#I can never remember their other ship name so whatever wherever

[nvuy]

would u ever write jy w/ a reader who was a part of the high cloud quintet? ig u would say sextet here (insert sex joke) but just curious!!!

i would, maybe. i have this idea of a very short fic bordering on less than 10 chapters if possible surrounding the idea, though.

like something to do with lan, how they pierced the sky, and you are a piece of it that holds the skies together for the xianzhou. something like that.

it would be unbridled angst because i can. this post is so fucking long sorry. i definitely don’t have problems…

i think what would hurt the most is that jingliu would’ve accepted you into the hcq had you been able to join them.

something something, you wanted to stay, but if you remained here, the sky wouldn’t be able to hold itself together anymore, and the stars would fall, and the xianzhou would perish. so, you return to the sky, and hold it together, because that’s what you are: a fragment of the stars.

you definitely knew them all.

yingxing crafted you a weapon on the basis that maybe if he finished it, you’d return. dan feng would be so so happy to see you again, with that pleasant little smile he always wore (and sometimes if he thinks it’s appropriate he’ll let you examine his tail).

you did not return. not in his lifetime, at least.

jingliu would’ve trained you in the art of the sword. not to the extent of jing yuan, but enough to put up a decent fight. so, if none of them were there to help you, at least you could help yourself.

baiheng would’ve been like the fun aunt, to be honest. always up for a good chat, telling you stories about her travels across the galaxy. throws in a little “don’t tell jingliu, but i think you’d be better at archery, than swordsmanship.”

and jing yuan, oh boy. you two would always sneak away and talk and lie together and be idiots. he’s young, only barely creeping towards one hundred, but so are you, and he brings you to places he loves to show them to you.

there’s one particular spot he loves more than the rest.

there’s a little path in an abandoned stretch of trees towards the edge of the luofu ship. the path is barely visible amidst the tall grass, but jing yuan shows you through every step of the way until you both come into a clearing. it’s a field of flowers. private, closed off, with enough sunlight to keep the area warm. and it’s beautiful.

if you die, jing yuan buries you there. he also buries what remained of baiheng, and carves yingxing, jingliu, and dan feng’s names into headstones as a memoir of the past.

if you do return, for whatever reason it may be, it has been centuries. centuries are long enough to forget, as everything yields to time. wherever you have been, it has been long enough to forget.

returning is odd. the xianzhou luofu has changed, as have the other ships. you’re not sure how long it has been, and you’re not sure why you’re trekking this particular path. it feels familiar, and you have the faintest notion that there is supposed to be someone at the end of wherever this path leads.

who it is, you’re not sure. perhaps, if they are there, they can provide you an answer. maybe they can even tell you who you are, and what purpose you serve, other than to keep the sky together.

jing yuan never changed this area. not only was it his favourite, but he, as well as his old friends, had clung to the idea that you would return eventually.

if he changed it, jing yuan feared you’d forget even more than you already had. so, he kept it the same.

at the end of the path, for your first return is not a person. there’s nobody here, but four headstones buried in the grass. you read the names, but there is nothing. you don’t remember these people, but still your heart twists, as if you should have known them.

so, with grief heavy in your heart, you return to the sky.

the next time you return is because you realise you’re forgetting again, though it is one hundred years later. you walk down the same path because it is familiar, expecting to see someone, or something.

you see both. a man, and four headstones. you don’t recognise him, but it must have been the person you’ve sought, for you only had the faintest idea that there should’ve been somebody here. so, it must be him.

you explain to the stranger you feel as though you should recognise him, but you don’t. you also tell him his eyes are like the sunlight in the sky.

to that, he responds that you’ve told him that before. and you have. many, many times and many, many years ago.

jing yuan knows you can’t stay here, but it has been such a long time since he’s seen your face. so, he lets you examine the headstones as you did centuries ago.

he wasn’t there that day. the sky had darkened on the days you first returned, and though jing yuan had an inkling of an idea it had something to do with you, he had been bested by his own mind at the thought that you were gone, and had thus disappeared to grieve by himself.

truly, today, he came to grieve once the sky darkened again. seeing you here was not what he expected.

you ask him questions that visit. about the people beneath the soil—he responds that there aren’t any bodies buried here. baiheng’s body withered, dan feng never truly died, and neither did jingliu or yingxing.

“they all float aimlessly,” he tells you. “baiheng is gone. dan feng has a new identity, and what existed before is lost. jingliu and yingxing’s minds are scattered to the clouds. i cannot say what they will do if you cross paths, or whether they will remember you.”

you ask if you can meet them someday, as perhaps maybe one of them can jog your memory. jing yuan promises it is a possibility, but it is nearing impossible. fate will draw your paths together, he deduces. one day.

so, after a while, he tells you to return to the skies. it hurts, because he wants you to stay. he wants to tell you everything you did together. why you would trek this path, and only this path, and who the headstones were once. but he can’t, and so you return once more.

it is an endless cycle of you returning once you’ve realised you’ve forgotten the man who waits for you at the end of that path. an all too familiar path that seems new, but somewhere, you know you’ve walked along it before. sometimes it is only fifty years, sometimes it is two hundred, but jing yuan ensured that he is always there to greet you.

he tells yanqing of you one day. that’s only because he knows he won’t be around forever. he will be mara-stricken, or perhaps he will be killed in battle, but whatever it is, he tells yanqing, as his retainer and potential successor, to take over this position, and to pass it onto his successor, and then generations will pass.

but, for the moment, each time you return, jing yuan remains. and jing yuan promises you, though he knows you will forget, that when he does inevitably perish, he will find a way to join you in the skies.

dan heng asked him once after learning of you if it is difficult to love someone who you cannot be with.

jing yuan replied it’s easy. and it is easy, because every time the sky shifts from night to day, and the sun rises, and the clouds pass, he knows you’re up there, and you’re safe.

tldr: batty old general jing yuan talks to the clouds sometimes.

[thisuserislilsilly]

For all the ships n' cute stuff enjoyers fear not I have thought of this too, got some little quirks and interesting things your bulky and lovable giant hawk man do when they feel....certain things for special folks. Although like always this is rare bcs the whole thing of SM being bad at showing love or whatever....

BUT THIS IS MY BLOG AND I CAN MAKE THEM FEEL A BIT OF LOVE WHENEVER I WA-

Side note: @cardinalcanis if you even make one single headcanon or thought about this istg I will make more and will be my personal mission to get the thought of how a Ember Nomad bf would look like (it is a friendly threat, you've been warned)

In the rare case you get yourself a Nomad bf: a bulletpoint round

1. Get used to them randomly including your name in their songs, not only makes it so the whole ship now knows you have a thing with an Astartes, it makes it too so now you're forever a part of his history/life. Breakups will hurt, and they will hurt a fucking lot

2. Lots and lots of nicknames, many of them horse/storm/wind themed. He will remember your name sure, but he will prefer to just call you by the nickname

3. Prepare to have a giant looking over your shoulder wherever you go, making people either look at you scared out of their lives or never talk nonchalantly, just having privacy whenever you go to the bathroom.

4. Also be prepared to have a tok of trinkets and random items laying around your room/house in your homeworld. Nomads tend to give gifts like a sign of trust, if they already exchange weapons and trinkets with a lot of significance for them between brothers, what makes you think you won't have any?

5. Giant warm blanket in the night....need I say more? Also they do little bird noises when they snore, blame his gene-seed, not him

6. Bro-fists, bumping into you, giving (soft for a Astarte) headbutts and slaps in your back are typical for them; the Nomads do it almost out of instinct so your back and arms sometimes will be sore or have bruises (that they will be eternally sorry for doing)

7. Screw remembering your birthday, your Ember bf will remember the precise hour he met you, where did he met you, the how, what you were wearing and have a guess how exactly was the night sky of his homeworld the day you were born to have a prediction on how your life would end......oh and your birthday too

8. Lots of very tight hugs, although not much kisses sadly, they are way too weirded out by them and even when you explain how they work and what makes you feel they would just awkwardly kiss your forehead at most.

9. They come from a savage world, filled with dangers and with a very strong tie with their previous family, now imagine how someone breed there would defend you. They would become so savage other Nomads would have to come help you not make your bf skin whoever hurt your feelings alive.

10. Lastly if the time between your meetings is too long or it seems he'll go on a dangerous mission (because this are Astartes and this is grimdark where happiness never last long), your average Nomad bf will either break up so you can have a good life not worrying constantly (told you, grimdark...) or would attempt constantly to send message via Astropaths, Psykers or encrypted Vox messages to contact you and know how you are and where are you, sending love and gifts if he could.

I'm not crying you are

[roguesscribbles]

Sorry I've been so dead recently! I've got a little project going on that's taking up my art time. Hoping to unveil it soon!

In the meantime, here's my new OC! I made her for a Mass Effect DnD group I'm joining! Her name is Raina Akiyama, she's a human engineer that abandoned her smothering military life to explore the galaxy, settling on Illium following the Reaper invasion.

You can read the full backstory under the cut:

Raina Akiyama was always destined to join the Alliance Military. From the day she was born on an Alliance ship to two parents with a decent military ranking, she spent the majority of her formative years on various Alliance ships or bases following wherever her parents were stationed.

At the time, she could count how many times she has been to Earth on one hand. Her father was from Japan and her mother was from Britain, so she had been to visit family members that she doesn’t remember the faces of. Her upbringing was lonely at times, her parents were busy working and other children were not that common. However, with the absence of people, she found her love in the mechanical instead.

She could always be found tinkering away at some piece of tech she found, sneaking into the engine room to look at the inner workings or pelting the engineers with all sorts of questions. And the Alliance were happy to support these dreams of hers, educating and pushing her towards a career as an Engineer.

There was just one problem, Raina didn’t like the way the Alliance ran things. She was never a fan of the authority, of the training exercises and the expectation to give it everything she had, with instructors and crew members who were always a bit too strict with a child, most likely already seeing the soldier she would become. She always felt trapped, forced into enlisting, because where else would she go? She was raised here, with a line of family all expecting her to join as the next generation as they once did, and she knew very little of the habited planets that dotted the galaxy.

Eventually, when she turned 18, she enlisted officially as an Engineer, continuing her training and enhancing her skills. If there’s one good thing she can say, it’s that the Alliance provided her with almost unlimited funding to tinker with whatever gadgets were put in front of her. She became intimately familiar with both the massive hardware of the Alliance vessels to the weapons and armour the troops relied on. She never fully felt like she belonged, but she could at least surround herself with the things she loved.

Things changed about 2 years later. She was stationed on a small base with an equally small squadron. Something that was meant to be safe, somewhere to train her and other recruits. For the first time in her life she felt like she had friends, people she could rely on and actually talk to, who had her back. Things finally started to fall into place, and she started to feel that yearned-for feeling of belonging.

Then, the raid happened.

A group of bandits attacked the base in the night, where there was minimal activity. They wanted the equipment that they had in storage. It wasn’t even very much, they most likely saw them as easy pickings, and they weren’t entirely wrong. Almost all of her squad was killed in the incident, though in the end Raina’s squad managed to barely win. During the scuffle, a confrontation with one of the assailants left her scarred after they slashed her face with an omni-blade. When she came to in the medical wing of an Alliance vessel, she found herself blind in her left eye.

Her entire world came crashing down. Almost all her friends were dead, that belonging ripped away from her in an instant. She was back to the cold, sterile vessels with people who saw her as little more than an asset, who wanted her back up and running as soon as possible as if a great tragedy hadn’t just occurred. As soon as they were able, they installed a cybernetic eye in the one she lost, patching her up like a broken piece of machinery.

Not even her parents were here. They contacted her as soon as they knew she was awake, but neither of them could leave their post to see her. Something in Raina just snapped. She needed away from this place, away from the military. She expressed her concerns to her parents, but they disapproved, encouraging her to just get better and push on. This was the family way. That just made the need to leave even more prevalent.

She was able to push for her to be medically discharged, quoting physical trauma and PTSD. She sent one final message to her parents telling them she was leaving and not to contact her. She grabbed all her belongings and money that she saved, grabbed the first civilian shuttle she could and started exploring the galaxy.

Over the next few years, she moved from planet to planet, exploring and experiencing and just living. She met so many new people, made new friends and went on her own adventures. She used her skills for work, either taking on odd jobs or temporarily joining a crew, which improved her abilities even further. She began to discover herself more as a person, get better at social interaction and just breathe for the first time. Life was good.

Then, the Reapers arrived.

Once more her world came crashing down, but this time it was different. She wasn’t alone. She had been staying on Illium when the news spread, and it wasn’t long before the Reapers made their way to them. Raina sprang into action, helping wherever she could to help the planets militia fend off the invasion, as well as help the people who had been displaced and evacuated to the planet. It kept her busy, and when the Reapers eventually fell, her positive presence put her on a lot of people’s radars as someone who was reliable.

Following this, she decided to take up a more permanent residence on Illium. They may have fended off the attack, but there was always work to be done. Plus, as a mercantile hub, other planets more affected turned to them for aid. She never found herself short for work, and she was keen to continue to improve her skills with the variety of machinery and tech that passed through. She dreams that one day, she can open her own mechanics shop, and make her role on Illium that much more permanent. Because she belongs.

[peerless-soshi]

BeefLeaf Week Day 3: Jealousy 

I'm embarrassed to confess I am a jealous girlfriend I want you to belong to me But I think they call that jealousy

A drawing I did for @beefleafweek, running recently on Twitter. I’m slightly ashamed that I started with a darker prompt, but only slightly. I decided to redraw here the statue destroying scene because it was cool and red elements are my passion.  

[kiunlo]

okay that space photo i just reblogged made me remember something and I NEEEED to just ramble and talk about it.

i love space. i love nebulae. i love stars. i love black holes. i love all the strange weird things out there in space and seeing space photographs makes me sooo sosososos happy. and because of that, i often gravitate towards games or programs about space. space engine is one of those programs that i love so much because you can basically explore the entire universe and go wherever you like..

elite dangerous is also another game that i love a lot. the game has a bit of a reputation for having mixed reviews. some people love it (me), some people hate it. it for sure has it's problems, but I've always loved elite dangerous for the ability to do whatever job you want, and I obviously gravitated towards space exploration, and once i had the credits to buy the best ship for the task and the appropriate upgrades, i went out into space and started taking screenshots of all the weird planets and nebulae within our own milky way.

the part i think i loved so much was that it wasn't easy. it's not like looking up an image on google and seeing the exact nebulae or star you want to see. it's not like space engine where you can just type in the planet or nebulae or galaxy into the search bar and be teleported instantly to that location. in elite dangerous, you have a ship, and you must jump from system to system to get where you want, and make sure you have a plan for where you're getting your fuel. you have to make sure you have a plan for if you get stuck, or you get attacked by pirates or griefers (especially if you're playing multiplayer instead of solo like me lol). you have to make sure you can get to your destination and back to inhabited space in one piece so your exploration data isn't lost (which if you're doing a long journey...can amount to millions upon millions of credits, as well as having your name permanently attached to a planet or star that you were the first to discover). all to see some cool nebulae and some cool planets and some cool stars.

i find that the journey, that the fact that you could lose your ship (and your life) if you're not careful where you're going and what your doing, the fact that you have to plan your route through space like you would plan the roads you would drive along during a trip from one part of the country to another so you didn't get lost or stuck...makes seeing the nebulae that much sweeter. seeing the nebular go from a tiny speck in the distance to a large entity that covers your entire vision, seeing it change colour from the distance, being INSIDE the nebula and seeing it in a way most people never get to see it...it's incredible. i remember the time when i saw my first black hole, and it was such a small little thing, i had to get very close to it to be able to really see it...and as i moved my ship past it, as the black hole went past me on my left, i could see the black hole shifting time and space around it, the gravitational lensing covering half of my vision. although i was simply sitting at my desk playing a little game on my laptop, my jaw still dropped at the strange and weird experience. it really felt like i was seeing it for real.

it's why i keep going back to elite dangerous over and over again, even if i know most people don't really like the game that much. it's a unique experience that most people don't really get to experience, and it's one i find most other games can't really get right.

anyways if you want to see some cool pictures of nebula from elite dangerous that i've taken, you can look at my old ass side blog @cmdr-consortia (all of the entries are written in the perspective of my oc aiden)

[laynemorgan]

LAYNE’S FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS QUICK GUIDE/ PINNED POST

If your question is already answered on here it will be deleted!

A quick about me that is not needed for this FAQ but you’re getting anyway: My name’s Layne. I write television. I’ve had this tumblr for some ten or fifteen years. It’s my own personal blog where I talk about TV and things that I like and save art. Currently I mostly just answer questions about my job on Legacies. But if that’s what you’re here for please remember that this is my personal space and I’m not here to be a filter for all of your legacies feelings. I’m just trying to vibe. This blog and my twitter are safe spaces for the LGBTQIA+ community, the trans community, people of color, the disability community and more. I am a cis, gay, white woman myself. This blog is a pro Black Lives Matter, ACAB, and pro choice zone. My pronouns are she/her. 

Under the Cut you will find a bunch of questions I am asked frequently. Some are just random and related to legacies others are related to my past, twitter, things I’ve said or done, and whatever else. Before you ask a question that may be about one of those things, check this out!

“Are you biphobic/transphobic/racist/a zionist/etc?”

See above. No. However, if I have done something wrong, stepped out of line, or said something that hurts a minority community, please let me know. Let’s talk about it. That is never my intention and I would be happy to go educate myself further if I screw something up.

“CAN YOU MAKE _____ HAPPEN ON LEGACIES?”

No. I love your passion and I love that you guys have things you want to see but I can not make things happen especially ships and major plot changes. That’s just not how things work. 

“HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT ____ SHIP ON LEGACIES?”

I’m not answering that! And you don’t need me to. Fandom is for YOU. What I think and feel about a ship doesn’t matter as long as you love it. 

“Will you ever address / acknowledge / apologize for the racist things you said about BM?”

Yes. I have addressed, acknowledged, and apologized already for my ignorant, inexcusable comments in the past. For those who don’t know, before I worked on The 100 I spoke entirely out of turn about Bob Morley suggesting he was white passing and fully belittled his experiences as a person of color. That was a shitty, ignorant, and racist thing for me to do. At the time I doubled down, and later even issued a tone deaf as fuck apology. None of that is excusable. All I can say is that in the years since, I have learned as much as I can. It’s very important to me to not uphold racist ideals and I NEVER should have spoken about an issue that wasn’t mine to talk about and for that and any hurt I cause, I have apologized for before and will again. I’m so thankful for the people that called me out and am only still sorry they had to spend their energy doing that. By no means do I think that means people shouldn’t be hurt and angry still if they are. I can’t change that or take back the hurt my ignorance caused. But I have and will continue to acknowledge it wherever I need to.

If you want to see my much longer apology that addresses things further you can find it here. 

Given recent allegations about Bob and my close working relationship to the show afterward and personal interactions with him and others, I’d prefer not to keep bringing him up on my blog or on my twitter. If you have private questions, don’t hesitate to send them and if I’ve done anything else wrong in recent days, please feel free to bring them to my attention. 

“I saw a screenshot on twitter where you said ‘I AM RACIST.’”

That tweet was part of a long thread and ongoing discussion several years ago about the importance of white people acknowledge that racism exists as part of society and therefore is engrained in them and must be acknowledged and then unlearned. It was taken out of context. I’m as pissed as you are.  

“Why do you defend Legacies choices that I don’t like in past seasons?”

I love Legacies. I didn’t work on the first three seasons. I’ve criticized it in the past just like any other TV show but at the end of the day I watched it because I love it and I write on it because I love it. If you guys don’t love it that’s totally fine. I’m excited to bring season four to your TVs and we’ll see if you like that. 

“Someone on twitter said you ship Landon and Raf.”

That was a joke tweet. I was fake harassing my friend who at the time worked on Legacies. I do not ship brothers. I don’t F with incest. 

“Can you tell Brett_____?”

This is not my boss’s email. I am not his secretary or his assistant. If you want to tell Brett something he has a twitter. 

“Okay so what CAN we ask you about?”

ANYTHING YOU WANT. This is my personal tumblr. I like to talk about fandom, music, queer shit, baseball, cats, women, writing, the industry, wHATEVER. Let’s chat, let’s hang out. You can ask me legacies stuff that isn’t about future seasons, ships, my favorite characters, or to give opinions on things i hate or whatever. You can ask me how things are made and about the process even if you’re not someone looking to do it yourself. Or whatever. Hope that helps!

[themadlostgirl]

Chaotic Coupling

*FINALLY! This f**king request took so f**king long! It matter not now because I finally finished it. It is also really long so hopefully that helps make up for how long it took. I do not mean it lightly when I say it is long. This took up 14 pages in google drive. You have been warned.*

Prompt: Reader is the goddess of chaos exiled to the Underworld. It is plenty boring but then she meets the recently deceased Peter Pan. He seems like he could be fun!

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

~~~

What is more sweet than chaos? What is more freeing then giving into desire? What is a life if one does not indulge in their sins?

Boring. Tedious. Peaceful.

Not at all fun.

Y/N was a goddess of chaos. Messing with mortals by causing trouble and anarchy wherever she went. It was chaotic and threw mortals into a hysteria but that was not how Y/N saw it. Oh no. When she looked down and saw what her actions had wrought she only saw beauty. The anger, confusion, sadness, and raw untethered emotion bursting from every lifeform like a volcano. She loved it.

Unfortunately the other gods did not. She was warned hundreds of times to stop causing such blatant and unneeded mess around the globe but she never listened. It was not like the gods ever punished her. The world would always need a little chaos. Trying to contain it would only build it up until it was unleashed like a hellstorm causing much more damage than she ever could by herself. She almost wanted them to detain her just so she could see what her release of chaotic energy would do to the world.

That was not what happened. After centuries of warnings the gods did finally punish her. She was not put in a crate like a pup as she had almost secretly hoped. The gods were smarter than that. Instead she was put on a leash. Banished to the Underworld to help her Uncle Hades. Her presence would still be felt throughout the world but she could not incite anything truly chaotic as long as she was regulated to the Underworld.

At first she tried to keep her head up. Though she had never visited the Underworld she had to believe it would be fun. It was where all dead souls went. Good and bad. They may be dead but that didn’t mean they were free from chaos.

As she soon learned though nothing she did made much of a difference in the Underworld. Her Uncle Hades ran a tight ship so she could never get away with anything too bad. How could this punishment get anymore boring? She was practically debasing herself with these petty squabbles among the dead. It was humiliating and it was boring! What she would give to be able to leave but so long as she was under Hades watchful eye there was no escape.

It was another miserable day in what was essentially hell. Y/N was taking a walk along the street of the town Hades had modeled the Underworld to. All of the sudden a new soul materialized in the center of the square. That was nothing new. New souls appeared all the time. There was something kind of off about this one though. They had an energy about them that practically made her mouth water. Who exactly had died?

She made her way over to them. “Hello there,” She said and the soul turned sharp on his heel. It was a boy. Young. Disheveled brown hair and piercing green eyes blown wide like a cornered lion. “You have some bite don’t you?”

“Who are you?” He snarled.

“I’m Y/N. Goddess of Chaos and unwilling permanent tenant here in the Underworld.” She stalked around him assessing him up and down. “And you are?” She reached a hand out to touch him. He grabbed her by the wrist halting her. He pulled her closer his eyes hard like stones and his words dripping with malice

“Don’t touch me,” He growled.

Y/N chuckled. “You are fun.” She inhaled deeply, “You absolutely reek of it.”

“What?”

“My beautiful chaos. It’s been so long since I’ve caught a whiff of such potent mayhem. Far more intoxicating than any wine.”

“Get away from me,” The boy shoved her off, “Insane woman.”

“You would be insane too if you were stuck here for centuries unable to have any real fun.” She followed after him, unperturbed. “Well I guess you are now.”

“Why are you following me?”

“I’m bored. Duh. Also, I still haven’t learned your name my delicious little anarchist morsel.”

“Stop talking to me like that. My name is Peter Pan.”

“Hm,”

“What now?”

“Such a boring name for someone who absolutely reeks of pandemonium. Care if I call you something more interesting? Like Balthazar or Zebulon.”

“No.”

“No fun.”

That seemed to irk him and he reared on her with a fury. “You do not know who you are talking to. I have fun more than anyone. The world is my board and everyone else in it are pawns.”

“Really? Cause you seem straight boring now. Peter Pan. Blech, and here I had such high hopes for you.”

“Oh woe is you. So sorry to disappoint Your goddess-ness. Unless you can get me out of here then I have no use for you.”

“If I can’t get out of here then there’s no chance you can. If you decide you want to stop being such a stick in the mud come find me. I live in the clocktower.” With that she walked away. Such a shame. She had gotten her hopes up for a minute just for him to let her down. She wondered what he had done in his life that made him smell so delicious though. Oh wait! She could!

She entered the library and went to the secret section in the back. No one could enter here except for gods. Millions of books lined the shelves. The life stories of everyone that had ever lived. “Peter Pan.” She said his name and waited as a book levitated off of one of the many shelves and flew into her hands. “Let’s see what is so interesting about this Peter fellow.”

Lots of reading later and Y/N understood better exactly who she was dealing with. This Peter Pan was a lot like her. Living on his own island doing whatever it was that he wanted. Instigating violence and anarchy in the name of fun. He was also far older than he appeared. Since time stood still on his island, his Neverland, he lived for hundreds of years without growing older. How had she missed such a place? It sounded like somewhere she would have thrived.

It was almost eerie how similar the two were. At least in the context of his book. The real thing seemed a lot more boring. Perhaps that was due to him dying. Death just took the life out of everyone. Metaphorically speaking.

A few days went by of Y/N stalking Peter to see what he would do. After reading through his novel she was sure he’d be one of those that roughed it in the wilderness but to her surprise he took up residence in a secondhand shop. Why there?

Curiosity overtook her and she went inside the shop. Pretty little trinkets long ago lost lined the shelves and glass cases. Something stood out to her amongst all the sparkly treasures. A doll. A simple straw doll with a little blue coat on it. It stood proudly on a pedestal all by itself. What was so precious about this?

She took the doll off the pedestal to inspect it further.

“Drop it.” A cold voice demanded. There was Peter Pan behind one of the cases. His eyes narrowed at her.

“What? This?” She waved the doll, “If you don’t want people touching it you should really put it somewhere more secure than a pedestal in the middle of the room.”

“I said, drop it.” Peter urged again. Y/N didn’t miss the hint of panic in his voice.

“What if I don’t want to?” She produced a flame from her finger, “What if I burnt it to a crisp instead? It’s awfully dry. It’ll be ash in seconds.”

“Put it down!” Peter roared, he had jumped the case and in a split second had a dagger pressed to her throat. “Now!”

“Why is this so special to you?” She asked. He pressed the blade closer to her neck, not saying a word. Something clicked in Y/N’s head right then. A mention of a doll in Peter’s book. A smile creeped back onto her face.

“It’s your doll. The only toy and the only friend you ever had until you came to Neverland.” She extinguished the flame on her finger. “How sentimental.”

“How did--how did you--”

“I know everything now, Peter Pan.” A shadow passed over his face, “And I mean everything. The mother that never wanted you, the orphanage, the fairy that guarded you, your attempts to go back and have a real family failing year after year until you decided you were too old to be anyone’s son again--”

“AGH!” He slashed her throat but not a mark was left on her skin. Not a drop of blood.

“Now that was rude,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “I think I’m owed an apology.”

“But how did…” Peter stared at the dagger.

“Seems you need a reminder.” Y/N took him by the throat. The doll and dagger clattering to the ground as she hoisted him into the air. “I am a goddess. The Goddess of Chaos. Did you really think it would be that easy to kill me?”

He clawed at her hands but they were like stone around his throat. “Remember this Peter Pan, my body takes an insane amount of power to break. Yours, not so much. So remember your place in this world. You are no leader here. You are no threat. You are my toy and I can throw you away whenever I want. So either be a good toy or I will destroy you.” She dropped him. He collapsed to the ground gasping for breath.

“This was fun,” She knelt down next to him and pulled his chin up to look at her, “I’ll be back to play again.” She left a kiss on his forehead. “Farewell.”

Y/N did not go back to see Peter Pan again for several days. For days she watched him stew in his paranoia. Constantly looking over his shoulder like a frightened deer everywhere he went. He liked games. Y/N knew that much. But it looked like he wasn’t having as much as she was with this latest one. Every so often she would walk by him on the street, acting like she hadn’t noticed but all the while watching him from the corner of her eye. He got so tense when he saw her but never withdrew. He would glare at her until she passed.

It was fun having someone to torture like this again. He still had fight in him.

Then came the morning everything changed. Y/N was walking along the street as she usually did this time of day when she noticed Peter exiting the diner. What luck!

“Good morning!” She sidled up next to him, “Got some breakfast did you?”

He didn’t reply. Just shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and kept walking.

“Oh come now, it’s no fun if you don’t reply.” Y/N said, “If you don’t say anything I’ll just take it as a challenge.”

Nothing.

“Fine.” She sighed, “I just thought you’d like someone to talk to. You don’t talk to anyone around here. I think the only person I’ve seen you talk to is my uncle and that was only once. Don’t you find it boring doing this routine everyday? Don’t you want to try something new? We can have a lot of fun if you would just remove that stick up your ass. What happened to the fun boy full of mayhem that I read about? Did he die when you did? I wouldn’t think death would change a person so drastically. People usually retain their personalities from when they were living into their death but not you. You are more boring than watching grass grow and trust me, there is no grass growing here. You are as boring as watching non-growing grass. Isn’t that sad? I think--”

“SHUT UP!” Peter shoved her hard against the wall of a store. His arm was pressed against her neck pinning her in place. “Leave me alone!”

“Ha!” She laughed, “I told you I could get you to talk.”

“There has got to be a way to kill you.” He muttered.

Y/N smiled. Peter’s arm dug into her neck harder. “Stop smiling.”

“You have fire,” She grinned wider, “I like fire.”

Something clicked in his head. His grip on her easing. She figured that would get his attention. He backed away from her slowly. Y/N turned to a potted bush next to the store window. Peter watched her with a growing sense of interest.

“Don’t you like fire too?” She produced a spark in her hand and flicked it at the flower bush. “One little spark of fire and from that spark it grows. It grows, it spreads, it devours everything in its path leaving behind nothing but torment in its beautiful inferno. It’s the most breathtaking form of destruction I’ve ever come across.”

“You’re kinda crazy aren’t you?” Peter asked, watching as the flower bush was consumed by the flames.

“Perhaps.” she fluttered a hand over the fire making it grow faster. “Being the goddess of chaos kinda does that. I thrive off of disorganization and pandemonium. It would only make too much sense that’s what my mind is like as well. I may be impulsive but that doesn’t make me dumb. You have to find the right nerve to hit to maximize your effect. Groom them with little incidents of mayhem here and there. Then, when the timing is right you hit them where it’ll hurt most and watch the beauty unfold before you. Just like a flame can engulf an entire forest, one perfectly hit nerve can destroy an empire.”

“What do you do when it’s all in ashes then?” Peter asked.

“Not my area. I can bring civilizations down but I’ve never really put much thought into raising new ones up. That’s what the rest of my family is for. They take the ashes of what I have done and create new life. It’s an endless circle of life and death. Gods, I miss it.”

She stared deep into the fire.

“Is that what you’ve been doing with me? Bothering me with little annoyances for days on end before trying to strike that nerve that would drive me insane?”

“A bit.” She shrugged, “Not a fan?”

“Not really, but I guess that’s the point.” He sighed, “I think we’re a lot alike actually.”

“I thought the same thing while I was reading through your book. Did death really suck all the fun out of you?”

“Not much fun to be had here. None of my boys are here, I have magic but there’s nothing for me to control outside of a stupid little shop, and the residents are insanely dull and sad. I fear that you have been my only form of entertainment since I got down here.” Peter waved his hand and the flame from the one flower pot jumped into the next catching that one on fire as well. “What did you mean when you were talking about my book?”

“Oh, there is a portion of the library only accessible to gods. It holds books that contain the entire lives of everyone who has ever lived. I read through yours. That’s how I know everything about you.”

“I see…”

“Would you like to see it?”

“Sure,” He nodded. “Don’t think this means that I like you now or anything. You’re merely the most interesting thing here at the moment.”

“Which is precisely why you do like me.” She elbowed him, “Come, I think you’ll like this place.”

They went to the library and Y/N entered into the area reserved to gods. Peter pouted outside since he couldn’t get past the invisible barrier that shielded him from entering. Y/N grabbed his book and returned with it. “See?”

“Do the gods have these as well?”

“Yes, but they are kept on Olympus. Did you want to read mine?”

“I thought it only fair seeing as how you read my entire life story.”

“Well you would be reading mine for a long time. I do a great many things and I have lived far longer than you have. There’s no need for you to read my book though. Whatever you would like to know you simply have to ask. I have no secrets.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust anyone who is that open about their past. No secrets? At all?”

“There is nothing I have done in my life that I feel ashamed or embarrassed about.”

“I believe that.” A grin started to spread on his face, an idea latching in his mind, “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have anything personal that you’d rather not share. Acts of wrath and embarrassing moments aren’t something you would feel bad about sharing. Intimate moments though, personal moments, that’s where you clam up.”

“Is this your clever way of trying to dig into my exciting love life?” She smirked. “Afraid I don’t have any secrets there either.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. I don’t care about any past lovers. I can tell what really gets to you.” Peter stepped closer, “Your family.”

“I don’t care about my family.” Y/N said, she tried to sound casual but his tone gave her pause.

“Yes. You’ve said so. They kicked you out and it is dreadfully boring down in the underworld. But beyond that, you miss them. The only one down here is Hades and I doubt he’s great company. But the other gods and goddess, your other family, even though they banished you here you still yearn to be a part of their world.”

“You don’t know anything.” Y/N’s voice was quiet. She hadn’t expected him to turn the conversation around on her like this.

“I know a lot actually.” Peter continued, “And what I know best is when someone is lost. You may be the Goddess of Chaos but you know what I see? I see the same sadness and desperation that many of my boys wore on my island. You are just a lost little girl crying for your family.”

She hadn’t realized she threw the punch until she saw Peter collapse on the floor. Her breathing was heavy and her hands were shaking. This boy had drilled down into the very core of her being with no effort. He had seen through her as plainly as glass. It was unnerving and she may have reacted a tad harshly to his assessment.

“Punched by a goddess,” Peter stood up again, rubbing at his jaw, “Can honestly say that’s something I hadn’t expected to happen in my life, er, death I guess.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Hardly. Figured you were gonna react like that.” He sighed, “Still not the worst hit I’ve ever taken.”

“You are a strange boy.”

“It’s what keeps me interesting.” He collected the book that had fallen from his hands off the floor.

“Does this mean you still want to kill me?”

“I’m debating it.” He said. “This interaction doesn’t change the fact that you are incredibly annoying.”

“Hurtful but accurate.” Y/N shrugged as she made her way to the stairs that led up to the clocktower. “In another life I think we could have been a very good team.”

She paused. She turned around and saw that Peter had the same look of contemplation. Their eyes met and twin smiles sprouted on their faces. “Is this my magic at work or are we on the same page?” Y/N asked.

“I believe we are.” Peter approached her, “Neither of us wants to be trapped in the Underworld and neither of us individually has the power to escape. But if we work together…”

“We can escape this hellhole.” Y/N finished. “Think you can survive teaming up with me long enough to get out of here?”

“If it means freedom then I will be at your side until we both see the blue sky once again.” He held out a hand, “Partners?”

“Partners.” She shook his hand, “This is going to be so much fun!”

Time passed quickly after Peter and Y/N teamed up to find a way to escape the Underworld. Y/N already had a headstart on research since she spent so much time when she was first banished here finding a way out. She shared her findings with Peter and the two spent days pouring over every detail that looked like it could be useful.

With no need to sleep or eat in the Underworld they would spend several days straight huddled in the library plotting their escape. In between all their research and brainstorming sessions Y/N got to know Peter Pan beyond what she had read in his book and in return he got to know her. They were closer. He still said she was the most annoying thing in all the realms and she teased him often when he got too serious.

When things got especially tense and they needed to blow off steam they would go out together and cause mischief in town. They even snuck into Hades’ office once and stole some of his decanters of fancy liquor. For the first time in a very long time Y/N was truly having fun. Torturing and messing with souls was all well and good but she found she was actually enjoying her time with Peter. She was laughing a lot more with him. Peter himself seemed to grow more at ease with her with every passing day.

Before she had even realized it their begrudging partnership to find a way out of the Underworld had blossomed into friendship. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she had a friend. She couldn’t remember if she ever did. No one had ever wanted to be very close to her. Causing chaos wherever you go, even unintentionally, threw people off. It never bothered Peter though. He called her annoying but he smiled and laughed at the havoc that naturally happened around her. He played along with it.

“Good morning, Chaos,” Peter let himself into her clocktower bedroom. “Got you a muffin from the diner.” He tossed her a paper bag.

“Thanks.” She caught it. “So, look at this thing I found. So we know that the only way anyone can get out of here is if Hades opens a portal, right? Well, apparently it isn’t solely Hades that can open portals out of the Underworld. Any god can by either being more powerful than Hades like Zeus or by usurping him as the ruler of the Underworld.”

“So you could open a portal out of here?”

“Theoretically yes. But we would have to usurp my uncle.”

“I think we can take him together.”

“No. Here’s the problem. The only way for us to usurp him is to kill him and it is hilariously, nearly impossible, to kill a god.”

“But there is a possibility?”

“I mean I guess but it is hardly a viable option. The only way I know how to kill a god is with the Olympian Crystal which Uncle Hades keeps heavily protected. It is also broken with no way to fix it. Trust me, he brought it out once for me to try and fix but I couldn’t do anything.”

Peter pondered it for a minute. “Okay, you couldn’t fix it all by yourself but what if we tried combining our powers? Do you think that could do it?”

“Maybe. Hades and I tried together once but he said it wouldn’t work since his heart isn’t beating.”

“What does that have to do with--”

“It was part of his own banishment. He can’t leave the Underworld unless his heart starts beating again or something like that. So even though he has the means his dead heart keeps him trapped like us.”

“Alright, is he tied to the crystal in any way? Is there any way he could track it if it went missing?”

“No. So long as it is broken he shouldn’t be able to find it. Why? Plan on stealing it?”

“Yes.”

“Stealing my uncle’s most prized possession from right under his nose, sounds risky...I love it!”

“I thought you would.” Peter grinned, “Seems that for the first time we have a real plan. I say this calls for a celebration.”

“Not too premature?” She asked.

“Well, if we fuck it up then we are both doomed so we might as well celebrate now before anything potentially goes wrong.” He pulled what was left of the liquor they stole from Hades out.

“I won’t object to that.” She took a sip before passing the decanter back to Peter. She stared wistfully out of the clocktower window and sighed. “It’s so strange,” Y/N said, “To be this close to freedom. I have so many memories of the world above but they feel more and more like fantasies I’ve created than something I was ever a part of. I don’t even know what I would do when I get up there. Where would I go?”

“You’re more than welcome to come cause havoc on Neverland if you’d like.” Peter said. “Give my boys a challenge.”

“You really want me on your island? The most annoying being in all the realms?” She teased.

“If you happen to be near at least.” He smiled, softer. “I’d blame it on the liquor but it doesn’t affect us so I guess I’m just gonna have to say this.”

“Say what?”

“I think I am actually gonna miss you when we get out of here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Chaos.”

“I suppose I’d miss you too.” Y/N shook her head, “I take that back, I know that I’ll miss you.”

“Well that’s enough mushy stuff,” Peter said quickly, dropping his gaze, “We have a crystal to steal after all.”

“Right, of course,” Y/N nodded.

More time passed and Y/N found herself in a new and frightening headspace. She was confused. All her life she had lived through chaos, so much so that it was what she was named the goddess of. Anarchy was where she was most comfortable but yet, when that same pandemonium she thrived in was pushed inward she didn’t know what to do. She could do well in chaos because she always had a focus point. Herself. She was the eye of the storm. She was safe while everything happened around her.

So why did it feel like she was caught in the hurricane?

It had all started that day she and Peter had decided to steal the crystal and usurp Hades. Something about that day disturbed her. When she looked at Peter now her mind wandered. When he sat close enough to touch, her brain burnt out. Yet nothing had changed.

No. That wasn’t entirely true. At some point during all their scheming Y/N had grown to really care about Peter. She’d even call him a friend. When she thought of her life outside of the Underworld she couldn’t think of one where she wasn’t hanging out with him. She already missed him and he wasn’t even gone yet.

What was wrong with her?

Whatever it was it would have to wait. She had a mission now. It was finally the day. After tons of careful and meticulous planning they were going to steal the crystal. Peter was serving as a distraction for Hades while Y/N snuck in and bypassed the traps and wards Hades had around the crystal. She figured she’d have five maybe ten minutes max to get in and get out before Hades got bored of Peter and came back. That’s if she didn’t trip one of his traps first.

By the time she finally got the safe unlocked her whole body was sweating and shaking from nerves. She had come so close and now all she had to do was grab it and get out. She took down the last ward and grabbed the pieces of the crystal and shoved them into her bag before slamming the safe closed and putting the wards back up as quickly as she could.

And done. Phew. Now all she had to do was get out.

“Now this is a surprise.” Y/N froze. Damn. She had taken too long. She poofed the bag away to her room in the clocktower before turning to meet her uncle.

“Hello, hope you don’t mind that I popped in.” She said as casually as she could. “Life up top was getting dreadfully boring.”

“I would say so, it is a rare thing for you to come visit me.” He scanned her up and down, “What entertainment do you think I can provide?”

“I don’t know. You have the billiard table. Care to play?”

“Not now.” He shooed her, “I have work to do so you can scamper along and torment some other poor soul.”

“Boo! You really are the god of the dead.” She stuck her tongue out at him. In the next instant she reappeared in her room. She collapsed back on the bed in relief. Hades didn’t suspect anything.

She heard the sound of pounding footsteps and Peter barged in. “Did you get it?”

Y/N held up the bad with pieces inside. “Who do you take me for?”

“Yes!” Peter was so happy he lifted her off the bed and into the air in a tight hug, “We’re gonna get out of here!”

And the inner turmoil was back. Heat crawled up her neck and burned her face. Had Peter ever held her like this before? Why did it feel so nice to be in his arms?

Just as quick as it started Peter dropped her back to her feet and reached around her for the bag. He pulled out the pieces and set them on the bed, looking over them carefully. He was talking about how it looked like it should be an easy fix but there were other logistics to take into account and whole lot of other technical mumbo jumbo that she really didn’t care about. Well, not so much cared about but couldn’t bring herself to comprehend since her mind was still being tossed around in a tornado of unfamiliar feelings.

“Hey” Peter shook her shoulder, “Were you listening?”

“Spaced out. What were you saying?” She asked.

“I tried a spell on my own but it did nothing. Care to try with me this time like we planned?”

“Got it.” Y/N took her spot next to him and stared down at the broken pieces of crystal. She picked up one and Peter picked up the other. “Here goes nothing.”

They faced each other and started the spell. She was channeling all of her power into it, willing the crystal to come together. This had to work. It just had to. The spell died and when she looked down she frowned at the still broken crystal in her hands.

No. No! It was supposed to work! This was supposed to work! She slid down to the ground, her half of the crystal laying limply in her hands. Peter knelt down with her.

“It didn’t work.” She muttered, “It didn’t work, Peter. We went through all of this and our one way out of here is still just a hunk of junk!”

“We’re never going to see the world above again.” Tears started to slip from her eyes and down her cheeks.

“Don’t say that,” Peter tilted her chin up. His large green eyes bore into her. “We are not giving up now. Not after we have come this far. We are going to see that big blue sky again, Y/N. I swear it.”

“How? We have no other way to get out of here unless we kill Hades and we can’t kill him without this crystal.”

“We’ll find a way. We will not rest until we get out of here. I don’t care how long it takes. Do you wanna know why?” He brushed the tears from her eyes, “Because I want us to go on adventures together. I want to see what you can really do when you can let chaos run free. I want to show you my home. I want you to see Neverland. I want us to have fun together outside of here.”

“Peter…” The whirlwind within me started to ebb, “I want that too.”

“And hey, in the meantime, we can still have fun together right here.” He smiled.

That’s when it hit her. What that chaos reigning inside her really was. Why it felt so strange yet so pleasant at the same time.

“I love you.” She said.

Peter blinked at her. “Huh?”

She grabbed his face and brought him closer so her nose touched his, “I love you, Peter Pan.”

He didn’t respond. Not with words at least. The distance between them, as small as it was, closed and she felt his lips brush against hers in hesitant kiss. She pulled him closer again and the kiss deepened. The spark that ran through her felt like a bolt of lightning and she should know since she had been struck by one of Zeus’ blasts before. This was a lot better though and it certainly didn’t leave a coppery feeling in her mouth.

A flash of light made them break apart. Down at their knees was the Olympian Crystal in one piece. Y/N picked it up. She could feel the power running through it. “But how did…?”

“Through the most powerful magic of all. Something that not even a god could compare to.” Peter grinned, “True love.”

“Are you saying that we have true love?” Y/N teased. Truthfully the thought made her want to jump up and down but she would never admit it.

“Seems so. Only makes sense that I would fall in love with the goddess of chaos.” Peter ruffled her hair. “And she made the unfortunate decision to love me back.”

“Why’s that unfortunate?” Y/N asked.

“Cause now you’re stuck with me forever, Chaos.” He pulled her into his arms.

“I think I can live with that.” She kissed him again. She held up the crystal with a wicked smile. “Now, my love, how do you feel about killing a god for our first date?”

“Sounds perfect to me.” He matched her insane smile. They were going to have so much fun!

[lillywillow]

Cold Heart of the Wild

Summary: For days Bucky has been having dreams about a white wolf and a mysterious woman. What happens when his dreams become reality?

 Word Count: 2234

 Square Filled: White Wolf

 Pairings: Bucky x Female Reader

 Warnings: Mentions of hunting and shooting, injuries, minor mentions of death

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

 Snow covered the ground in every direction Bucky looked. It crunched under his feet as he moved; where he was going, he didn’t know. Suddenly, a howl filled the air, its mournful sound sending chills down his spine. There was a flash of movement in the bare trees. Bucky followed it, catching a glimpse of a white wolf.

 The wolf stopped for him as if expecting something. Did it want him to follow? Bucky looked at it for a moment before it ran off.

 “Wait!”

 Bucky chased after the wolf, running in between frozen vegetation, trying desperately to keep up with it. He lost sight of the wolf. Feeling lost in this icy landscape, he frantically searched for any more signs of life. That’s when he saw her.

 A woman dressed in animal hide clothing. A hunter perhaps?

 “Hey!” Bucky shouted, reaching out to her.

 The woman began turning...

...

Bucky woke in a cold sweat. He had almost forgotten all about the mission he was going on that morning. As he prepared for it, he reflected on his dream. That was the sixth night in a row he’d been having dreams like that. Could that possibly mean something? There was no time to dwell too much further on the subject. Bucky had to board the jet and get ready to go.

...

 Bucky’s plane was shot down somewhere over the Alaskan wilderness. He survived the initial crash relatively unharmed but there were Hydra agents waiting on the ground. He fought and took them out but his side was badly injured. As he collapsed in the snow, he thought for sure this was where he was going to die.

 Bucky drifted in and out of consciousness but caught flashes of images.

 The sound of gunfire.

 A white wolf hovering over him.

 Being dragged on some kind of sled.

 A woman with a rifle strapped to her back.

 Bucky’s eyes opened in a jolt. The images had been so familiar to him; he expected to see the sterile environment of a Hydra lab. To his surprise, he found himself in a quaint wood cabin. There were animal hides on the bed keeping him warm.  A fireplace along a wall had a cauldron of something delicious smelling food hanging in its stony walls. A kitchen nook was off to the side of the cabin. The place was rather cosy. Bucky sat up causing pain to shoot through him. He carefully lifted his shirt to see someone had tended to his wound although now blood was seeping through the bandaging. Holding onto his side, Bucky forced himself to his feet and looked out the small window.

 Outside, he could see a woman standing in front of two crudely made graves. She was dressed exactly the same as the one that had been haunting his dreams. A sound behind him caught his attention. Slowly turning around, he saw a white wolf. He went to comment but the pain in his side became too much and he fell to his knees. The wolf went out what appeared some kind of doggy door carved through the main one. A few minutes later, the woman came in, quickly shutting the door behind her. She helped Bucky off the floor and back onto the bed. He whimpered and held up his hand which was now bloodied. She made a disapproving sound with a click on her tongue.

 “You’ve opened that wound again,” she stated. She carefully lifted his shirt once more, helping him to sit up as she cleaned and redressed the injury.

 Once she had finished and washed her hands, she went to get two bowls, filling them with whatever was in the cauldron. She came back, handing him one with a spoon.

 “Thanks,” he muttered. She nodded and sat down to eat as well. A silence fell over the pair of them.

 As Bucky ate, so many questions filled his mind. Who was this woman? Why did she save him? Why had he been dreaming about her? What did any of this have to do with the wolf? He was still very cautious.

 “Who are you? Where am I? How did I get here? The last thing I remember is... is... we need to get out of here!” Bucky stood up but immediately fell back down in pain.

 The woman sighed and made sure his wound hadn’t once again reopened.

 “You’re safe here. Those Hydra agents won’t be around to bother us. I made sure of it...”

 Bucky froze, fear and dread suddenly sunk in.

 “H-how do you...” The woman sighed softly.

 “I was an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. much like you. I was sent on a mission and my plane went down...”

 It dawned on Bucky why she was so familiar and it had nothing to do with his dreams.

 “You’re Y/N L/N! You were one of the best! I read your file. You went missing ten years ago. Presumed dead...”

 “And I would have been if it hadn’t been for Agnes...”

 “Who’s Agnes?”

 Y/N walked over to the window, her eyes ghosting over with memories.

 “Agnes was... one of the strongest women I have ever known. She lived here with her husband until he died. Lived here on her own for quite some time.”

 “What happened to her?”

 “Two years ago, there was a big grizzly bear... it crept up on Agnes and attacked... I did the best I could to help her and she hung in there for as long as she could... I’ve been here on my own ever since.”

 The wolf let out a huff.

 “Except for James of course,” she smiled. The wolf gave an approving noise.

 “James?” Bucky was more than a little surprised.

 “Agnes told she found him abandoned as a pup. She raised him to be I guess a sort of pet. I promised her I wouldn’t let anything happen to him until his time comes.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Y/N once again sighed and tossed James a piece of meat.

 “James is getting pretty old in wolf years. Now, if he should die of natural causes I can bury him with some honour but I’ll be damned if I let some hunter take him away from me.”

 Bucky went quiet for a few moments.

 “How come... you never went back? You could have left at any time...”

 Y/N scoffed softly.

 “When I went down in that plane, it was winter, just as it is now. Every day I wondered if I was ever getting out of here and with each passing month, that hope left. Maybe they sent a search party and couldn’t find me, maybe they couldn’t be bothered, maybe the stories got to them and scared them away...”

 “Stories?” Bucky asked.

 “You see, Alaska has a sort of... Bermuda Triangle area. Planes, ships and people go missing, strange lights in the sky, strange creatures spotted... I never believed the stories but... Perhaps I’ve been without human interaction for too long,” she shrugged. “Anyway, you should get some rest. I’m going to go and hunt something for dinner. If you need anything before I go, tell me now.”

 Bucky shook his head and Y/N made him comfortable before she left with James following behind her. He had been given so much information in such a short amount of time yet he still had questions but for now he would just take some time to allow his body to heal itself.

...

 When night fell, Y/N had boarded up any areas that cold might creep in. She made another stew out of the game she hunted in the afternoon and made herself comfortable next to Bucky.

 “Wh-what are you doing?” His face flushed at their close proximity.

 “It’s below freezing outside. If you want to survive, you’ll need my body heat.”

 Bucky nodded and slowly allowed himself to relax before realising something.

 “Wait! James isn’t here! Shouldn’t he be inside with us?”

 Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness toward the animal.

 “James will be fine. Wolves have adapted to centuries of this kind of weather. He has his own little spot to sleep in nearby and he can do whatever he wants to do.”

 Bucky was a little relieved to hear that.

 “Tell me more about your life here,” he prompted.

 “What’s there to know? It’s life in the Alaskan wilderness. I hunt, I stock up on supplies, and I sleep at night...”

 “Well then tell me about Agnes. I’m sure you must some stories about her...”

 Y/N regarded him carefully for a moment.

 “Alright... but only if you tell me about you in return. You read my file back at... wherever you came from, so you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t even know your name.”

 “James Buchannan Barnes but everyone calls me Bucky.”

 Y/N let out a soft laugh, unable to believe the coincidence.

 “James and James... I guess I will have to call you Bucky to avoid confusion,” she smiled.

 The pair of them spent the night swapping stories and getting to know each other better until they eventually fell asleep. That night for the first time in a long time, Bucky had a dreamless sleep.

...

 Time went by and eventually a month had passed. Bucky and Y/N had formed a strong bond with each other in what was beginning to feel like love. Y/N wondered if this is how Agnes had felt with her husband.

 Then one day, it happened. Y/N was in her storage shed when she heard James snarling and barking. She ran out to see a helicopter appear a moment later, landing in a small clearing nearby. Bucky hobbled out of the house at the commotion. Although his injury was healing nicely, he still had some more to do.

 A few men exited the chopper and headed over to the two of you. You called James to your side to keep him from attacking the strangers but he was still on edge.

 “Buck... good to see you,” one of the men wearing a uniform went to Bucky and hugged him. Bucky hugged back.

 “Good to see you too, Steve. How’d you find me?”

 “We tracked where your jet went down. I’ve been searching for as long as I could ever since. Finally caught a break today when we saw the smoke from the chimney,” Steve replied, nodding over to the house. “Who’s this?”

 “Steve, this is Y/N. She saved my life...”

 Steve looked at her for a moment.

 “The same Y/N who went missing a decade ago?”

 “The very same...”

 “Buck, can I talk to you for a minute?”

 The pair of them went out of Y/N’s earshot but whatever they were saying, it was argumentative. After a few moments the pair walked back to her.

 “Y/N, how would you like to come back with us?” Steve reluctantly offered.

 “I... I can’t...”

 Bucky looked at her sadly.

 “I have James to think of.”

 “James is... a wolf?” Steve asked.

 “He’s not just a wolf. James is too used to humans. He’s vulnerable and a prize for hunters around here. I can’t just leave him.”

 “I see...”

 “Steve, can we have a moment alone?” Steve nodded and left the two them to have a little privacy.

 “You could stay...” Y/N said softly.

 “I wish I could but I can’t. That punk needs me... like James needs you.” His eyes filled with tears as did hers.

 “I... I really hope I’ll see you again.”

 “I do too, doll.”

 Bucky wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Y/N kissed back, holding him as close as she could. Eventually air was needed and they pulled away. Bucky gave her a communicator to keep in touch, telling her to call him if anything happened. Only after the helicopter disappeared out of sight did Y/N allow herself to cry.

...

 Six months later, Bucky finally heard back from her.

 “Hello? Bucky?”

 “Y/N! Is it really you?”

 “Y-yeah...”

 “Is everything okay? You sound upset...”

 “Um... James... passed away...”

 “Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry...”

 “I... I had been expecting it for a while... he hasn’t been well for days. I found him this morning. Can you... can you come and take me away? I don’t... I don’t want to die alone out here...”

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

...

 It took a lot of convincing but Bucky was allowed to go and collect Y/N. He had marked the coordinates of her cabin on a map and went there as fast as he could.

 The moment she saw him, Y/N threw herself into Bucky’s arms and sobbed. Bucky held her close and rubbed her back.

 “It’s okay, doll. I’m here now. I’ve got you. You’ve done your duty to Agnes and laid James to rest...”

 The pair stood there for a while until Y/N had calmed down enough before heading to the transport. As they flew over the Alaska wilderness, Y/N took one last look at the place for ten years she called home. She held Bucky’s hand, ready to start a new chapter of her life.

[renegadeontherunn]

hello fiona my love, hope you are doing amazing - i am so excited you are doing prompts!!! AAAAHHHH could you do 29. "you're a really bad liar." with obi & soka?? or really whoever you want!!! ily queen

SAM MY LOVE!!!!! AHHHH THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK AND FOR YOUR KIND WORDS I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WONDERFULLY TOO ILY!!!!!! and thank you for being my first EVER prompt fill!!!!! 

29. “you’re a really bad liar.” // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

Ahsoka doesn’t look at the Temple.

She can still feel it—that gentle warmth and familiar glow—wherever she goes, but she doesn’t look at it. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need to see it to still feel the gaping hole where the Jedi used to reside and she shoves the Force away at every opportunity.

Ahsoka pulls her cloak tighter. The nights have been getting colder and colder and she finds herself missing the Temple (and its inhabitants) more and more.

She looks over her shoulder again on instinct, half expecting to see Anakin or Master Yoda, or even Rex. But there’s just the usual blank, dark faces of the Coruscant nightlife and Ahsoka breathes a sigh of sad relief. If she can just get off Coruscant, get to a new planet, maybe somewhere Mid-Rim, then she can actually relax. Then she’ll be free. Ahsoka shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself.

She shouldn’t have to worry about being free.

The diner she steps in is nicer than most of the ones she’s frequented in the weeks she’s been exiled, and it’s late enough to not be crawling with too many sketchy figures. The Force simmers as the little bell dings to announce her entrance, and so Ahsoka keeps her senses sharp. A quick reaction can be the difference between life and death. She’s learned that enough times.

“Ahsoka.”

There. Ahsoka’s shoulders tense up immediately, her whole body freezing, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Of course. Of course. Ahsoka thought she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see anyone��each check behind herself was bittersweet, would it be better to reconnect or is complete isolation the safest option?—but as soon as the quiet, surprised word drifts into the air, an anvil slams down on Ahsoka’s chest and she wishes she was anywhere else.

She could leave. She could just turn around and walk—run—away, hide back in her seedy apartment with the moldy ceiling and rusty door. But something, be it obligation or pride or just plain shock, forces Ahsoka’s head to her left and she locks eyes with Master Kenobi.

He’s dressed exactly as she remembers: a few thousand layers of robes with no doubt the hundredth brown cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. There’s a full cup of what looks like cold caf nestled between his hands. Ahsoka tries not to walk too woodenly over to him, screaming against her own body for betraying her.

Not now, not him, not this.

His face is paler, a bit more sunken than it used to be, or so Ahsoka thinks, but his face is all pleasant surprise and familiar, if a bit hesitant, warmth.

“Please, sit down.” He gestures to the seat across from him.

Ahsoka’s heart lurches. “I’m good.”

A beat of silence. She sits.

His eyes scan her face. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers automatically. Oh, this is not going to go well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem fazed. He nods. “That’s great.”

More silence. Ahsoka tries not to fidget, fails; tries not to stare, fails at that too. And her flailing attempts to squash the surging anger inside herself—well, you can probably guess.

“What brings you to a place like this at such an hour?”

Ahsoka nearly huffs. He hasn’t changed a bit. She can’t decide if that’s comforting or . . . disappointing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Obi-Wan nods again. “You could.”

She doesn’t.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Ahsoka’s mind goes on the defensive immediately, though she knows that’s completely off the mark. Does she not look like she can support herself? She doesn’t want—or need—his help, his charity. Ahsoka is perfectly fine on her own, thanks (for nothing), and has no desire for unsolicited aid.

“No.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch, but Ahsoka feels like he wants to. Like this conversation is somehow pricking his chest with bitter pain. Well, that makes two of them.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Ahsoka bites her tongue hard, fangs digging in deep enough to make her head pound.

Obi-Wan’s brow twitches, lips pulling down into a pretty good impression of concern. “Ahsoka?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen and she huffs in near-incredulous mocking. “Are you?”

His face darkens a touch. “Ahsoka—”

“Stop.” Force, why hadn’t she just walked out? “Whatever you’re about to say—don’t.”

But Obi-Wan has always loved talking, and Ahsoka should know that. “Ahsoka, please. I understand your feelings toward—”

“No you don’t.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clicks shut.

Ahsoka’s face grows warm. “You can’t possibly imagine what I’m feeling, what I went through, other than your own part in it.”

“You’re right.” Obi-Wan’s hand is out and Ahsoka can’t remember if it always used to shake like that. “I misspoke. But I do know that you’re hurt and you have every right to be. I am so sorry.”

If this conversation doesn’t end soon, Ahsoka is either going to start throwing punches or sobbing and neither is a great look for her. “Okay.”

“If I could go back—”

“Well you can’t. And neither can I, but I guess that’s life.”

She’s purposely trying to goad him; fighting has always been easier than talking and maybe if they’re both angry, then Ahsoka won’t have to deal with the regret and guilt and fear and homesickness. But Obi-Wan is not so easily led.

“I only wish to explain, though I know it can never fully alleviate the pain of what happened. May I?”

Ahsoka can’t think of anything she wants less than to hear what he has to say. She wants—she wants Obi-Wan to stop talking, wants him to feel her devastation, she wants him to see how she is crumbling beneath the weight of what his Council has done to her.

“You all expelled me. You lost faith in me the second you got the chance to jump ship.” She chokes back tears. “The Jedi were supposed to be there for me—you were supposed to be there for me. Like family, right?”

Obi-Wan looks half on the verge of tears too.

“Ahsoka, I never lost faith in you, you must believe me.” He reaches for her. “I promise you, I tried everything in my power to speak for you in the Council, to try to prove your innocence.”

Ahsoka scoffs, feeling more bitter by the moment. “Fantastic job. Do you want applause?” She’s not sure where all this pent-up rage is coming from; she’s spent enough time meditating, considering the situation, her decision, trying to look at every angle. It’s been months. She thought she was past it. Or, at least, mostly past it.

“I understand your anger at me, I feel it myself. I completely failed you in your trial, Ahsoka, don’t think I’m unaware of that.” Ahsoka’s nails cut crescents in her palms. “I wish I could’ve done more—I should’ve done more.”

“You know what? Yeah, you should’ve. But this isn’t about you, Obi-Wan.” The name is sour on her tongue. “If forcing all this guilt on yourself somehow makes you feel better, be my guest, but you don’t have to burden me with the guilt of not absolving you from it.”

Because Ahsoka does feel guilty. She wants to forgive him and have everything go right back to the way it was, she a Jedi, he her partial Master, the three of them more like family than anything else. Her own stinging words churn in her stomach, half her brain raging against the other half: accept what’s probably your last chance at that old happiness or fuel the retribution you’re convinced you deserve. And she doesn’t know if she actually deserves it. And more importantly, she’s not sure Obi-Wan deserves this.

Haven’t they all been through enough?

But Ahsoka has never been good at thinking before speaking. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to feed the wolf craving vengeance than to scale the high road.

“Ahsoka, I am so sorry—”

Tears stinging her eyes, Ahsoka grabs her cloak, nearly knocking her chair over, her eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s. “You’re a really bad liar.”

Obi-Wan flinches like he’s been struck.

Ahsoka lets the festering rage in her chest slither up to her tongue, lashing out in the empty air. “You’d think you’ve had enough practice.” Her voice is rough, harsh with stifled tears, words ripping holes where affection and warmth used to rest. All Ahsoka feels now, though, is scraped raw, and frustrated, angry confusion, and . . . and something else she doesn’t have time for. The door handle is cold on her blazing skin.

“Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan grabs her arm. She tries to shake him off, but his grip is too strong in its desperation. “Please, listen.”

Tears are dotting the greasy floor now and Ahsoka doesn’t know if they’re hers or Obi-Wan’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I—” She’s still pulling away. The bell on the door is ringing.

“Ahsoka—”

“Just let go!”

The Coruscant air is freezing on Ahsoka’s face and she wrenches her arm away as they burst out of the diner.

They turn to face each other, blue eyes to blue eyes, two strangers with far too many memories.

“Ahsoka.”

And his voice is home and friendship and comfort and Anakin and the past.

“I’m sorry.”

The air is too stuffy, her chest too tight. There’s no room for the past in the scathing pieces of her heart.

She bolts off into the darkness.

“Ahsoka!”

[its-sixxers]

A Sweet Embrace

VTMtober Day 2 Prompt. The life - and death - of Casimir Savatier.

At twenty, in the year 1755, Casimir Savatier had drank his fill of the world and found it wanting.

Since he’d been torn from his mother’s skirts he’d sailed the sea - seen the Isles, the Mediterranean, the northern shores of Africa. The secret places of each he had seen, too, places as withdrawn as he, as unassuming. Casimir laid his hands on relics ancient and occult, and they had given him riches in turn. The ire of the Church was a small price to pay, for he was captain of his own ship and his own destiny. They did not call him corbeau for nothing, for he flew wherever the wind carried him.

Knowledge, coin, success, women - he had it all, but as he stumbled out of Calais’ premier brothel drunk on wine and pleasure the night air felt like a slap in the face. Another night, another dance, the same routine every time his feet alighted on land. A distraction from the knowledge that washed over him in the cool night air. Something was missing, and for a man whose greatest talent was finding that which was hidden he found himself unable to discover it.

He stumbled down the cobblestone streets to the harbor, sea air filling his lungs. The moon was full, waters placid, reflecting her in all her glory - and somewhere at port lay his ship, his quarters, his home. All was silent, dockworkers long since retired to their beds, and Casimir was eager to do the same until a clear high note broke through the darkness.

The sound was beautiful enough to make him stumble. A woman’s voice - an angel’s - singing a hymn of a lost soul welcomed to Paradise. Casimir whirled about, trying to seek out the cause of the sound, still tasting wine on his breath, but the song seemed to surround him, to run through the air and fill his lungs.

In his drunken haze he returned to his quarters and passed out upon his bed, the voice singing him to his rest. When he awoke the next morning even the worst hangover of his life could not erase it from his memory. A drunken hallucination, he told himself, but when he set sail and watched the port fade into the distance he found himself singing the same hymn under his breath.

It was months before he returned to Calais again, a relic from an obsidian temple in an island off the coast of Portugal in hand. It thrummed with energy, its buyers met under cover of darkness on the pebbled beach below the docks, and when Casimir walked into a tavern to begin his usual dance of shore leave anew a business contact warned him that the Church had blades seeking his throat. It was best to leave until he’d faded from memory, and a plan was drawn for a delivery to the New World. It would be years before his return - but the New World was a place Casimir hadn’t yet seen, and perhaps it would hold the key to the void in his chest.

When he made his journey from tavern to brothel, deep within his cups, there was no moon in the sky, darkness complete. Turning down a narrow alley, he kept his hand on the grip of his flintlock and used the other to guide himself through the inky night.

Again, a woman’s voice cut through the night air singing a hymn - Casimir wondered if he’d hallucinated it, but it carried on - a whisper, and this time he could pinpoint its origin. Behind him.

He turned around, trying to seek out a form in the gloom. “Who are you?” he barked into the darkness.

The song stopped, then, gentle as summer rain; “A friend.”

Casimir barked laughter. “I have no friends. Merely business partners.”

“I know.” she answered softly. “You walk these streets alone. Your company is bought. You are lost, drifting like foam on the sea.”

He swayed on the spot - the voice was like a caress on his skin, and he walked forward with arm outstretched, seeking out the woman who spoke to him thus - who saw him thus.

“Please.” she murmured. “If you saw me you would not understand, would not see the truth in what I say. I beg of you - stop on this path you follow. What you seek is not in the bottom of a cup or coin purse.”

An angel, he thought to himself - be not afraid, they said, when speaking with mortal man. “What do I seek?”

“Purpose.” she answered. “Purpose beyond that of fetching trinkets for evil men and the idle rich. You seek something greater - to be part of a whole, to see something planted by your hands grow.”

Casimir stood still in the dark, eyes wide. “What must I do?”

“That is for you to decide.” Something skittered in the alley, then; “I must go.”

“Wait -” he cast his hand out into the darkness, reaching for her. “- please. Are you angel, or woman? If you are of flesh, I would…” he trailed off, unable to voice his heart’s desire.

“I am neither.” she whispered, pained - and then the air seemed to shift imperceptibly. In that moment he knew he was alone in the dark once more.

--

The next evening he hammered on the door of every alehouse, every brothel, seeking out the woman who he had spoken with - Casimir had something he wished to find, and for all the coin and power he had he would find her.

Each establishment either laughed him out or gave a sad admission that they knew not of who he spoke - so desperate was he that he even walked through the doors of the Église Notre-Dame, raving about his angel. The priests treated him more gently than others - they knew not who he was - but they believed he’d received a warning, to save himself before his spirit was damned for eternity.

The Lord did nothing for his mother, sweetest being he ever knew, and so Casimir embraced damnation - but death now that he knew there was an answer to the hollowness he felt was unbearable. He had only a few weeks before he departed to the New World, and his angel would be lost to him forever.

Each night he wandered the harbor, singing the same hymn - desperate to lure her out, to even hear her voice once more. On the seventh night he changed tactics, singing a love song - and on the seventh night, she answered him.

It wasn’t on the docks. Casimir laid in his bed in his galley, the windows thrown open to let the fresh air and moonlight in. Sleep had nearly claimed him, when he heard her voice.

“Who do you sing to?”

Casimir bolted upright, then recalled her previous words - to rush to the window would frighten her. “You.”

“I am not what you seek.”

“Yet I can’t get you out of my mind.” he replied. “You… you said I was lost. I have no one. I thought I needed no one, but you… you’ve seen me. Please - if you are no spirit, I would speak with you.”

“Speak?” It shocked the woman, he could hear it in her voice - and then it softened, quieted, as if trying to make sure none would overhear. “... you are content to merely speak?”

“Yes.” he breathed, a smile breaking out over his face. “I know not who you are, what you are, but I would hear what you have to say regardless. You’re different from anything.”

“You are a man who makes deals.” The woman said, cautiously. “I will make you a deal. I will tell you whatever you ask of me, so long as you never see me or ask how I appear or what I am. And… you tell me what I ask of you.”

“Done.” It was the easiest deal of his life. “Then I would ask you this, first - what is your name?”

A pause, then, as if it was foreign to her lips; “Elaine.”

--

Every night they spoke, he in his quarters and she somewhere near the window - he wondered if she lingered on the deck above, and marvelled at how she’d snuck aboard. They spoke of all things - she adored tales of his travels, and he listened to her knowledge of history. How a woman was so learned was beyond his understanding, but Elaine was a creature beyond anything he knew. Sometimes they exchanged songs - she knew mostly hymns, or melodies so old the language itself wasn’t quite the one he knew. He fast learned that bawdy songs would make her quiet or displeased, but sea shanties were beloved - sometimes he swore he could hear her weep when he sang of the sun glimmering on the waves, of the deep blue expanse, water and sky.

Once he laid flowers he’d gathered in the day at his windowsill, and awoke to find them gone.

Casimir no longer wanted to flee to the New World - he wanted to stay, to brave whatever accusations of heresy the Church would throw at him, if only to have another night to speak with her. His crew noted his lack of sleep, the dark circles around his eyes, and some murmured he’d become enraptured with some siren.

Yet sirens led men to their doom. Elaine gave him life.

Time marched on, and the days before his departure grew short. One night he couldn’t keep himself from weeping, and he could hear longing in her voice when she spoke.

“You are to leave soon.”

“Yes.” he answered thickly, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll return. It may be years.” Then, a thought. “Come with me.”

A long pause. “I cannot.”

Casimir walked to the window, gripping the sill in his hands. “Please.” he begged. “I can’t go back to a life without this. I know so little about you - I want to be able to fill pages upon pages. You speak of a desire to see what I’ve seen - we can both see the New World together. Perhaps… perhaps we can each find what we’re looking for.”

“I know what I desire.” she murmured in reply - from her voice he knew she, too, was weeping. “To resist is a test of my faith. I cannot, Casimir, I cannot, not without damning us both.”

“To hell with damnation. Life is damnation, if I continue it as I have.” Casimir extended his hand out of the window. “Please, Elaine.”

Another long pause, then, “Close your eyes.”

Casimir did as commanded, then felt something cold and leathery slip into his palm. He shuddered, the breeze suddenly carrying with it the stench of rot. Instinct screamed at him to run, to flee. Still, he kept his eyes squeezed shut - if this was a test, he would pass it.

“This is all I can give you.” Elaine spoke, voice quivering - he was aware of something metal being pressed into his hand. “Hold it and remember me - hold it and remember purpose. Do not speak so lightly of damnation, love - treasure your soul as I do.”

The leathery feeling disappeared, and Casimir opened his eyes to see a silver cross on a chain in his palm. Gingerly he drew his hand to his chest, staring down at it in the light - it was old, centuries old, and he wondered how Elaine had found such a thing.

“I will remember.” he promised to the night. “I will return, for you.”

“Until we meet again.”

“Goodbye, my love.”

He found blood on the deck in the morning.

--

Months on the sea - Casimir cared not for it. Where once the voyage would make his heart soar, now he could only stare at the cross that now hung around his neck, could only tilt it and see how it caught the sunlight.

They came to the New World at night, the lights of the colonies twinkling on the horizon, and to his despair Casimir found it much the same as the Old World. The same buildings, if simpler, the same people, if rougher. Two years, and he could return. He watched his ship disappear on the edge of the sky, and hoped his business partner would not betray him.

He took to trapping and hunting, finding relief only in the wilds - woods thick and dark, untouched by man, ancient beyond his comprehension. They reminded him of her - everything did. A doe caught in a sunbeam, locking her gaze with his before darting away. A rabbit by a stream, standing on hind legs and sniffing the air. Winter snows blanketing the harbor, the world soft and quiet.

In his cabin he was alone, far from aid should anything happen to him, but Casimir felt no fear. He read books on books, trying to seek knowledge of what Elaine had spoken of - each trip into civilization had him carting back more. French history dating back centuries, the world his was built on top of, and between the lines he could see hints of something greater. Perhaps his isolation was driving him mad, seeking connections were there were none, but with each new moon when the night was blackest he felt a glimmer of the purpose Elaine had spoken of.

Two winters passed, and come spring he cut his hair, shaved his beard, and returned to the harbor. His ship awaited him.

Sickness took the ship on the journey back, another member of the crew dying with each turn of the moon. Casimir hardly dared leave his quarters for fear of catching whatever plagued his crew, clutching Elaine’s cross to his breast and repeating his promise. He would return. He’d found his purpose.

It was dawn when they reached Calais once more, blankets and clothing taken out for burning. Casimir begrudgingly set foot on the harbor, though he desired nothing more than to stay in his quarters until nightfall, until Elaine would find him again. Instead he roamed the city streets, all of the anxious energy of months at sea leaving him unable to rest.

By nightfall he’d made it to the Église Notre-Dame, his right hand resting on Elaine’s cross. Staring up at the cathedral, he knew it belonged to the age of which Elaine so often spoke - and he sang out into the night. The stars shone bright above him, and he realized he’d been too drunk to ever marvel at the beauty of the city - to ever appreciate the wonder of standing alone bearing witness to creation.

Footsteps sounded behind him - he turned, thinking it Elaine come to reveal herself to him at last, but he recalled too late that Elaine was ever silent. Instead he saw a single figure in a dark coat - a man, his face masked by the wide brim of his hat.

Too late, Casimir saw him draw a flintlock from beneath his coat - and he fired.

The sound split the air. Casimir stumbled back as if he’d been struck by an ox - his shirt had gone red, scorched from where the bullet had entered just to the left of Elaine’s cross. He fell to his knees, legs suddenly unable to support him.

Somewhere far away, he heard a scream.

The man lowered his smoking flintlock and approached. “Your business partner fears the wrath of God. He has repented, and paid the price for his own part in this.”

“Elaine.” Casimir choked out, looking up at the stars above, willing them to intervene on his behalf. A cloud passed overhead, blocking out the moonlight. The color was fading from the world, and he could smell rot on the air.

“An accomplice?” His attacker questioned. “If you tell me where to find her, I’ll end it quic-”

Casimir saw a blur in his periphery - a shadow that reminded him of a dancer with ribbons. It collided with his attacker while the man was mid-sentence, and Casimir heard only a choked noise before the sound of tearing meat and blood spilling across the pavement drowned out all else.

The cloud above passed by, and though the edges of his vision had begun to blur Casimir saw clearly what had taken place. His attacker lay torn in two on the pavement, blood and organs sprayed across it, steaming in the cool air. Above stood a woman in a ruined nun’s habit, her arms wrapped in bandages - like ribbons - and as she ran to him he realized her arms were too long, hands like claws.

“Casimir.” she choked out, and he realized his Elaine was a corpse.

Yet she was his Elaine - and the leathery hands that drew his own toward her made his heart ache.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled, tongue thick in his mouth.

“No.” Elaine replied, gaze fixed on the wound in his chest - her face was blurring before him, but he could make out her eyes - glowing white and pure as diamond in the dark, edged with panic. “You… you shouldn’t have come back.”

“I had to.” Casimir answered - his hands were going numb, cold as hers, and he gritted his teeth. “Couldn’t die there. Can’t… can’t die now.”

Elaine was trembling, gaze shifting between him and his wounds. “Do not ask this of me. I will damn us both.”

He smiled at her, then - she was no angel, no woman, she’d told him no lie. Whatever she was, he was certain god’s light had abandoned them both. “You said… you said that when I asked you to come with me. Why?”

“My kind cannot dwell among yours. We are cursed, to live forever, hideous - oh, love, I never wanted you to see me like this -”

Casimir pulled a hand away from her - she shuddered and closed her eyes until he placed it at her cheek. It was leathery as her hands, part of it torn open, but he could feel the blood on his palm and that was enough. “Elaine.” he croaked. “If damnation will let me live -”

“It is no life.” she whispered. “You will never see the sun again. You will never sail the sea. You will be a monster.”

“You aren’t a monster.” he murmured, hand dropping from her face. Casimir slumped forward, the cold in his limbs spreading, body growing heavier. “A life, with you…”

The air left his lungs, and he found himself unable to take in more. Elaine remained kneeling in front of him as he collapsed against her, head buried in the crook of her shoulder. The tremble in her body kept him on the edge of consciousness long enough to feel her gently pull his hair away from his neck.

“Just a Kiss, love.” she murmured into his ear, before placing her lips to his throat.

At twenty-three, in the year 1758, Casimir had drank his fill of life and found it wanting.

At the lips of his angel, he found purpose in death.

[regrettablewritings]

DJ X READER HEADCANON you pick 😉😉

I blink at the request that stares back at me from my inbox, brow furrowing with every flutter of my lashes. "Sis . . ." I murmur, "you good?" As though my ass had not also been search for content relating to this forgotten POS just the other day. But if you insist . . .

4. What they do on date night:

To be brutally honest, DJ will look you dead in the eye and tell you that going for a night out on the town pick-pocketing is a date. Or, at least, he will try to. It's surprisingly hard to maintain eye contact with someone whose glare could probably cut beskar.

In his defense (if he even deserves any), DJ does try to make it a little more fun than he already finds it -- granted, it's done in a very DJ way. You get your little evening promenade through the streets, he tricks you to a quick bite to eat, you hold hands and run through the lantern-speckled streets before turning down a narrow alleyway that's just perfect for sharing an intense liplock . . .

Of course, this all translates into your evening together including: Walking through a marketplace, your asshole boyfriend slipping peoples' credits out of their pockets and purses under the guise of bumping into them; him using those sticky fingers of his to nick some street food off of a cart before its proprietor called the authorities on his theft; said sticky fingers lacing with yours as he guides you down the crowded streets (grinning like the little shit he was for enjoying the chase); all before making a sudden jerk down an alleyway.

You're breathless, irritated, and . . . maybe -- only just maybe -- a little excited by the thrill of it all. But you can't let him know that, otherwise, he'd never let you live it down and he'd be the cock of the goddamn walk for who knows how long. Worse: He'd consider this a win for his insistence that this sort of thing counted as a date! And there was no way in hell you were about to let that happen!

You only got as far as opening your mouth to hiss own some choice words at him when you instead got cut off by your thieving significant other pressing you against the grubby alley wall. Even if you hadn't been distracted by the action to remember to cuss him out, the words were instantly killed. They were inhaled by his own lips, his kiss encompassing your words, your thoughts, your . . . everything. They were speared by his tongue, as though it were his weapon against the beast that brewed within you.

And they were quelled by the feel of his callused fingers brushing against your cheeks before moving onward to the beck of your head, pressing you only further into his hold. DJ's fingers were deft, but that didn't necessarily mean that their carefulness was always directed at you. It's . . . something to savor . . .

Of course, it was meant to fool the chumps following the both of you but you don't mind. Not in that moment anyway. When you get back to wherever you're staying for the night, it's another story, but one DJ is more than happy to bring to a happy ending.

It's a bit nicer when he gets his hands one someone's credits, though: It means he can take you out to an actual establishment. However, be warned: It's only a bit nicer because you also need to be on the lookout for the authorities (or the poor bastard you stole from), or be prepared to make a run for it.

11. What their first impression was of each other:

Dirty. Old. Bastard. A dirty old bastard. And to your credit, you weren't wrong, but of course, the first impression is always the shallowest. And considering the shithead had just tried to put the moves on you when you were already having a rough day . . . Yeah, he honestly deserved presumptions with the depth of one's own navel -- an outie, preferably.

He stood out against the Canto Bight elite with his grubbiness, looking like a leathery garbage pouch at best and like a guy who'd try to sell you a faulty droid at moderate. A dirty, bastardly part of you couldn't help but muse that perhaps the worst he could do was be a nasty lay -- and not nasty in the way one might want, either.

Granted, it wasn't hard to imagine that: The fact he was hitting on you while you were trying your best to just survive your shift at the casino that evening did little to convince you he was any good.

And as for DJ, it was a one-two-punch type of introduction. Literally: First he eyed you, then he got a little too suggestive, and then you punched him. What a sleazeball, right? It was his own damn fault for assuming the least of you, though. You were cute like all the other servers, no doubt, with that shy smile of yours that made it abundantly clear to him that this sort of place wasn't your scene if you didn't have to work there. Unlike the other servers, however, he was feeling pretty brazen about you.

DJ has no interest in the concept of “fate” or “destined meetings”, but even months out from that point he wouldn’t be able to place precisely what compelled him to break his usual protocol of being discreet. Nor why he was so insistent. All he knows was that he called you over to him and, rather than requesting a drink, he “chatted you up”. And might’ve suggested that you two blow off this place and maybe “blow off somewhere else”.

He also knows that the moment you struck his cheek, cheeks burning and eyes widened with the realization of what you’d done, he was wrong and right about you.

You were frankly lucky he turned out to be a blight on the Canto Bight scene, otherwise your boss would’ve fired you the moment he had learned of what you had done. What you were unlucky for, however, was that from then on, the thief started showing up more often. Not enough to get caught (at least, not for long), but enough for him to determine that maybe the both of you really should blow this joint -- in the nonsexual way.

And in the end, you became unlucky once more: For someone so grubby and bastardly, he was also quite the charmer. Y’know, once you’ve smacked him around a bit.

14. What nicknames they call each other:

You honestly struggle to nickname DJ, predominately because, well, DJ is already a nickname. You think. After all, you sincerely doubt anyone would actually name their kid Don’t Join even as a political statement. Really, the fact you don’t know his actual name sort of calls for consideration of how healthy your obviously unhealthy relationship is. But any pleas to learn this asshole’s real name just winds up being like having a namana cream pie shoved in your face, because DJ just turns it all into a joke.

There have been many occasions where DJ would tell you different names he would swear were his own -- often times in the same week! Other times, his claim would be that he’s told you it while you were asleep, or that he once told you but you got conked on the head and forgot it.

Interestingly enough, it’s through these juvenile exploits that he’s earned a bit of a nickname from you: “Bastard”. Just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? To be fair, though, you’re with him for a reason: Even if he may not seem like it, he does have a soft sport for you. Even if it comes out about as smoothly as his features.

In a way, he reminds you of a mutt. A stray mutt. Especially when he shoves his head into your lap after a long day of fucking about and being a menace to whatever society you two decided to hop a ship to.

“You’re like a puppy sometimes, you know that?” you murmur. You scritch into his mess of hair, earning a low growl of contentment from your datemate. He never had to admit it out loud, but your touch clearly did wonders to him. This was evidence by how his already large body began to further sprawl along the couch the ship he’d stolen came with. Yup; just like a puppy. A big, raggedy puppy. Who needs a trip to the refresher as soon as this scritching session was over.

For DJ, on the other hand, nicknames come easily. Honestly, it’s mainly due to how he barely takes anyone or anything seriously: When you don’t concern yourself with all the muddled nonsense of society or wide circles of people, it becomes a whole lot easier to see everyone’s buttons. And considering he was a master slicer, button-pressing was definitely his thing.

Despite the fact that you were a one-in-a-million instance of being someone whom the thief actually trusted and treated with even a modicum of respect, even you weren’t immune to his acts of mockery.

“Mornin’, P-p-pipsqueak,” he’d smirk over a cup of caff, knowing damn well that his advantage of height bothered you sometimes.

“Ea-asy there, k-kitten,” he’d purr whenever your frustration would come boiling to the brim. Things like that.

“Lookie here, dollface,” when he wants to butter you up without losing his stance.

But that doesn’t mean he’s unable to be more affectionate. It’s in there, it’s just . . . in there. The best examples, however, tend to be when the both of you are having downtime and are actually safe somewhere. Or whatever safe could mean when you’re with DJ.

Generally, a jail cell wouldn’t be considered safe. Maybe not unsafe if the only occupants were your boyfriend of ill repute and yourself, but it certainly wasn’t enjoyable. And yet, the way DJ just seemed to laze about in them made you feel unnaturally calm. Well, calmer. It would’ve been nicer if your more-than-capable boyfriend would put those slicing skills of his to use and just busted the both of you out of there, but to DJ, a night in the clink meant at least a few hours of shut eye on a bed.

“B-bes-s-sides: We can alw-w-ways just grab on-e of those f-f-f-floating citadels they g-g-g-got docked out there,” he would reason, making himself comfy on the thin mattress. He had a point, you supposed. And it wasn’t as though you hadn’t been expecting this as a part of your life once you got together with him. Still, you weren’t entirely comfortable joining him on said mattress . . . Maker knows when it had last been washed!

You would be far from the first to consider DJ to be the most observant person, dating or not, but your concern must’ve been rich enough for him to practically sense it: Without hesitating, he sat up just enough to offer you his hand.

“C-come on,” he said. “I need to c-c-c-catch some shut e-e-eye, and it ain’t hap-p-p-penin’ if you’re standing d-d-down there the entire t-time.”

A feeling of mild dread seeped into you, followed by a wet blanket of acceptance. You were going to just spend an hour in the refresher of whatever ship you swept off with. Sighing, you accepted the hand, only for the hold to pull you up not onto the mattress, but directly on top of him!

There was plenty to react to -- the sudden movement, the feeling of being on top of DJ -- but the man himself didn’t seem at all fazed. Instead, he focused primarily on tucking in whatever lagging limbs you had and making sure he was cozy enough to continue serving as your mattress for however many hours he needed to recuperate. Which he apparently was: Not once did he protest to your weight pressing down on him, nor did he grunt with displeasure whenever you turned the direction of your head against his chest.

At the most, he only ever offered your back a brief circle of rubbing with his free hand, the other serving as his pillow, before uttering a drowsy, “You good there, kid?”

And, to your surprise . . . yeah. In spite of everything, yeah, you were pretty good . . .

And yet, interestingly enough, no matter what he calls you, none of that ever measures up to when he calls you by your name. Not pipsqueak, not kitten, not dollface or kid or whatever, but your actual name. Because DJ hardly ever refers to anyone by their actual title, let alone cares to remember it. By not only remembering it, but applying it, it shows you that he does care. It’s deep down -- like, real in there -- but it’s there. And you’re the only non-slicing being in the entire galaxy to have ever cracked that sort of safe.

Wear that badge with pride, Hotshot.

Thanks for your patience on this one! Clearly I had a lot of fun writing it! 💖 💖 . . . May gotta actually start writing for DJ. Maybe.

[zombryz]

★ needy ★ a Frieza story pt.2

Please read pt.1 here  【☆】

TW - mentions of anxiety, mentions of smut (next chapter will be smut)

Piccolo and Gohan arrive at Capsule Corp on request of Bulma. It’s still late so Bulma gathers everyone on the rooftop for a meeting.

“Y/N has been taken.” She says facing away from them and staring at the night horizon, unable to see their reactions. No comments were made so she turned around to face Piccolo, Trunks, Gohan, Goten, Chi-Chi, Krillen, and Android 18. This had become an emergency meeting. She continued to speak, “as you know Goku and Vegeta are training on Beerus’ planet.” She rolled her eyes. No one said anything unsure of where this was going. “I think I know who took Y/N but gods I hope I am wrong.” She brought her hand up to her face trying to hide her guilt, struggling to say what she was about to say. 

There was a brief pause. Everyone’s eyes still fixed on her. “Frieza took her. I had a feeling that he had been brought back for some time now...”

“What do you need us to do, Bulma?” Piccolo finally chimes in with his arms still crossed attempting to hide his concern at the mention of Frieza’s name. 

“We need to somehow get to Whis so he can bring home Goku and Vegeta.” She turned to him, anger in her eyes. She thought, how could she let this happen? An evil being came and abducted her best friend. She couldn’t get emotional now. “I’m thinking we use food, and lots of it!” 

Everyone nodded in agreement, they were going to stay up all night trying to reach Whis. You were a part of their family. The idea of Frieza having you scared everyone, they wouldn’t dare say it outloud but they were terrified that he had already killed you. 

                      -----------------------

White noise is all you hear. Your eyes flutter open and your consciousness comes with a pounding headache. Where were you? Nothing looks familiar. You thought back to the last thing you remember. Frieza. That bastard. Where did he bring you? You tried calming your breathing so you wouldn’t freak out. You start to look around, scanning your surroundings for anything that might help you escape. You felt that your hands were tied behind your back. Your chest feels heavy, there is something big and metallic hanging around your neck, you couldn’t exactly see it but you assumed it was some kind of collar to keep you from trying to leave. Great, now I’m a pet you thought. Wherever you were looked to be a spaceship of some kind. The walls were a type of metal that matched your collar, the floor you were sitting on was cold and there was no sign of anyone, not even Frieza. It didn’t look like a throne room, so where are you? You looked over to your right and there was a literal king sized bed floating in mid air, illuminated blue from the bottom. On your left was a large and exquisite dining area. Okay, so you’re probably in someone's quarters. Why?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by the sliding of the quarter’s door. You slowly slid back into the wall you were leaning against in hopes that you’d blend in, not to be seen. With no hesitation Lord Frieza walks in, his strut more intimidating than ever. He doesn’t make eye contact with you, he instead ignores you completely. He walked over to his dining table and began pouring himself a glass of wine. After drinking the glass in one sip he finally spoke,

“Ah, comfortable are we, human?” His bright red eyes piercing yours, making you feel like prey under his predatory stare. “You see, I’ve never had the need for hostages so sadly, I do not have room for them.” He raises his hand to jester in the air in complete annoyance, but continues talking anyways. “You should feel honored to be staying in my quarters with me.” He twists his mouth into a smirk. 

“I liked my apartment better” You retorted, instantly regretting saying anything at all. 

“Ahh, a spunky little one,” He began walking over to you, his feet leaving behind a creepy mechanical sound. As he closes the space between you he leans down with one hand still behind his back while the other reaches for your face. He grabs your jaw, causing your lips to pucker out. Your jaw was still sore from the night before. He slowly lifts you so that you can look him in the eyes. “What is it about you that makes the monkey’s willing to do anything?” He questioned examining your face and body. His eyes continue lower and lower down your body until they snap back connecting your eye contact once more. 

The interaction was making you anxious. Your breathing became sporadic and Frieza started to notice this. With his free hand he ran a clawed finger up your abdomen starting at your naval and slowing when he got to your ribs just under your bra wire. This motion sent shivers down your spine. 

“Human lungs are so fragile, hmm?” His voice quieter than it had been only moments ago. You didn’t break eye contact trying not to let him feel superior in this moment. You didn’t want him to be the powerful one although there was no doubt that he was. He removed his hand from your ribs to run it over your face, he absorbed your energy from you once more forcing you to sleep. 

You fluttered your eyes open the same as before. This time there was sunlight creeping in from the window instead of the darkness that laid there previously. The ship must be facing the sun this time, before you were only able to see stars. There was something different though, you didn’t feel as cold as you did before. You actually felt very comfortable, you grip around you only to feel that your surroundings had been replaced with a soft feeling. Sitting up you realize where you were. Frieza’s bed?! When you look around he’s nowhere to be found. You had no idea how much time had passed or why you had been asleep in his bed. Your hands were no longer bound together but your collar remained where it had been before. You rolled out of the bed standing to your feet, you must’ve not been fully used to the gravity difference because you started stumbling. 

“Ha, this is very entertaining, please don’t stop on my account,” You knew that voice. It was Frieza. When you turn around you see him coming out of a room that was attached to his quarters. Your brows furrow in anger. 

“This isn’t funny Frieza, how long am I going to be here?” As time goes by so does your confidence in speaking to him. He needs you as a hostage, so he can’t kill you. Right? 

“I share my bed with you and this is the thanks I get?” he pouts. “Such a pity, I liked it better when you were asleep.” He added while he removed one hand from behind his back to pick at his nails. You were no longer entertaining him. 

You walked up to him, becoming cocky with your movements. “Listen Frieza, Goku can lock onto my location. You better hope he doesn’t pop up here and kick your ass!” you started waving a finger in his face, anger getting the best of you. Maybe you should’ve thought out that last part. 

Frieza grabs your wrist and your finger retreats forming into a fist. His grip was always so tight. “Ouch,” you tried to pull away but couldn’t escape his grasp. Frieza removed his free hand from behind his back to place it on the small of your back. You gasped at the action not expecting him to grab you by the waist. In one swift motion he pulled you in closer to him, your chests were inches away from each other. There was no calming your breathing, you were so nervous. 

“Just because you’re my hostage doesn’t mean that I have to be nice to you.” 

Silence. You had nothing to say, there was so much tension it could fill the whole room. You didn’t like him but something about how close you were caused a million butterflies in your stomach crying to be let out. You swallowed in hopes the feeling would go away. He was the enemy, why were you feeling this way about him? Before you could be in your thoughts any longer you felt something cold sneaking its way up your leg. You didn’t dare look down but you had a feeling you knew what it was. Frieza’s tail was climbing its way up your leg. 

Shit. What is going on?

Frieza looked down at your leg realizing his tail had you pinned. He released you immediately and left the room without a glance in your direction. The gravity became heavy once more and you dropped to your knees at the foot of Frieza’s bed. What just happened? 

                                                            -----------------------

Later that night you were laying in Frieza’s bed. He hadn’t returned yet so you were alone in your thoughts for hours. Whatever happened you had a feeling Frieza felt it too. What did this mean? You can’t be ‘sleeping with the enemy’. You had to get out of here before anything else happened. Before you could plan an escape, the door opens. 

“I-I feel the need to tell you that my tail has a mind of its own so don’t get any wrong ideas.”

You didn’t answer. What would you even say to that? The air wasn’t awkward, as soon as he re-entered the room the tension was back. This was the first time Frieza sounded unsure of anything. It was like your presence made him weak. He walked over to the bed. Uh-oh, you just realized that in the past however many nights Frieza had put you to sleep that you weren’t conscious and had no idea if Frieza was actually sleeping IN the bed with you. When he reached the side of the bed he untucked the sheets insinuating that he would be getting into the bed. Your eyes went wide, you froze unsure of what to do. You turn over to face away from him, you felt his movement as he got under the covers. He shifts around to get comfortable. Well this couldn’t get anymore awkward. Your thoughts running wild it was getting harder to control them. You turned over on your side this time facing him, he was laying with his hands behind his head staring blankly at the ceiling. You could finally decipher the tension you had been feeling, it was sexual. Your desires becoming hard to ignore. Your cheeks give off heat leaving behind a rosy hue. You closed your eyes tightly trying not to think about all the things you’d wish he’d do to you. 

“Please do control yourself little one, I can smell your arousal from over here.” 

You froze. He can smell you? This was embarrassing. Could you use this to your advantage in some way? He seemed vulnerable, maybe you could use this to escape. Did you even want to escape anymore? Why were you feeling this way? 

This was killing you. You decided to just let your instincts take charge, before you knew it you had hoped on top of him, straddling him, holding his hands at the sides of his head. You were pinning him down. Under your grasp, he had become the prey. He didn’t respond, he did nothing. Maybe he was unsure of what your intentions were? You were breathing heavy but he was completely calm, unconcerned with you. He treated you as though you had no power or strength over him and it drove you mad. His eyes locked on yours, there was a moment, the tiniest moment of need in his eyes. He looked at you like he was enjoying this. With your instincts still in control you did it, you leaned down pressing your lips to his dark ones. The kiss was intimate but brief. Almost immediately you were shoved off, the roles had reversed. He quickly flipped you over and had you pinned down beneath him. Your hands were grasped tightly in his, he held them above your head. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His brows furrow, he was angry. Gods, he was so beautiful. Was he going to kill you now? Maybe he’ll say whatever to his grand plan and kill you right where you lay. 

He slowly removed his palms from yours, sitting up still straddling you. His face turned sour, his pointer finger lifted up as he swirled together a red ball of energy. He started laughing evilly. This was it. This was the end.

[sirenprincess15]

Please Don't Leave Me Chapter 9

Title: Please Don’t Leave Me

Author: SirenPrincess

Description: What if Aleksander hadn’t answered the door when Ivan interrupted the war room kissing? What if Aleksander and Alina had a bit more time to get to know each other before Baghra told her his true identity? Alina is the only one who can comfort Aleksander through his nightmares. Will she leave once she knows who he is?

This story is based on the show version and features a soft on the inside, hard on the outside Aleksander with an emphasis on emotional hurt/comfort and angst. If you are looking for lots of hurt!Aleksander thoughts, then this story is for you. Mal exists but pretty much solely to cause Aleksander some angst. Don’t worry. It will be a Darklina ending.

Chapter 1 is a missing scene at the end of Ep 4, and Chapter 2 takes place alongside Ep 5 and then diverges from canon there.

Pairings: Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov, bits of Ivan/Fedyor

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Grisha are oppressed in this universe, and I don’t shy away from showing the horrors of that. There may eventually be mentions of canon-typical torture (Fjerdan pyres), death of family members, and cruelty to Grisha children. It’s not the focus, but that backdrop is definitely there and comes up as characters discuss their past.

In this chapter: After centuries of being alone, Aleksander struggles to share his problems.

Chapter 9

Aleksander was busy working in his office. The roaring fire warmed him as he poured over ship manifests and army documentation on this Dmitry. If they could find who Dmitry traveled with, who was likely to be loyal to him, then perhaps they could identify any threats before they even came to the Little Palace.

When Inessa and Fedyor delivered Alina, Aleksander rushed to her side. “Thank you,” he said, dismissing them. He pulled her into his arms, rested his chin on top of her head, and deeply inhaled the scent of her. She was safe. “How was your day?”

“Boring. Fedyor and Inessa wouldn’t even let me go outside, not even for training. I’m never going to get stronger if I don’t train.”

“It’s just a precaution.”

“A precaution for what?”

He ignored her. She didn’t need the stress of knowing how anxious their enemies were to kill her. “I thought we’d take dinner in here tonight, if that’s okay with you.” His emotions were a mess. As haunted as he had been since Marie’s death, it was even worse now that the continued active threat was confirmed. He was relieved to be with her because he could see she was safe, but he was also still deeply ashamed of his panic attack from the nightmare the night before. He feared she would bring it up. He couldn’t talk about it. Eating in the main hall would stop her from doing so, but he was worried about security and didn’t want her with a large crowd. Her food would be easier to poison there, even with her taster. Truthfully, though, Aleksander wasn’t sure he had it in him to perform the intimidating General Kirigan act tonight, and he wanted her nearby for safety. Then he worried about what would happen when it was time for sleep. He had unleashed shadows last night, and they could have hurt her. He would never be able to forgive himself if he harmed her. That morning he had decided they’d have to sleep apart, but that was before he’d known of this new threat, of spies sneaking into the palace to check her routines. There was no way to know if the man he’d killed had been the first or the last. He couldn’t risk letting her sleep without someone strong guarding over her, and she’d never agree to let someone like Ivan stand over her bed. She had to stay here. Selfishly, he was grateful to have the excuse to keep her in his bed.

“Of course.” Her expression begged him to answer her previous question, but he didn’t. He well remembered what it was like to be afraid everywhere you went at all times. He could protect her from that.

“I do have quite a bit of work to complete, though. I’m afraid I’ll be quite busy. I did take the liberty of having Genya select some books from the library for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, as if signaling to him that she saw right through his attempts to distract her, but all she said was, “That was kind of you.”

He sat back at his desk and tried to focus on the lists in front of him. Something wasn’t adding up. Dmitry would appear on a ship crossing into West Ravka, but not on a return, and then somehow a time later be on a manifest for a ship crossing the wrong way. How was that possible? Was he missing manifests or was Dmitry paying someone off to keep his name off the lists?

Alina stepped behind him and started rubbing his shoulders. “Alek, you’re so tense. The stress coming off you is nearly unbearable. What happened today?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

She sighed. “Are we really going to do this thing tonight?”

He lifted his eyes to take in the annoyed look on her face. “Thing?”

“You know, where you pretend to be the oh so busy and important General Kirigan who uses his sense of authority to push people away? And then acts like he couldn’t possibly have any feelings or needs of his own? He’s fine. Everything is fine. He doesn’t need any help.”

He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but she had. “Accurate,” he admitted.

“I’m going to let you in on a secret. The act doesn’t work with girls who have shared your bed.”

He laughed. Only she could call him on his behavior like this without irritating him. Only she could make him smile when he was otherwise so miserable. “I can assure you it worked fine on girls who have shared my bed. Apparently, it doesn’t work on the one girl I have let into my heart.”

“You’ve let me into your heart? So … let me help you.”

“Alina, it’s not that simple …”

“You can’t bear this burden alone, Aleksander. I won’t let you. Whatever is happening, it is crushing you. If not me, then get Ivan in here and talk to him. ”

“You want me to summon Ivan in here? This must be serious.”

“He is a good friend to you, and I know you trust him. I just want you to let someone help. You are not alone. This,” she said, putting her hand over the papers, “is not yours alone to figure out. Stop trying to solve everything with no support.”

“I’m not … used to having support.”

She nodded, took his hand, and squeezed it. “I know. I’m not really either. We’ve learned to do things alone, to hide pain and keep it to ourselves, but I know that problems are better solved together. Together, Aleksander. Stop trying to protect me from scary truths. Fedyor scanned every room we went into before he’d let me enter. I’m not stupid, Aleksander. If I can handle you cutting a Druskelle in half on top of me, I can handle whatever is threatening us now. Stop trying to push me away when it comes to important things. Let me help.”

He sighed. She was frightened already; she might as well know the truth. “Zoya caught a man trying to break in today. I have her guarding the palace exterior since she can’t seem to behave herself around you. He is working for Zlatan and was sent to spy on you. They’re making a plan for a better attempt on your life.”

Her shoulders slumped and her gaze fell to the floor as she took that in. “Hunted wherever I go. Still not used to that.”

He stood and wrapped his arms around her. “I will not let them succeed. I promise you that you will come to no harm.”

She looked into his eyes, stared there for a while, then found her strength. “Tell me about the papers.”

He quickly filled her in on what he had discovered about Dmitry and the mystery of the paperwork. It did actually feel good to have someone to discuss his findings with and not keep the thoughts spinning in his head. He talked through all of his ideas, no matter if they led nowhere. She indulged him and asked appropriate questions at all the right times. Finally, he arrived out loud at the stuck place he was in his head. He had so many theories, but how did he figure out if any of them were right?

She was quiet as she turned from page to page. Dinner arrived, and they ate in silence as they continued to try to find a pattern among the papers--the same captain, the same record keeper, accomplices that might travel with him. All ideas led nowhere, but they continued to look.

Hours later, Alina stood and walked into the war room.

“Alina?” He trailed after her. She was staring at the map. After a long time, he prompted her. “What is it?”

“I’m sure it’s stupid.” She shook her head and hugged herself.

He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t like it when you put yourself down like that. That’s not you. Those are words from your past.”

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Hmm, well then, let’s hear it. I’m frustrated. Maybe if it’s really stupid we can have a good laugh about it.”

“I used to stare at the map and dream of finding a way around. I was told there is no around, but … is there? Any secret path or …”

Aleksander felt his stomach twist as the implications became clear. “There are reports of Fjerdans in West Ravka, rumors that Zlatan is aligning with them, letting Druseklle ...” A vision of Nina being tortured popped into his head. He had to fight his jaw from trembling so she couldn’t see how upset this made him. “There is an around if you’re in bed with the enemy. He’s going through Fjerda.”

She gasped as it came together in her head. “He sends his emissary to Fjerda with messages, who then gets a free pass into our country to deliver orders to his spies, but then he needs the quick return across to do it again. How long would it take to travel through Fjerda? Check the dates. Do they match?”

“Fjerdans. It’s worse than I thought.” He could feel the Fjerdan fires licking at his skin.

They spent another hour pouring over records and checking their theory. Finally, Alina yawned. “We should get some sleep.”

He wanted to tell her to go on ahead, but he didn’t want her sleeping in a room away from him. He almost offered to just watch over her, but he feared he would accidentally fall asleep and end up as he had the night before. His chest tightened with worry as he considered possibilities, none of which were acceptable.

“I tell you to come to bed, and that sense of dread is what I get? I might think you don’t want to …” she tried to lightly tease.

“You know why,” he whispered, still not wanting to talk about it.

“Which is all the more reason to get you to sleep soon. Your nightmares are worse the longer you try to keep yourself awake. Have you noticed?”

He sighed. “This morning I was trying to work myself up to telling you that it’s not safe to sleep with me anymore, but now with this information on this potential attack, it’s not safe to sleep away from me either.”

“Don’t you dare do that to me!”

“What?” To her?

“Don’t you realize what you do for me? For years I cried myself to sleep every night, Aleksander. For years! I used to lie there and wonder what was wrong with me that no one could want me, how it was possible for me to not belong anywhere. I slept with a weapon under my pillow to fend off anyone who might come to hurt me. And now I sleep in your arms. Desired. Loved. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

His heart ached for her. Was it possible she needed him as much as he needed her? “I hadn’t realized …”

“No matter how bad our nightmares get, we stay together. You make sure I can sleep, and I will do the same for you. Just promise to wake me up tonight. You can’t get yourself overtired like that again.”

“And you will wake me if the shadows start again?”

“I promise. Right away.”

“Okay,” he agreed, feeling less selfish about allowing it if it benefited her too. It was better than the alternative of some spy finding her room in the night or her lying awake with a knife under her pillow wondering if someone was coming to kill her. He would have to take care of himself more for her--get an adequate amount of sleep, actually stop and eat meals instead of working through every waking hour, maybe even share some of his stresses with her. He would do those things if it meant he could be there to protect her.

“Now,” she said, kissing him gently. “What do I have to do to get you out of that kefta so I can kiss away all those battle scars?”

[fuchsiagrasshopper]

Contending the Flame XI

Author’s note: This chapter kept going on for a while so I had to cut it off somewhere which means next chapter will have Hvitserk and Ivar in Vestfold. This chapter progresses readers part a lot though and I’m very pleased with how it turned out. I’ve also reached 200 followers so I’m considering making a writing challenge for fun. Thanks to all of you who have made this happen!

Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word Count: 2716

Warnings: The usual

After many days and nights at the open water, you came to land by notice of a raven. The birds were intelligent creatures and held a deeper context in their religion. You were beginning to feel the early traces of curiosity rearing. When the longboat had slipped into silent spells, you would try to listen to pieces of conversations and make sense of the strange fables and gods. By the time you were passing into the fjord, you were struck with the guilt that a day had passed and you had forgotten to pray to God.

The sight of the foreign city had you leaping up and hanging over the ledge of the boat to catch a better glimpse. The idea of different lands always seemed so fantastical to the point of myth, yet here you were pulling into a dock. It was a dark and cold place, besieged by tall cliffs of iron rock. The sun was already low, and it wasn't even midday yet. 

For all of its murky preface, you still couldn't shake your excitement at arriving in Kattegat. It appeared you were the only one wearing a smile. The rest of your shipmates were stricken with sullen faces, and Ubbe was addressing the warriors.

"Lagertha's watch will already know we're here, so be prepared for questioning when we tie-up," He said. "Remember, we aren't here to start a war, or to win back Kattegat. We're looking for answers about the spy sent into our army."

"But Lagertha is your enemy," One of the men piped up. "Aren't you going to fight her regardless of that matter?"

Ubbe appeared frustrated. "Only when all of the sons of Ragnar have come to an agreement will we fight."

There was more chatter and bickering in hushed whispers as Ubbe tried to reign in the rabble. You watched on, wanting to help the eldest brother, but you knew your powerlessness. Audhild was beside you observing as well, and she made a harsh noise in her throat that resembled a laugh.

"Ubbe doesn't care to avenge his mother," She said offhandedly.

You paused a moment, not knowing if she wanted you to answer or if it was just her way of airing her outrage. "What do you mean?"

"Lagertha was the one who murdered Queen Aslaug. Some say to win back Kattegat, while others would have you believe it was revenge on her luring Ragnar away."

Ivar had spoken briefly about his mother, but you weren't aware of the entire history until this moment. "And what do you believe?"

"I believe Aslaug wanted to die and bewitched Lagertha into being the one to do it. She was a sad woman, made empty by the disappointing King Ragnar. There's no question that Lagertha is the better Queen, but reasoning won't reach slighted loved ones. Ivar will never allow Lagertha peace."

You looked into the healer's eyes and saw the truth of what she spoke. It was tragic. "How will you Northmen ever triumph over the Saxons, when you're too busy killing each other?"

Audhild barked out a brisk chuckle. "Smarter leaders than you or I have said much the same, yet here we are plotting to steal back Kattegat while Harald Finehair plans to launch an assault to win him rule over all of Norway. These are bold choices, and actions worthy of Valhalla. There's much you don't understand, nun."

"I wish I did," You murmured, feeling foolish. 

Audhild studied you and seemed to determine you were genuine. "Perhaps you will, now that you're here. I don't think you'll see England again."

The mention of that didn't alarm you as much as it should have. You felt a pang of sadness, but not for the loss of England. That place had never felt like home. Nowhere ever had, and that was the root of your melancholy. You didn't have a place to belong, just a series of unfamiliar destinations had come and gone.

As the ship slowly coasted up to the wharf, there weren't many onlookers, and you chalked that up to being that these people witnessed boats coming and going at all times. One ship wasn't enough to warrant too much attention. If anyone took a second glance, it was because of Ubbe. Those sons of Ragnar drew attention wherever they went, and it must have been unusual for him to be seen without the others present. 

When the boat docked, the crew immediately leapt to unloading the few provisions that had been packed aboard. You kept close to Audhild, unsure where your usefulness lied. You wanted to go and have a gander at the city, but you knew you couldn't just spring out on your own.

"Ólaug," Ubbe called, and your head snapped up at attention. "I want you to remain with Audhild for now. I'll likely be called to meet with Lagertha. I can see some of her shieldmaidens have been sent to treat with us."

You stared over his shoulder to the three women approaching. They were dressed in boiled leather and metal and armed with swords and bows, not unlike the maidens you had seen serving in the army.

"Ólaug? Did Ivar tell you to call me that?"

Ubbe flustered as if it had escaped him unnoticed that little slip-up. "He might have mentioned it, and I don't know your real name."

You sighed, but more from contentment than anger. The name had stuck, and it was something else to remind you about Ivar. "It's alright. I will try to keep out of trouble to make things easier for you."

"Good," He nodded in relief.

Ubbe was the first to hoist his way onto the dock, and you followed close behind him with Audhild and a group of warriors. By then the three shieldmaidens had made their way down to the water, and a golden blonde with intense eyes ringed in kohl stepped forward.

"You're missing something, Ubbe," She started, gathering a look at the rest of his party. "Where are your brothers?"

"Not missing, just separated. What I thought was best for the army no longer aligned with where Ivar and Hvitserk wanted to take it."

The warrior woman appeared unconvinced. "So you thought you'd return here, after threatening to overthrow Lagertha with Ivar the last time."

You tried to contain your surprise at that. Apparently, the feud between the sons and this Lagertha ran deeper than you could comprehend.

"I wished to return home, and to my wife. The ones who came with me sought the same," Ubbe explained. "Please, Torvi. I will give my share of the raids to Lagertha if that's what she wants, but I did not come here for title or glory."

The woman, Torvi, pondered over his words. "I would be less inclined to believe you if Ivar were present, but our scouts reported that you were the only ship to cross the fjord. Perhaps I can have Lagertha grant you a private meeting, but just with you, not even Margrethe would attend."

"I accept that," He agreed. "Do we have permission to disembark? My crew are tired and thirsty."

Torvi took another glance at all of you, and you found it difficult to meet her eyes when they fell upon you.

"You may, and have all of your gold brought to the Queen."

That was where the negotiations ended at least for the time being. You didn't know what task had been entrusted to Ubbe by Ivar, and you thought it better if you didn't know. Torvi led her two companions away back through the streets of Kattegat, and all while Ubbe watched her depart.

"I'm sure others are watching," He commented. "Don't mention Ivar or Hvitserk while out in public."

There was a collective agreement that reverberated from the group, and Audhild took a step forward.

"If Torvi is here, does that mean Bjorn is still in Kattegat?"

Ubbe shook his head. "I'm sure he made for the Mediterranean as he wanted to. Besides, even before we made for England, there were whispers of their marriage failing. Torvi serves his mother now."

As more names were idly tossed in the air, you began to grow more confused and out of place. The Northmen had as many struggles in their leadership as the Saxons, and you wondered if there was a place in this world that wasn't rife with betrayal. 

"Come, Ólaug," Audhild's voice broke through your internal fretting. "There's something I must tell you, and it shouldn't be done with so many eyes around."

You frowned in confusion, but when you looked to Ubbe he gave Audhild a swift nod of dismissal. Whatever it was regarding, he knew about it. 

You departed the dock, leaving the others to unload the heavy boxes of gold and treasures. Some of it you knew was from the ransacked church in York, but it didn't bother you to see it brought back into foreign lands. What Ivar had said before about the church hoarding wealth was true. Better it to be distributed among this trading post than in the hands of old men who preached righteousness but committed avarice. 

You had been anticipating with some excitement to walk through the market stalls of Kattegat, but Audhild was not leading you to the city. She was headed in the direction of a path through the woods, and you weren't sure if you should feel nervous. The sounds of the crowd were growing distant, and you wondered if you should be preparing to run. Audhild may have been a healer, but she was thick in the shoulders and could still likely beat you in a fight.

"Where are we going?" You asked, and your voice shook.

Audhild tossed a glance your way and let out a laugh. "Don't look so nervous, Christian. Do you think I'd kill you now when I could have disposed of you all those times we worked alone back in York?"

It sounded silly out loud, and you ran a hand through your growing hair. "Sorry, I guess the forest made me nervous."

"You are paranoid, but I suppose it's better to be cautious. I would hold onto those instincts if I were you," She said while stepping over brush and deadfall. "And we're headed to my home. Ubbe and I agreed it would be better to keep you out of Kattegat until you've adjusted more. Some might not take to another Christian among us, not after Athelstan."

That was Ragnar's monk friend. Ivar had only mentioned him in passing, and it seemed he was not held in high regard. You supposed if the situation were reversed, and it was a heathen among Saxons, they would feel much the same.

Audhild continued to lead you along this long and difficult path, and the more the forest twisted, the less certain you were of your wayfinding skills. If you had to find the docks again, you didn't think you'd be able to. The dense trees provided decent shelter from the winds, however, and you had lost the prickly feeling on your skin that came from the cold. 

"It's not much further now. I don't think I'll have much in the way of food, but I can provide drink and get a fire going," said Audhild.

You were used to going long bouts without a meal, but the fire sounded like heaven. Sleeping on a boat in constant motion wasn't the same as a bed or even a solid floor, and your aching back would welcome either.

The trees were beginning to thin until you found yourself in a small clearing in the woods. The ground was sun-dappled and leaf-covered, and a small house sat vacant in the center. You let out a small gasp, unable to describe what you were feeling at the sight of it.

"I know it isn't much, but it's all I've ever needed. I have no children, and I left for raids more than I was here."

"I think it's wonderful," You admitted. "But I've never had my own home before, and I gave up the need for one when I joined the abbey."

"Strange custom. What's a woman without a home?"

Had you not been a nun, it was likely you would not have had your own property anyway. It would have belonged to the man you would have chosen as a husband. You didn't bother to mention that to Audhild though. She was already looking at you as if you were the most peculiar creature. 

"Can we go inside?" You asked, a sudden longing to be sheltered. 

"In a moment," Audhild replied while holding you back. "I want to finish what I have to tell you now. Ivar wanted me to do this when we reached Kattegat and not a moment earlier."

At the mention of Ivar, your heart fluttered in both anticipation and concern. "What did he want you to do?"

Audhild took your hands, and she let the gruff expression on her face ease. "You are now made a free woman."

You blinked. If it wasn't for her strong grip on your hands, you were certain your arms would have fallen limp at your sides like dead meat on hooks. The words held much meaning, and you were afraid for whatever came next. You would have to fight the fear if you wanted to be seen as anything more than a coward. "I'm no longer a slave?"

"Yes, you stupid girl," Audhild said, letting go of you before you caught on to how soft she could be. "To be free amongst us gives you certain privileges and ensures you should be kept safer."

You didn't know what privileges she was speaking of, but the bit about being safe put you into a state of ease. "Why did he not free me himself before sending me here?"

"Can you not think of the reason?"

Shame perhaps? No, you banished the thought. Ivar was nothing if not prideful and likely would have wanted to free you himself if he could. You forced yourself to think of the circumstances of why he sent you away to be free, and then…

"If he freed me in York, I could have refused to come here," You spoke aloud and Audhild gave a resounding nod. "He thought I would refuse to stay with him."

"I'm not well acquainted with the Prince, but everyone in Kattegat knows of how he has been abandoned and lost those he cares for. I guess he wouldn't risk the same of you."

You felt guilty, but you didn't know why. As for whether or not you would have chosen to come to Kattegat yourself, you knew in your heart your answer. When you met Ivar again, you would have to make him understand how you felt. You wished he was beside you again, but you knew he had something more important to deal with and you refused to be a burden.

"What do I do now?"

"You come inside to warm up," Audhild said as she started for the door of her home. "And afterwards, we'll have to make sure you start to behave like a proper free woman because for the moment you look as lost as a fish on dry land."

You wanted to be insulted, but you knew the healer was right. You were far from home, and with a tenuous grasp of the language. What did it mean to be free, and among such strange folk as these Northmen whose religion you didn't fully understand? 

You gathered the skirts of your slave frock and hurried after her. Perhaps to start you could buy new clothes. You also had not a coin to your name, and though you were capable with a needle and thread you couldn't make an entire new wardrobe with such paltry efforts. It seemed you would have to rely on the kindness of strangers for the time being, though the thought of that felt like charity. You would do what you could to assist Audhild in place of proper payment. She was calling for you again, for Ólaug. Only this time you didn’t spurn from the name, you ran towards it and the new freedom that Ivar the Boneless had gifted to you.

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[fanfalc-616]

Time For Amnesia

Chapter Nine: Ice, Electricity, And Painful Injuries

(Previous Chapter Here)

Uhhh ok so I was working on the new chapter and I realized I never even posted chapter nine (on tumblr anyway it’s on ao3-). But uh yeah here it is,,, I’ll post ten (which I finally completed!!) tomorrow.

Also yes this is my new format for all fanfics hsjshdh

Eventually, Nya comes in, looking concerned.

“It’s getting late.” She notes, choosing not to comment on however she feels about how he’s been acting.

Kai nods. “Where am I sleeping?” A sudden thought strikes him. “I- I don’t sleep with… them, do I?”

Nya seems uncomfortable. “We agreed that that would be a bad idea, and before you got together, you used to stay in a different room- the room you woke up in. And-“

“Alright, I’ll just go there and go to bed.” Kai gets up from his spot on the floor.

After pausing for a moment, Nya nods. “Do you need me to show you where it is, or-“

He shakes his head. “I remember.” Without waiting for a response, he heads off to the room, silently grateful for the fact that he’s not going to have to spend the night with the others.

He’s only just sat down when there’s a knock.

Groaning, he gets up and walks over to the entryway, opening the door.

Cole stands there with a small, slight forced smile, holding a set of striped red pajamas. “These are for you.”

Eyeing him warily, Kai takes them. “Uh, th- thanks.” He stutters out, trying to ignore the way his mind flashes back to how he watched him make out with Zane.

“Are you okay? Your face is really red.”

Shit.

“Yeah I’m fine everything’s fine you should go now bye.” Kai blurts out in a rush. As soon as the words have left his mouth, he slams the door shut in his face.

Well, that solved absolutely nothing.

He has enough emotions going on- these people are crazy, and he doesn’t want to have to get to know them or have anything to do with them!

So why is his heart racing? Why does he feel like this?! He doesn’t want to like these assholes, he wants to be able to threaten to skewer them and actually mean it!

With a quiet grumble, he starts getting changed- but he almost drops the pajama shirt when he looks down at his torso.

Since when did he have a six-pack?! It’s not defined like a bodybuilder’s or anything, but he’s definitely got some strong muscles there.

Shaking his head, he goes back to putting on his pajamas. He must seriously work out a lot.

Well, if he’s a ninja savior of Ninjago, then he’s probably going to have to be in good shape.

Sighing, he turns off the light and gets on the bed. Curling up under the covers, he closes his eyes and tries to drift off.

If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll wake up back at home.

—————————

Kai wakes up in the red bed he went to sleep in.

Drat.

With a sigh, he gets up from the bed, and just as he does, the door opens.

Jay stands there, a nervous smile on his face. “I, uh… I guess your internal clock still works. But, uh, it’s breakfast time, so-“

With a groan, Kai walks over to him. “Alright, let’s go eat.” He grumbles.

He pretends not to notice how Jay tries to hold his hand, and after a moment, he stops trying to take it, and Kai ignores how that sparks guilt inside of him. It’s fine, he doesn’t care. He shouldn’t feel bad, he doesn’t even know him!

They’ve only just reached the dining room when an alarm starts blaring. Kai immediately feels himself switch into a fight-or-flight mode, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

Then Nya’s voice comes on over the comms. “Everyone to the bridge! Now!”

Jay tenses up. “C’mon!” Without waiting for a response, he takes off running, leaving Kai to chase him down the halls.

When they arrive at the bridge, everyone else is already there.

Zane immediately starts talking. “There appears to be a genetically engineered snake being used to terrorize New Ninjago City. From what we can tell, it was created by-“

“Cut to the chase!” Nya interrupts.

Lloyd shakes his head. “No, we have comms, we can get an explanation on the way. Let’s go!”

There’s hardly a pause before they all race out of the room- but Lloyd peeks back around the corner to look at him. “You- you just wait here, okay?”

Kai doesn’t get a chance to respond before the blond runs off, leaving him alone.

What the hell just happened?

Still trying to process things, he decides to go into the living room and see if he can watch what’s going on in the news. Whatever’s going on, it seems like a big deal.

So he walks in and turns on the TV, waiting for an explanation to be given.

He watches as a reporter- Gayle Gossip, she said her name was- shows some weird ice snake thing attacking the city. Listening carefully, he can just make out some words that the ninja are saying as they try to stop it.

“- weakness to heat-“

“-Zane, fall back-“

“MOVE!”

Kai stares in horror as he watches Nya get thrown from her vehicle and tossed into a building.

Something in him screams at him to move, and he listens to it, getting up from the couch and scrambling off to wherever the hell his instinct is taking him.

He finds himself in some kind of little launchpad like area for vehicles, and finds himself gravitating towards a red motorcycle.

Oh, what is he doing? He’s not seriously going to try and fight the ice snake, is he?

Yeah. Yeah, he is. Because no one messes with his little sister.

Kai starts up the bike and continues to trust his instincts, just doing whatever feels right.

Which is how he ends up screaming his head off while he falls from the sky on the motorcycle.

The bike falls out from under him, and Kai finds himself flailing about, still screaming.

Until he feels himself get grabbed, and a loud grunt escapes him as he scrambles for purchase on whatever he just fell onto.

He blinks a few times as he realizes that he’s on a- on a dragon what the hell-

Clinging to the rider of the dragon, he feels his eyes widen as he recognizes them.

“Zane?”

The robot looks back at him. “Kai?” He seems shocked. “You were supposed to wait on the ship!”

Before the brunet gets the chance to respond, the tail of the ice snake is suddenly striking towards them, and Zane has the dragon dip, trying to avoid it.

But it’s a rocky move, and they still get hit, the dragon literally disappearing under them.

Kai hits the ground with a loud thudding noise, but luckily enough, he doesn’t seem to be too badly hurt.

He gets to his feet, and Zane quickly runs up to him, getting in close.

Kai’s about to brush him off, but he’s caught off guard by his eyes. His bright blue eyes that glow, and the deep concern behind them as they stare into his own.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” His voice is gentle, full of concern and softness.

Kai swallows, but doesn’t answer, still captivated by the glowing blue irises that seem to stare through to his soul.

“Kai? Please, are you okay?”

He nods shakily, unsure why he’s so affected by something as minor as eye contact.

“I’m going to scan you.” Zane decides, setting a hand on his shoulder. His eyes flicker a little as he looks Kai up and down, a thin band of light emitting from them and falling over Kai’s figure.

And that’s when he snaps out of it.

Stepping away, he shoves Zane back, putting his arms out in front of him in defense. “Woah there, I did not agree to be scanned! So keep that little light show to yourself!”

The robot blinks a few times as he steps back, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “My apologies, I was only trying to-“

The snake’s tail slams into a building, sending wreckage flying everywhere. With a mumbled complaint that Kai can’t quite make out, Zane pulls him aside. “Stay out of trouble. I’ll return when the fight is over.”

Without waiting for a response, he runs off, leaving Kai alone.

He stands there for a few moments, looking around the torn up alley and listening to the nearby noises of combat. Something inside him is itching to go follow, and after a moment of consideration, he runs off towards the battle.

As soon as he gets close, he’s forced to dodge and duck behind some debris to avoid getting frozen by an icy blast. So it’s an ice creature, then?

… fire melts ice, right? Maybe if Kai can get close, he-

“Kai?! What are you doing here?!” Jay shouts, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the way of an attack.

“I’m helping!” Kai defends himself as the ginger uses a blast of lightning to shatter a large chunk of ice that had been flying towards them.

“No! No, you are not! I’m going to have to protect you instead of actually concentrating on the fight! Why didn’t you stay on the ship?!” Jay glares, grabbing Kai by the wrist and pulling him along.

“So I could come help!” The two of them narrowly miss getting impaled by flying concrete as they duck behind a still-intact building.

Jay looks downright furious- an expression that almost looks cute on his baby-ish face. “We have just covered that you are not helping! Not. Helping. Not helping at all!”

Kai feels his face flush some at the scrunched up nose and the way his cheeks puff out. Still, he manages to defend himself. “It’s ice and I have fire powers!”

Grabbing him again, Jay drags him around as they avoid getting impaled by debris created by the snake. “If this snake doesn’t kill you, I will! And if it does, I’ll resurrect you and kill you again!”

Kai arches an eyebrow at the statement. “Aren’t you supposed to be in love with me?” He complains.

Jay gives him a look. “It’s because I love you that I threaten to kill you. Because apparently threatening is your love language.”

“Huh?”

“You do it all the ti- LOOK OUT!” Jay tackles him, sending a blast of lightning at the the tail of the snake that’s crashing down-

Everything goes bright white, and pain wracks his body, making him cry out. They manage to avoid getting crushed, but only just, and the two of them end up sprawled on the ground.

Kai feels himself twitch some, all of his hair on end. Groaning, he glances over at Jay, who’s getting to his feet.

The ginger’s eyes widen as he looks at Kai. “Shit, I- are you okay?! I didn’t mean to shock you!”

He got shocked? Hmm. That would explain the excruciating pain.

With a groan, he forces himself to sit up. “ ‘m doin’ g-great.” He gets out, ignoring his blurry vision as he struggles to his feet.

“Kai-“

Jay is cut off when the snake is suddenly whipping back through, hitting the ginger clear across the alley- and the only reason he stopped there is because of a wall.

Kai winces as he watches Jay get slammed into the concrete. That can’t feel good.

Then again, he’s not exactly in peak condition either.

He struggles to get up a few times before resolving to just lay there. Jay will come get him in a minute, and even though it’s concrete, the ground feels awfully comfortable…

Even as his vision grows more and more blurred, he manages to make out several sets of combat boots, and then someone is picking him up, dragging him away.

Kai lets them, closing his eyes. It’s probably just Cole… yeah, Cole wears black, and is definitely strong enough to carry him around. That would make sense.

The world starts to fade, and Kai doesn’t bother trying to hold onto it.

Everything hurts, and it would be so much easier to ignore it and drift away…

And that’s exactly what he does.

[huntertales]

Part One: Tough Love. (Bad Boys S09E07)

Episode Summary: When an old friend of Dean’s asks for help to solve a murder, Sam and the reader discover that the older Winchester as a secret past—one that will help solve the hunt. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4.591.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Silence was a rare occurrence in the bunker, even more so when everyone was home. Despite the place being vast and wide with countless rooms to occupy, you and the boys typically stuck with the same out of functionality and comfort. One room in particular quickly turned into a personal favorite among all of you when you moved in almost a year ago. The library was the perfect spot to get research done for an upcoming hunt and lounge around with a drink after a job well done. It was also the only spot where it was impossible to hear actual quietness. No sounds of talking or obscene noises that ruined the reason why Sam wanted to be here in the first place.

Out of all the rooms the bunker had to offer, it was obvious to Sam the library was his most favorite of it all. Just like you and his brother. You enjoyed it for the perfect atmosphere that it brought for research. Dean loved the comfy chairs and expensive liquor he drank on the odd occasions. It might have  been easy to guess that Sam loved the library for the several shelves of books on lore. A hunter's dream come true. While that was part of it, there were little gems spread around that had caught his attention. First editions of classic novels he heard of before, and a few he discovered by accident. Sam forgot the last time he was able to read a book that wasn't for learning about a monster or figuring out how to undo the mess of Heaven. All he wanted to do was sit down with a good book and just relax. Today felt like the day he might be able to do that. 

Sam called out his brother's name first, a few seconds later it was followed by Kevin's. His answer was dead silence. A smile crept on the edges of his lips when he stepped into the library to see that it was perfect. You looked up from your laptop when you heard Sam's voice break your concentration from what you had been working on. Dean was off somewhere else while Kevin decided to work on the translations in a different part of the bunker, hoping a change of scenery might help him focus better. You turned your attention back to the laptop to continue working, filling the air with the sounds of your keyboard tapping. A familiar tune that brought the younger Winchester back to his college days. Sam decided to join you.

Sam made his way over to the bookshelf, the exact one he'd come in here for, and glanced over the several battered hardcovers. He pretended to casually gloss over the titles as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure his brother was still gone. You wouldn't have cared about the fact that he plucked off a red cover novel that he couldn't stop thinking about. One with a familiar title of a land you both had thought was fictional. Filled with characters by the name of Dorothy and the Wicked Witch, who were in fact real people. Sam had been itching to read the series for himself to get a taste of the real magic, a fraction of the adventures Charlie was having in Oz. 

Sitting down in the chair nestled in the corner, Sam happily got himself comfortable and opened up the book to the first page, with a little too much eagerness for a series that was supposed to be written for children. No one was too old for a classic tale. However, right before Sam could even read the first word, he overheard a noise over your typing and occasional clip from the trackpad. It sounded like vibrations. A slight annoyed look crossed his face at the disruption. It only deepened when Sam watched as you continued to sit there, mindlessly scrolling through whatever was keeping your attention. Sam passively shut the book a little too loudly. You still didn't acknowledge the vibrating phone on the table across from your own.

"Please, let me." Sam muttered to himself. He set his book aside on another shelf and reluctantly made his way over to the phone. Glancing down at the caller I.D., it turned out to be a number he wasn't familiar with. Not the one to ignore a call, he pulled the charger out from the plug and answered before it could go to voicemail. "Hello?" The voice on the other line was male, and not one he was able to recognize. You finally glanced up from your laptop from what you heard next. Sam smiled to himself at the ridiculous nickname for whomever they were trying to reach. "I'm sorry, there's no Dee-dawg, uh..."

"I got it. I got it." Dean came out of nowhere, seeming to have heard the conversation from wherever he was, and plucked the phone out from his brother's hand. "Sonny, hey. So, what's up?" You shut your laptop and got up from your seat at hearing the one-sided conversation unfold, curious as to who was on the other end. Never in your life did you hear someone use a nickname like that on Dean. You wondered who this Sonny guy was. "All right. Yeah, just sit tight. I'll be there soon as I can." 

You made your way over to the boys right as Dean ended the call. You casually crossed your arms over your chest and sat down on the edge of the table, a little curious as to who contacted him. "So, what was that all about, Dee-dwag?" You couldn't help the smile that crossed your face at the nickname that sounded childish coming out from your mouth.

"Sammy, you remember when we were kids that spring in upstate New York?" Dea tried to spark an old memory in his brother's mind, despite how their childhood wasn't spent in one place for very long. They'd visited so many different places, so many small towns with motels that blurred into the same place. "Dad was on a rugaru hunt. We crashed at the, uh...the bungalow colony with the ping-pong table?'

"Yeah. You disappeared. Dad came back. You were gone. He shipped me off to Bobby's for a couple and went and found you." Sam remembered the details from the time he was twelve. While the small details were a bit fuzzy, there was no forgetting the moments when his father got beyond angry after coming back from a hunt to see disaster had struck. "You were lost on a hunt or something.”

Dean's expression changed at hearing his brother's version of the story that differed from his own, almost like it refreshed his own memory. "That’s what we told you. Right."

"I'm sorry?" You were caught off guard at what Dean said. John was never going to be father of the year in your eyes. He was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. You furrowed your brow in confusion. "That's what you told Sam?"

"Truth is, uh..." Dean came clean with the real version of what really happened all those years ago while you continued to listen. You and his brother both appeared to be interested as to why John felt the need to keep up the lie for so many years. What could have been so bad that Sam wasn't able to know? "I lost the food money  that Dad left for us in a card game. I knew you'd get hungry, so...I tried taking the five-finger discount at the local market and got busted. I wasn't on a hunt. They sent me to a boys' home." 

"A boys' home, like a...reform school?" You took a wild guess as to where he ended up for those few months. You didn't understand the need to cover up the truth, and why John let him stay there for all that time. You weren't a personal fan of the way John raised his children, having made a remark here and there over the years, you figured it was for the best to keep some things to yourself. It might have been one of the few moments in Dean's life where there was an actual proper guardian looking over him. Beside Bobby, of course. 

"Yeah, more or less. It was a farm, and the guy who ran it—Sonny—he, you know, he looked after me." Dean told you the rest of the story. You always enjoyed meeting people from the boys' past, it was almost like getting to discover another part of their tangled and strange childhood. 

"Wait." Sam was caught up on one detail as to why the older man was calling out of the blue. People from their past don't call just to say hello, unless there was a problem attached to that greeting in need of solving. "Does Sonny know what we do?"

"Yeah. He's good people. I gave him the number to the Bat Phone, and it sounds like he's got something in our wheelhouse." Dean said. You nodded your head in agreement at the plan. Sometimes people were believers in the supernatural, sometimes it took a strange phenomenon for them to understand. You covered your mouth with your hand when you found yourself letting out a yawn, which didn't go unnoticed. "Hey, you gonna be cool do this, or are you too tired?”

"Yeah, I'm just, uh..." You pushed yourself up to your feet and tried to get yourself to feel more awake. You blamed your sluggishness on the lack of your usual amount of caffeine. There was no way you were missing out on a hunt because you felt tired. "I'll be fine."

Dean wanted to take your word on that alone, but he wanted to be sure. He placed a hand on the back of a chair and balanced the other on the table, leaning down to ask you an odd sounding question. "And everybody's okay with heading out to the Catskills?"

You found yourself looking around the library to see who Dean might be talking to, despite the fact he was making full eye contact with you. You raised your brow slightly and smiled at his behavior. "Unless Sammy has other reservations, we are everybody.”

"Yeah. Right. All right." Dean stood back up into a standing position, pretending like everything was back to normal once more. You didn't see the strange look Sam passed his brother from the way he was acting about a certain someone. "Grab your stuff, and we'll head out." 

You rolled your eyes as you watched Dean make his way out the library to pack a few things for the hunt ahead of you. Before he could get too far, Sam stopped him. He needed to ask a question of his own about the conversation spoken just a few moments ago. "Hey, Dean...why didn't you just tell me you went to a boys' home?"

"I don't know. It was Dad's idea." Dean said. "And it just—you know, the story became the story. I was sixteen."

For some reason you felt like Dean wasn't telling you the whole story. It felt out of character for John to make up some lie to Sam. A parent would most likely make this a teachable moment. Screw up enough and you'll end up in a boys' home for a few months. You looked over at Sam to see he shared the same confused expression as yourself.

+ + +

You weren't sure what to expect when you made it to the Catskills where Sonny's home was nestled in. You heard of homes for troubled youth for behavior and crimes that weren't drastic enough for juvenile hall. An alternative that was the epitome of tough love for kids with parents who reached their end, or for those who didn’t care enough to bother trying at all. "Sonny's Home For Boys'' greeted you and the brothers of the establishment where Dean spent a few months by himself. It turned out to be exactly like Dean said, it was just a farm that had seen better days with a cozy looking home nestled on top of the hill. 

Dean parked the Impala on the dirt road that led up to the house and got out, you and Sam following quickly after. He glanced around the area to see if it might still look the way he remembered. You swore you saw a smile across his face when you happened to glance over his way, the kind someone got when returning to a happy memory. You took a look around yourself to see what made this so special. For a kid who spent his entire life from town to town, stability was something he might have craved. He had his own bed for a couple of months. Dean didn't have to worry about taking care of someone for those two months besides himself...You wondered if that’s why Dean kept it a secret. 

"You were here for two months and Dad couldn't find you?" Sam examined the farm for himself to try and see what was so special about this place that made Dean want to stay. It was another small town with acres of farmland that most likely was taken care of by the boys who stayed here. Not exactly paradise for a sixteen year old who'd been all over the country to settle for a little while.

"Oh, no. He found me quick. But he left me here 'cause I lost our money." Dean told you the reason for his extended stay, following a chuckle like it was all some funny story. You and Sam shared the same unamused sort of expression when the both of you happen to turn your heads to look at one another.

"You were sixteen." You came to the older man's defense to try and realize the punishment was a little harsh for something stupid. When you were at that age, what few months you still had left of teenage bliss, you fooled around and got yourself into deep trouble. Maybe not gambling away food money while your father abandoned you for God knows how long while you were forced to take care of another sibling...still, you felt the punishment didn't fit the crime. "You made a mistake."

"Yeah. I made the mistake." Dean said, seeming to refuse to try and see things from your perspective. "Look, I know how you guys think. None of this was Dad's fault." 

Was it ever in the eyes of Dean? You kept your thoughts to yourself and trailed behind the boys as you made your way up the porch steps. Dean knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before someone answered. It was a middle aged woman who opened up, leaving the screen door as a barrier between you and her. You noticed right away from the stern look on her face she didn't seem too pleased to see three strangers standing on the porch. You figured Sonny didn't tell her company was coming. You spotted the gold cross that hung from her neck, the size of it was too hard not to miss. A holy woman helping run a boys' home. There was nothing scarier than a God fearing woman.

The woman crossed her arms over her chest when Dean offered a friendly smile and a polite hello. "What can I do for you kids?"

"I'm Dean. This is my brother, Sam. And this is our friend, Y/N." Dean introduced all of you. "We're old buddies of Sonny's."

"Prison buddies?" She was quick to judge, causing Sam to clear his throat at the quick escalation of who Sonny was before even meeting him. You softly nudged the man in the ribs and gave him a side-eyed glare before smiling at the woman.

"No." Dean said. "You mind telling him that we're here?"

"I'll go get him." She responded a few seconds later, taking the time to give all of you a once over in some kind of way to make sure you were decent people. Not some strangers from Sonny's past he had all left where it should stay. Dean opened up the screen door and was about to step inside, but she stopped him before doing such a thing. "I just mopped this floor, so you take off those roach stompers."

Not the one to make a bad impression, you and the boys listened, slipping off your shoes so they laid on the porch before stepping inside. Sam felt the need to bring up a small fact about the man who ran this place, finding it rather odd someone who had a run-in with the law now helped troubled youth. "Sonny's an ex-con, huh?"

"What, and we're such angels?" Dean scoffed at his brother's passive judgement on the guy before he got the proper chance to meet him. "Trust me, he's more than made up for it." 

Dean stepped inside the home first with you and his brother following behind. You looked around while Dean took everything in about the place that hadn't changed since the last time he was here almost twenty years ago. The furniture was still the same as he remembered, Sonny even kept the awards in the same spot of their accomplishments. Dean didn't realize how much he missed this place, despite not wanting to be here at first when he was a teenage punk who gave the cop who arrested him a black eye. He might still have the same sarcastic charm and hatred for authority when he was a kid, but there was no doubt in his mind Sonny taught him some valuable lessons during his stay here.

"Dee-dwag!" You heard that ridiculous nickname again, this time coming from the man who gave it to Dean. You saw an older man step out from another room with a wide smile on his face at the sight of the fully grown Winchester.

"Sonny, good to see you." Dean greeted the man with the same happiness in his voice. He embraced the man into a tight hug after meeting up again after so many years apart.

"Hey, you, too, brother." Sonny said. Pulling away, he noticed that Dean didn't make the journey up here alone. He was quick to notice the tall man looming around was the little brother Dean talked so much about. "Oh, and this must be Sam." 

“Good to meet you.” Sam greeted the man with a friendly smile of his own. 

"Back at you, brother." Sonny grabbed the younger Winchester's hand to shake when he stuck it out before dropping it back down to his side. He finally turned his attention to you, trying to put a name to a face. “I don’t believe Dean mentioned you before.” 

"Sonny, this is my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N.” Dean rarely introduced you as such to people. Most of the time it was either hunting partner or family friend to strangers from his past. For some reason he felt the need to tell Sonny the deeper relationship you had with him. "She's a close family friend of ours. We’ve known each other since we were born. Circumstances broke us apart, but we actually reunited back together a year after I left this place." You looked over at him and smiled, the thought of seventeen soon-to-be eighteen Dean was a drastic difference to the man who stood in front of you today. 

"Good for you." Sonny seemed to be proud at hearing Dean had landed himself in a happy relationship. From the way you two looked at each other it was easy to tell he was head over heels in love. "He ain't giving you too much trouble now, has he?"

"Not anymore than usual. But it’s what I signed up for." You joked with Sonny. You lightly tapped Dean on his chest and flashed him a smile. “Good thing I love him.” 

Dean couldn't help the bashful sort of smile that crossed his face at hearing you say those three words to him. Normally they were saved for private moments where no one could hear you. You carelessly tossed them around and meant them. Dean felt a spark of pride hit him out of nowhere for some reason. As if he was showing Sonny he ended up okay for himself.

"So," Dean continued on with the conversation. "The farm looks."

"Oh, please, man. It's barely standing." Sonny brushed off the empty compliment that was just the polite way to make small talk before going in for the real reason why all of you were here. "Only got a handful of kids working around here."

Dean's face scrunched up slightly at hearing that news. When he was here back in the day, almost every bed was taken here with no one left without a job to do as instructed by Sonny. "Why's that?"

"Because these days, the system would rather incarcerate a boy than redeem him." Sonny replied.

"Hey, Sonny, uh," Sam happened to look across over to the dining room to spot the woman who answered the door was lingering around in an obvious sort of way. She was wiping an already clean table with a rag. You could tell she was trying to eavesdrop. Sam made sure to drop his voice to a whisper as he casually crossed his arms over his chest. "You mind if we talk alone?"

"Hey, Ruth," Sonny looked over his shoulder to see she was lingering around for whatever reason why. Maybe she wanted to know why a bunch of strangers from Sonny’s past decided to come by without a warning. "Would you please go check on the boys, make sure their money chores are getting done?"

Ruth hesitantly nodded her head before making her way somewhere far enough away to keep the conversation going without worry. "All right." Dean jumped to the real reason why all of you were here in the first place. "So, what's happening?"

"Well, you remember Jack, do you?" Sonny asked. 

Dean nodded his head. "Yeah. The tough, old leatherneck." 

"Mmhm. Well, somehow, that ancient, rusty, broken-down tractor just roared to life and ran him over the other night." Sonny shared the strange and unfortunate news of an old worker here who suffered a strange and terrible sounding death that was out of the ordinary. 

"Maybe it just slipped out of park or something." You guessed, trying to figure out a more logical reason behind it.

"Couldn't have. You know, I never believed any of this mumbo-jumbo stuff you kids are into, but...something ain't right." Sonny said. His concern made you a little bit curious as to what he meant by all of that. "Well, just things started happening—lights flickering on and off, strange scratching sounds coming from inside the walls, windows and doors slamming."

"All right. You think you can round up the boys while we take a look around?" Dean asked, having heard enough to suspect of what might be going on around here.

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem. Most are home on a break—well, except those with no home worth going to." Sonny said. 

Sonny went on to round up the boys so they wouldn't be around to disturb any of you when you got to the bottom of figuring out what might be going on. "All right. Why don't you and Y/N take the house?" Dean suggested a plan to you and his brother. "I'll check the barn."

The both of you nodded your head in agreement before going your own seperate ways to get a proper sweep of the house. Sam decided to take the upstairs part of the house while you stuck with the downstairs, thinking you might be able to cover more ground that way while Dean stuck with the parts of the farm he was familiar with. You took a sweep of the main parts of the house to see there was nothing out of the ordinary from what you usually looked for in this situation; no EMF, no sulfur and not a trace of a hex bag. Even though what Sonny described was typically signs of a spirit, it didn't hurt to check off all the boxes just to be safe if things ended up not being what you thought. 

Soon enough you made your way into the bedroom area where the boys slept after a hard day’s work. You spotted at least a half dozen twin sized beds spread around the place. Some of them were messy, a few of them were perfectly made. Sonny was right about there not being a lot of boys anymore. You looked around the place to see it almost seemed like any other bedroom. Plenty of furniture, some toys and board games lying around. You realized that this was the exact same room Dean spent two months in when he was sixteen. And you got confirmation he was here when you spotted something engraved into one of the beds.

Your fingers brushed over a hunting symbol carved into the bedpost that was most likely done by Dean himself. A smile crossed your face at the thought of teenage Dean protecting himself from evil while alone from his family, despite it only being his brother and absent father. You crouched down when you spotted some masking tape on the foot of the bed as well, making up as some kind of nameplate. Out of curiosity, you pulled off the first layer, revealing another name that you guessed belonged to another boy who slept in this bed previously. You pulled off another piece of tape, and another, and another until you came across the one you had been looking for—Dean W. 

Your head snapped away from the tape and to the door across the room when you heard rustling that broke your concentration. The door that led to the other room was opened slightly, giving you enough of a bad feeling not to go in there without some kind of precaution. Slowly, you pushed yourself back up to your feet and reached for the knife you kept tucked in the back of your jeans. You made your way over, taking cautious steps when you heard what sounded to be a whispering female voice. You didn’t take into consideration there might have been another bedroom located right next to the boys’, it was a small house after all. And it might have been Ruth’s. You discovered that a little too late. 

You pushed open the door, expecting to find the thing who killed Jack standing across from you, only it turned out to be someone else. You quickly whipped the knife behind your back when you realized it was in fact Ruth. She had been kneeling at her bed before you scared her. "I am so sorry." You quickly apologized to the woman at the accidental mishap, suddenly feeling like a fool for mistaking her whispering for something evil when it was in fact most likely a prayer from the rosary beads that was tight in her grip. "I thought I saw something in—”

"Like a ghost?" Ruth's presumption made you look at her a little funny, wondering how she managed to come up with that conclusion on her own. "Sonny told me you were old friends, but I know why you're really here. That's why I was praying for us."

"Praying for what?" 

"For the ghost that haunts this farm to leave." 

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