case anyone was already thinking about bringing in another muse or hasn't fully fleshed out your character's educational backstory just yet, i figured i'd put this here!)

& friends with benefits, hookups (as in, fwb without the friendship), friends in general, family friends, exes, cousins, gym buddies, clients (those he's done business with in the past / potentially an influencer who has some sort of ongoing deal with the company?), next-door neighbor, rivals, enemies, ex-friends, one night-stand gone wrong, unknown half-sibling, younger siblings (down for changing their ages to make them work as playable muses here!), - all pretty self explanatory, and all open to muses of any gender ! i'm also more than down for filling any connections you guys are seeking / stuff not listed here !

taken connections:

everett finch - frenemies with benefits

imara gill - unlikely friends/drinking buddies

noa barclay - ride or die

sebastian guerra - one-sided (preston's side) rivalry

victoire grimaldi - fake friendship (preston feigns warmth towards her out of fear of pissing off a member of royalty)

wesley levine - ex-friend/one night stand gone wrong

zaire solace - preston takes advantage of his generosity and uses him as a makeshift personal assistant

[ambitionslost]

Hunter Michael West. Figure Skater. Alcoholic. FC: Nicholas Galitzine.

[dxrknessembr8ced]

" Mrrreow... "

Rei has grown feline traits around his body both ears and tail.

Frank is just standing there staring at him with a blank look.

" ....Rei what the fuck. "

' PWAP! '

Rei smack the reporter across the face just out of feline instinct.

" OW WHAT WAS THAT FOR?! "

" Murreow... "

Koaru started chuckling from the situation.

" Hehehe, kitty go smack...~ "

[yourgodlyparent]

Sky Gods 🔭

(AKA Likely Godly Parents of Kids Who Won't Be Kept Down)

Aeolus: Master of the Winds

Aeolus kids 🌬️Moody 🌬️Big goals 🌬️Always ready with an unhinged hot take 🌬️Seem to have watched every TV show ever made

Apollo: God of the Sun, Healing, Art, Music, Archery, and Prophecy

Apollo kids ☀️Glass half-full types ☀️Multi-talented ☀️Cool but approachable ☀️Snack food connoisseurs

Artemis: Goddess of the Hunt and the Moon

Hunters of Artemis 🌙BDE 🌙Don’t trust people in power 🌙Pragmatic 🌙Always ready to dole out some tough love

Boreas: God of the North Wind and Winter

Boreas kids 🌨️Drama-free zones 🌨️Stoic 🌨️Refuse to keep up with trends  🌨️Always win trivia nights

Eurus: God of the East Wind and Autumn

Eurus kids 🍁Introverts 🍁Overly-complicated coffee shop orders 🍁Prefer big cities over small towns 🍁Universally liked

Notus: God of the South Wind and Summer

Notus kids 🕶️Charismatic 🕶️Know how to get things done 🕶️Anger management issues 🕶️Passionate about their hobbies

Urania: Muse of Astronomy

Urania kids 🪐Own too many houseplants 🪐Can guess your astrological sign on sight 🪐Overthinkers 🪐Give great advice

Zephyros: God of the Gentle West Wind and Spring

Zephyros kids 🌷Sweethearts 🌷Aspire to a cottagecore lifestyle 🌷Give great compliments 🌷Constantly flake on plans

Zeus: God of the Sky, Lightning, and Thunder; King of the Gods

Zeus kids ⚡️Leadership Potential™️ ⚡️Strong sense of existential dread ⚡️No chill ⚡️Fear them

[eterniityblooms]

「 𝓭eath, rebirthーit is all a 𝒄𝒚𝒄𝒍𝒆, little mortal. you, like all things, partake in this cycle. 」

an independent, semi-selective multimuse rp/askblog, featuring muses from monster hunter, rain world, horizon zero dawn/forbidden west, the elder scrolls, and more, as written by martin!

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ 〔 rules / muses / about mun 〕

[swayhere]

canon starter call - open to anyone !

i have a strong urge to write some canon muses, so if you would be interested in writing against any of the canon muses listed under the READ MORE below, please comment/IM me and i can send a starter your way or reply to one of your starters.

i do not require you to know anything about my muse's canon, but i'm more than happy to tell you about it if you ask. i'd be happy to write canon muses against your ocs! also, mixing fandoms is 100% ok with me unless your canon muse is problematic and makes me uncomfy. my canon muses do not have all their memories or relationships from their life unless we plot it, but they will have the same general personality/ambitions.

if you are willing to write against my canon muses but don't care which, just like this post, and i'll take a look at your open starters and/or send you a closed starter at random with a muse i think fits the vibe.

*please don't agree to write against my canon muses if you're one of those picky weirdos that will be up in arms if i don't write a cannon muse exactly how you would.

( if you'd prefer to write against an oc muse only, check this post. )

canon muses i'd like to write: bold = extra big muse rn. strikethrough = exclusive, so not rn.

muses from tv shows: 

911 — eddie diaz , evan buckley , athena grant , bobby nash , karen wilson

911: lonestar — carlos reyes , grace ryder , judson ryder , t.k. strand , owen strand

as the world turns — dr. reid oliver , luke snyder

boy meets world — shawn hunter , jack hunter , angela moore , topanga lawrence

chuck — sarah walker , chuck bartowski , bryce larkin 

degrassi — jimmy brooks , sean cameron , ellie nash , marco del rossi , sav bhandari , drew torres , zoe rivas , miles hollingsworth iii , tiny bell , esme song , 

gilmore girls — jess , luke

good trouble — gael martinez , jamie hunter , callie adams foster , mariana adams foster , evan speck , joaquin perez , dennis cooper 

how i met your father — sid , ian , sophie , jesse

how i met your mother — marshall eriksen , lily aldrin , victoria

how to get away with murder — laurel castillo , connor walsh , oliver hampton , michaela pratt , frank delfino 

jessica jones — jessica jones

lost — kate austen , juliet burke , daniel faraday , desmond hume , sayid jarrah , sun-hwa kwon , claire littleton , walter ‘walt’ lloyd , charlie pace , hugo ‘hurley’ reyes , shannon rutherford , miles straume 

new amsterdam — lauren bloom , elizabeth wilder , casey acosta

new girl — nick miller , winston bishop , cece parekh

one tree hill — nathan scott , lucas scott , keith scott , chase adams , brooke davis 

outer banks (obx) — jj maybank , kiara carrera

please like me — arnold 

rosewell, new mexico — michael guerin , maria deluca , isobel evans

scandal — olivia pope , prezzy fitz

scooby doo — daphne blake

stranger things — robin buckley , steve harrington , jim hopper , chrissy cunningham , eddie munson , max mayfield , eleven , mike wheeler 

superstore — jonah simms

the 100 — finn collins

the bear — richie jerimovich, carmy berzatto , marcus , sydney adamu  

the mindy project — danny castellano 

the office — ryan howard , jim halpert , pam halpert , kelly kapoor , holly flax

the politician — river barkley , astrid sloan 

the young & the restless — sally spectra , adam newman , chelsea lawson , phyllis summers , lily winters , sharon newman , chance chancellor , victoria newman , tessa porter , amanda sinclair , cole howard

younger — josh , kelsey peters

muses from books: 

along for the ride ( book version only ) — eli stock , auden west , maggie  

one of us is lying ( book version only ) — cooper clay , nate

red white & royal blue — alex claremont-diaz , prince henry , zahra bankston

we were liars — gatwick ‘gat’ matthew patil

muses from movies: 

dead poets society — neil perry , charlie dalton , todd anderson

harry potter — lee jordan

les mis — enjolras , grantaire 

super 8 — joe lamb , martin , preston

twilight — irina denali , jasper cullen