#Rugs in Marshall

[temeyes]

i don't usually post wips here but ashahsshas but gonna draw the rest 141 as wild west marshals i guess??

[starikune]

Older Xavier and Marshall

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

*cries in this week i'm getting all the snap memories of One Year Ago Today You Finished Round Two Of Revisions For Driscoll And Got To Celebrate About It*

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Walter opens the door and you back out its way. You shiver, and hug yourself, the rain seeping into your flesh. He keeps his hand against the door and ushers you inside quietly. You shuffle through as the fabric of your shirt clings to your skin.

“What are you doing?” He asks at last.

You stand on the mat as he backs up, easing the door back into the frame behind you. You look down at yourself, then him.

“I don’t know,” you wisp.

“You’re going to make yourself sick running around in this,” he says.

“I– I know, but… I have to talk to you,” you insist and a ripple shakes you.

“Come on,” he presses a hand to your back, urging you further inside, “let’s get you warmed up.”

“I’m f-fine,” you argue.

He just grunts and keeps going, taking you into the front room. He leaves you standing on a thick rug as he disappears. He comes back to you with a towel and a boxy space heater. He hands the former to you and plugs the latter into the wall, aiming it directly at you. You thank him for the towel and pat your face dry.

He leaves again as you try to sop up the rain from your clothing. He returns again and offers a flannel shirt. You accept it with another chattering thank you.

“I’ll put some tea on,” he says, “then you can say what you need to.”

“Oka–” a clap of thunder interrupts you. You jump and let out a frightful squeak.

“You’re lucky you beat the worst of it,” he reprimands, a lingering reproachful look before he turns.

You watch him once more pass through the oaken door frame. You slowly take in your surroundings. The place is pretty small. Modest by any means. You step closer to the heater and lay down the flannel shirt by your feet. You strip away your wet clothing and pull on the thick button-up that hangs loosely around your figure, nearly to your knees.

You gather up your former outfit, spreading out the layers atop each other. The sound of Walter tinkering around in the kitchen jars you. All your thoughts scramble as you try to untangle what you want to say. What do you want to say?

You sit on your knees and rub your hands together and hold them out to the heater. Lightning flashes between the curtains and another peel of thunder shakes the earth. Walter comes back with a single mug and hands it to you.

He picks up your clothes and you watch him drape them over the back of a wooden chair to dry. He paces behind the threadbare sofa as you look down into the steaming cup. It’s too hot to taste yet.

“So…” he begins with a heave.

“Walt, I…” you wet your lips, “I…” your chest throbs as you struggle to find your words. He crosses his arms, making himself seem even bigger. It’s not lost on you that you’re on your knees, ready to beg. “I was surprised…” you say carefully and his brows furrow, “when you kissed me.”

His cheek ticks and his nostrils flare. He stares you down unflinchingly. You gulp and place the tea down on the floor. You’re already sweating from trying to sort this all out. Why hadn’t you thought of what to say?

“And I didn’t know how to react,” you continue, running your hands along the fabric over your thighs, “so I ran away and I’m sorry. I… I should’ve been honest.”

“You came all this way to reject me,” he challenges bluntly.

“No,” you murmur, “I didn’t–” you pause as the wind whips outside the walls, “I just never expected you to… feel that way about me.”

“Hm,” he rumbles as his expression remains stony.

“Or that…” you weigh your words before you let them free, “I could feel the same?”

His eyes narrow, “you don’t sound like it.”

“I’m saying… I could try,” you fold your hands together, “I want to try.”

“Try?” He growls.

“Please, you have to understand, there’s a lot going on. My dad, the farm–”

“Oh, I know,” he steps around the couch, looming over you. He steps closer and bends his knees, squatting until he looks you straight in the eyes, “do you think I really did it for him?”

You search his face, trying to discern the tides in irises, the tension in his jaw. Your chest flutters as his words sink in.

“I did, Walt, because you’re a good guy,” you eke out.

“If you think so, you don’t show it.”

His coldness jars you. You’re trying. You don’t know how to convince him but you know you have to.

“I do,” you bring your hands up, “Walt, I know you are. I see it–”

“You want the farm and I’m the only way for you to keep it,” he sniffs, “I know why you’re here.”

You look down in defeat and shame. You won’t lie and say he’s not right but you had to try. You’ll just have to go home and tell your mom it didn’t work. She was wrong.

“Why would I buy a farm to keep a family that isn’t mine?” He reaches and cups your chin, forcing your head up, “seems a bit… illogical, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you sniffle, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“But if it were my family,” he cuts you off, his hand firmly framing your chin, “then maybe it would make sense.”

Your breath catches in your chest and your lashes flutter. Does he mean…

“I could be a good husband. You’ve seen that,” he says, “can you be a good wife?”

The icy chill flows back into you. Having it put so plainly is startling. You feel so young to be signing away your life, but you won’t have much of one without the farm; without your family. You unclasp your hands and touch Walter’s wrist.

“Yes,” you utter, “I can. I will.”

[jaqofalltrades]

Barracks Bunny

COLLAB WITH @ace-of-spadez GO FOLLOW!!!

POV: You're a barracks bunny and didn't think the Colonel knew.

König x bb!reader

CW: (Part 1) Age difference (König early 40's, reader mid 20's), sparring ig. (Part 2) Size difference, size kink, authority kink, breath play, overstimulation, choking, over-the-desk, public but also not public, multiple rounds, hair pulling, fingering, cunnilingus, headboard banging, creampie, biting, marking, etc.

______________________________________________________________

You were going on the third week in your new base. Kortac. It was mid afternoon and you were making your rounds. Your evenly paced steps created tiny clicks on the hard floor, ringing out in the relative silence. A shout could be heard every once in a while from every other training room, usually someone being berated and called a maggot. This place was no boot camp, but they strictly kept up with training to whip everyone into shape. You yourself could’ve used the extra cardio, but instead you’re on your way to put bullets in walls.

You turned a sharp corner and took only a few steps, your eyes rested on the shadow of a lonely recruit sitting solemnly by himself, with only the open broom closet across the hall to illuminate his face.. You made an abrupt stop and tilted your head slightly. Your voice cut sharply into the stale air, “Soldier, is there a reason you aren't at your station right now?” 

The man’s head abruptly shoots up in your direction, eyeing you incredulously as he rises to his feet quickly straightening his posture. “What’s it to ya?” The corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. The soldier takes a few steps closer coming into the light of the main room, showing a rather rugged man but also well-kept. 

“Sarg was taking roll and sent me to seek out the stragglers.” You gave him a knowing look, already aware of the soldiers that were missing in training. You stood up straight and took a step back as the lone soldier finally entered the hall and stood over you with a strange glint in his eyes. You knew that look all too well, he wanted something. Although that ‘something’ was not clear, you had an inkling of what it was. As soon as that feeling appeared, it disappeared just as quick.

“How can you be certain that my name is on that list? I could outrank you for all your knowledge.” He grinned slyly as he folded his arms across his chest. 

“Your name soldier.” You stood your ground as you looked at him, unmoving. As your conversation goes on, you’re both unaware of the new looming presence a few feet down the hall behind a cracked door.

He gave you a quick glance up and down, already aware of your position as a barracks bunny. One of his fellow companions had leaked that little detail the other night at meal time. “The name’s Marshall Matthers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His voiced dripped sensually. “Although I may know you more than you think.” Matthers unfolded his gear clad arms and shrugged with a smile.

You shifted your weight onto one foot and crossed your arms, lifting a brow in question. You should be telling him to get back to training, as informed to do. “And what, Private Matthers, do you mean by that?” Taking a firm step forwards looking at him quizzically. A small squeak of a door could be heard by someone that was paying attention. 

“It could mean whatever you want honey.” Matthers responded. You could tell what he was hinting at, his tone being more obvious than storm clouds in the sky. 

A hint of a smirk crossed your lips as he spoke. You cocked an eyebrow up at him and you gathered your composure to stop yourself from telling him off. You go to speak when you notice the man’s face in front of you drain of any and all color. His eyes go wide and he immediately looks back to you, apologizes and practically sprints down the hall to his designated training room, suddenly more interested in being berated than teasing you more. Your brows furl in confusion, mouth frozen in position as the words died on your tongue. 

A looming presence behind you sends chills up your spine and anxiety coursing through your veins. You take a step forward and slowly turn around, seeing a building of a man staring you down. Is this the nearly seven foot giant that has been whispered about around the base? Theres a lump in your throat as you try to swallow, mouth unbearably dry. You straighten your posture to the best of your abilities, putting a stern look on your face attempting to hide your uncertainty and uneven breath.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you, unsure of what to say. You notice the man looking you up and down, almost sizing you up rather than checking you out. Clearing your throat with a quick, “ahem,” the mountains eyes snap to your face. “And your name soldier?” You try to hide the small waver in your voice, if it had been anyone else you’d think it would go unnoticed, but the man noticed immediately. His eyes crinkle lightly, as if he were smirking under the veil of a t-shirt with two eye holes cut into it. 

“Colonel König, ma’am. And you?” he spoke lowly, thick austrian accent catching you off guard. His voice was smooth, slightly higher pitched than what you’d expect from a man of his build. Large broad shoulders, tall and wide stance, muscular arms crossed against his chest, clad in a bulletproof vest and enough gear to fill a tank. You found yourself spaced out, realizing you must have just been staring at him for a good five seconds before being quick to respond.

“My apologies Colonel, I was not made aware of who you are.” Standing about four feet apart, you and König stood, you clearly trying to remain professional while practically shrinking into yourself and him clearly enjoying having so much of an effect on you. “I was simply sent to collect any missing men for training. And now that I have, I will be on my way.” You nod and start to walk away when you hear him call from behind you.

“You don’t happen to be headed to training room C-16, do you?” The question stopped you in your tracks, how could he have known? I mean yes, he is the Colonel and should be aware of all the soldiers ranks and schedules. But the question remained, why would he be asking if he knew?

“That is correct Colonel. Is something the matter?” you ask over your soldier, hoping to avoid the uproar of anxiety you get from making eye contact with him. 

“Oh not at all, I am to be assisting with training in your group today. Shall we walk there together?” He took two long strides towards you, bumping his elbow into your shoulder as he passed. Clearly not a request, but a statement. You attempt to keep up with his fast pace, walking in silence with the tower of a man next to you. 

As the both of you neared the open training door, you slowed your pace slightly, as to enter behind him. His head peers back over his shoulder for a second before looking straight on. As you step into the full room, everyone's eyes seem to immediately land on the Colonel and then you, trailing in behind him. A few smirks and chuckles could be seen all around. You knew what they were thinking, seeing as your track record is quite widely known amongst the other men.

You walked to the side of the training room, feeling a few eyes still watching intently. König seemed to have realized the thoughts of the soldiers. He stopped in the center of the room, folding his hands behind his back, observing everyone. He knew of your midnight adventures, hearing about it from other soldiers personal conversations that he eavesdropped on. He decided to shut any ideas down before they could fully formulate. “Alright soldiers! Settle down and pay attention. No need to act like a bunch of idioten the moment one of your female comrades enters the room.”

All of their eyes snapped up and their postures straightened, everyone immediately resuming their work. You however were left standing in thought. Why would he feel the need to stand up for you like that? You two knew next to nothing about the other, much less have enough of a relationship to defend you like he just did. Was it purely just out of respect? Or did he have a underlying reason behind it, a different intent maybe? You’re snapped out of overthinking by a large hand waving in front of your face. 

“Welcome back to reality soldier, afraid we lost you for a second there. Everything alright?” König asked calmly. You didn’t know how to respond so you simply just nodded and walked over to a bench to place your stuff down. Although you weren’t yet aware of who your training buddy would be quite yet, you still sat down and quietly began preparing yourself for sparring. Just as you were about get up to ask who you would be partnering with, you feel a tap on your shoulder. 

“Looks as if you’ll be working with me today. I was told you are to work on sparring with enemies much larger than you in preparation for an upcoming mission.” Your heart jumps to your throat as you hear König continue. “I will be teaching you some strategies along with what not to do when up against an enemy twice the size of you, if the opportunity were to ever arise.” Frozen in place you begin to panic, how in the hell are you supposed to take down a man like him? He could easily snap you in half in seconds. You could already tell that today was going to be rough.

There was no doubt in your mind that your were strong, hell you would even be proud to announce that you were stronger and more agile than most of the men in the room currently. But König? That was where your confidence slightly faltered. Putting aside your worry, you confidently strided over to the mat, getting into sparring position with a determined look on your face. Across you stood the giant, now barren of his gear and equipment, t-shirt no longer over his face, instead wearing his baklava which he only wore during sparring. 

He’s stood straight, hands clasped in front of him and facing the group of fellow soldiers. “May I have everyone’s attention!” He spoke up, instantaneously getting the eyes of all in the room in which he continued. “I will be providing a scenario in which it may be difficult to fight back, I will be showing different moves and maneuvers that you may need to use to your advantage.” All eyes were on you and König, your breathing uneven. Looking back to your sparring partner, you see him getting into position. Before you even have time to react, he has gotten beside you, splaying his arm across the entirety of your chest holding onto your opposite shoulder pushing back; sweeping his foot into the backs of your knees, you fold immediately. 

You try to recover quickly, rolling over onto your stomach, attempting to push yourself up off the ground when he places his foot in the center of your back holding you down. He lectures the others on what you could have done in order to avoid this but it all goes in one ear and out the other as the air gets pushed out of your lungs. Finally, you get let back up as you gasp for oxygen, swiftly darting behind König to jump onto his back, locking your legs around his waist and putting him in a chokehold. Everyone looks shocked for an entirety of 2 seconds before you get flung over his shoulder, your back aching as you smash into the ground. 

Your eyes opened as you groaned. The sight you are met with is the Colonel’s body looming over yours, looking down, his eyes looked like they were holding a satisfied grin behind them. He reaches his arm out, and you grip onto it, being yanked up quickly onto your feet with your head spinning slightly. 

König faced the crowd of soldiers again, his voice cutting into them, “Okay. Now you have seen what not to do when facing a larger opponent. I’ll demonstrate again, but this time I will show what to do, ja?” His eyes looked around, seeing nodding heads as confirmation they were listening. He turned to you, holding his hands up, “Be in a standard defensive position, hands up, covering your stomach and head. The weakest spots.” He started to circle around you, so you moved opposite of him. He was speaking directly to you now, “Use your size to your advantage. You are smaller, so you can move quicker, and be harder to grab. Stay low to the ground, try to throw your opponent off balance.. Think on your feet. And never, ever second guess yourself.”

The second he completed his speech he darted towards you, and you drop like a bag of rocks in order to trip him. He stumbles but stays standing by which you grab his wrist and pull him over you, using the momentum of his rocking. He braces himself and somersaults forward to try and recover but as he goes to sit up, you lock onto him from behind. Your legs around his hips with your ankles crossed, locking his legs together as you wrap your arm around his neck and fall back. König tries to reach back and unlock the chokehold you have him in, when he realizes he can’t he starts to get even more harsh. Thrashing and attempting to retrieve airflow that he doesn’t think to pull your ankles apart, and finally he taps. 

You release your hold on him with a triumphant smirk, hearing him gasp for air inflating your confidence ten-fold. Obviously you offered him a hand and asked if he was okay, that’s more important than beating the nearly seven foot giant, that not a single person would ever think to go into a one on one combat with willingly. 

He stood with a lighthearted chuckle. He looked down and nodded his head in approval while replying, “Yes, I’m fine. That was good Corporal (L/n), I am more than mildly impressed with your efforts. And thank you for helping with my demonstration.” You stand straight with your head held high, eyes scanning the room, seeing the faces of the soldiers filled with a mix of nervous confusion and impressed anger. To think the only person to have the balls to attempt to take down the brick wall of an intimidating giant would be the one and only 5’6, 140 lb woman in the entire group.

“Alright soldiers, back to work. I want to see each and every one of you working hard. You have 2 hours.” König stated to everyone as he turns to refocus his attention on you. “Corporal (L/n), if you would please come with me, I would like to discuss the mission plans with you in my office.” You felt confused as to why he was asking about this when the mission isn’t for another couple months. However, swallowing down the confusion and putting on a blank face, you give him a curt nod and follow him out of the training room.

“I don’t mean to doubt your knowledge, Colonel, but if I’m not mistaken the mission isn’t until 4 months from now. How is it possible to have all of the information and suspects needed to start formulating plans on something we aren’t certain the future of?” The rhythmic pace of footsteps echoing in the empty barracks hallway. You and König walk side by side and the slow rising and falling of his chest helps to soothe the tension in the air.

To be continued...

I'm not totally sure when the second part will be out but take this for now...

[dianawinchester03]

Season 1, Episode 1 - Pilot

Series Masterlist

Y/N’s POV

"Listen to me and listen to me good Y/N L/N. Don't come back if you go out there on your own, don't call, don't text, pretend I'm dead!"

I jolt awake, buckets of sweat pouring down my head. I don't realize I'm crying until I feel my eyes burn. A stinging migraine takes over, pressure building up in my head. I gotta stop dreaming about that over and over. It was probably one of the worst days of my life.

Checking the time I see it's 5 am. I'm only a couple hours away from Jericho now, I took a pit stop at midnight because I was exhausted and still kinda hungover from the night before. Which is weird because I usually don't get hungover.

More or less I'm trying to avoid sleep because of these stupid nightmares, as hunters we don't get much sleep regardless but we're only human...until we're not. Pushing the blanket off of me, I climb out of bed and get ready for the day ahead of me. My heart skips a beat for a second, remembering I'm gonna be seeing Dean....and Sam obviously. I'm more excited to see my best friend of many years.

I think about calling my dad. I initially decide against it but I give in. He's still my old man. Growing up my dad always had high expectations of me when it came to hunting. It's clear he expected me to be psychic like my mom but after I turned 18 and nothing came, his disappointment was clear.

Mom's abilities helped him out a lot when they hunted together, according to dad, she couldn't predict the future as much but she more or less communicated with the dead on ghost cases along with her telekinetic powers. It came it handy whenever they needed to gank a monster.

The look in my fathers eyes when he talks about my mom, breaks my heart everytime. You can see how much he loved her, I could only imagine how much she loved him.

After taking a shower I try to call Dean but it goes to voicemail. So I just shoot him a quick text that I'll be in Jericho before lunch.

I put my phone to my ear after dialing my dads number and hitting call. In seconds I get an answer. "Y/n/n? Is everything okay??" My dads voice is more rugged than usual, clearly he was asleep. Concern seeping through his voice. "I'm fine daddy, I just missed you. I called to see if everything is alright?" Tears sting slightly from my eyes. God I'm such a pussy.

"I'm great baby, I'm surprised to hear from you-not that I don't want to. I'm just happy you called" He breaths out relieved. "Great well Dean called me, told me his dad was missing. I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna be meeting up with them." I say quickly as I check out of the motel room and make way to my beautiful Quinn after checking out, doubling checking to make sure I have everything.

"Understood. Update me along the way? Maybe we can do a case of our own soon?" He asks hopefully. "Yeah maybe, we'll see. I gotta go daddy. Bye, love you" I shock myself saying 'love you' I haven't told dad that in years. I grew up always saying it to my dad and whoever we considered family. The habit just stuck.

Hopping on my bike and starting her, I'm off to whatever adventure awaits.

________________________________

Third Person POV

"Goddamnit Dean where are you?" Y/N mutters to herself after calling Dean for the millionth time only to go to voice mail. This feels like karma. She decides to say screw it and go herself, hopefully they show up within the time or Dean calls back. She's still in her casual attire. A grey tank top, layered with a red flannel covered in her favorite leather jacket. Paired with combat boots.

Currently on the Sylvania Bridge, a bunch of cop cars blocking a crime scene. A deputy on the bridge speaking to some divers down in the river asks them. "Did you guys find anything?!"

"No! Nothing!" The diver responds. The deputy turns around to see Y/N. "Woah miss no civilians" He goes to usher her out of the premises. She pulls out her fake federal marshal badge and flashes it to the Deputy Jaffe according to his name tag. He seems to take the bait with a nod.

A fake smile plastered on her face "Federal Marshal, got called in on my day off. So what seems to be the situation brothers in blue?" Y/N asks nicely. "Still trying to piece it together ourselves, pretty lady. No sign of struggle. No footprints. No fingerprints. It's spotless. It's almost too clean" The other deputy investigating the car in question answers her question.

Stooping down next to Jaffe, out of view to look at the car herself. She recognizes the roar of Baby's engine. Smirking to herself as the officers talk about the boy that's missing, Troy Squire. "So this kid Troy, he's dating your daughter isn't he?" Jaffe asks Hein. "Yeah" Hein confirms.

"Hows Amy doing?" Jaffe asks. "She's putting up missing posters downtown" Hein responds. "You fellas had another one like this just last month didn't you?" Dean voice booms, surprising the deputies. "Who are you" Jaffe asks suspiciously. "They're with me deputy" Y/N covers for them, now standing up in view. A shocked yet happy look takes over Sam's face and a smirk rising on Dean's, eyeing her up and down for a split second. They both quickly recover now back to their serious faces.

"You fellas took a pit stop? Was expecting ya earlier" She says to the boys. Crossing her arms over her chest "You lot a little young for federal marshals aren't you?" Jaffe says, still suspicious. "Thanks. That awfully kind of you" Dean chuckles cockily, causing Y/N to roll her eyes. "You did have another one just like this, correct?" Dean presses his question, walking around the side of the car where Hein is.

"Yeah that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that" Jaffe confirms. "So the victim. You knew him?" Sam asks. "Town like this. Everybody knows everybody". Jaffe nods. "Any connections between the victims besides the fact that they're all men?" Y/N asks curiously. "No, not so far as we can tell" Jaffe says.

"So what's the theory?" Sam asks as he moves follows Deans movements to the side of the car in question and Y/N follows Sam. "Honestly? We don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?" Jaffe says honestly.

"Well that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect from you" Dean says sarcastically. Sam stamps on his foot and Y/N elbows him in his ribs the same time. A smile on his face towards the deputy while Jaffe looks at the trio suspiciously.

"Thank you for your time" Y/N says, a sweet smile on her face. "Gentleman" Sam greets the officers before walking past Dean. Y/N and Dean following behind. Y/N sees the seething look on Deans face. "Don't you dare think about it Winchester" She mumbles. Dean huffs, tapping his brother on his head and Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Ow! What was that for?!" Sam mutters angrily to his brother. "Why you gotta step on my foot?" He says back angrily "And you missy, why you gotta elbow my ribs" He points his finger at Y/N, rubbing his right ribs. "Why do you have to talk to police like that?" Y/N retorts back angrily. The argument between the three subsides as Sam turns to Y/N, a smile on his face.

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. "I missed you too Sammy" Y/N says chuckling at the sudden affection, though she meant it. "I didn't know you were coming" Sam says smiling.

He ruffles her hair as they pull away from the hug. "Dean called me, told me your dad hasn't been home in a couple days. Looks like I'm on the family emergency contact list" Y/N jokes, looking over at Dean, his head to the floor slightly. Indicating he's feeling a bit left out.

"Come here youuu" She says teasingly, wrapping her arms around Deans shoulders. His arms automatically go around her waist, burying his face in her neck, he smiles into the hug. Sam smirks at this and wiggles his eyebrows at his eyebrows at his brother suggestively. Knowing where Sam is getting at Dean flips off his younger brother the bird, meanwhile Y/N is oblivious to this.

"Still a short stack aren't ya princess" Dean teases. Y/N pulls away, tapping Dean on his shoulder while Sam laughs, agreeing with Dean. "Shut it you morons, I can still kick both your asses" Y/N threatens them, pointing her fingers at the brothers while they chuckle.

"Those cops don't know squat. If we're gonna find your dad, we gotta get to the bottom of this thing ourselves" Y/N changes the subject. Sam looks over her shoulder, clearing his throat. An man who looks like the sheriff with two real FBI agents behind him asks the trio. "Can I help you guys?"

"No sir, we were just leaving" Dean says and they begin walking to their respective vehicles. Not before mocking the two agents "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully" Y/N says. Dean biting back a laugh at her humor.

"You still driving that gorgeous 67' I see" Y/N eyes Baby up and down, wolf whistling. "Course I am, Baby's a chick magnet here" Dean smirks proudly, patting the hood of the Impala. Y/N snorts and Sam rolls his eyes. "Still riding that stunning Harley I see" Dean nods over to her bike. "Course I am. She's my pride and joy" Y/N smirks, echoing Deans words.

Picking up her helmet "Race you to town?" She challenges. "You're on, Princess" Dean retorts, jumping in baby and they're off.

________________________________

Now walking through town, Dean spots a young lady putting up missing persons posters with Tory Squire on them. Putting two and two together , this must be the deputy's daughter "I'll bet you that's her" He says. "Yeah" Sam agrees.

They walk up to her "You must be Amy" Dean inquires. "Yeah" she confirms. "Troy told us about you, we're his uncles and aunt. I'm Dean, this is Sammy and this is Y/N" Dean introduces everybody. "He never mentioned you to me" Amy says walking away, they follow behind her.

"Yeah, that's Troy. I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto" Dean lies causally. "So we're looking for him too and we're kind of asking around" Sam says and a young lady who seems to know Amy asks her "Hey you okay?"

"Yeah" Amy reassures. "You lovely ladies mind if we ask you a couple questions?" Y/N asks the girls nicely, hoping to make them less weary. They agree.

Y/N's POV

We're all now sitting in a diner booth. The girls across from us. Sam on the inner part of the booth, me in the middle and Dean to the end. His arm rests on the top of the seat, practically around me.

"I was on the phone with Troy, he was driving home. He said he would call me right back. And, uh, he never did" Amy explains the events of the night Troy went missing. "He didn't say anything strange? Or out of the ordinary?" Sam inquires. "No, nothing I can remember" Amy shakes her head.

"Here's the deal ladies" Dean says leaning forward, arms now on the table. "The way Troy disappeared. Somethings not right. So if you've heard anything..." Dean trails off and I notice the girls have a skeptical look in their faces. Looking at each other. They're hiding something.

"What is it girls?" Y/N asks. "Well it's just ....I mean with all these guys going missing. People talk" Amy's friend says. "What do they talk about?" Sam and Dean say in perfect unison, causing me to jump a bit. Jesus. Brothers.

She looks at Amy before continuing "Its kinda this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial, like, decades ago. Well supposedly, she's still out there. She hitchhikes. And whoever picks her up. Well they...disappear forever" She finishes and the tree of us share a look.

We're in the library now. Deans researching the info the girls gave us on the computer and sitting between me and Sam. No hits come on on 'Murder on Centennial'. "Let me try" Sam goes to take the keyboard but Dean slaps his hand away harshly "Got it" he says annoyed.

Sam pushes him away, rolling his chair behind his and I snicker at their childish behavior. "Dude!" He exclaims, tapping Sams shoulder "You're such a control freak" he grumbles, fixing his chair behind the two of us. And Sam types. Then something dawns on me.

"Wait, aren't angry spirits born out of violent death?" I ask. "Yeah" Dean nods confirming. I push Sams chair away "Dude!" He exclaims like Dean did, tapping my shoulder. Dean snickers at the instant karma. I type on the computer "Maybe it's not murder" I say and I type 'Suicide on Cenntenial' and got a hit on an article.

"Sharp thinking princess" Dean smirks, patting me on the small of my back. I smirk "Thanks charming". Sam begins reading the article. "1981. Constance Welch, 24 years old jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in river" Sam reads out loud. "Does it say why she did it?" Dean asks "Yeah" I say. "What?" Dean asks.

"An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute and when she comes back. They're not breathing. Both die" I briefly summarize the article, skimming through it. "Hmm" Dean hums.

"Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it. Said husband, Joseph Welch" Sam quotes the article and I notice a picture of the bridge we were on earlier. "That bridge look familiar to you fellas?" I ask rhetorically, pointing to the picture on the screen.

Later in the night we were at the bridge where Constance jumped to her death. We walk to the edge, looking down. "So this is where Constance took the swan dive" Dean says. I grimace at the sight of the dirty mucky water. The scent filling my nose and I resist the urge to gag.

"So you think your dad would have been here?" I ask, while we all look down at the river. "Well he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him" Dean says and we all begin to walk down the bridge. "Okay so now what?" Sam asks. "Now we keep digging till we find him. Might take a while" Dean says.

"Dean, I told you I have to get back..." Sam starts and they both finish "...By Monday" they say in unison. Brothers. Scares me everytime.

"Right. The interview. Yeah I forgot" Dean nods. "You're really serious about this aren't you" I ask Sam, crossing my arms over my chest. "You think you're just gonna become some lawyer. Marry your girl?" Dean says. "Maybe. Why not?" Sam shrugs.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you? About what you've done?" Dean presses. "No and she's not ever going to know" Sam says, walking up to Dean and I. I stand in-between them, already knowing somebody's gonna either get pushed or punched. "Well that's healthy." Dean retorts sarcastically . "Come on Dean, don't start" I warn him calmly, putting my hand on his shoulder.

"No y/n/n, he can pretend all he wants. But, sooner or later, you're gonna have to own up to who you really are Sammy" Dean walks back down the bridge towards Baby after saying this. Sam follows behind "And who's that?" Sam queries, agitation in his voice. "One of us" Dean says as if it's obvious, gesturing between me and him.

"No, I'm not like either of you. This is not going to be my life" Sam says kinda disgusted. Ouch, but valid. "You have a responsibility" Dean says. "To Dad? And his crusade?" Sam says, his eyes welling with tears. "If it weren't for pictures. Me and y/n wouldn't even know what our moms look like." Ohhhh boy, here we go. The look on Deans face alone could scare a toddler.

"What difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed them...they're gone. And they're never coming back" Sam finishes and Dean pushes me gently to the side from in between them. He grabs Sam and slams him against the edge of the bridge. "Woah Dean! Easy!" I try pulling Dean off of his brother but his grip is too strong.

"Don't talk about them like that" Deans tone is deadly. He lefts Sam go and turns to me. "Sorry for pushing you Princess" He says sincerely, I nod reassuring him. I look behind him and I see a woman standing at the ledge of the bridge in a white dress. "Uh....fellas...." I point at the woman. They look in the direction I'm pointing at. She turns to look at us for a second before allowing herself to fall off.

We all run towards the area where she threw herself. Looking over the edge, we don't see anything. "Where'd she go?" Dean asks. "I don't know" Sam breathes out. All of a sudden we hear Baby's engine starting. Her headlights flickering. "What the....." Dean says stunned.

Then Quinn starts, her engine roaring. The headlights flicker just like Dean's car. "Who the hell is driving your car and bike?" Sam asks us. Me and Dean hold out the keys to our vehicles, still stunned. Then the Impala and Harley tires start screeching, driving towards us. "Boys! Go! GO!" We all split into action, running away from the vehicles.

They gain on us and the three of us hurl ourselves off the edge of the bridge. Me and Dean end up slipping off the ledge, falling into the river while Sam grabs onto the ledge and pulls himself back up when the coast is clear. Baby and Quinn come to a stop.

Me and Dean fish ourselves out of the mucky water, laying on the shore edge. "Dean! Y/N!" Sam screams before seeing us. "Hey, you guys alright?" He asks worried. "We're super" Dean yells back sarcastically and I give him a weak thumbs up. Sam laughs at our state and we go to make our way back up the bridge.

I pull myself up and give my hand to Dean who's still laying on the floor like he's half dead. "Get up piglet, we gotta get back up" I tease him while groaning in pain, he huffs taking my hand and pulling himself up. "Shut it, you're covered too" He chuckles while groaning in pain from the impact too.

We're back up on the bridge checking on our vehicles. Quinn seems alright and I'm sure so is Baby. "Your car and bike alright?" Sam ask the both of us. "Yeah whatever she did to it, it seems alright now" Dean says. I nod assuring that my bikes ok. "That Constance chick, what a bitch!!" I scream out over the bridge in frustration because she almost hurt my girl.

"Well she doesn't want us digging around that's for sure" Sam says. Dean leans on the hood of the Impala, I follow and so does Sam. "So, where's the trail go from here geniuses" Sam asks the both of us.

Dean throws his hands up in defeat, grimacing at the smelly mud all over our skin and I scoff. Sam smells the air before turning to us "You guys smell like a toilet" Neither of us answer, Dean's head drops while I turn to glare at Sam. He smirks at me snickering.

Now at a motel, Dean plops his credit card on the book in-front of the receptionist. "One room please"

The man picks up the card, looking at it in recognition. "You guys having a reunion or something?" The age-able man queries. My eyes cork up at this. "What do you mean?" Sam asks now curious. "That other guy Burt Aframian, he came and bought out a room for the whole month" The man tells us whilst typing on his computer to book us a room. The boys and I share a knowing look. John was here.

We find out what room John was in. Currently I'm on my knees picking the lock to room 10. Sam and Dean have their backs turnt to me, looking out incase someone sees us. After about a minute, I hear a click and I slide my trusty hairpin out of the knob.

I open the door and walk in but Sam and Dean don't seem to notice, still looking out. I grab them both by their collars and roughly pull them into the room, locking the door behind us. We look around the room for a couple seconds and Dean goes over to the lamp, turning it on.

I notice the walls lining with paper of what seems to be Johns research on the case he was working here. Dean spots a day old sandwich and sniffs it. Gagging at the smell. "Ugh" He plops the sandwich back down. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least" He states the obvious.

"Yeah, no kidding Sherlock" I say sarcastically and Dean rolls his eyes at my dry tone. Sam stoops to the ground, dusting it with his fingers to find "Salt. Cats-eye shells. He was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in" Sam says getting back up. Dean notices what I'm staring at, it's the victims.

"What do you got here?" Sam asks, walking over to us. "Centennial Highway victims" I state. "I don't get it." Dean says and I see Sam walking over to the other side of the room. "They're different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection right? What do these guys have in common?" Dean ponders.

I walk over to Sam, my eyes scanning for the lord written in the wall. I catch something at the corner of my eye, walking a couple steps I turn on the lamp and I nudge Sam to check it out. I internally laugh, shaking my head. John Winchester, you smart son of a bitch. Of course you figured it out.

Sam chuckles ironically "Dad figured it out" he says. "What do you mean?" Dean asks. "He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's our woman in white" I say. Dean turns back to the wall looking at the pictures of Constance's victims. "You sly dogs" he says almost as if he's complimenting the unfaithful presumably deceased men.

"Alright so if we're dealing with a Woman in White. Dad would've found the corpse and destroyed it" Dean states. "She might have another weakness" Sam says. "No. Dad would wanna make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?" Dean asks walking over to us, looking at the notes on the wall.

"No, not that we can tell" Sam answers. "If I were your dad though, I'd go ask her husband" I say, point to the picture of Joseph Welch on the wall. "If he's still alive" Sam adds. "Alright why don't you see if you can find an address. Me and y/n gotta get cleaned up" Dean says and I clutch my duffel bag with my clothes on my shoulder.

"Hey guys?" Me and Dean turn to Sam. "What I said about Mom and Dad earlier. And your mom, y/n. I'm sorry" Sam says guiltily and sincerely. Dean puts up his hand stopping Sam. "No chick-flick moments" Dean says and Sam chuckles, I shake my head laughing. "Alright, Jerk" Sam says. "Bitch" Dean retorts.

"Oh shut it, you're a sucker for Notting Hill" I quipped teasing him, bumping Deans hip with mine causing Sam to laugh. "Hey! Julia Roberts don't count! That woman is a national treasure!" Dean exclaims defending himself. Sam bends over clutching his stomach in laughter. "Yeah...sure" I laugh ironically before pushing him when he least expects it.

"DIBS ON THE BATHROOM!" I yell, bolting to the bathroom whilst Dean stumbles on himself trying to catch his balance. I lock the door behind me quickly and Dean bangs on it. "Ahhh screw you ya nutcase!" He yells frustrated. "You wish asshat!" I retort back laughing and getting ready for my nice hot long shower.

After my shower, Dean goes in and me and Sam are left outside. Sam tried calling his girlfriend and I'm on the chair, smoking a cigarette by the window. Texting my dad and updating him about the case. Dean walks out of the bathroom, putting on his jacket and takes off the light.

"You used up all the hot water y/n" Dean says. I chuckle, taking the last puff of my cigarette and outing it. "Snooze you lose, Winchester" I smile widely at him, winking. He scoffs and chuckles at this. "I'm starving, I'm gonna grab something to eat at that diner down the street. You two want anything" He asks the both of us.

"No" Sam says. "Aframians buying" Dean says smiling and Sam shakes his head. "I'll take my usual please" I smile. "(Your favorite food/usual order) and (Your favorite soda/milkshake) coming right up, Princess" He smirks at me, winking. My heart flutters at that smile he gave me and the wink he sent my way. The fact that he remember my order. But I cover it up with returning the cocky wink "Thanks charming"

When Dean leaves I turn to Sam. We haven't really been alone for us to talk like we usually do so I take the chance now. "Hey Sammy?" I say softly. "It's Sam" he groans in annoyance at me calling him Sammy. "Whatever you say Sammy" I grin widely at him, getting back to my serious expression. He looks at me curiously. "What's wrong y/n/n?" He asks.

"I just want you to know. I don't blame you for going back to college after this case. Your brother might not be very warm and cuddly about it but you know how he is. He loves you and misses you. You're making the right choice" I say. He sighs sadly and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"You of all people deserved a shot at the Apple pie life. So does Dean. He would never admit it because he's too stubborn but he'd kill for the apple pie life you're hoping to achieve." I reassure Sam, he looks at me smiling sadly.

"You do too Y/N." He says softly. I take my hand off his shoulder shaking my head. "I don't want that. I'm where I need to be" I assure him and Sam chuckles shaking his head. "You're just as stubborn girly" He teases me and I lightly punch his shoulder. "Shut up dipshit" I say laughing.

"Never, crackhead" He laughs punching my shoulder back. God I missed my best friend. "I gotta say though" I say, a smirking taking over my face. "Jess is quite a foxy lady" I compliment his girlfriend and he smiles proudly.

"I'll never get what she sees in you" I added causing his smile to drop and me to laugh. "You're dead to me" he said flatly and I laugh louder. "I love you too Sammy" I pat his shoulder. I go to sit back down but my phone rings.

Metallica blurring from the ringtone of my phone. Sam gives me a "really?" look and I just roll my eyes taking my phone out of my pocket. It's Dean. "That's some speedy delivery. You're in for a great tip." I tease him over the phone but he doesn't respond with his usual banter.

"Guys. Five - 0. Take off." Dean says quickly. Me and Sam stand up now panicking on the low. "What about you?" Sam asks his brother concerned. "Ah, they kind of spotted me. Go find dad" Dean says and abruptly hangs up. Son of a bitch.

Me and Sam tiptoe over to the curtain by the front door. Pulling it open slightly we see a deputy walking towards it and Jaffe, the deputy from the bridge, questioning Dean. We hurry to the window I was smoking by and we open it up, grabbing our stuff we shimmy out fatasses out of the window and make a break for Baby.

We decided to go to Joseph Welch's house, husband of Constance Welch, the Woman in White, and question him. I settled for leaving Quinn at the motel as much as it broke my heart. The cops would've heard her if I started her.

________________________________

I knock on Mr. Welch's door. Within a couple seconds he opens it. He takes a second glance at me before looking at Sam. "Hi, are you Joseph Welch?" I ask nicely. "Yeah" he confirms, eyeing me up and down.

We're now walking through his yard and Sam shows him a photo of him, John and Dean from the 80s, asking Mr. Welch if he had come by at anytime. "Yeah. He was older but that's him" Mr. Welch confirms that John was here. "He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter" he said.

"That's right. We're working a story together" Sam lies to keep our cover. "Well I don't know what the hell know of story you're working on. The questions he asked me..." Mr. Welch trailed off and I injected "About your late wife, Constance"

"He asked me where she was buried" He said. "And where was that again?" Sam asks and I mentally facepalm. Real smooth Sammy. Real smooth. "What? I gotta go through this twice" Mr. Welch said slightly agitated. "It's just fact checking sir, if you don't mind." I say calmly, he eyes me up and down again before nodding. Sam notices this too.

"In a plot, behind my old place over on Breckenridge." He tells us where she's buried. "Why did you move?" Sam asks. "I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died" Mr. Welch stated obviously. "Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?" I ask him.

"No way, Constance. She was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I've ever known" He assures us as if he's trying to convince us and himself. "So you had a happy marriage?" Sam asks and Welch hesitates for a second before saying "Definitely" he says.

Sam and I share a look before he takes a deep breath. "Well that should do it sir. Thank for your time" I say we pretend to walk off. Sam takes out the keys to baby and I look at him with a "I'm gonna do it" look. He nods and I call out for Mr. Welch.

"Mr. Welch, you ever heard of a woman in white?" Welch turns around confused. "A what?" He asks. "A woman in white. Or sometimes a weeping woman" Sam repeats my words, explaining it further. "It's a ghost story. Well..." I start to explain and I chuckle. "It's more of a phenomenon, really" We start walking back towards Mr. Welch.

"They're spirits. They've been sighting for hundreds of years. Dozens of places" I say, looking over to Sam to continue. "In Hawaii, in Mexico. Lately in Arizona, Indiana." As he lists the places I hold up my fingers, counting them. "All these are different women you understand but all share the same story". Sam says

"Kids, I don't care much for nonsense" Mr. Welch says now aggravated, turning to walk off but I stop him. "See when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. And these women basically suffering from temporary insanity murdered their children. Then once they realized what they had done. They took their own lives" I explain and Sam takes over.

"So now their spirits are cursed. Walking backroads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man. They kill him. And that man is never seen again" Sam further digs. "You think.....You think that has something to do with....Constance. You smartasses!" Mr. Welch, now horrified at the possibility, breathes heavily.

"You tell me. You hesitantly claimed you had happy marriage but by the way you were checking out my friend here... I'd beg to differ" Sam says, his gaze soft. Ohhh that's cold. "I mean, maybe, maybe I made some mistakes, but no matter what I did, Constance, she never would've killed her own children. Now you two get the hell outta here! And you don't come back!" Mr. Welch shuns us angrily, shaking trying to hold back tears.

"Jesus Sam, that was a bit cold" I say as we walk back to the car. Sam sighs opening baby and jumping in, opening the passenger side from inside for me. "One man was unfaithful and now people are dying. I'm not saying they're saints but it's messed up" He says putting the car in reverse driving off.

I sigh, "That's the job for ya, hey, gimme your phone" without hesitation he gives me his phone "Sure, what for?" He asks while in dialing. "You'll see" I smirk putting the phone to my ear. I take my gun out from my waist, rolling down the window and aiming it out the window to the sky.

"Y/N what're you doing?" Sam questions now worried. I shush him with a finger to my lips. "911 what's your emergency?" The lady operator says on the line. I let out a fake scream and Sam now realizes what I'm doing, holding back his laughter.

"Help!! Please!! My husband and the neighbor are f- " I pull the trigger before I could finish the sentence. A ear piercing scream leaves my throat "HE HAS A GUN PLEASE!! HELP US!" Sam is biting his fist from laughing. "The blood!! Oh the blood! HONEY!!" I quickly give the operator address on the other side of where we are and hang up handing it back to Sam who is hysterical.

"You..really are ...a crackhead.." He says in-between laughs and I chuckle. "Whatever dipshit" I retort. Within a couple minutes my phone rings. I answer putting it on speaker. "Fake 911 phone call, princess. I don't know. That's pretty illegal. Aren't you a bad girl?" Dean teases me from over the phone.

I scoff rolling my eyes as Sam chuckles, grimacing at the last part of Deans sentence. "You're welcome, charming" I chuckle. "Listens guys we gotta talk" Dean starts to say but Sam interrupts. "Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a Woman in White. And she's buried behind her old house so that should be our next stop."

Dean cuts Sam off "Sammy would you shut up for a second?" Dean tries to interject but Sam continues "We just can't figure out why he hasn't destroyed the corpse yet" Sam rambles. "Well that's what I'm trying to tell you two. He's gone. Dad left Jericho" Dean says.

"What? How do you know?" I say surprising, my mouth agape. "I've got his journal" Dean says. My jaw falls further, practically on the floorboard of Baby. "He doesn't go anywhere without that thing" Sam says. "Yeah, well, he did this time" Dean says. "What's it say?" I ask. "Same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going" Dean explains what's written.

"Coordinates. Where to?" Sam confirms. "Dean, what the hell is going on?" I question now confused and irritated by the vague messages John's leaving. Suddenly Sam hits the brakes of the car and my phone slips out of my hand. I catch a glimpse of the Woman in White infront of the car before he hurls straight through her.

"Sam! Y/N!?" I hear Dean yell for us from the phone that's now on the floorboard. Me and Sam try catching our breath. "Take me home" is all we hear, the woman in white appears in the back of the Impala. Looking at Sam. We don't answer and she says again, more irritated this time.

"Take.Me.Home" I can see her ghost flicker, I reach into my boots to grab to iron knuckle cuffs, gripping it in my hand "No" He says sternly, holding his ground. The doors of the car lock automatically, trapping us in. We try opening our sides but it's stuck. The Impala is now driving itself to Constance's old house where she killed her kids. Me and Sam still trying for the doors.

"GODDAMIT!!" I yell in frustration, punching the window with my iron knuckle cuff but it barely cracks. We pull up to her house, against our will, and baby shuts off. "Don't do this" I plead with her but she doesn't seem interested in me, expected. "I can never go home" She says in a somber voice, her ghost flickering.

"You're scared to go home" Sam says and it clicks. She's scared to face her kids. In a split second, she was in the middle of me and Sam. A force throws me to the backseat, pinning me down and she jumps on top of Sam, straddling him. "Get off of him you bitch!" I scream at her. "Hold me, I'm so cold" she breathes out needy.

I cringe at this and break out of her hold. I reach over and punch her with the iron knuckle cuff ring. She disapparates, but not for long. "You okay Sammy??" I reach over to help him, before he could answer. She appears back on his lap. Backing handing to the back seat. The knuckle cuffs fly out my hand and onto the floor in the back seat.

"You can't kill me, I'm not unfaithful I've never been" Sam argues, groaning in pain as she passes her hand along his skin. "You will be" she says before kissing him. "YOU SICK BITCH!" I try to get out of her hold but the force is too strong.

Sam struggles to turn the keys in the ignition. She disappears for a quick seconds and we both look around. Sam starts screaming in pain "SAM!!!" I yell, feeling powerless that I can't do more, I see the knuckle cuffs at the corner of my eye, I try reaching for it but it's too far.

She appears back on him, her face now decayed. Her fingers digging into Sam's chest. "NO!!" My voice is pained, still attempting to reach the cuffs. I finally get a hold of the cuffs, gunshots ringing through the driver seat window. I see Dean outside of the Impala shooting Constance.

"My hero" I grumble sarcastically to myself at the fact that Dean is shooting a ghost. I throw the iron cuffs at her again, this time seems to work a little better. Sam gets up and starts the car. "Take her home Sammy" I say and Sam nods curtly. Driving Baby head first into Constance's house to face her kids.

"Sam! Y/N!" Dean yells but the impact from the crash, throws me over into the front seat. How? Don't ask me. "Guys!?" Dean yells for us. "Here!" I yell back to catch his attention. "You two okay? Can you move?" He asks, moving a piece of wood from infront the window. "Yeah, help us" Sam says groaning in pain.

I feel a bump starting to form on my head. Dean pulls me out from the passenger side and I lean on the side of his car. Next taking Sam out. "There you go" He says holding Sam up and checking on me, I give him a thumbs up and we see Constance infront of us, holding an old picture of herself.

Her eyes flicker up to us angrily, she tosses the picture aside and a chest of drawers come hurling towards us, pinning us again the wall by our mid regions. We groan trying to push it off but it wouldn't budge. The lights in the house start flickering and we all look around.

The stairs starts leaking water, assuming that's foreshadowing the water she used to drown her kids. The boys and I look up the starts to see the shadow of two kids holding hands. "You've come home to us, Mommy." They say in unison, reminding me of when the boys speak in perfect unison.

Shit gave me the heebie jeebies.

They appear behind a terrified Constance and they start hugging. Constance is a screaming mess, her spirit flickering from decayed to her normal self. She and the kids spirit diminish, melting to the ground where the water from upstairs is leaking. That has got to be where she drowned them.

Once her spirit is gone, the boys and I look at each other. Grunting from the pain, we push the chest of drawer over with an ease compared to earlier. We walk towards the puddle of water. "So this is where she drowned her kids" Dean states the obvious. "Thats why she could never go home" I say and Sam nods. "She was too scared to face them" Sam confirms.

"You guys found her weak spot. Nice work kids" Dean pats Sam on his chest and me on my head and we laugh in pain. "Yeah I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" Sam mocks his brother and I laugh rubbing my head. "Hey. Saved your asses" Dean defends, pointing at us.

"No smartass, it was my ironcuffs" I snort holding it up to show him, joining in on making fun of Dean. "Whatever" Dean grumbles. He puts his hands to his knees bending down. "I'll tell you another thing. If you guys screwed up my car....I'll kill ya both " He threatens me and Sam and I snicker.

"Yeah, be sure to burn my body. Before you shoot my ghost when I haunt ya" I quipped, Dean glares at me and Sam laughs and we high-five.

________________________________

Third Person POV

Sam and Dean are driving down the empty road. Y/N on her bike side by side to the Impala. Dean glances at her, admiring her physique. He admires her a lot, the way she handles herself on hunts. She did a hell of a job today. Growing up together he watched her go from a timid shy girl to a confident badass woman.

He holds her in high regard, never backing down from a fight. Her smartass mouth keeps him on edge, she always finds a way to keep him in his toes. Sure he dropped his flirty comments here and there and so did she. But Dean would never do anything to mess their friendship up.

He cherishes their friendship too much to allow himself to let his little crush ruin that. Even if he doesn't accept his feelings for her. Growing up together he protected her the way he did for Sam.

Feeling a sense of responsibility for her. He missed her this past year. He doesn't regret calling her to come on the search for their father, he feels bad never called before even though he wanted to.

She wanted her space to grow and he respected that, unlike her father.

Sam is talking Deans ear off about some place their dad should be after analyzing the coordinates he left in the journal for them. He realizes his brother isn't paying attention to him, looking over to see Dean staring at Y/N riding next to the Impala.

He smirks at this, knowing his brother has had a bit of a crush on Y/N for a couple years now. Y/N has liked Dean basically her whole life but would never admit it to Sam. To protect their friendship but he doesn't mind. They're good for each other. Too damn stubborn to admit it though.

"You're still crushing on her" Sam teases his brother, this sentence snaps Dean out of his daydreaming and his head spins to his younger brother. "The hell are you talking about? I do not have a crush on Y/N dude. She's like my little sister" Dean scoffs denying the fact.

Sam chuckles shaking his head. Stubborn ass.

"Yeah, sure" Sam says ironically, changing the subject, he tells Dean that their Dad went to Blackwater Ridge Colorado.

"How far?" Dean asks. "About 600 miles" Sam tells him, flashing the light on the map. "If we shag ass we could make it by morning" Dean says looking at Sam and back to Y/N next to baby.

Sam looks at his brother awkwardly. "Dean, um...." Dean turns away disappointed, staring at the road. "You're not going" He says turning back to Sam. "The interview is in like 10 hours. I gotta be there" Sam tries to reason with his brother.

Dean nods sadly, "Yeah. Yeah whatever. I'll take to home." He says and Sam turns the light off. Dean makes a turn to lead onto the highway.

Outside, Y/N notices this turn and follows them, she assumes they're dropping Sam back to Stanford. It saddens her to know she might not see her greatest friend for a long time but she knows it's for the best. It's what he deserves.

They arrive in front of Sam's apartment. Y/N parks her bike infront on the Impala and turns her engine off. She takes off her helmet and hops off her bike at the same time Sam is getting out of Deans car.

Taking her time to walk towards the brothers she hears Sam say, while he's leaning down to face Dean in the window after he closes the passenger door. "Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?" Sam half promises. "Yeah all right" Dean nods, not convinced and Sam taps the door twice.

Dean starts his engine while Sam turns to Y/N. "Sam? Y/N?" He calls out for his brother and best friend. They turn to him. "You know we made a hell of a team back there." Y/N nods sadly "Yeah" he responds. Turning back to Y/N, he smiles at his longest friend sadly.

"Don't give me that look boy, you better lawyer it up when I call your ass from jail to bail me out" Y/N attempts to ease the situation by joking. Sam chuckles and pulls her into a hug. Wrapping his arms around her shoulder, she wraps hers around his waist.

Quickly wiping the tear that's been threatening to fall from her eyes so they don't see. He ruffles her hair for what he thinks is the last time and says "Hang in there kid". She scoffs lightly punching his shoulder.

"You're only a couple months older, now go before I kick your ass" she pretends to chase him while he walks to his apartment. Y/N sighs sadly, turning to the Impala and jumping in the passenger seat. She sees Dean isn't facing her, his eyes on the driver side window and that could only mean one thing.

Placing her hand on his shoulder she says, "He'll be okay Dean". He turns to her, his face stained in a couple tears. Her heart breaks seeing this "Come here" she ushers him to hug her, he leans into her chest. Allowing a couple more tears to fall from his eyes to her chest.

She comforts him as he always did her, reassuring him that Sam will be alright. That his little brother loves him. That she will always be there for him. Stroking his hair, she feels butterflies fill her stomach now realizing their position. She tells herself now is not the time or place.

Ignoring it but she can't help but feel something is wrong. Like if something is going to happen. It's been bugging her all day. Dean starts chuckling a little at her words earlier to Sam.

"Don't give me that look boy, you better lawyer it up when I call your ass from jail to bail me out"

Even in a time like this, Y/N is the only person who could put a smile on his face. "What're you laughing at" Y/N asks, chuckling with him, confused how he went from crying to laughing. Before he could tell her, they hear Sam scream "NO!!" Pain in his voice.

They snap out of it, bolting out of Deans car. They kick the door down to Sam's apartment. A blast of heat gushes out through the door "Sam!" Dean yells for his brother. Y/N smells smoke.

'Oh no. This is it. This is the bad thing that was going to happen'. Y/N thinks to herself. "JESS!!" Sam screams in agony, Dean and Y/N rush to Sam's room.

Upon running in they see Jess pinned to the ceiling, engulfed in flames. No fucking way.

"Sam! Sam!" Y/N and Dean yell. "NO!! NO!!" Sam screams still on the bed, blocking himself from the flames.

"We gotta get out of here!" Dean screams, he and y/n pull Sam off the bed. Hauling him out of the room. "JESS!! JESS!! NO!!" Sam screams in shock. They make it out of the apartment in time before the blast takes over the whole building.

________________________________

Hours have passed since Jess' death. Dean is looking at the burning building being sprayed by the firefighters. His mind flashing back to that unfaithful night when his mother was killed. His heart grieves for Sam knowing that pain is now twice as hard on his little brother, who he fought so hard to protect.

Sam spent the first hour crying into Dean and Y/N's arms. Currently at the trunk of the Impala, he's loading his rifle, a grim look on his face while tears still fall from his eyes.

Y/N's heart pains seeing her best friend like this. Leaning against Baby's boot, taking a drag from her cigarette in this stressful time. A habit she picked up from her father. Sam ushers her to pass it. She looks at him surprised. "You sure?" he just nods curtly.

He hands Y/N the rifle, as Dean approaches them, so she can finish loading it. Passing the almost burnt out bud to him, Sam takes a few pulls, letting the smoke out. Before finishing it, flicking it to the ground and crushing it with his boot.

Turning to face his elder brother. Y/N throws the gun into the trunk. "We've got work to do fellas" She says grimly and Sam shuts the trunk.

Authors Note

So this chapter was supposed to be uploaded since last night but right after I finished proofreading and editing. My dumbass accidentally deleted the entire chapter!

The tears that were shed. Holy Fuckk. That's a pain I never wanna go through again. And I've watched all 15 seasons of Supernatural😂

Anyways. I hope whoever is reading that enjoyed the first episode. I'll try my best to finish the next one by Thursday for the latest. I'm planning to do a lot with Y/N's character. I'm trying to avoid leaving plot holes but I'm kinda new to consistent writing so bare with me.

Update

I forgot to add in the fact that Sam and Deans mom grew up with Y/N's parents. I added into the prologue. Please forgive my lack of planning. Xoxo

[pupsmailbox]

COWBOY ID PACK

NAMES ⌇　abeline. adeline. alfred. anderson. annie. archer. arthur. ash. aspen. austin. automata. axel. barett. beau. beckett. belle. bennett. betty. billy. blaise. boone. bree. brooks. bryce. cade. caleb. callen. callie. calvin. carson. casey. cassidy. chance. chase. clayton. clementine. clint. clyde. cody. colby. cole. colt. colton. connor. coraline. county. cree. cyrus. dagger. dakota. dallas. dalton. damon. darby. darla. delta. denver. dove. east. easton. edgar. eliza. elliot. ellis. emmett. emmylou. everett. everly. fallon. fang. farmer. fletcher. flint. flynn. fritz. gage. georgia. georgina. grant. graves. hank. harrison. harvey. hattie. hawk. hayes. heidi. holster. hudson. hunter. ida. jace. jack. jackie. jackson. james. jed. jesse. jessie. john. jolene. josh. joshua. jude. knox. leroy. lewis. loretta. lucille. luke. luther. lyle. maple. marshall. mason. maverick. meadow. millie. misty. myra. nash. nell. nina. oakley. oscar. otis. owen. pace. pamela. penelope. phoenix. pierce. pollyanna. prairie. quinn. ray. reed. reid. rhett. rhys. riley. river. rochelle. rory. roscoe. rosie. rudy. ryder. rye. sadie. savannah. sawyer. scarlett. sedona. selena. shep. shepherd. sienna. sierra. silas. skye. spanner. sparky. sterling. stevie. stormy sullivan. sundance. tallulah. tate. tess. todd. tucker. twila twyla. verily. wade. walker. walt. walter. waylon. wayne. weston. wilde. will. willa. willow. winona. wren. wyatt. zachariah. zane. zeke. zinnia.

PRONOUNS ⌇　ace/ace. aim/aim. badge/badge. bandana/bandana. barrel/barrel. boot/boot. boy/boy. brash/brash. buck/buck. bull/bullet. cattle/cattle. clad/clad. clash/clash. colt/colt. cow/boy. cow/cow. cowboy/cowboy. cy/cyborg. denim/denim. dirt/dirt. dive/dive. drive/drive. fang/fang. farmer/farmer. fence/fence. fire/fire. foal/foal. gold/golden. gra/grass. gun/gun. hat/hat. herd/herd. hill/hill. hit/hit. hold/holdem. holdem/holdem. hoof/hoof. horse/horse. iron/iron. jack/jack. jump/jump. kick/kick. lasso/lasso. law/law. lawful/lawful. lone/lone. mech/mecha. metal/metal. mount/mountain. mustang/mustang. noon/noon. officer/officer. out/out. outlaw/outlaw. poker/poker. protect/protect. pry/pry. punch/punch. punish/punish. ranch/ranch. ranger/ranger. rev/rev. rev/revolver. rev/rev. revolvers/revolver. river/river. ro/ro. robo/robo. rug/rugged. run/run. rust/rust. ry/ry. save/save. sharp/sharp. sheriff/sheriff. shoot/shoot. shot/shot. shot/shotgun. shout/shout. spark/spark. spur/spur. star/star. steed/steed. steel/steel. sun/sun. thief/thief. tumble/tumble. weed/weed. wheat/wheat. wood/wood. yee/haw. yeehaw/yeehaw.

[im-poltergeist]

Towers and Thorns

tags: bodyguard!Ghost x royal!reader, older Ghost, first fic, might be crappy idk, multiple parts, might be nsfw down the line, english is not my first language so feel free to correct me. 🌻

Part 1 🌻 Part 2 🌻 Part 3

Your heels click against the polished stone floor with every step that you take. Heavy thuds from boots coming closer behind you.

“I was just wondering when you’d join me”, you say to the man behind you.

“Had to have a laugh at your poor time management skills”, Ghost replies, falling in to step with you.

“Hilarious.” You roll your eyes.

“Always am, your highness.”

Ghost opens the door to the grand dining hall with his head bowed to you. You walk in, a polite smile with teeth. To make it seen genuine. Or something. The wall opposite you has portraits of previous rulers. Ranging from the one before your mother to one from as early as the 18 hundreds. All in neat but extravagant golden frames. In front of the wall there is a long wooden table. Decorated cleanly with a white table cloth, flowers in pink and lilac and lit candles. At the tale sits your mother. A crown decorates her head. You bow your head to her and make your way towards the table around the edge of the room. If you’d look out the windows you’d see the flowerbeds in the garden. Full of red, white and pink roses. The afternoon sunlight casting the room in a warm yellow glow.

On your mothers left side sits the president, and on her right your father. There is an empty seat next to him. Your seat. You hurry towards the chair. Shooting your mother a quick apology as you pass by behind her. You sit down and smooth out your dress. Your father gives you a stern look.

“Sorry”, you mouth to him. He nods back. Apology accepted. You exhale. You look around at the other two tables. One to your left and the other to your right. The table to your right is designated to the families that are close to the crown. There’s the Callahans, the Makarovs and Marshall and his parents, ew. At the table to your right is, oh god no. Your cousins are sat smirking in your direction. Well, four out of five. You eldest cousin, Grace, keeps her head down. Gaze on the plate in front of her. She’s in a light pink dress that she thinks hides her already growing baby bump, it does nothing of the sort. A shadow passes behind her. No, not a shadow. A balaclava clad man who somehow blends in like a chameleon into the dim light of the dining hall. He’s a ghost alright.

“How kind of you to join us, your highness”, The president addresses. Earning him amused chuckles from various people in the room. Your eyes dart to him.

“I do sincerely apologize. I’m afraid that my poor time management skills have struck again”, you answer. Causing many people in the room to laugh. Including a snicker from behind you. The corners of your mouth twitch upward. The president chuckles. The tension in the room eases. The conversations start flowing and you let out a breath. Your mother and father are swept in to a conversation with the president. Theres a joke about tea. Something about a wall. You don't pay attention.

Your eyes wander around the room again. They sweep past your cousins towards the door. Next to the door stands Gaz, or Kyle, which is his real name. His dark skin and neatly trimmed hair fits in like a piece of a puzzle with the rest of the room. Elegant but with the touch of don't mess with me Im a bodyguard. Next to him on the other hand is a man who does the exact opposite. The mohawk on his head standing out like an eyesore. His slightly rugged look may be appealing to some woman. But in this context it stands out like a drop of blood on cotton. Even though thats the case he is far from ugly. Wait a minute. Isn't that? Yes its is. It is the bodyguard that Grace is rumored to have a relationship with. Why on earth is he here? We don't need the scandal to take fire once again. It has barley burned out.

You pry your eyes away from the man. Looking towards the table on your right instead. The Callahans are talking with the Makarovs about something you can't hear. Marshalls parents are listening in to the conversation. But Marshall himself is staring at you. Shooting you a cocky grin as your eyes meet his. You look away in disgust.

The first corse is served. It is some kind of soup with tiny vegetable squares floating around below the drizzle of oil. It tastes alright. It's nothing special. Apparently it's supposed to warm up the stomach before the main course. What nonsense. There are so many better options to serve as an appetizer. Especially when the President is visiting.

The main corse plays out the same way. Some kind of meat, grayish and dry. The royal family cant eat raw meat in case of food poisoning. You do it anyway. The chefs rules are much looser when the palace is empty of guests. The president keeps talking with your family. He goes on and on about something that you cant be bothered to listen to. Until your name is mentioned that is.

"What", you ask. Suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Would you consider yourself a republican or a liberal", the president asks you. The strained smile on his face tells you that it was the second time he asked.

"Im not allowed to vote, nor am i allowed to take a stand in politics", you answer. The answer had been drilled in to your very bones. You cant express yourself politically. Especially not right now.

"Come on. This is just a friendly conversation between two acquaintances. Theres no need to follow such formalities." He pushes. You clench your fist under the table. Why cant he just drop it. Your father tenses beside you as you open your mouth to speak.

"Like I said, I will not speak on the matter", you reply. A polite but stern answer. Your father relaxes again. The president laughs and says something about rule following and you stop listening again.

When dessert rolls around you would like to be anywhere but in the dining hall. Your cousins have had too much to drink. Probably something stronger than alcohol as well by the way they constantly disappear in to the bathroom and talk so loud that you can hear almost every word that they are saying. When you have finished your desert you politely excuse yourself to get some fresh air and hurry out of the dining hall.

When you get into the corridor outside of the big door you take a deep breath. It finally feels like you can get enough oxygen. You walk towards the garden. Fresh evening air cant hurt. The roses should be blooming. A hand grips your wrist and tugs.

taglist: @panikk-attackkk

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 20

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, canon-typical violence and peril

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Note: Following along with the canon timeline, this chapter overlaps heavily with the events of the season 2 episode "Chapter 15: The Believer." You will notice borrowed dialogue and synced plot points.

---

“I did an initial scan of the planet.”

In the dim light of the navigation room, Boba Fett swiped through the holographic display hovering above the console. With his helmet tucked militantly under his arm, the pale blue image cast shadows along this rugged face. You watched as the holoprojector shifted from a three-dimensional rendering of the planet Morak to show the harsh, duracrete exterior of a mining facility constructed right along the edge of a massive waterfall. Pointing at the structure, he rasped, “This is what you’re talking about, right?”

The full crew compliment of the Firespray hovered around the console, each of you feeling a bit more sober, a bit more serious than you had in days as the reality of what you were about to do began to set in.

You were going to invade a remnant Imperial base. With a team of six.

“Yeah, that’s the refinery right there,” Mayfeld confirmed with a nod.

Fennec shifted on her feet, her expression grave as she examined the holo-rendering. “Wonder what they’re refining in there?”

“Looks like rhydonium.” Boba frowned. “Highly volatile and explosive.”

The inmate scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, as usual unable to remain somber for very long. “Yeah, kinda like this one, huh?” he snickered, nodding in Cara’s direction.

You swore you could hear your eyes roll at his tasteless joke, but otherwise, the comment was met with silence. Both Boba and the marshal hit him with withering stares, while Fennec and Din appeared committed to pretending like they hadn’t heard him. Mayfeld grimaced then shrugged at you, as if to say, “Well, you can’t win them all.”

“They have anti-aircraft cannons protecting it,” Boba said, pointing out the armaments stationed on the roof of the facility.

Fennec nodded. “And a full platoon of security forces.”

Your stomach tightened, and you swallowed thickly against a wave of unease.

Okay, correction, you thought. You were going to invade a remnant Imperial base with a full compliment of troops and a robust defense system. With a team of six.

While tension seemed to be high among everyone else in the room, Din appeared…shockingly calm. Not at ease, exactly, but rather focused, centered, determined. He seemed more himself to you in that moment than he had in weeks, since that disastrous day on Tython, as though finally having a goal in front of him – something to do – had brought him a sense of purpose that he had been lacking. Something about that stillness, that confidence calmed you, eased the way for your breath in your chest. There was no one in the galaxy you trusted more than him. If he felt good about your chances, then so did you.

“So, we go in quiet,” he said simply, steadily. “Let’s go get a closer look.”

---

Boba set the Firespray down a handful of kilometers away from the refinery, nestling the ship in a snug little clearing on a rainforest-covered hillside, and after a short trek to the top of that hill, the group of you set up a stake-out of sorts, using the height and remoteness of your vantage point to observe the mining operations. It wasn’t long before you determined that the refinery was supplied with shipments of rhydonium from the mines to the south, and the shipments were delivered at regular intervals using long, segmented vehicles that from this distance looked more like caterpillars than mining transports. Each segment featured two massive, chain-covered tires, which had worn a well-defined path through the rainforest, digging deep grooves in the rich soil through overuse. The surrounding forest had clearly been decimated to make way for these makeshift roads, and dead trees and shredded vegetation lined the edges. The unnaturalness of the sight set your teeth on edge.

Once it became clear how the rhydonium made its way into the refinery, a plan began to form. You would need to disable one of these mining transports while it was out of sight of anyone tracking its progress, and two people from your group would need to replace the troopers inside. Thankfully, there was a tunnel nearby where the road cut straight through a steep hillside, so that part of the operation should be fairly simple to achieve.

What was not quite so simple, however, was determining exactly who would be replacing the transport’s two-person crew.

At first, it was Mayfeld and Cara, but then Cara was nixed because of her alliance with the New Republic. Her genetic signature was on their register, and apparently these sorts of facilities were equipped with security technology that would sense it and trip the alarm. When Fennec was proposed as an alternative, she confessed that she was wanted by the Imperial Security Bureau and would, therefore, trip the security net, as well.

Boba, of course, was a no-go, as well, as his face and his voice were so well-known that his true identity would immediately be detected, regardless of his genetic signature. And you? Well. No one even mentioned the possibility of you accompanying Mayfeld into the refinery.

You supposed it was just as well – your marksmanship was still spotty at best, and a few weeks of hand-to-hand combat lessons did not a competent fighter make, so if things went south, you truly would be a liability more than a support. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a bit sore over the whole thing, not at your friends but at yourself.

It had never been more apparent that you were cut from a different cloth than these people, that the things that made up your body and your mind were not the same as the things that formed them. You had told Din that for him, you would be a warrior, and you still meant it, but every once in a while, something would happen that would remind you of just how far you had to go to get there, and the realization would ache like a wound inside your ribcage.

As the bickering and debating rose in volume around you, Din’s voice cut through the noise with an authority that would not be ignored.

“I’ll go.”

The group fell silent, and you felt your jaw drop open, your brows rising to meet your hairline. There was no way – Din couldn’t –

Mayfeld seemed to be thinking the same thing as you. “Hey, buddy, I might be good at fast-talking, but I don’t think I can explain away a guy in a Mando suit to Imperial guards,” he scoffed dismissively. “So unless you’re gonna take off that helmet, it’s gonna be me goin’ in alone. Or say good-bye to your little green friend.”

Your gaze jumped to the bounty hunter, studying the breadth of his pauldrons against the lush landscape. He carried himself like someone who had already made up his mind, and the weight of that decision was already pressing on him, weighing him down.

“You’re not going alone,” he refuted. “I’m coming with you. But I won’t be showing my face. The transport crew wear helmets – I can see them.” He tapped the side of his own helmet with his forefinger, pointing to his opaque black visor. “They look like Storm Trooper helmets. No one will be able to see my face through one of those.”

His assertion hung in the air for a moment, and you glanced around at your companions, taking in their expressions. Fennec and Boba appeared as stoic as ever, but while Cara looked concerned, her dark brows drawn inward and her mouth turned down, Mayfeld could only be described as flabbergasted.

“You gotta be kidding me. You wanna take off your precious armor…and put on a Trooper get-up instead?”

“‘Want’ might be too strong a word. But it doesn’t seem like we have much of a choice.”

From there, the conversation became about logistics – how Din and Mayfeld would board the transport, how they would take out the existing crew, what they would do with their bodies, and so on, a conversation which was primarily spearheaded by Cara. While she walked the group through the rest of the plan, Din closed the distance between the two of you, wrapped his hand around your elbow, and led you gently away from the crowd.

After you were some distance away, he ducked his head down to your level and murmured, “I’m going to ask you to stay on the ship with Fett, cyare.”

You offered him a lukewarm smile in return. “I know. It’s okay, I was going to suggest that anyway.” Breaking his gaze, you found yourself staring down at his cuirass, tracing the edges of the gem-like beskar segment that rested directly over his breastbone with your eyes. “I don’t want to be a liability to the mission.”

The hand around your elbow contracted. “I don’t see you that way.”

“I know you don’t, but the last thing I want is for my being there to…be a distraction for you or put you in more danger than necessary. And Fennec and the marshal are more than capable of handling the long-range support on their own.” Fennec was, you knew, a renowned sniper, and with Cara’s almost absurdly large, heavy-repeating blaster rifle, the distance was sure to be no issue for her. Your novice skills with your small hand blaster were laughable in comparison. “I’ll just…read through my notes on Gideon’s light cruiser some more. Maybe by the time you guys get back, I’ll have some more solid ideas about how to make boarding and disarming it easier.”

At that, the bounty hunter dragged his hand from your elbow up to your face, cupping your head in his wide palm, tilting your chin up so you could meet his eyes once more.

“We won’t be long,” he promised. The warm, worn pad of his thumb traced over the apple of your cheek, and you brought both of your hands up to wrap around his wrist. The cool, ridged beskar of his vambrace bit into the calloused skin of your fingers as you anchored him to you, loathe to let him go.

“Din.” His name was a whisper on your breath, both a testament to your overwhelm and a prayer for privacy, a hope that no one would hear the intimacy of this moment and the use of his true name here, out in the open. “Be safe. Please.”

Something like a laugh, weak and gravelly, filtered through his helmet. “I’ll do my best, gotabor’ika.”

You might have said more, might have declared more, but before you could open your mouth again, Mayfeld’s sharp, acerbic voice cut through the softness of the moment like a hot knife.

“Hey. Lovebirds.” You glanced over at him with a frown, finding him standing a few feet away, staring at the two of you with his arms crossed over his thick chest. “C’mon, we gotta get a move on if we want to make it in on one of today’s transports.”

You felt your stomach drop at the reminder, and your fingers dug into Din’s beskar of their own accord, a silent protest at having to let him go knowing what a risk this was, what dangers awaited him inside the refinery.

But Din did not hesitate. Instead, he nodded curtly in Mayfeld’s direction, leaned down, and pressed the forehead of his helmet delicately against yours.

The familiar, loving gesture soothed your nerves, and you allowed your hands to release him finally as he drew back, bringing himself back up to full height once more.

In the distance, Mayfeld made a dramatic noise of disappointment. “What, no headbutt good-bye for me, sweetheart?”

The irreverence startled a laugh out of you, and you shook your head incredulously. “You be careful, too, Migs.”

“Careful? Me?” The inmate winked at you flirtatiously, bright blue eyes twinkling in the sun. “Never.”

---

As the only ones returning to the ship, you and Boba were the first to break away from the group. The short walk back down the hill was a silent affair, the former bounty hunter on high alert as he scanned the vegetation with vigilant eyes, and you were quite content to keep it that way. You found yourself far too tied up in knots over this infiltration plan to be very good company. Thankfully, he had never struck you as much of a conversationalist.

Of course, this wasn’t your first experience with overly stoic, taciturn men. It wasn’t even your first experience with overly stoic, taciturn men in full beskar, so you took comfort in knowing that his silence likely had nothing to do with you and everything to do with his own disposition. On any other day, those glaring similarities to your early days with Din on the Razor Crest might have sparked your curiosity, might have encouraged you to push against the edges of that comfortable silence in an attempt to get to know him better. But today? Today you were festering with entirely too much anxiety to try to get chummy with the older man.

When Boba excused himself to the cockpit, eager to get back behind the helm in case he was needed, you didn’t protest. Instead, you settled into one of the small handful of jump seats in the navigation room, drawing your datapad from your pocket and attempting to make good on your promise to Din – that you would spend this time refining the plan for boarding and subduing Moff Gideon’s light cruiser. However, it wasn’t long before you were back on your feet again, unable to keep still as thoughts of Din and Mayfeld and that looming Imperial base swirled in your mind.

You lost track of time then, the echo of your boots against the durasteel flooring dissolving into the background as your feet carrying you steadily from one end of the room to the other. It was hardly a conscious decision, but somehow the movement was soothing.

“I can hear you wearing a hole in my decking in there, little one.”

You seized immediately mid-stride, your gaze snapping to the open door into the cockpit where Boba lay on his back in the pilot’s chair, staring up at the controls and the viewport facing the sky. He couldn’t see you from where he was, but apparently, that didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention to you. A flush blazed up the back of your neck as you stammered, “Oh. Ah – sorry, I’ll…cut it out.”

You heard him shift in his seat, as though he was angling himself to look back at you, but before he could say anything in return, a high-pitched alarm sounded from the console before him. You could see the flashing red light from where you stood, its glaring reflection bouncing off of the metal of the open doorframe.

“Blast…” he grumbled, and you could hear the rapid pressing of buttons and flipping of switches.

Your years of expertise had your ears perked up as you almost instinctually started trying to identify the problem, to pick out the pitch and the frequency of the alarm and try to match it with any of the standard alarm codes you were familiar with. “Everything okay in there?”

“Fine. One of the drive engines’ coolant lines is leaking again.”

“Again?” Your brows rose in apprehension as you came to hover outside the cockpit door. “Is this…a regular occurrence?”

A low, frustrated sigh crackled through Boba’s helmet vocoder as he fussed with the still-protesting console. “Recently, yes. She’s been doing this ever since I got her out of dry dock.”

Ah. That would explain it. Kuat drive engines were known for their longevity, but even they had their limits. “How long was she in storage?” you asked, your worries about Din and Mayfeld and the Imperials feeling further away as that old, familiar drive to solve the puzzle, to fix what was broken came to the surface once again.

He was silent for a moment, seemingly needing to add up the time in his head on the spot. “‘Bout five years, give or take.”

Not terrible, you thought. “And how long before that were the lines replaced?”

Boba twisted around in his chair at that, looking at you over his shoulder with something that you interpreted as incredulity. With the frankly odd design of the Firespray, this had him looking down at you while you stared up at him from the navigation room floor, the sight giving you a bit of vertigo as your neck craned upward.

“Not sure,” he admitted after a beat.

The offer was out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “You want me to take a look at them for you?”

His reply was quick and gruff, though not unkind. “I do my own repairs.”

Damn. You shrugged, tamping down the immediate swell of disappointment. “Suit yourself.”

This was a unique ship, entirely one of a kind after all of the custom modifications Boba had made to it over the years. The desire to get your hands on her hardware and untangle the web of original Kuat parts and aftermarket mods had been lingering at the back of your mind since you first stepped foot on the Firespray, and a part of you mourned that you might never get the opportunity to sink your teeth into that puzzle. Even so, a lot of pilots were particular about their ships. You couldn’t find it in yourself to fault him for not wanting someone that he hardly knew mucking around in his mechanicals.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, “So what, every time this happens you’ve just been diverting everything from the busted line to a different one?”

Another series of button presses and switch flips in the cockpit, and the alarm fell silent. Boba released a sigh of relief, sagging back against his chair. “Until I can pick up replacement parts? Yes.”

“This ship has…what? Three F-31 drive engines?”

Glancing back over at you once again, this time the older man appeared impressed rather than dubious. “Yes, that’s right.”

“You know each of them requires a minimum of four functioning coolant lines or else you risk overheating and burning them out. Right?”

The angle of his helmet as he stared down at you told you all you needed to know about what he thought about your question. His voice low and gravelly, he replied simply, “Yes.”

You shrugged again, feigning nonchalance as you leaned against the bulkhead underneath the cockpit door. “‘Kay. Just making sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Just what do you suggest?” Boba’s patience appeared to be wearing thin, as he had gone from gruff to growling almost in the blink of an eye, but something about it didn’t feel as intimidating with him hanging perpendicular in the cockpit like that.

“Don’t wait until you can replace the entire line. Instead of rerouting everything every time one of them blows, patch it,” you said bluntly. “I know it’s a pain in the ass, but in my experience, it’s worth it. It’ll put less stress on your engines and let you run for longer in between maintenance stops.”

“Hm.” His response came across as more of a grunt than an actual word.

You could feel a hopeful little smile starting to pull at your lips. “What do you think? We’ve got, what? About 30 minutes before they’re ready for us?”

“More or less.”

“I can patch three of them in that time. I’ll do the rest for you at our next stop.”

Boba cocked his helmet at you in a gesture so reminiscent of Din that it almost had your heart stuttering in your chest. “Awfully cocky, aren’t you, little one?”

That flush from earlier returned in full force. This man was trouble. Shaking your head and praying that you looked more composed than you felt, you replied, “I like to think of it as confident.”

A warm, rasping chuckle filtered through his modulator. “Fine. Maintenance access tunnel is – ”

“At the base of the nav console, I know.” A thrill of victory coursing through you, you did not bother saying goodbye or asking any more questions. The moment you had his blessing, you were off like a shot, rounding the navigation console and hauling up the panel of decking just in front of it. You dropped into the dark, dusty crawlspace without a thought, and for the first time since the Razor Crest went up in flames, you felt a sense of rightness settle over your bones.

There was nothing quite like the bowels of a starship to make you feel at home.

---

As you had guessed from what little you knew of the Firespray’s original design, the vast majority of the ship’s mechanicals could be found in the wide, flat oval dish that made up approximately two-thirds of the ship’s body. Also as you had guessed, most of the ship’s original parts, at some point or another,  had been either heavily modified or gutted and replaced entirely, leaving the inside of the dish a disorganized hodgepodge of panels, wires, and tubing.

Well, perhaps “hodgepodge” wasn’t giving Boba enough credit. All of the work you encountered as you shimmied your way through the access tunnel had been neatly and meticulously done by someone who clearly knew this vessel inside and out – cables were deftly tied together and bracketed to the bulkheads, there wasn’t a single tube hanging dangerously across your path, and everything looked relatively clean, like it had been well sealed against the elements - though you admittedly struggled to make heads or tails of where he had installed each of the many aftermarket parts. For example, you were certain that the central life support systems were not designed to be housed right on top of one of the power generators, leaving them vulnerable if the generator were to surge. You supposed, over time, he had simply started making things fit wherever he could, whether it made the most parsimonious design sense or not.

Once you scurried your way through the crawlspace far enough to reach the drive engines, it took you a moment to locate each of their associated coolant lines, but once you did, the repairs proceeded smoothly from there. It was blatantly obvious which ones had worn through, and you found yourself feeling relieved that you had suggested this solution when you did. The largest of the three engines – the oblong one situated above the two round boosters – was down to a mere two functioning coolant lines. You prioritized the repair of that one first, patching where the aged, brittle tubing had split along its seaming.

Time melted away as you worked, the dim light that filtered through the deck plating strangely soothing, and just as you were crawling back toward the access hatch, the sharp snap of Fennec’s voice sounded in the far distance.

“We’re on,” she said over the cockpit’s commlink. You could hear blaster fire in the background, the sound making the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Start your run.”

Boba’s response was quick and decisive. “On our way.” A beat of silence, and then, “Time’s up! Get away from the engines!”

A bolt of adrenaline shot through you, and you doubled your speed back through the crawlspace. A few seconds later, you hauled yourself up and out, sliding the deck panel back in place over the gaping hole in the floor. “It’s done!” you shouted up to the cockpit, no time to get to the comms panel. “Get us in the air!”

Beneath your feet, you felt the rumble and the hum of the drive engines engaging, and all around you, your surroundings began to shift. As Boba took the Firespray from laying flat on its back between the rainforest mountains to standing upright in midair, the navigation room remained stationary, the cockpit rotated to the space directly above you, and the wide transparisteel viewport dropped from the ceiling to the forward wall. Unlike when you had first come aboard, the sight didn’t make you dizzy or nauseous anymore. Instead, it simply filled you with awe, and you watched with wide eyes as the tops of the trees around you began to streak past at incredible speeds as Boba took off for the refinery.

Even in-atmosphere, the Firespray proved to be an almost laughably fast vessel. She cut through the humid air like a hot knife through butter, skimming and arcing around the mountainous terrain with an agility that even much smaller ships would be envious of, and with some deft piloting, it seemed to take less than a minute for the refinery to appear beneath the viewport. What you saw there, however, chilled whatever thrill of pride you might have felt as the speed of your rescue.

Two figures dressed in all black plastoid armor – one wearing a helmet, one very conspicuously not – had just heaved themselves up onto the refinery’s roof from a precarious ladder mounted to the side of the duracrete building. In pursuit, you counted no less than eight different Imperial combatants, all of whom had blaster rifles trained on the figures in black. Streaks of bright red blaster fire shot across the space between them, more than you could count, and you watched as the two retreating figures broke into a frantic run.

Heart in your throat, you darted over to the nav console and slammed your hand down on the internal comms panel. “We can’t land on that roof, Boba, there’s too many people!”

“Not planning on it, little one.”

More blaster fire erupted across the rooftop below, but the Firespray paid it no need. Swinging around to the front of the refinery, Boba guided the ship up and over the building. Glued mere inches from the surface of the viewport, you were transfixed as the pursuing Imperials began to drop in quick succession, picked off one by one by long-range fire that you knew had to be coming from Fennec and Cara up on the ridge. Still, the figures in black ran, and as you drew closer, it confirmed what you had already suspected – it was Din and Mayfeld, as yet unharmed, sprinting across the roof as fast as they could manage. Relief shuddered through you, breath catching in your chest, and on instinct, you reached for the viewport, pressing your palm flat against the cool transparisteel. They were alive, and they were going to make it out.

Your hand had no sooner touched the viewport that it began to rotate upward again. Jumping back from the edge of the navigation room platform, the ship spun around you once more to return to a horizontal position. The exit ramp began to drop open, wind whipping through the yawning door, and you gaped in the direction of the cockpit as you realized what Boba had done.

He had backed the Firespray up to the edge of the rooftop, leaving the ramp open for Mayfeld and your Mandalorian to jump into the ship.

You were at the top of the ramp in an instant, heedless of the flying blaster rounds that pinged off the surface of the hull and skittered across your path. The two of them were approaching the edge now, running at top speed, and for a brief moment, you locked eyes with Din through the visor of the unfamiliar Imperial helmet.

“Jump!” you cried, your voice swallowed by the wind, by the roar of the Firespray’s engines, by the shrieks of blaster fire.

With all the force he could muster, Din flung himself off the edge of the roof and landed with buckling knees on the open ramp. He managed to keep his footing, glancing back over his shoulder to Mayfeld, and then the inmate was right behind him. Launching off of the rooftop with a shout, Migs crossed the gap between the refinery and the ship in a hapless bound, landing hard on his knees with a distressed shout.

“We’ve got them! Get us out of here!”

Boba was quick to comply with your frantic shout, immediately drawing the Firespray away from the conflict. You lurched forward with the sudden change in speed, staggering out onto the ramp and wrapping your hand around Din’s bicep to steady yourself. Together, the two of you drew a breathless Mayfeld to his feet, but even as he regained his balance, the frantic, wide-eyed expression on his face remained.

“You okay?” you asked, gripping his armored shoulder firmly to get his attention. His gaze snapped to yours, and then he was scanning your surroundings, as though looking for something.

“Hand me that cycler rifle,” he said urgently, pointing off to the side of the ramp door where Boba’s thin, long-barreled slugthrower sat propped against the bulkhead. Din nodded once, obeying the request immediately, and passed the weapon into Migs’s hands.

With a steady, centering breath, the inmate raised the weapon to his shoulder, settled his cheek on the stock, and stared down the scope. One quick, even pull of the trigger, and on the surface of the roof, a mining transport vehicle erupted in a ball of fire.

That one explosion triggered another, then another, then another – several successive shipments of rhydonium all detonating at once, and before you knew it, the entire refinery had been engulfed in flames.

You and Din made quick eye contact with each other over Mayfeld’s shoulder, both of you sensing the significance of what he had just done, but then the moment was over, and the bald man was dropping the weapon and leaning it back against the wall where you had found it.

“We all need to sleep at night,” he said simply. In an unexpected gesture of camaraderie, Din clapped him on the back once as he ushered all of you deeper into the ship.

The ramp closed behind you, and all at once, the fact that both of these men had infiltrated an enemy base and come back to you alive washed over you. You were on Din in an instant, throwing both of your arms around his shoulders and dragging him down to your level. You pressed your forehead to the grimy plastoid surface of his unfamiliar helmet, missing the cool smoothness of the beskar, but the warmth of his hands on your hips felt the same as they always had. Cupping the sides of his neck, you ran your thumbs across the high neckline of his stolen Imperial uniform, feeling just the barest scrap of hot, smooth skin on the very tips of your fingers.

“Din,” you murmured, soft and close, and you heard him release a sigh of relief, the tension melting from his shoulders like ice under the summer sun as he wrapped himself around you.

“Cyare.”

From somewhere off to the side, Mayfeld made an exaggerated, disgusted sound. “When are you two gonna go back to bein’ mad at each other, huh? Fuckin’ hell.”

You grinned, something akin to fondness swelling in your chest at the familiarity of his sharp, ribbing tone. Pulling away from the Mandalorian, you swept Migs into his own hug, squeezing his broad frame tight against you. This startled a laugh out of him, and he patted your back in a placating gesture. “Yeah, yeah. Take it easy, sweetheart, I’m not tryin’ to have my ass kicked by your boy over there.”

You released him, giving his breastplate a good-natured shove. You had so many questions – had they been hurt at all, had they been able to obtain the coordinates they had been after, what had led to the shootout you had witnessed on the roof, what was with Mayfeld’s sudden decision to blow up the entire refinery? They all stood poised on the tip of your tongue, desperate to all spill over at once, but before you could even begin to untangle what you might want to ask first, Boba’s rasping voice echoed through the internal comm system.

“We got company,” he barked. “Hang on!”

The Firespray banked suddenly, sharply to the left, as though dodging something, and all three of you went flying as the floor lurched beneath you. You staggered backward, the deck rising up to meet you as you landed hard on your ass, Din grunted as his knees slammed into the floor right beside you, and Mayfeld yelped a curse as he swayed like a drunken man. The disruption lasted for a few moments, but as the ship evened out, the artificial gravity kicked in, giving you a sense of stability. You risked a glance out the front viewport then, a spike of fear shooting down your spine at the realization that you must have been pursued in your retreat.

It was as you had feared – sailing past the body of the Firespray were multiple, intermittent bursts of neon green laser canon fire. None had connected yet, but the fact remained that your escape from the refinery had not been quite as clean as you might have hoped. Someone was intent on not letting you get away.

Thankfully, it appeared that Boba had prepared for this. Beneath your feet, you felt a series of mechanisms engage, and somewhere far away, the groan of metal on metal sounded, like a door opening with great effort. A moment later, the whole ship rocked around you, and plumes of smoke bloomed from where behind the Firespray. Wisps of it floated up toward the viewport where you could see it, and you knew then that whatever had been chasing you, Boba had destroyed it.

---

“Well, looks like it’s back to the scrap heap.”

Mayfeld seemed resigned as you descended the ramp at his side, the Firespray having now landed at the rendezvous point where you were set to pick up Cara and Fennec. Din trailed behind, back in his beskar and looking much more like himself, and you exchanged a glance over your shoulder with him. You hated the idea of having to take Migs back to the penal world you had retrieved him from, and something told you that the Mandalorian might be feeling similarly. You weren’t certain what had transpired during their infiltration of the refinery, but whatever it was, it had seemingly shattered the tension between the two men, leaving them both behaving much less antagonistically toward each other after coming out on the other side.

You wished that the two of you had had an opportunity to be alone so you could ask him about it, but as it was, all you could really do was accompany him as he escorted the inmate back to Cara Dune’s side. As the New Republic marshal who had remanded him from prison, she would be the one to return him to custody.

As though summoned by your thoughts of her, Cara broke the treeline then, Fennec at her heels, both of them armed to the teeth with their long-range blaster rifles. You watched as her gaze landed on the three of you, her sharp features twisted into a smirk. Fennec simply nodded at you in acknowledgement and retreated into the ship.

“Thank you for helping,” Din said, entirely earnest when just a handful of days ago, such a sentiment would have been disingenuous. Mayfeld looked a bit bashful at the sincerity, and he shifted on his feet a bit in discomfort as he nodded.

“Yeah. Uh…good luck getting your kid back.” Turning to face Cara, the inmate grimaced and extended both hands toward her, wrists pressed tightly together in an imitation of binder cuffs. “All right, Officer. Take me back.”

You expected the marshal to produce a set of cuffs from her utility belt at that, but instead, she quietly studied the stubbly man before her, taking the measure of him as though suddenly seeing him through brand-new eyes.

“That was some nice shooting back there,” she quipped after a moment of tense silence.

“Oh, you saw that?” Mayfeld appeared almost embarrassed by the compliment, scratching the back of his neck as he squirmed under Cara’s intense gaze. “Yeah, that, uh, wasn’t part of the plan. Just…getting some stuff off my chest.”

The dark-haired woman nodded slowly, weighing his response, and then she turned to Din. Addressing him directly – and as though you and Mayfeld weren’t there at all – she said, “You know, it’s too bad Mayfeld didn’t make it out alive back there.”

Your jaw dropped, your gaze snapping from Cara to Din to Mayfeld and then back again, mind reeling at Cara’s words. Was she going to –

Din seemed to catch on before you did. It took no time at all for him to reply, “Yeah. Too bad.” Exaggerated. Like he was playacting, and poorly.

Migs seemed just as taken aback as you were. “What are you talkin’ about?” he snapped, his shoulders suddenly tense at the shift in the conversation.

The marshal, however, did not break eye contact with the bounty hunter and proceeded as though she hadn’t heard him. “Looked to me like Prisoner 34667 died in the refinery explosion on Morak.”

You huffed out a startled, breathless laugh as a wave of relief surged through you. Hand shooting out to grip the sleeve of his shirt, you whirled Mayfeld around to face you. “Go,” you whispered. You kept your voice down, as though trying to be discrete, trying not to draw the attention of either Din or Cara even though you knew they were right there, knew they could hear you just fine. “They’re letting you go!”

“Does that – does that mean I can go?” Migs asked aloud, his eyes still on the two figures in armor. “Huh? ‘Cause I will.”

Breaking character for a brief second, the Mandalorian wordlessly jerked his head to the side, indicating the forest path that Cara and Fennec had just emerged from. The inmate chuckled at that, finally glancing back at you with a relieved, disbelieving grin.

“All right. Okay.”

You squeezed his arm tightly, beaming back at him. Maker, this sweet, horrible, infuriating, pain-in-the-ass of a man. You had only had him in your life for a handful of days, and yet you felt as though you had been altered by his friendship. You had given you purpose, made you laugh, made you feel wanted when you had been so low, and you felt like a lighter, freer version of yourself now for having known him. And he had been willing to set aside his differences with Din to help you find Grogu, something neither of you would never be able to repay him for.

Migs Mayfeld was an asshole, but it turned out that he was also a good man.

Throwing caution to the wind, you yanked him toward you for a hurried hug, hoping the embrace conveyed all of the fondness and the well-wishes you sent along with him, and then you gave him a playful shove in the direction of the path. If he was going to go, it had to be now.

Mayfeld seemed to agree. He let you push him away, and then he was retreating down the path, arms out in front of him in a placating gesture that you knew was unnecessary now. Casting his gaze around to all three of you one last time, he sent you one final grin, a mock salute, and a half bow, and then he disappeared into the treeline.

You released a held breath then turned to Cara. Gripping her armored shoulder tightly, you breathed, “Thank you.”

A small smile quirking the corners of her lips, she inclined her head at you in acknowledgement but said nothing. Instead, she directed her next question at Din. “You get the coordinates on Moff Gideon?”

“We did,” he replied.

“What’s our next move?”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, wondering the same thing. The bounty hunter shifted his weight on his feet as he considered his response. After a beat, he said, “I have someone else whose help we can use. Someone who might want Gideon dead even more than I do.”

Cara and you exchanged dubious looks, and you thought that both of you must be wondering just who would want the moff dead more than Din.

The marshal shrugged then, arching an eyebrow in Din’s direction. “Okay then. Color me intrigued.”

You supposed if you were planning to take on a whole Imperial light cruiser on your own, with just your small group, you could use all the help you could get, but there was something in the hesitance of the Mandalorian’s response that had you questioning just what you would be getting yourselves into by inviting this person to join your party. However, your trust in him had never failed you before, so you set aside your misgivings and nodded. Whatever he needed to bring your boy back, you were going to help him get it. No matter what.

[runekirikjartan]

Mandokarla Aran AU: Fox Lore

… if you wanted me dead, you should've just said, nothing makes me feel more alive...

Fox steps off the laati onto Coruscant's duracrete and durasteel jungle covered surface with his hands clasped behind his back. Waiting for him is not the jetii, but Senate guards and the Chancellor of the Republic himself, Sheev Palpatine, Fox's direct superior on Triple Zero. He didn't realize that their posting didn't give them a jetii, but he supposed it didn't really matter.

They were there for Coruscant, to protect the Heart of the Republic.

Fox could do that without a jedi.

He glances briefly over his shoulder at the rest of the troopers streaming off the laati until his men have come to a stop behind him, standing at attention until the Chancellor instructs them otherwise.

"Commander." The Chancellor greets him, a smile with not so many teeth and eyes that make the hairs on the back of Fox's neck prickle and stand like they do when something feels off and wrong.

'Marshal Commander' Fox thinks in correction. His rank is his pride.

He begins to talk and explain that the senate guard will escort them to their barracks and then the Coruscant Guard headquarters. He asks about how many men will be stationed on Coruscant with a glance to the men standing behind Fox.

Fox explains that the rest of his men will join them within the week.

The Chancellor's face is impassive, but there's a tightness in the smile that Fox doesn't like, doesn't trust.

He chalks it down to being on an unknown planet and in an unknown area, where he hasn't sufficiently examined all entry and exit points. Where he hasn't been able to place his men at weak points in the security of the landing platform.

They start walking.

-

…is it a wonder I broke? Let's hear one more joke, then we could all just laugh until I cry...

Fox pushes his hair from his forehead. The strands are getting lighter, greys turning white at the end, even if the crown of his head stays pitch black. Carver went through a few holo-articles that described the condition in which hair began to turn white,. Thorn wanted to chalk it down to Force osik. Fox blames it entirely on the fact that they were woefully underprepared to take on and manage the security of an entire planet with only the measly hundred and twenty thousand of them in the Guard.

If he had his way there would be double the number of men.

But he's not in charge, not really. His acquisition forms need to be signed off by the Chancellor for the most part, but Fox has signed enough of his paperwork that he knows the man's signature almost as well as his own. So instead he forges signatures to get his men extra stims, he and engineering hollow out a wall behind the maintenance tunnels to hoard their supplies.

Then the decommissioning order comes.

It's the first of many (not that Fox knows that). One of Fox's corporals was on a solo patrol within the Senate. He's a good vod, a corporal that was with them since the beginning of the Guard's deployment. When Fox gets to him, he's shaking, helmet off and abandoned as two other Guard are between him and a senator who has flown into a vicious and cruel rage.

And when it escalated up the chain of command, Fox was expecting support, something good that he could tell his men only to be met with the startling and uncomfortable realization that not even his superior officer saw him and his vod as human. That even the Chancellor didn’t think that the Guard, with their beating hearts and blood that stained the duracrete beneath their feet were people.

"An accusation like that is hard to shake."

"Surely this can be dealt with internally, sir." He tries to protest, hoping that he can just sweep System under the rug of other nameless faces and hope that the senator hadn’t gotten his designation. 

"They need to learn Commander.”

'Marshal Commander' Fox corrects if that would actually make a difference.

It doesn't.

-

..."Who's afraid of little old me?"...

Fox dreams in colour. He dreams in oranges and reds and brass and browns. He dreams of his vode with shining halos and weapons that grow brightly in their hands. Their eyes are nothing but light. When they speak, their voices come out as one.

"The stars will guide you Commander."

"Marshal Commander." Fox corrects out loud this time, finally speaking the words often lodged in his throat.

The vode in front of him chuckles in unison, a voice much deeper than their own, much louder than their own. Their eyes grow brighter, blinding in their nature and Fox is forced to turn away from the intensity, covering his eyes. When he looks back, they’re gone, and in their place stands a warrior.

It has to be a warrior.

Beskar’gam covers their limbs, painted brass and gold. Their helmet almost resembles a mask of sorts, the familiar style of a t-shaped visor accented by three bands across the warrior’s chin. The top of the helmet isn’t exactly humanoid, possibly accounting for a species differential. Fox doesn’t flinch at the sight of them, but it is a near thing when they step closer to him.

“Who are you?” He asks, hand drifting down to his holster, fingers closing around air as they snort.

“The Ka’ra was right about you.” The being says, clearly Mandalorian in origin now that it has spoken Mando’a. Fox doesn’t know why he’s dreaming of Mandalorians. 

“Pardon my language but what the kark does that mean?” 

“You, Marshal Commander Fox.” The being starts, and for some reason he sounds smug in a way that makes Fox wary. “Are worthy. The Ka’ra deems you perfect for carrying on our ways.”

Fox tilts his head to the side. He eyes the figure warily.

“Now tell me what that actually means, in basic.” 

-

Fox stares into the mirror of the fresher, his armour stacked neatly on the counter by the sink. He grips the edge of the counter and stares at his own reflection, only slightly mourning the loss of his hair. There, on the sides of his skull, shining a layer of second skin are the words to ‘vode an’ etched into his skin, one side of his head devoted to each verse. Carver hadn’t questioned his request to dig out his tattoo machine, nor did he question things when Fox began to mutter in a language almost as old as Coruscant itself.

Carver did, however, almost drop the tattoo needle entirely when the ink laid into Fox’s skin began to glow as bright as the further star in an empty night sky. 

Coruscant’s history speaks to him, almost as loudly as Kad Ha’rangir, all while the deity stands over his shoulder and watches him through the reflection of the mirror.

“Where do I start?” He asks as his eyes settle on Kad Ha’rangir’s visor.

“The children who are willing.” Kad Ha’rangir tilts their head to the side. “The ones who have already made up their minds.” 

“They’re mine, the ka’ra cannot have them.” Fox hisses.

“For your boon, you must, they have already decided.” Kad Ha’rangir steps closer. Their hand on Fox’s shoulder burns, warmth sinks through Fox’s blacks and feels as though it brands through skin, muscle, deep into his bones..

His gaze flicks back from Kad ha’rangir to himself in the mirror. His eyes shine golden, overtaking the brown that he shares with his brothers, whiting out the rest of him that seems human.

...You should be...

[starikune]

Tag Dump Part 3.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

i really am consistently doubling or tripling the word count of anything i scrapped in favor of loose leaf additions, huh

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Farmer's Daughter 13

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You finish your tea in tenuous silence. With an agreement between you, there isn't much left to say. You really don't know what to say or do. All the implications pile on you as your mind races.

A wife? A good wife. What does a good wife do?

Support her husband. Love him. Show him affection...

That last thought tingles in your cheeks. You peek over at Walter as you hug your empty mug in your hands. What does he expect of you? Not just in your marriage but tonight? You haven't wed just yet.

He meets your eyes, brushing his hand over his curls. He slides forward on the cushion as your shoulders slope down. He still looks angry.

"Done?" He asks, not waiting for your answer before he stands.

"Yeah, I... I am, thank you."

He approaches and takes the mug from you. He goes into the kitchen without another word. You peer over at the windows, rain still battering the panes. You sniff and stand with a shiver as you search around, your clothes still showing damp patches.

"The truck..." you mutter.

"What about he truck?" Walt frightens you and you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around yourself. He stops to shut off the space heater.

"It's down the road. I couldn't get it all the way here..."

"We'll worry about that tomorrow," he grits.

"Right... tomorrow?"

He blinks, "you can stay. It's safer."

He nears and offers his hand. You stare at it, it seems so big. You slowly unfold your arms and put your hand in his. He squeezes, firm but not unkind.

"Are you tired?" His tone softens.

"A little," you feel a yawn trying to break free and put your chin down.

He leads you around the couch and back into the entryway. He ushers you towards the stairs as the cold air creeps up your legs. You climb up beside him, crowded on the staircase.

"Well, we'll get you tucked in then and we'll figure everything else out tomorrow," he affirms.

"Yeah, sounds good," you wilt out.

We. Not I, not you. We. Together.

He hums and says nothing else. He takes you down the hallway to a room at the end. He flips the light switch. There's a four-post bed on a brown rug with a green quilt is draped atop the layers of bedding. A desk stands in the corner, cluttered and full. Several sweaters hang from the back of the chair, much like the soft wool he wears no.

He leads you to the bed and throws back the blankets. He tugs you towards the edge and lets you go. You climb up and wiggle your cold toes. Before you can reach for the covers, he tosses them over you.

Wordless, he backs away. He rolls his broad shoulders as he turns his back to you and nears the long dresser against the wall, a basket on top of it heaped with clothes. He pulls his sweater over his head, further mussing his curls. As he reveals his thickly muscled back, you look away.

You guess you never thought much about how he looked. You always just saw him as strong and big, but you never delved that deep. Your eyes trail over as he undoes his jeans and steps out of those. He dumps them into the basket of laundry and leans on the dresser as he peels off his socks.

He turns to you, in a pair of boxers, and you shyly flick your eyes to the ceiling and lay back against the pillows. The image of the hair across his burly chest has your insides brewing. He's older than you but can't be that old.

He goes to shut off the light and you sense his shadow in the darkness, lurking closer and closer. You nearly gasp as his weigh shifts the bed and cool air seeps under the covers as he slides beneath them. You're nearly shaking with uncertainty.

You're going to sleep in the same bed. That's not unusual... technically, you're engaged so it's expected. He lowers himself down beside you and you squeak as he grabs you. He pulls you towards him, guiding an arm beneath you as he angles you onto your side.

You let him. Maybe you want this or maybe you're terrified. Either way, you can't deny him. You have a deal.

He curls his other arm around your middle as you lay flush to him, your short figure nestled against his large one. His chest rises and falls calmly against your back as your own heart hammers frantically. You close your eyes, folding your arm around his as you rest your small hand on his thick fingers.

He's as hot as a furnace. His body heat quickly chases away the lingering cold in your flesh. It soothes you in a way you don't expect. You feel safe despite your vibrating nerves.

"Good night, lamb," he kisses the crown of your head.

His deep voice rolls through you, a new sort of chill flowing down your body.

"Night, Walt," you murmur.

He lets out a noise, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and you feel the tension slake away from his body. It might not be so bad. He can be nice so long as you go along.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 27

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 26 🟣 Part 28

A reverse harem vampire AU ft. Mikey, Marshall, August and Sherlock

Series summary: Somehow, you've managed to live with your boyfriend and his roommates for months before finding out they're vampires, but the real shock first comes when they find out you have a special quality. A quality the guys would love to make use of...

Warnings: Fluff, ongoing vampire shenanigans, angst, lore, some more angst. And something called Disgruntled Teenageer Syndrome.

Word count: 3k

A/N: I know I've been teasing y'all with some beautiful warnings on a very lovely chapter involving a ver feral Marshall and a very suddenly present August... Well... This ain't it! (It's the next one, so please put your pitchforks down :c )

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @mis-lil-red

@sillyrabbit81 @livisss @itsrubberbisquit @ktficworld @proud-aroace-beastie

@plaidcat4815 @wa-ni @lovemusicpart2 @lizzystuffsthings @manysecrets2020

@sarcasmoverlordxo

“August?” Your footsteps echoed through the hallway, which looked suspiciously empty and rug-less, unlike the rest of the house — however much or little you’d seen of it, anyway.

“Yes, princess? Why are you—” He probably finished that sentence, but you couldn’t hear, because you’d bumped into something, and your phone was now lying on the floor with a massive crack in the screen. When you looked around to find the cause of your phone’s untimely demise, you were suddenly faced with none other than Charles Brandon.

“Terribly sorry,” he muttered. A suspiciously cold hand landed on your shoulder with slightly too much force. “Priya just called to let me know she’s feeling a lot better. She’ll be back later this week, so this won’t happen again. Were you… calling August?”

You nodded — an answer that clearly confused Charles. “Why? He’s home.”

“I can’t find anyone in this damn house. Where am I, even?”

“About as far away from August as the house allows,” he said with a slight chuckle to his voice. “The others are closer.” You barely spotted him casting a quick glance over your shoulder, and before you could turn around, he tightened his grip on your shoulder, preventing you from moving. “Tell me who’s behind you.”

“Do you think I have eyes in the back of my head or something?” You rolled your eyes at Charles, wishing you could somehow wipe the annoyed expression off his face.

“You don’t need your eyes,” he said on a sigh. And here you were, thinking Mike was the impatient one… “You’re connected to them on a level you can’t even comprehend. You can sense them.”

You glared at Charles. If you could sense them, you would, right? The fact that you didn’t was quite the indication that you couldn’t.

He reached for your cheek, gently trailing an icy knuckle along your cheekbone. “Poor thing,” he murmured. Was he closer to you? Were his eyes bluer? His smile kinder? “They’ve not taught you half of what you can do. I—” The chill left behind by his fingers lingered, but Charles had disappeared.

“I hope for his sake that August didn’t see that,” Marshall muttered behind you. “Are you alright?”

“What just happened?” you asked as you turned around, only to find Marshall a lot closer to you than expected.

“You’ll have to talk to Charles. I doubt he’s entirely sure of what happened… Sherlock should kn—”

“Sherlock already knows.” Another body appeared behind you — Sherlock, of course. “I’m afraid he’s locked himself away for too long…” Something about the tone in which he spoke spread the lingering cold throughout your body, allowed it to seep into your bones.

“Don’t worry about it right now, love,” Marshall said as he wrapped his arms around you. It didn’t help much. Don’t worry about it? Right. You’d worry as you damn well pleased, thank you very much! “We might focus on that point he made, first. It was a good one.”

Before you knew it, you were in the living room — a living room? How many of those did this place even have?

“Two. Not including the one in Charles’ suite,” Marshall helpfully provided, and before you could even think of saying something, he added: “We’re all well aware this house is absolutely ridiculous.”

“Alright, alright…” Mike excitedly flapped his hands at no one in particular. “Why did you drag her here?”

“I’m assuming it’s because she keeps getting lost?” August asked.

“Yes,” you admitted. “And Charles scared me into dropping my phone, which is now dead, so I can’t call you anymore, and…”

“I finally get to buy you a new phone?” He’d been begging you to let him replace your phone for months now, but you’d always refused him. You were not about to enable his tech-buying mania. Besides, your phone had always worked fine. Alright! It had been falling apart at the seams, but it worked, so it was fine. That excuse was gone now.

“More importantly,” Marshall said, eyeing Mike in a ‘calm down’ kind of way, “we were just more or less accused of keeping her in the dark on her own abilities. And rightfully so.”

You watched them discuss your conversation with Charles for a moment, not entirely sure what was going on, but the idea seemed to be that your connection to the guys should allow you to sense their presence without having to be near them, and it was something that needed some training. Training you would be receiving right now.

“And how would that work?” you finally asked, fighting back a smile when the guys looked at you with guilt in their eyes. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

The guys stayed quiet for a while, until… “We’re not doing that, August.”

“I didn’t…” He looked at you with suspicion in his eyes. He didn’t what?

“Looks like August’s thoughts aren’t safe from you anymore, either,” Marshall chuckled, smiling wider as he looked at the increasingly confused look on August’s face. “We recently found out she has an aptitude for my gift.”

Safe to say, August wasn’t amused by this revelation.

“So, since blindfolds are out,” Marshall continued the previous conversation, leaving an unintelligibly grumbling August to his sulking. “Sherlock? Any ideas?”

“Naturally,” he replied dryly. “But I’m afraid depriving you of sight will most definitely be part of the first exercise, darling.”

And that’s how you ended up on a chair in the living room with a blindfold, while the guys took turns standing in front of you, making you tell them who it was. You got it wrong a depressing number of times, if you did say so yourself.

“Sweetcheeks, listen,” Mike’s hands appeared on your shoulders. Wait. Those weren’t Mike’s…

“This is trippy, guys,” you said, trying to yank your blindfold off, but Marshall’s hands were — of course — faster than yours.

“What is?” Mike asked again. The sound came from the right place… Were you wrong? No.

“Marshall touching me while you are talking. It’s strange, okay?” For lack of a better term, because this whole thing had been strange from the beginning, to say the least.

“Okay, so you know it’s him because you know what it feels like when he touches you,” Mike said with a little too much of a suggestive edge to his voice. He continued, and his voice moved away from you, until he was standing in front of you. “You know what it feels like when he’s near you, too. You’ve just never paid attention to it.”

“I don’t know how!” you cried out in frustration. “What am I supposed to feel?”

“Do you remember our conversation about coven bonds?” August chimed in. You nodded. “Great. You’re bound to us in the same way we are to each other.”

“Interesting, but ultimately unhelpful,” you sighed.

“I didn’t want to bring this up,” Mike said carefully. “But when August divorced us, so to speak… You must have felt that, right?”

You nodded again, wincing involuntarily at the unpleasant memory. The feeling that something snapped. The sharp pain… No! This had to end, you couldn’t go through that again, you…

“Keep going, Sweetcheeks,” Mike encouraged you in a strained voice. Was this hurting him as much as it was hurting you? “You’re almost there, I know you can feel it.”

“God knows he does,” August said, confirming your suspicions and sounding a little too happy about the situation. “He’s right, though, you’ve almost got it.”

“You said the ties weren’t tangible,” you complained, gritting your teeth in a desperate attempt to fight back tears.

“It would depend on your definition of ‘tangible’, princess,” August sighed. “Get on with it. The sooner you get this, the sooner it stops being uncomfortable.”

And just as you thought you couldn’t handle the pain of that horrible memory for a single second longer, something changed. August was right — though you’d think twice to tell him that. ‘Tangible’ wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t necessarily the wrong word, either.

“It’s complicated,” Marshall said softly. When did you stop wishing he’d stay out of your head?

Sherlock ordered Mike to move around the living room. He didn’t make a sound — of course he didn’t. Vampire. — but you didn’t lose track of his whereabouts even a single time. “This is still weird.”

“Can’t be weirder than all the other things,” Mike said as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tight. “That was great!”

“But it’s just you.” You pouted at him, and then looked at the others. “I still don’t have a clue about the others.”

“Figuring that out won’t be easier,” Sherlock explained, “but it will entail far fewer risks.”

“What risks?” you demanded, ripping off the blindfold — this time without anyone trying to stop you.

“I may or may not have risked breaking our bond to help you find it,” Mike said, shrugging. Was he just shrugging this off? Motherf—

“You’ll be the death of me,” you said, glaring up at him and his dumb, apologetic smile. “How?”

“Remembering that feeling tugs on those strings,” Mike explained. “It’s uncomfortable, but it allowed you to find it. There was a small chance of you going too deep and…”

“I would have lost you?”

“You’ve repaired your connection before,” August noted. “There’s a very decent chance you could have done that again.”

“I don’t want to do that again, because it sucked,” you snapped, eyeing Mike angrily.

“Water under the bridge, love,” Marshall said, smoothing his hands over your arms. “Now, all you need to do is find where Mike is attached, and look for the rest of us.”

On special occasions such as this one, you missed the way your life had been before apparently attaching yourself to a bunch of vampires.

“You don’t mean that,” Marshall said with a smile.

No. You did not. But this was still weird.

Weird or not, you did what Marshall told you to do, and you were pleased to find that it was indeed not painful this time around. Only significantly more difficult. “I can’t… get a hold of it.”

“You don’t have to, princess,” August sighed. “You just need to feel it.”

“I mean I lose it before I can figure out where it goes,” you snapped back. It probably didn’t help that they were crowding you. Everything felt tangled in a way you couldn’t put into words. “Can you take a step back? Maybe two, even.”

They immediately did as you asked, and the task didn’t necessarily get any easier, but it sure as hell wasn’t as confusing. “I think I’ve figured August and Marshall out, but Sherlock… I’m so sorry.” Why did this bring you to tears? Seriously. Why were you crying?

“That’s okay, darling,” he said gently. “My age is making this more difficult. It’s not you.”

“You should try this with Melot,” Mike added. “I still have trouble finding him sometimes, because—”

“Mike, later.” August snapped. “This is complicated enough without another history lesson, or biology lesson, or any other kind of lesson.”

He was right: this was difficult, and exhausting, and now that you were starting to get the hang of it, you wanted to get in some more practice before you got really tired, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite grasp the tether that connected you to Sherlock.

“It will be easier once you’re more comfortable seeking out the others,” Sherlock promised, but it didn’t bring you much comfort at all.

“And his gift doesn’t help, either,” Mike said slightly too enthusiastically. “It’s annoying, the way he kinda pops in and out of existence. It can make it really tough to keep track of him, and—”

“Mike!” August cut through his monologue. “That’s unhelpful, and you’re rambling. She’ll get there when she gets there. I have stuff to do.” No one ever asked August what kind of stuff. You were fairly sure you didn’t necessarily want to know.

Marshall and Sherlock excused themselves as well, and you were left standing around in the living room with just Mikey, who looked at you with a devious glint in his eyes. The kind you knew all too well, and adored more than anything in the world. “Wanna play a game of hide and seek with me?”

Was that a silly suggestion? Sure. Childish, in a way? Absolutely. Did it sound unbelievably fun? Definitely yes. He must have picked up on your enthusiasm, because before you could answer, he was gone, leaving you in the living room all by yourself. Or so you thought.

“What are you waiting for?” Leon was standing right behind you, his lips right next to your ear. “It’s not like you could ever catch up with him.”

“When did you get here?”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he said, with a devious hint of amusement to his smooth voice. “The lingering tension between you and Marshall is too good to stay away from.”

“So, we won’t be rid of you for a while, then?” you said, faking impatience and disappointment. For some reason, you didn’t mind him lurking around the house.

“I’d like to point out that I live here, too,” he said sharply. “It’s… It used to be tough for me to feed here. A problem that appears to have been solved by your arrival. If you’ll allow me, that is.”

“Allow you to do what, exactly?” Why was it so impossible to get rid of that lump in your throat?

“Napoleon, that’s quite enough.” Charles. “You’re venturing into dangerous territory, as you well know. Though I suspect that only makes the situation all the more enticing to you.” He shook his head, seemingly disappointed.

“Forgive me, father,” Leon said, a devious smirk forming on his face. And then, he was gone.

“Stay away from him,” Charles said on a deep, annoyed sigh.

“Like you stay away from me?” you countered, putting your hands on your hips and conjuring every bit of defiance you could find.

“Yes.”

“I’m trying. He just…”

“Shows up?” Charles asked, quirking an eyebrow. “He does that, yes.”

“So do you,” you huffed. You barely even knew this man, and he was pissing you off thoroughly.

“My apologies.” He sounded sincere. Then again, what the hell did you know? “I’m not quite used to having a guest I attempt to avoid.”

“Then don’t?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice. I promise it has nothing to do with you, personally.” Well, that wasn’t reassuring at all. You glared at him, but before you could say anything, he was gone.

With a great deal of effort, you pushed your frustrations with both Leon and Charles aside, and concentrated on your connection with Mike. It was faint, but definitely still there. You had no idea how long you were standing there, but with every passing second, the feeling became clearer — and by the time you opened your eyes, the feeling had become so strong you could almost see it. Now, all you had to do, was follow it.

Mike would make for a nice reward for your efforts.

With every step, the pull became stronger, and it was extremely difficult to go in the wrong direction, as long as you stayed focused on finding Mikey, and your feet almost moved of their own accord. You knew where he was. You knew where to go.

There he was. Behind this door. As soon as you opened it, familiar hands grabbed you and dragged you into the room — although ‘room’ was a bit of an overstatement — and you were pushed against the door as soon as it fell shut behind you.

“You found me,” Mike whispered. His tone was playful, as was the way he playfully bit your earlobe, and then your neck. You prevented his descent between your boobs by pulling his face up to yours.

“Is this a broom closet, Mikey?”

“Yes.” He focused his attention on your neck again. “I couldn’t hide in my room, like… that would have been too obvious! Besides… This is fun.”

You knew that if you tried to deny that, you’d ultimately be unsuccessful, so you didn’t bother. Instead, you pulled Mike’s face to yours and kissed him.

As per usual, he didn’t waste time, slipping his tongue into your mouth with his signature impatience as he lifted you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. Pinned between his body and the door, you spent your time trying not to giggle at his unparalleled enthusiasm. Until the door was gone.

You expected to fall backwards, but Mike held you up — thank God, because you didn’t exactly feel like getting a concussion today. Or any day, for that matter.

“I need a broom.” You recognized Melot’s voice — not that the accent wouldn’t have been a dead giveaway if you hadn’t. To your dismay, Mike put you back on your feet and pulled you into the hallway. “And can you guys get a fucking room, maybe?”

“What’s his problem?” you asked when Melot disappeared as suddenly as he’d shown up.

“Disgruntled teenager syndrome,” August chuckled. You’d stopped wondering where they came from. Vampire fast, vampire here. Simple. “He’s a little lost, now that his role as patriarch of the family has been passed on to Sherlock.”

“He never had much of a childhood, did he?” you wondered out loud.

“Did you hear him when he said he’d been married for nearly six years before he was turned into a vampire at age nineteen?” August asked, showing some of that signature derisive tone he’d always used with you before you entered into your agreement with the guys. You nodded. Of course you’d heard that. “Did you, by any chance, do the math?”

Honestly, you’d been a little preoccupied with the heaps of information that had been flung your way at the time, so no, you hadn’t. But now that August mentioned it… He’d been…

“Fourteen,” August whispered. “He got married when he was fourteen.”

You considered the implications of that for a moment. “Are there therapists for that?”

Both Mike and August laughed at that comment, but you didn’t think it was particularly funny. He’d been married at fourteen. Regardless of whether or not that had been normal at the time, it sure as hell wasn’t now, and…

“There are,” August answered. “And he’ll come around. He’s just looking for his place right now and that’s not an easy thing to figure out.”

[s0lar-ch3ri]

looking at character stuff for later art

first off, how did so many people forget caspians not a triton? im so confused by that????

next thing, if you want a good marshal john reference and google had none (for me it did not at least), take my screenshot from ep 101, 3:45 for timestamp:

also why does john have that arm covering thing im hoping he didnt lose his arm and its a fun sleeve but ik im wrong WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BOY

nobody fucking told me there was this epic visual animation for the girls fighting!

OH ASTER I LOVE WOMEN

THE LIP PIERCING?? HELLO???? JESUS I SEE WHY AVA LOVED HER OH MY ASTER i dont mean to have so much on lizzie BUT LIZZIE OH GODDESSES EVEN WHEN GOING THROUGH YOUR TRAUMA AGAIN YOUR SO FUCKINY HOT AND SEXY

...i see why lizzie loved ava

OK BUT FR THE FIRE HAIR??? JESUS SHES LIKE SO PRETTY WOW (also the comparison to jason is a nice touch)

i cant stop im so sorry she is so fine

alright this one is just for me to say WOMEN HOT IM GAY but i must say women hot im gay

its kinda interesting to me how different these two look, honestly! like, when i first saw jay on the animatic type thing, i thought how clean she looks, while lizzie is more rugged and shit, cool design details i noticed lol

okay ollie time! when looking up shit for ollie, i checked the fan wiki, and apparently while ollie had the compass he experienced nightmares of some unknown sort. chip met with niklaus in a dream, and he was the first to get a nightmare arc. i wonder....yes this is a kuba kenta and niklaus hendrix made a deal type shit

the belt is not a fucking belt it looks like a corset i cant make this shit up

LOOK AT IT

also i love how he still has the feather i think thats very sweet

oh and also the bandana for some reason looks ever so dirty to me yet fine at the same time

WAIT IGNEOUS IS LIKE RAINBOW??? THATS SICK AF

LOOK ALSO HOLY SHIT THAT SWORD FUCKING HUGE AND ITS THAT COLOR YOU WANNA TOUCH BUT CANT YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN

anyways if you join me next time we will be taking a deep undersea level dive to find out if people noticed caspian had a tattoo or if you guys are sluts for his boobs

[sparklepocalypse]

Happy Wednesday, and thank you thank you to @eusuntgratie, @orchidscript, @duchessdepolignaca03, @thesleepyskipper, and @onthewaytosomewhere for the tags today!

Today I have for you another snippet from chapter 1 of my @aroyallybigbangrwrb fic, Meet Me on the Other Side, in which bounty hunter Alex pursues runaway Prince Henry through 19th century South Texas.

Snippet and a few tags behind the jump! Open tag for the rest of you because it's pretty late and I never know who's actually participated in these things. (Content warning: mention of period and Alex's profession-typical knife violence.)

Madam Holleran is a petite woman about his age with a head of thick, curly hair and a shrewd glint in her eye. She takes better care of her whores than any brothel owner in a hundred miles, and they take care of her and one another. It’s a peculiar little family, and on a superficial level, it might seem like the only thing they all have in common is their ability to please a man, but Alex knows better. There’s love here; everyone here looks after what and who is theirs. “Take a load off,” she offers, gesturing at a chair opposite hers. “Thank you, ma’am,” Alex replies, setting his hat on a table nearby. “You know that makes me feel like a little old granny,” she chides, shaking her head. “You agreed you’d call me Nora in closed quarters.” Alex tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Never know who might be listening in with a glass to the door,” he says a little louder than strictly necessary. Right on cue, he hears a soft snicker and a scuffle of footsteps quickly retreating down the hall. “Now that Billie’s headed off, thank you, Nora.” He grins and fiddles with the end of his gun belt, running his thumb over the edge of the embossed leather. Nora takes a sip of something that might be tea or whiskey, but regardless, she’s poured it into a delicate-looking bone china cup. “How’d you know?” she asks, looking tickled. “Caught her last time,” Alex admits. “Told her I’d let it go once, but if she did it again, I’d make sure you cottoned on.” ”Well, consider me cottoned,” she chuckles. She gives him an assessing once-over and puts her hand on a sheet of paper that’s face-down on the table. “You all healed up from that last score? I won’t have you gallivanting off with a knife wound in your side.” “Not even a scab,” he confirms. He’d taken a hunting knife to the ribs from a fugitive he’d brought in to the federal marshals, but the stubborn cuss’d had bad aim, and the blade had glanced off bone instead of puncturing a lung. “Neat scar, though. Couple of your folks think it makes me look rugged.”   “You pay them to say that,” she says flatly. ”Who’s to say they asked for money?” Alex counters, waggling a brow.

And now for a random assortment of tags because again, it's late and I don't want to impose on people who are, y'know... sleeping. So @priincebutt, @cha-melodius, @kiwiana-writes, @whimsymanaged, @anincompletelist, @firenati0n, @ninzied, @anchoredarchangel, @nocoastposts, @inexplicablymine, and anyone else who sees this post, show me whatchoo got! You know, if you want.