#i might have turned to the darkside right then and there

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

I love Obi-Wan and I know it's not his fault

But if I were Anakin…I would NEVER forgive Obi-Wan for Shmi’s death

[imagine-darksiders]

Absolute Anarchy

A Darksiders/SCP Foundation crossover nobody asked for but is here regardless.

Summary: SCP-8103. Object class; undetermined. There's a new entity at the Foundation. Four D-Class have already been supplied with weapons and pitted against it, only to be cut down before they could get more than a couple of shots in. Eager to determine which calibre of rifle can pierce its armour, they send you in next - D-1935 - to accomplish what your predecessors couldn't. It's too bad they never taught you how to actually use the rifle...

This has the vague semblance of a plot btw, but I'm trying not to be too finicky, and just to write as it comes to me, so hopefully it'll still be easy enough to follow and enjoyable at the same time.

Tw: Blood, guns, death, imprisonment, threat, violence, trapped, typical SCP violence.

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If there was ever a moment where you should have felt the stars aligning to determine the path your life might take, it would have to be the moment you decided to steal that godforsaken sports car.

It was an instance born of desperation – a tantalising lure cast by the owner of a chop-shop who made heartfelt promises to lift you out of poverty, only to throw you under the proverbial bus when the heat ventured too close to his illicit operation.

He only wanted the money from that Ferrari.

You reduced yourself to grand theft auto for a chance to escape the homeless shelter and land on your feet.

And where did you land instead?

Behind bars, that’s where. Tossed into some dingy prison that seemed only built for the sole purpose of hiding away society’s miserable, forgotten dregs.

You thought you knew what rock bottom looked like.

How were you to know the depths this pitiless world could drag you down to?

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

A strident voice bellows a set of all-too familiar numbers at what must be the top of his already bursting lungs. The door to your cell is wrenched violently open, spilling light into a room that’s a damn sight smaller and bleaker than the one they pulled you from in St Ives.

Bureaucracy had been your ultimate enemy, in the end. A signature in the wrong place, a ‘t’ dotted where it should have been crossed, and an ‘i’ absent from your paperwork had all lead you to a place you couldn’t have imagined in your most turbulent nightmares. A place that shouldn’t - and so far as the public is aware - doesn’t exist.

The SCP Foundation.

Specifically, site 12; a rancorous offshoot of what you’ve come to learn through eavesdropping and rumour, is a worldwide operation.

It turns out the people in charge here couldn’t less of give a hoot whether you’re a petty thief or a renowned and unrepentant serial killer. If your name is on their list, they won’t bother to see a difference. You’re all Disposables, in the end, and no amount of pleas for your innocence or requests for an evaluation will get you any closer to that glorious taste of freedom.

You’ll serve your time or die trying. And as of yet, you haven’t heard of anyone who’s reached the end of their ‘sentence.’

The bed springs underneath you shriek with relief as you scramble up onto your feet, nearly tripping over the long hems of your jumpsuit.

Heart thundering like a jackhammer, you cower before the imposing shape silhouetted in your doorway, warily eyeing the M9 Beretta that’s being aimed directly at your forehead.

You’d hoped that by now the guards here would have learned that you’re not a threat. Hell, it didn’t take you long to figure out that anybody even vaguely considered a troublemaker in this place will earn themselves a one-way ticket to a fate that would make you beg for a bullet between the eyes.

That first week, you ended up trying to plead your case to the wrong scientist and wound up on the bi-weekly rota to clean SCP-173’s cell. Twice.

How you got out of there with your neck facing the right way is one of life’s greatest mysteries. If it hadn’t gone for your poor cellmate first…

“You listening, Scuzz!?” The handgun jerks to the left of your doorway. “Get your ass outta that cell!”

Ah... Mullins. One of the guards assigned to your particular block.

A meaner son of a bitch, you’ve never known. Rumour has it that the towering brute used to be a D-Class, like you, but through shows of force, an unflinching disregard for his fellow man, and an uncanny ability to survive, the Lab Coats bumped him up to guard status, if for no other reason than to keep the inmates in line.

You’re loathe to admit it, but he is damn good at his job.

Ducking your head, you scurry from your bed through the open door, pressing yourself as close to the frame as possible to squeeze past the Beretta that he keeps trained on your head. You don’t even have to look at him anymore to know that there’s a wide smirk on his face when he jabs the barrel at the back of your skull, shoving you into an awkward stumble down the hallway.

“Move. Got a new assignment for you today,” he goads, falling into step behind you, his thick, rubber boots thudding purposefully on the linoleum.

In contrast, your plimsoles make rather pathetic ‘slaps’ with each, hurried step you take.

You know the drill by now. Head down. Eyes front. Mouth shut.

You’ve walked this path to the lifts a hundred times before.

It's been weeks since you stopped asking him when you can go home.

‘When you’ve served your sentence,’ became ‘When we damn well feel like it,’ became ‘You still think you’re getting out of here?’

“SCP-Eight-One-Oh-Three~,” Mullins sing-songs at your back, entirely too cheerful all of a sudden, “This one just came in. The Lab coats don’t know nothin’ about it. And guess who’s the lucky little D-Scuzz who gets to ‘further the advancement of science?”

Although your body trembles like a leaf in a hurricane, you don’t make a sound, not even when the moisture in your eyes wells up into a fat, salty teardrop and breaks over the dam of your lash line, carving a damp path down your grubby cheek.

An unknown SCP?

Your odds of making it to the end of the day in one piece have just plummeted into the single digits, and you once again find yourself asking, 'why me?'

‘We’re doing this for the good of humanity,’ one doctor with a particularly punchable face had once announced to a room full of orange-clad prisoners, and you can still remember wondering when you and your fellow inmates stopped being a part of that same Humanity this Foundation seems to keen to protect.

The cold steel of a gun jabs you again in the base of your neck, pushing a quiet sound of protest from your lips that you hurriedly clamp down on, fists balling up at your sides.

“That’s right!” Mullins continues, “Damn, you gotta be feelin’ proud as a peacock, kid. Not every day someone gets to be the first to make contact. Hell, maybe you’ll get lucky, and it’ll be a Euclid.”

The row of lifts appears as you turn the next corner and come to a stop obediently in front of the closest one, head still hanging nearly to your chest as you wait for Mullins to reach past you and jam his thumb on the ‘down’ button.

“Wouldn’t bet on it though… That thing has Keter written all over it.”

With the damning chime of a bell, the heavy, metal doors slide open, and Mullins shoves you roughly into the claustrophobic space with one fist to your spine. Jesus, trapped in this finite space with him, the smell of cheap brand cigarettes wafts from his jacket and drifts up into your nose, sitting stale and musty on the back of your tongue.

The walls are dull in here, unreflective, which you nearly count as a blessing.

It means you don’t have to see the mess you’ve become.

----

It’s only when you’re standing outside the containment cell that you realise Mullins was either lying, or just plain wrong.

You aren’t the first D-Class to make contact with this SCP.

In fact, if the stiff-faced scientist shoving a rifle into your hands is to be believed, you’re precisely the fifth.

“That,” he begins with an aloof air of bored professionalism, watching impassively while you fumble to find purchase on the heavy gun, “Is the CZ-Five-Fifty. And today, you will be testing its armour-piercing capabilities.”

‘Armour?’ you think, swallowing thickly, ‘What the Hell kind of monster have they brought into this place?’

The cold circle of steel still pressed to your shoulder blade reminds you of Mullins’s unpleasant presence.

“No funny business,” he growls, “You couldn’t get the safety off before I put you down like a lame bitch.”

Charming.

You don’t fancy telling him you couldn’t get the safety off anyway. And that it... hadn't occurred to you to even try and turn it on him and the scientist, though it probably should have been the first thing you thought of.

The weapon sits like a dead weight in your hands, heavy and fundamentally useless. You don’t know how to fire a gun, let alone one this powerful.

But the scientist doesn’t seem to know that, lazily racking off the terms of your contract and your ‘obligation’ to the Foundation.

Yes, you imagine it would get tiresome having to rehash the same speech five times in a row… Perhaps he just assumes you know how to use it?

Bastard.

Wetting your lips, you peel them apart and croak out a question, wincing at the pathetic crack in your voice, dry and reedy from disuse. “What happened to the others?”

At that, the scientist’s lips purse, and an eyelid twitches then settles.

They all hate being interrupted. Especially by a D-Class.

At least the guards acknowledge your autonomy through rage and demeaning names and acts of violence.

To the Lab Coats, you’re just cannon-fodder. Nothing. Empty vessels for them to use as they see fit.

Even so, the one in front of you straightens up and peers down the length of his nose at you, sighing as though he were trying to explain the concept of algebra to a dog. “The D-Class personnel-“ he begins, and you have to bite your tongue to hold in a scoff. ‘Personnel’ is a funny way of pronouncing ‘Prisoners.’

“-who came before, all failed their assignments.”

Behind you, Mullins pipes up with a distinguishable sneer. “Emptied their whole clips into the thing before they got turned into Swiss cheese.”

Oh… God.

“Didn’t even make a dent,” he concludes, sounding not in the least bit sad to have wasted four lives.

“Yes, well-“ the scientist clears his throat, “The first step to knowing your enemy is knowing how to kill it. And the supplied Rugers proved… ahem… inefficient. But at least we now know the three-five-seven calibre isn’t strong enough. We’re hoping the point six hundred will be.”

 “Six hundred Overkill…” Mullins whistles appreciatively. “Elephant killers.”

Your stomach twists into a tight, clenching ball. You think you might be sick if there was anything to bring up except bile.

So, this is the SCP that finally kills you.

Shit.

In a whirlwind of sudden, dizzying movements and barked orders, you’re unceremoniously surrounded by three more guards who bodily ‘escort’ you into the loading dock – an empty room set in the midway of two descending doors that are made from several feet of a solid titanium alloy. The primary door slides open with a mechanical hiss, and you’re shoved roughly into the space between it and the secondary door.

On trembling knees, you gape up at the grey metal, noting with no small degree of alarm that it’s tall and wide enough to admit the shipping container of something titanic.

Above your head on the wall, an orange light pulses as the primary door slams shut behind you, and the sound of enormous locks sliding into place fills the room. Your rifle almost slips from your grasp, leaving you to fumble for it with sweat-slicked palms.

The drawback of not being a hardened death-row inmate is that when it comes to moments of great danger, you’re inclined to neither fight nor flee.

Instead, worst of all, you’re the type to freeze solid.

Now is no exception.

As the light flashing above you turns green, signalling for the second door to ascend into its slot high in the ceiling, your spine promptly goes rigid, fingers locking up around the gun whilst your feet turn to two blocks of cement.

All of a sudden, you can’t help but let out a shriek when something flops down onto the ground on your side of the door once it’s been raised a couple of feet, and at first, you assume something is trying to crawl through the space to get at you.

Once you realise what the dark object actually is, you almost wish your initial assumption had been correct.

What lays on the ground, spread across the threshold between the dock and the cell, is a body. ‘A human body!’ your addled brain registers.

Or what’s left of a human…

Swiss cheese might not have been an exaggeration after all.

Entry and exit holes have torn the poor bastard apart from head to toe, shredding to ribbons what remains of a grubby, orange jumpsuit, much like the one you’re currently garbed in. Bones and muscle and sinew show through torn flaps of skin, and the stench of blood mingles with gun smoke, seeping into your nostrils before you can scrunch your nose up to block it out. You could have done without the acrid taste of iron resting on the back of your tongue.

‘That’s gonna happen to me,’ you gasp silently, choking on a sob, unable to tear your gaze from the body, ‘Oh god, that’ll be me in a minute!’

Jesus Christ, they hadn’t even waited for the blood to dry, the assholes!

With a ‘click’ and a ‘thud,’ the door slides gracefully to a halt, utterly and completely open, exposing you to whatever entity lays in wait beyond the threshold. The fear of what lies ahead outweighs your horror of seeing a fellow D-Class on the ground. In an instant, you wrench your eyes away from the body and gape out into the room in front of you.

Sturdy, grey walls lit by an overhead fluorescent light are a familiar view, as are the bloodstains spattered across the stone slabs.

The pockmarks littering the adjacent wall are new however, each about the size of your fist. There are hundreds of them, like someone took a gatling gun and sprayed it all over the cell. They look… far too large to have been made by any ordinary rifle…

A hard blink sends twin tracks of tears leaking down your face. The room beyond angles sharply to the left right outside the door, and it plucks at your frayed nerves to realise you can’t see what’s around the corner…

Nearby, facedown on the floor just several feet from the entrance, is the second body, a gun laying close to their side and an arm outstretched towards you, their final act in the throes of death. They must have skidded around the corner and were making for the door when they were cut down…

Despite the carnage, the cell is eerily silent, not a breath nor a shift to give away where the SCP might be.

Is it lurking just around the bend to ambush you?

Is it seconds away from tearing into the pocket of space and doing to you whatever it did to these sorry sods?

Aside from quivering fit to bust, you can’t move a muscle.

You won’t.

You won’t go in there, they can’t –!

“D-Class!”

A sharp staccato shout is thrown from a speaker in the corner of the dock, causing you to nearly leap out of your skin. But worse than your visceral flinch is the sound the voice elicits from something inside the cell.

It’s like a roll of thunder, soft then loud then soft again, a guttural growl, so rich and deep it shakes the walls and travels up through your plimsoles, undulating across each section of your spine until you can feel it hum behind your eyes.

The reverb hasn’t even faded before the same voice barks, “Proceed into the containment chamber at once.”

“To Hell with that!” you retort, feet still rooted firmly to the ground.

“You will proceed or you will be reassigned.”

It’s a threat that’s worked before.

And Hell… It works again now.

Reassignment is an absolute. A guaranteed death sentence. At least in here, even with an unknown entity, there’s a slim, albeit nearly imperceptible change of survival or at the very least, a quick death. Besides, the previous victims look well and truly dead, and that’s frankly a fate that’s a Hell of a lot better than becoming a living hive for a colony of insects or a tumour-riddled larder for giant, cave-dwelling rodents.

“D-Class. You have precisely three seconds to-“

The inescapable terror of a worse ending is your greatest motivator down here. You don’t even wait for the countdown to start.

Heaving in a wet breath, you squeeze your eyes halfway shut and yank one leg stiffly into the air, planting it forwards, once, twice, three times until you pass the body on the threshold and step out into the cell. Into the open. Like a doe entering a meadow when she damn well knows there are hunters lurking in the trees nearby.

Your eyes are still clenched almost shut when you turn yourself to the left and spot the remaining pair of bodies, one almost laying on top of the other, weapons still locked in their cold, dead hands,

Another, blood-curdling growl blasts through the air around you, sudden and violent enough to nearly send you toppling over onto your backside.

Flinging your eyes open with a gasp, you immediately wish you’d kept them closed instead. You wish the SCP had just killed you outright.

You wish you never stole that wretched car.

You were expecting big.

This SCP is bigger.

You can see why the scientists want to find a calibre that can pierce armour.

The creature that hunches before you, eating up ample space between the floor and the ceiling dozens of feet overhead, is almost solid metal from top to bottom. And armoured, you realise in horror, covering flashes of grey, scaly skin the colour of iron.

Bipedal, is the second thing you note, towering all the way to the roof on a pair of long, lithe legs, each ending in a three-toed foot with claws that remind you of some long extinct theropod.

A scrawny waist feeds into a contrarily powerful chest and monumental shoulders that are made even larger by the armoured struts encasing them.

Your eyes, wider than saucers, travel along the length of its arms – the first hanging down to its bent knee with a hand that looks large enough to wrap around your whole body and crush you between its fingers. The other arm, however, doesn’t end in a hand – clawed or otherwise.

It ends instead, from the elbow down, in a four barrelled gun the size of cannon.

And all four of those chambers are aimed directly and unwaveringly at you.

Behind the sights, several cylinders spin over one another like a minigun ramping up to fire, clanking angrily in an obvious threat.

You don’t dare pull in a breath, not when your gaze locks onto one of the chambers of the gun arm, and from somewhere deep in the pits of those long barrels, a dim, red glow sparks to life, the same light you imagine the fires of Hell would kick out if Satan ever eventually sets foot in this horrible place.

And that’s without even mentioning its other apparent weapon.

You think it must be some kind of tail, arched up and over the SCP’s head like the tail of a scorpion, swaying very gently from left to right and back again. Whip-like, it tapers to a point, and from what you can see from down here, the grey of its scales beneath the armour fades into an angry red right near the tip, glowing the same colour as the lights in the barrels of its gatling arm.

Vivid images of your body being impaled on the end of that wicked appendage flicker through your mind’s eye, and you have to drop your gaze to banish them, moving on to take in the rest of the monstrosity.

A pair of metal horns sweep forwards from the sides of an avian helm, long and sleek and ending in deadly points perfect for goring, like the tusks of an elephant. There’s a mane sprouting from its back too, a vibrant purple that stands out fiercely against the silver of its armour. Each strand of hair seems to wave and snake about through the air as if they’re alive.

And then you make the mistake of meeting its gaze.

You’ve seen SCP’s with no eyes, some with too many eyes, a few that are made up entirely of eyes and even those that have eyes in places where eyes have no business being.

These though… you don’t like these eyes at all, even despite the fact there are a regular number of them.

Gold as gleaming bullion, unnaturally bright and forward-facing, all nature’s warning signs that you’re staring up into the eyes of a predator.

Once they’ve locked you in their sights, it’s nigh on impossible to tear yourself free.

The snarling visage opens up like a steel trap, baring black fangs the size of axe heads, and a burning heat behind its jaws that rises like-

“D – One-nine-three-five!”

“Shit!” You don’t mean to yelp aloud, nor do you intend to nearly drop the gun, scrambling to secure your grip on it before it can fall from your hands. In the blink of an eye, the entity’s gigantic head swings around to hiss furiously at something you’d missed completely when you stumbled into its cell.

An observation window dominates the far wall, and behind it, several figures donned in white coats stand watching, their faces only slightly blurred behind the thick – presumably bullet-proof – glass.

Just above the window on this side of the cell, another speaker has been fitted into the wall, and from it, the same nasally voice as before barks a command.

“You are to proceed with testing the Overkill’s capabilities.”

… Are they serious?

The SCP’s tail has swung around to follow its head and aims warningly at the glass, though its weaponised arm stays fixed on you.

Your own weapon remains useless, hanging from your grasp, pointed at the ground. You can’t muster the courage to raise it.

What defence could it possibly provide? What could such a tiny rifle do, really, against a weapon that made holes that size in the concrete walls?

The scientists are insane. The lot of them...

Well, to Hell with them, and to Hell with this stupid experiment.

Still blurred over by salty tears, your eyes reluctantly trail back up to the entity’s head. If you’re to die, you want to look this thing in the eye when it kills you. You might have lived as a coward, but you’re not so eager to die as one.

You’ve been afraid to defy them for so long, terrified – paralysed by the possibility of what these people might do to you in retaliation of defiance. But somehow, being here surrounded by the bodies of your fellow prisoners, knowing you’re about to meet the same fate, you can’t think of anything more satisfying than not giving the Foundation what they want.

Oh certainly, you imagine they’ll soon get some other D-Class to do the job you failed to do, but if causing the Lab Coats a mild inconvenience before you die is how they remember you, you think you’ll be okay with that.

You have to be okay with it. There’s nothing else you can be now, seconds from having your body turned into, as Mullins so eloquently put it, Swiss cheese.

Stiffening your upper lip, you aim a shaky scowl at the window, eyes bloodshot with tears and fatigue. And in an act you hope looks as rebellious as it feels, you open your arms and let the gun fall to the ground with an almighty clatter, drawing the SCP’s attention back onto yourself.

A strangled noise escapes the speakers before you hear, “D – One-nine-three-five! Retrieve your weapon at once!”

Ignoring him, you roll your gaze over to the SCP and let your arms flop defeatedly to your sides, teeth clenched shut to try and hold onto your sobs.

That enormous, horned head cocks sideways at you, and through your tear-streaked vision, you almost believe you can see its gatling arm drop ever so slightly, and the glow in its barrels fade from red-hot to warm-orange.

“Please,” you find your voice, blindly toeing a plimsole forwards and giving the gun a weak kick, listening to it slide a few feet away from you. You’re unaware that the beast’s gaze tracks your discarded weapon across the room. “Just… make it quick?”

The body closest to you still has his eyes intact, and they stare up at you from the floor, glassy and unseeing. You wonder if his death was quick. You hope so. It looks like it should have been.

The entity regards you with its wide, fiery snarl, unblinking, calculating. As the seconds tick by, you find yourself fidgeting and sparing glances between its gun and its armoured face.

What the Hell is it waiting for?

All of a sudden, two slitted nostrils appear above the SCP’s mouth, glowing with the same liquid gold that shimmers in its eyes. They flare hotly for a moment, kicking out a noisy whumph of air, and then…

Against every odd…

The SCP snatches its head away from you and… and drops its gun arm with a gruff snort, glaring at the wall opposite the scientists.

You blink once.

Seconds later, you have to blink again, clearing your vision slightly.

Why… are you still alive?

“Um…” you utter, for lack of any better ideas.

The SCP doesn’t turn to acknowledge the sound of your voice. In fact, it seems entirely adamant in subjecting the concrete wall to a fearsome glower instead as it thumps the barrels of its gun to the ground and leans its weight on that arm, its mighty chest heaving in and out with a huff.

… Perhaps you’re going mad. That’s it. That must be part of its power. It makes people go mad. Why else would you be plagued by the feeling that you’re being deliberately ignored?

On the other side of the glass, a young scientist hovers over the microphone, trembling with unprofessional agitation and apprehension.

“D-Class!” he barks shrilly, pushing down on the button so hard his fingertip turns white, “If you don’t pick up your rifle at once, I will have no choice but to-!”

“- Quiet Spencer…” Another voice - older, authoritative – snaps, causing the shrieking man to immediately fall silent and cower away from the microphone as obediently as a beaten dog. It even hushes the mutters of every other scientist in the observation room. Narrow eyes stare unblinkingly through coke-bottle spectacles, observing the interaction beyond the observation window with cool interest. “This is the longest a D-Class has survived with this specimen…” she points out, listening to the intern beside her scribble down the minutes, “I’d like to find out why.”

She watches the Disposable’s face turn towards the glass, trying to meet any of the scientists’ gazes, apparently seeking some sort of explanation to the SCP's behaviour.

Join the club.

“… Ma’am?” someone asks after several seconds pass without an answer, turning to face her, their expression inquiring.

For a further minute, she elects to stand there in silence, thoughtfully tapping a manicured nail against the microphone button, contemplating the magnificent creature and the miniscule human currently sharing a space.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, she slides her finger from the button and folds her arms, lab coat wrinkling around her elbows.

“The D-Class gets five minutes inside before extraction,” she declares, shooting a nod at her intern who scrambles to fish a stopwatch from his pocket and stabs his thumb on the button. Once she hears the sharp ‘beep,’ she returns her attention to the staff around her and adds, “No external input.”

There are murmurs of varying approval rising and falling all throughout the room, but once again, she only has eyes for the SCP.

“Let’s see if this D-Class proves more useful than the predecessors…”

---

“Hello?” you whisper-shout at the scientists behind the window, keeping the entity in the corner of your eye, “Um...”

Christ, this is awkward... "Can I... Can I leave, or...?"

Silence.

Impassive, boring silence.

Aside from the occasional motion made to scribble something down on a clipboard, none of the scientists seem inclined to offer anything more through the microphone.

Gradually, the tired muscles in your shoulder tighten.

You’ve seen this before. D-Class call it the ‘silent treatment,’ where scientists are more interested in seeing what you can find out about SCPs of your own volition.

Are you supposed to have survived for this long? Your mind races with the thought that your predecessors might have been subjected to the same thing before they met their end. You may end up a smear on the wall yet. Half of you is weary enough to hope that’s the case. You’ve just defied a direct order from one of the Lab Coats. You shudder to imagine which SCP they’ll toss you to after this.

It’s that thought alone that spurs you to take a single step towards this entity, intending to get this over with, but no sooner have you moved closer than it whips its head towards you again, and that gun is back up, the cylinders clicking furiously in response to your proximity.

You realise at once that you’d become too bold without its weapon pointed at you because now, that same fear has returned tenfold, sending you staggering backwards again to put some more distance between you and that deadly arm.

Slamming your eyes shut, you raise your hands up in front of your face, breath hitching as you wait to feel the first of many bullets slamming into your flesh.

… You count no less than ten heartbeats without feeling a thing.

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

“Two minutes to go, ma’am,” the intern quibbles at her side.

Eyes gleaming, she watches you stand shaking in front of the SCP, arms lifted in what she presumes must be surrender. “Fascinating,” she murmurs, “The entity still hasn’t fired a single round…”

“You think it’s run out of ammo?” one of the other scientists asks, bolder than his fellows in the face of their superior.

“Perhaps,” she muses, eyeing the SCP’s ‘tail’ that hangs slack behind it this time, not poised to strike over its head like a cobra, “But perhaps it’s just as likely that it won’t fire unless it’s fired upon first.”

The intern, apparently emboldened by another voice speaking up before him, says, “Um, would that class it as a Euclid then?”

Someone scoffs derisively.

“That cannot be determined at present,” she returns cooly, “We haven’t enough data… That being said...”

Stepping closer to the window, arms coming to clasp loosely behind her back, she tilts her head sideways and regards you with the mild interest of a spider watching a fly struggle in her web. “Thanks to this D-Class, we now know far more about the SCP than we did before… And all because an order was disregarded…”

“Impertinence,” someone spits.

“Initiative,” she returns sharply, the beginnings of a rare and pensive smile lifting her cheeks, “Mullins.”

The guard near the back of the room snaps to attention.

“Prepare for extraction in one minute’s time… And return our lucky D-Class to isolation. Forty-eight hours, I think. Regular meals. That should give us enough time to make arrangements for the next test.”

“Ma’am,” he grunts, moving up to the primary door.

“Er…” The intern beside her shifts on his feet, casting apprehensive glances between the SCP and the D-Class, “What is the next test…? Oh-! Um, Ma’am?”

What indeed? Her mind is already swirling with possibilities, the first of which sticks in place as she contemplates the logistics of it, turning it over and making mental arrangements that’ll need to be put in place.

“The next test?” she replies absently, gazing up at the entity’s fangs that are still being bared down at you, though it hasn’t made a move against you yet, “We’re going to see what, if anything, this SCP likes to eat.”

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Hunted | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, smut, unprotected sex (don’t do this, friends), mentions of infertility

Word Count: 5254

A/N: giving the people what they want in this chapter. lol. no one under 18 allowed beyond this point!!!! 

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

At some point in leaving Oregan behind, Dean pulled off to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere for a break. He pulled three beers out of the cooler in the trunk and leaned against the fence next to you. 

Sam turned to his brother. “So. Last night. You want to tell me what the hell you were talking about?”

You raised a brow at Dean, interested to hear his explanation. 

“What do you mean?” the older brother questioned.

“Dean, you said you were tired of the job,” you told him. “That’d be weird enough on its own. But on top of that, you said it wasn’t just because of your dad.”

“Forget it,” Dean gruffly replied.

“No, I can't. No way,” Sam argued.

“Come on man, I thought we were all goin’ to die, you can't hold that over me,” Dean shot back.

Sam straightened his posture, shoulders tensing. “No, no, no, no. You can't pull that crap with me, man. You're talking.”

“And what if I don't?”

“Then I guess I'll just have to keep asking until you do.”

Dean tried to pick up his plucky attitude. “I don't know, man. I just think maybe we ought to… go to the Grand Canyon.”

“What?” you scoffed.

“Yeah, you know, all this driving back and forth across country, you know I've never been to the Grand Canyon? Or we could go to T.J. or Hollywood; see if we can bang Lindsey Lohan,” Dean smirked.

You rolled your eyes. “Dean, speak English, please.”

“I just think we should take a break from all this. Why do we gotta get stuck with all the responsibility, you know? Why can't we live life a little bit?” he asked. 

“Why are you saying all this?” Sam cut back in.

Dean took a deep breath before shaking his head and turning away.

Sam pulled his arm back. “No, no, no, no, Dean. You're my brother, all right? So whatever weight you're carrying, let me help a little bit.”

Dean’s face contorted with emotion. “I can't. I promised.”

“Who?” you asked.

“My dad,” he replied simply. 

Sam’s face drew together. “What are you talking about?”

Dean looked down at the ground. “Right before Dad died, he told me something.” He took a deep breath before looking up at Sam. “He told me something about you.”

“What?” Sam urged. “Dean, what did he tell you?”

The older brother cast his eyes to the ground. “He said that he wanted me to watch out for you, to take care of you.”

Sam seemed to relax a bit. “He told you that a million times.”

The other Winchester shook his head, growing more upset. “No, this time was different. He said that I had to save you.”

“Save me from what?”

“He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd—” he turned his head, beginning to tear up.

“You’d what, Dean?” Sam asked gently.

He looked back up at his little brother, tears forming in his eyes. “That I'd have to kill you. He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.”

Sam drew in a sharp breath. “Kill me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know,” Dean shook his head, voice breaking.

“I mean, he must have had some kind of reason for saying it, right? Did he know the demon's plans for me? Am I supposed to go Darkside or something? What else did he say, Dean?” Sam’s head was beginning to swim; even you could tell that.

“Nothing, that's it, I swear,” Dean breathed out.

“How could you not have told me this?”

“Because it was Dad, and he begged me not to,” Dean responded simply.

Sam’s voice grew angrier. “Who cares?! Take some responsibility for yourself, Dean! You had no right to keep this from me!”

“You think I wanted this? Huh? I wish to god he'd never opened his mouth. Then I wouldn't have to walk around with this screaming in my head all day,” the older brother yelled right back.

Sam turned and took a few steps away, fuming. “We've just got to figure out what's going on, then, what the hell all this means.”

“We do?” Dean sighed. “I've been thinking about this, I think we should just lay low, y’know? At least for a while. It'd be safer. And that way I can make sure—”

The brunet spun back around. “What? That I don't turn evil? That I don't turn into some kind of killer?”

“Sam, he never said that,” you jumped in.

“Jeez, if you're not careful you will have to waste me one day, Dean,” Sam continued to mock.

Dean raged at his brother. “I never said that! Dammit, Sam, this whole thing is spinnin’ out of control. Alright? You're immune to some weirdo demon virus, and I don't even know what the hell anymore. And you're pissed at me, I get it. That's fine, I deserve it. But we lay low until we figure out our next move, okay?”

Sam grumbled, “Forget it.”

“Sam, please, man,” the older brother begged. His voice began to break again. “Hey, please. Just give me some time. Give me some time to think, okay? I'm begging you here, please. Please.”

You stared at Sam with bated breath, waiting for his reaction. To your relief, he finally nodded reluctantly.

***

A few hours away, you and the brothers settled on a motel to stop in for the night. You weren’t sure what Dean’s plans were; whether you’d be here for days, weeks, or a month. You began to quiet your mind for the evening only to be disturbed by a knock on the door. To your surprise, it was Dean.

“Hey,” you breathed out. You were suddenly acutely aware of the fact that you were only dressed in an oversized t-shirt and your underwear.

Wordlessly, Dean slipped past you into your room.

“Oh-kay,” you muttered, closing the door behind him. “What’s up?” you asked him. 

He stood awkwardly on the opposite side of the room from you. It was the first time since you’d met him that he wasn’t exuding confidence. “Dean, talk to me. What’s going on?”

He stayed silent, hesitating and running a hand through his hair. “Dammit, you make it so hard to talk to you,” he grumbled, beginning to pace.

“What?” you asked, taken aback. “You know you can tell me anything. I’d hope I’m pretty easy to talk to.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s—” He stopped his pacing. “I wanna tell you everything I just— I’m not good at this.”

You giggled. “Clearly.”

He deadpanned at you. 

“Seriously, Dean, spit it out.”

“Can I—” He took a deep breath. “Can I stay here tonight?” 

Your breath hitched, and you suddenly realized you hadn’t answered him yet. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” you said. He clicked on the lamp next to your bed while you turned off the other lights in the room. He crawled into your bed and lifted the covers up for you. You slid in next to him and settled in on your side, facing him. “How you holding up?” you asked. 

He blew out a puff of air. “How do you think?” he finally jested. 

You frowned sympathetically. “Dean, why didn’t you tell me? I get why you didn’t tell Sam, but… I could’ve helped you.”

“(Y/N),” he sighed. “You know I’m no good at the mushy crap.”

“I don’t think that’s it, though,” you replied. “I think you’ve had to keep shit together for too long. Now, opening up to someone feels foreign to you. And I’d stand to reason you’re worried about burdening me with that stuff.”

He looked away from you, and you could tell you were right.

“You are never burdening me. I like listening to you talk. I like being the person you can unload your crap on,” you admitted. “I care about you. You’re my best friend. I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

“It’s not that I feel like I can’t, I just— I don’t wanna get too close to you.”

Your heart clenched. “Why? You’re confusing me.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I do, I— I don’t want that to be the reason I end up losing you,” he murmured.

You shook your head. “You won’t. You are not a burden.”

“(Y/N)—” Dean sighed.

“You’re not!” you protested, putting a hand on the side of his face. “Dean, you are… so important to me. Listening to you is important to me. Let me in, please.” You stroked his cheek with you thumb.

“I’m trying,” he said, reaching up to hold your wrist. He kissed the inside of your wrist gently, savoring the moment before looking back up at you. “I promise, I’m trying. I’ve never been this honest with… anyone, I don’t think.”

You huffed a short laugh. “I’m glad you can trust me. I trust you, too. And… I’m never trying to push you to talk about shit you don’t want to. But I do want you to know, no matter how dark and scary it gets, I’m here.”

Dean nudged your nose with his. You took the opportunity to kiss him gently, the kiss quickly becoming more passionate. Dean grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him, hooking your leg around his hips. He then rolled on top of you, continuing to kiss you deeply. You arched your back into him, moaning into his mouth. He ground his hardening cock into your core, and you broke the kiss suddenly.

“Wait, wait, Dean, are you sure you want this?” you asked him. 

“What?” he asked breathlessly.

“I mean, with everything going on, do you just… need to blow off some steam? Or… do you really want me?” you asked nervously.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he urged you. 

You did.

“I want this. I want you.” 

You pulled his face back down to you as he started to grind against you again. You could feel your arousal beginning to soak through your underwear, and Dean could feel it, too. 

He smirked down at you. “That all for me?”

“Shut up,” you said, kissing him again. You broke the kiss only to take his shirt off him. He did the same to you, groaning at the sight of your exposed breasts. You moved to cover yourself, but Dean pinned your hands next to your head.

“Don’t,” he ordered. “Don’t hide from me.”

You leaned up to kiss him again, and he began to twist and pinch your nipples, causing you to moan into his mouth. 

“Dean,” you breathed out.

“I know, sweetheart,” he told you. “Fuck, I don’t have a condom. Are you—?”

You shook your head. “I can’t have kids,” you admitted. “Part of the, uh, side effects of being malnourished as a kid,” you laughed uncomfortably. You looked back up at Dean to find him gazing at you sadly.

“It’s okay, really,” you told him. You were telling the truth; you wouldn’t want to bring a child into this life anyway. “Now, are you gonna fuck me, or what?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled. Dean pushed his boxers down with one hand and pulled your panties to the side. You moaned at the feeling of him entering you, chest heaving from the stretch. 

“Dean, Dean, slow down,” you pleaded. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned. Dean let you adjust to his size as you ran your hands over his chest and along his back, just enjoying the feeling of touching him. Feeling him kept you grounded as he pushed completely into you. 

“God, fuck, move, please,” you rushed out breathlessly.

He complied, kissing you again as he toyed with your breasts and rocked into you. You were shocked at the speed your orgasm crept up on you, and you raked your nails up Dean’s spine. “Dee, I’m gonna—”

“I know, I know, me, too—” he said, burying his face in your shoulder. His pace became more frantic and erratic before you finally felt ropes of his cum shooting into you, sending you over the edge along with him. Dean continued to rut into you and press kisses into your neck as he steadied his breathing, and you held onto his shoulders tightly. Still inside of you, he leaned back up to kiss you.

You held either side of his face with your legs wrapped around his waist as you kissed him, relishing in the feeling of your bodies connected. When he did pull out, you moaned at the loss as he tucked himself back into his boxers and adjusted your panties. He gathered up your slick on his index and middle fingers and brought them to his lips. Your breath hitched as he kept eye contact with you while he smirked and licked his fingers clean. He then put his fingers between your lips, and his jaw dropped as you sucked them with your eyes closed in contentment. You pulled Dean’s fingers out of your mouth and kissed them gently before taking his wrist and wrapping his arm around your back.

Dean chuckled and shuffled closer to you in the bed. He held you close to him and rested his forehead against yours. “If vulnerability is gonna get me sex like that, I’ll be spillin’ my guts to you non-stop,” he joked.

You shoved his shoulder playfully and feigned offense. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said, pulling you back against his chest. Dean laid on his back, staring up and the ceiling, and had you lying on your stomach on top of his chest, arms encircling your waist. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. 

“For what?” you asked.

“Everything.”

***

You woke up wrapped by Dean’s arms the next morning. The two of you hadn’t moved much from the position you fell asleep in; Dean securing you to his chest, and your head tucked under his chin. You sighed contentedly, snuggling more into Dean. 

The air would undoubtedly shift between you following last night’s events. You’d told him before you weren’t one for hookups, and you knew he wasn’t one to stay the night with a hookup. Being like this was new for both of you. It almost nauseated you thinking about the possible repercussions of sleeping with him, as you’d never cared as much about someone as you cared about him. He was starting to consume more and more of your heart, and you allowed him willingly. 

What scared you was the possibility of being used. You weren’t a very trusting person to begin with, and trusting someone with your heart was entirely new territory for you. You feared that one day, after Dean was over his father’s passing and possibly even tired of having you around, he would be done with you. As this thought crossed your mind, you moved to get out of bed. Dean’s arms tightened around you.

“Where you goin’?” he hummed, eyes still closed.

“Dean, I gotta pee, let me go,” you said.

“Don’t think I will,” he replied, rolling on top of you.

“Dean!” you squealed. “Let me up!” 

He began to attack your neck with kisses up to your lips as you giggled and half-heartedly fought him off you. 

You pecked him on the lips and pulled your neck back into your pillow slightly to look at him. “You’re cute. I still gotta pee.”

“Argh.” He rolled off of you dramatically and laid back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

When you’d done your business and brushed your teeth, you asked Dean, “What’d you tell Sam, anyway? I’m surprised he hasn’t called either of us asking where you were. Or broken down the door yet.” You sat back on the bed next to him. 

That seemed to strike a chord in him. “Yeah, now that you mention it, that is weird. I didn’t tell him I was leaving. He was knocked out when I left.”

You started to get concerned. “He should definitely be up by now, too. It’s after nine o’clock.”

You saw Dean’s breath catch in his chest with worry, and he immediately pulled on his jeans and shirt from the night before along with his shoes. He left the room as you quickly got dressed, too, brushing your hair back into a haphazard ponytail. You held your phone trying to call Sam between your shoulder and ear as you tugged on your boots. “C’mon, pick up,” you begged into the phone.

Dean returned moments later. “He’s not in the room. Dammit, Sam!”

“Hey, I’m sure he’s fine.” You weren’t. “Is the car still here?”

“Yeah. I’ve got the keys, too.”

“What the fuck,” you muttered. “Sam’s phone went to voicemail twice.”

“Shit,” Dean grumbled. “Alright, get your stuff, we’re leaving now.”

You nodded, running around your room to pack the few things you’d taken out of your bag. You beat Dean to the Impala and he sped out of the parking lot more recklessly than usual.

“Slow down, dude, we’re no good to Sam dead,” you scolded.

He didn’t respond to that. “Call Ellen, see if she’s seen him.”

“Already on it.” You pressed the phone to your ear, grateful to hear the woman respond. She told you she hadn’t seen him, but would let you know if she did. You called Bobby; got the same answer. Jo didn’t answer her phone. Sam still wasn’t answering, either.

“Just head to the Roadhouse,” you told Dean. “Ash can probably track ‘im down.”

Dean nodded wordlessly, and you could practically see his mind running a mile a minute. His shoulders were tense, brow set in a hard line, and jaw clenched. You weren’t sure how to help him at that moment, so you just sat by him silently for hours on the road. Then, Ellen called again.

“Hello?” you said. “You heard from Sam?”

“I have, but he made me promise not to tell you where he is,” she replied.

“C’mon, Ellen, please—” 

Dean took the phone from you. “Ellen? It’s Dean. Something bad could be going on here, and I swore I'd look after that kid.” A moment or so later, the tension released from his body as he breathed out, “Thanks.” He clicked the phone shut and handed it back to you. 

“Lafayette, Indiana,” was all he said for the rest of the drive.

***

When you found Sam, he was at the Blue Rose Motel in a room. You and Dean could see him through the window of his room. 

“Oh, thank god you're okay,” Dean breathed out.

Sam moved aside, allowing you and Dean to see the tiny brunette in the room with him.

“Oh, you're better than okay. Sam, you sly dog!” Dean chuckled.

“Dean, I don’t know Sam would drive six hundred miles for pussy,” you quipped. “I think something else is going on here.”

Suddenly, something caught your eye from across the road. It was Gordon on the rooftop of the building, hunched over a sniper rifle he was loading.

“Dean, look,” you rushed out. “We gotta go!”

You sprinted across the street and up the fire escape of the building just as Gordon took a shot. The window on Sam’s room shattered, and Dean jumped Gordon from behind just as he was about to take another shot.

“Gordon!” He kicked Gordon down, hard, pinning him by his collar. He hit him over and over again. “You do that to my brother, I'll kill you!”

You moved to grab the rifle from Gordon, but he smashed the butt of the rifle into your head. It was lights out after that moment.

***

When you came to, you groaned in pain at the pounding in your head. Not quite aware of what was going on yet, you tried to raise a hand to your head only to be stopped by the binds around your wrists. You jerked in your chair and realized your ankles were bound, too. 

‘Hey, sweetie,” Gordon monotoned. “Nice of you to join us.”

“You son of a bitch,” you hissed, staring up at him through your eyebrows. 

Without missing a beat, he back slapped you. “That's my momma you're talking about.”

Your head still jerked to the side from the slap, you flexed your jaw painfully. “Where’s Dean?” you asked.

As if on cue, you heard him in the next room. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” he called.

“Isn’t that sweet,” Gordon droned. 

“What’s your plan, here?” you questioned, ignoring his comment. “Gonna get back at us for leaving you tied up in your own mess for three days?”

“What, you think this is revenge?” His monotone almost broke as he chuckled humorlessly. “This isn't personal. I'm not a killer, sweetie. I'm a hunter. And your boyfriend’s brother is fair game.” Gordon slammed a knife from his canvas duffel bag into its sheath.

“Sam? Why?” you asked.

“Was huntin’ a demon down in Louisiana. She told me all about Sam’s visions. Apparently, a bunch of psychic freaks are supposed to help demons take over the world. And the real kick in the ass: she told me I know one of them. Our very own Sammy Winchester,” he said.

“Are you done monologuing, or…?”

He scoffed. “You keep that attitude up. I know it’s just a front. I gotta say, I’m kinda excited to see you and Dean break when Sam goes up in smoke.”

“So, what? You’re gonna use us to lure Sam here, kill him; then what about us? You don’t think we’ll hunt you down to hell and back?” you hissed.

“I do. That’s why I’m gonna kill you, too.”

You snorted. 

“Something funny?”

You shook your head. “Nah, it’s just, you think you’re so good. Do you really believe you’re gonna take us out that easy?” 

He considered for a moment. “Honestly? Yeah. There were two of y’all, and I still got the jump on you.”

You couldn’t argue with him there. “Call it a weak moment,” you grumbled.

He snickered and came up behind you, forcing a tie into your mouth. He caught a bit of your hair in the knot as he secured it around your head. “See you on the flipside, sweetheart.” Gordon left the room and shut the door behind him. 

You immediately set to work trying to loosen the ropes enough to be able to grab the knife sheathed in your sleeve. 

‘Fuck, he tied this shit well,’ you thought. You continued struggling, tears beginning to pool in your eyes. 

You heard Dean and Gordon talking in the next room, but couldn’t quite make out what was being said. You took in the dilapidated room around you filled with debris, and noticed one of the loose wooden boards was just around level with the arms of your chair. You began propelling yourself toward it by making the chair hop in the board’s direction. You paused when you heard footsteps approaching the door to your room. The door creaked open to reveal Gordon, and you stared him down angrily. 

“All good in here?” he asked you accusingly.

You couldn’t respond due to the gag tightly secured around your mouth. 

“Good. Sammy should be here soon,” he said. He loaded a mag into his rifle and turned to leave the room. You could hear Gordon pacing the floor just outside the room and decided not to move until he left. 

Unfortunately, that moment never came. The next thing you heard was a bomb going off. You screamed, muffled by the gag, and immediately began moving back toward your original goal to help you get loose. A second grenade sounded, and you began to sob. You stuck a jutting-out part of the loose board under the rope around your wrist and tugged against it, allowing you room to pull your wrist out. You dragged your hand along the splintered wood, ignoring the scratching and pricks to fully free your wrist. You quickly went to work pulling the knife out of your sleeve to free your other wrist and ankles. You burst through the door and pulled the gag over your head, yelling, “Dean!”

You heard his muffled sobs from beyond the door across from you. You hurried to him, hearing struggling from Gordon in the next room. And… Sam? You were relieved to hear his voice and began cutting Dean free of his binds. Dean ripped his gag off with his free hand and ran a hand over your hair as you finished freeing him.

You looked back up at him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “You?” He gingerly touched the wound on your forehead from where the butt of Gordon’s rifle hit you. 

“Yeah,” you said, just as Sam walked into the room.

“I’m fine, too, guys, thanks,” he joked.

“Sam!” You ran to him and threw your arms around him. 

“Hey, (Y/N/N).”

Dean was next to hug Sam. He frantically checked his baby brother for injuries. Sam clapped a hand to Dean’s shoulder to let him know he was okay. With that, Dean wheeled around in the direction Sam had come from. “That son of a—”

Sam stopped him. “Dean. No.”

Dean shrugged his brother off him. “I let him live once. I'm not making the same mistake twice.”

“Trust me. Gordon's taken care of. Come on,” Sam jerked his head at the door, pulling Dean by his jacket.

Sam staggered down the steps of the cabin, and you caught him as he almost stumbled down the last one.

“You okay, kid?” you asked.

He nodded, grimacing. “Yeah, he got in a few good hits, though.”

You looked at him sadly.

“Trust me, (Y/N), I’m okay.”

Suddenly, a shot fired off whizzing right past your head. “Run!” you yelled, scrambling across the street to find cover in the woods. 

“You call this taken care of?” Dean grunted at his brother. 

Sam grabbed you and Dean and pulled you into the ditch next to him.

“What the hell are we doing?” Dean questioned.

“Just trust me on this, alright?”

Your breath quickened as Gordon continued to approach your hiding spot with his gun cocked. However, to your relief, cops emerged from their cars with sirens blazing, cornering Gordon.

“Drop your weapons! Get down on your knees!” one cop yelled, pointing his gun at Gordon.

You grinned at Sam as Gordon was apprehended, glaring in your direction. The cops pulled out the weapons rack in the back of Gordon’s car.

“Anonymous tip,” Sam whispered.

“You're a fine upstanding citizen, Sam,” Dean commented. 

You giggled, leaning against Sam to hug him as you continued watching Gordon’s arrest. “Only thing that would make this better would be some popcorn.”

***

You called Ellen to explain the situation to her. “Apparently, Gordon was hunting Sam,” you told her. “And he apparently had some Roadhouse connections.” You were fuming when Dean told you that, but also refused to let Dean rip into that poor woman. You decided to handle the issue yourself. 

“And you honestly think that it was me? Or Ash? Or Jo? No way,” she said.

“Well, who else knows about Sam?” you questioned accusingly. “I mean, you must have been talking to somebody.”

“Hey, you can say a lot of things about us. But we are not disloyal. And we're not stupid. We haven't breathed a word of this,” she replied sharply.

“Are you sure? I wanna trust you, but this guy almost killed us. I need to know the truth,” you told her.

“(Y/N), sweetie, this roadhouse is full of other hunters. They're all smart. They're good trackers. Each of them with their own patterns and connections. Look, hell, I could name twelve of them right now that are capable of putting this together.” She sighed. “I am sorry about what happened. But I can't control these people. Or what they choose to believe.”

“Okay,” you said finally. “Thanks, Ellen.” You hung up the phone and sat back against the passenger’s side door of the Impala as Dean continued driving. Sam had been on a phone call of his own, but apparently, he’d been sent to voicemail.

“Hey, Ava, it's Sam. Again. Um, call me when you get this, just want to make sure you got home okay. Alright. Bye.”

“Everything alright?” Dean asked his younger brother. 

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“Well, Gordon should be reaching for the soap for the next few years at least,” the older brother chuckled.

“Yeah. If they pin Scott Carey's murder on him.”

A potentially unfortunate thought crossed your mind. “And if he doesn't bust out.”

A silence settled over the car.

“Dude, you ever take off like that again—” Dean warned.

Sam snorted. “What? You’ll kill me?”

“That is so not funny,” you chimed in.

“Alright, alright. So where to next, then?” Sam asked.

Dean smirked. “One word: Amsterdam.”

“Dean!” you and Sam exclaimed.

“C’mon, guys, I hear the coffeeshops don't even serve coffee,” he snickered.

“I'm not just gonna ditch the job,” Sam protested.

“Honestly, Dean, me neither,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “Fuck the job. Fuck it. I'm sick of the job anyway. I mean, we don't get paid, we don't get thanked. The only thing we get's bad luck.”

“Well, come on, dude, you're a hunter. I mean, it's what you were meant to do,” the younger brother said.

“Ah, I wasn't meant to do anything, I don't believe in that destiny crap.”

Sam tilted his head. “You mean you don't believe in my destiny.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the older brother mumbled.

“Look, Dean, I've tried running before. I mean, I ran all the way to California and look what happened. You can't run from this. And you can't protect me,” Sam continued.

Dean looked at him significantly. “I can try.”

Sam’s puppy dog eyes stared back at him. “Thanks for that,” he said quietly. “Look, Dean, I'm gonna keep hunting. I mean, whatever is coming, I'm taking it head-on, so if you really want to watch my back, then I guess you're gonna have to stick around.”

“Bitch,” Dean grumbled.

“Jerk.”

You giggled at the brothers. “You guys are breakin’ my heart up there. You gonna hug or somethin’?”

“Shut up, (Y/N),” both brothers chided.

You laughed again.

Dean noticed Sam fiddling with his phone again. “You calling that Ava girl again? You sweet on her or something?”

“She's engaged, Dean.”

“So? What's the point in saving the world if you can't get a little nookie once in a while, huh?”

“Ew, Dean,” you grimaced.

Dean smirked lasciviously at you in the rearview mirror. You rolled your eyes, holding back a smile.

Sam hung up the phone, scowling in thought.

“What?” you asked.

He sighed. “Just a feeling. How far is it to Peoria?”

***

When you arrived— well, broke and entered— at Ava Wilson’s house, you were horrified by what you found. A man was lying face-up on the bed, clothes, sheets, and hair soaked in blood.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out.

“Hey,” Dean called from the window sill. “Sulfur. Demon's been here.”

You caught sight of something on the floor and picked it up. It was an engagement ring. You held it up to Sam.

His reply was one whispered word: “Ava.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[princess-ibri]

Darkside Disney: Anna and Elsa

The Darkside tale of these two sisters begins when Anna, with so many years of confusion and hurt, decides to take Elsa up on her hurdled order of “then leave”

She turns on her heel then and there, never reaching out for Elsa, never causing Elsa to unleash her powers. She decides that if Elsa wants to close a door between them, she’ll finally stop knocking.

Anna leaves with Hans back to the Southern Isles that night

They're married onboard the ship, and Hans spends the honeymoon and proceeding three years of marriage carefully stoking Anna smoldering hurt into a true fire of resentment

By the time word comes from Southern Isles spies that the Queen of Arendelle has begun to show signs of madness, Anna is more than ready to step up and take the throne. She might have been content to stay in the Southern Isles before, but as her husband points out, Elsa is unfit, Elsa never engages with her people, they’d be much better under someone who actually cares about Arendelle. After all, with Elsa unwed Anna is the next heir, she’s the one who’ll be carrying on the bloodline. Don’t the people of Arendelle deserve security, attention, love? Doesn’t she deserve all that as well?

The people of Arendelle would indeed welcome their exiled princess as their new queen, but things aren't that simple…

After Anna left, Elsa tried to do her best to run the kingdom, to make the memory of her parents proud. But her powers continue to grow stronger, and stronger. The stresses of rule begin to take their toll, and she’s only able to keep her powers hidden by once more withdrawing from the public eye.

When she was still under age, this could be overlooked as the Regency Council trying to protect the royal heirs, but now her reluctance to engage with her people begins to rankle and sour the populace’s opinion of their new queen

And things only get worse when, in the third year of her reign, on top of her growing powers, Elsa begins to hear things…

A voice, calling to her, begging her to just let go, to unleash her powers and step into the unknown

And the harder she fights to conceal her powers, the stronger they—and the voice—become

The strain begins to be too much, the cracks in Elsa’s frozen facade begin to show, and whispers grow of a madness plaguing the Queen

And finally, the day comes that brings the sisters face to face again. Anna demanding that Elsa step down, she has the people’s support, she has the support of Han’s navy connections. She has more right the throne then Elsa has, Elsa who never cared for the people, who never cared for anyone.

“Anna that’s not true! I care—“

“You never cared! You shut me out, you shut the world out! You left me to bury our parents alone! So don’t stand there and claim to care now Elsa! Life’s too short to waste on hearing excuses from someone as cold hearted as you!”

It’s all too much. Her powers, the voices, the hatred in her sister’s eyes. Something in Elsa’s mind—in her heart—breaks. All her life she’s tried not too feel, and now she can’t stop feeling. All the heartache, confusion, anger, loneliness, fear

It all comes crashing out, a dam bursting over, a storm long healed at bay now barreling down in full force

Elsa flees in the cover of the onslaught of snow and ice, barely aware of what she’s doing, just knowing she can’t bear to see Anna, her only family, looking at her like that. All she seems to know how to do is run, and run, and run. Away from the voices, away from the pressure, away from Anna

She doesn’t realize she’s trapped Arendelle in an eternal winter, one that begins to spread out across the land, barely held back by the sea

She doesn’t realize the initial blast has killed the man her sister loved

Anna takes the throne of a kingdom in turmoil as a widow, her own heart broken, bleeding, freezing over under the weight of all that she has lost. The only thing keeping her going is trying to save her people—and the child she carries

The storm over Arendelle never breaks though, and the entire kingdom is forced to flee wherever they or face becoming another frozen statue in the growing wasteland, where nothing walks but the wailing form of their former Queen.

A figure with skin covered in frost, hair whipped about in the perpetual storm, tears frozen to her cheeks. Forever trying to run from the voices calling calling calling to her

Anna returns to the Southern Isles in disgrace, her kingdom and husband lost, her in-laws having no interest in harboring her now she has nothing to offer them. So they send her and her child—so sickly, so frail, never having overcome the cold they were born into—off to the farthest and poorest of their Isles. And there, her heart becomes as frozen as if her sister really had struck it all those years ago…

DisneyVerse After Credits under the Cut

One year later, Anna finds herself approached by a strange wandering soldier, who offers her the power to regain her kingdom, to give her child the life they deserve, to gain vengeance on the one who caused all of this…if she’s willing to make a deal

[stealingpotatoes]

can we get a rundown on the anakin-raises-leia au? i’m totally in love with (read: obsessed with) it but i missed most of the context and i’m so curious!

are they coparenting? was it a parent trap style agreement to split the twins? is it temporary, until the war ends? who decided who gets which twin? did mustafar just never happen?

the answers to ur questions in short are: not really, arguably, absolutely, i did, and no!

in longer, the main thing you need to know for context is it's an Anakin-doesn't-turn-to-the-darkside-but-Palps-still-succeeds AU!

Anakin chooses not to try save Palpatine from the Jedi council and instead goes to Padmé's to angst abt the fact he might be losing her -- only to feel a very solid Other loss in the Force and see the temple up in flames ): he tries to go help but gets his shit kicked enough he leaves when Bail shows up

obi-wan and yoda both return to coruscant, obi-wan shows up to Padmé's to ask her hey do you know where Anakin is??? except Padmé's not there either bc after Sidious made his Big Speech anidala realised Anakin's totally a fugitive so they decided to Leave

i'm not 100% on what happens around here (lbr we all know my focus is the kids) but i'm currently thinking they nearly get caught or smthn, fight happens (??), Obi-wan gets there just in time to help thanks to Dormé snitching -- and Padmé goes into labour w the shock/stress

whatever exactly happens, Obi-Wan is there when they get Padmé to a medical station and the normal rots ending group unite. Padmé gives birth (keeping her will to live) and a question hangs heavy in the air: what are they supposed to do with the twins?

Anidala are too caught up in the joy of being parents to think about it, but they're quickly and forcibly snapped out of that when the Survivors all have a chat like canon. Yoda's the (brave) one to say they need to be apart because their force signatures would be too strong together and in the dire case Palps finds them, he could NOT take both. He's probs initially like they shouldnt even be kept w you two, Anakin's too powerful himself and Padmé you're too visible (while I imagine Bail and Obi-wan know their respective besties and are like king they are NOT gonna take that well)

and theyre right! Padmé, fresh out of like three of the top ten most harrowing experiences of her life, is like stfu u little green bitch im not losing my kids. but after some convincing she sees the need for her to remain in the senate and anakin's need to fight/run. she knows they can't fight the empire effectively together and she knows it's too dangerous to put the twins together. both parents want more than ANYTHING to be with their kids -- but they also don't want their kids growing up in a galaxy eaten by tyranny or being stolen by palps.

so they made the hardest goddamn decision of their lives and each take a twin (probably chosen on "anakin thought the baby'd be a girl/padme thought it'd be a boy" or smthn) and after some time planning their next moves, Padmé and Anakin are forced to go their separate ways to save the galaxy for and with their kids ): knowing the better they fight, the sooner they free the galaxy from the empire's clutches, the sooner they can reunite and be a family

[chloe-skywalker]

Parting Scar's - Poe Dameron

Poe x Fem!reader Solo

Warnings: mention of sibling abuse?

Word count: 656

Summary: Ben left some parting scar’s on his sister Y/n, that she doesn’t like to show off. But when Poe ask’s her to hand him a tool Y/n’s shirt lift’s up and he sees it and get’s concerned.

Masterlist

STARWARS Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Can you help me for a minute?” Poe asked as he saw Y/n in the halls and walked over to her.

“Sure. What with?” Y/n nodded at Poe and started to walk beside him. Y/n wondered what he needed help with.

“I need to fix some things in my X-Wing and I need someone to hand me tools because I have to use both my hands.” Poe explained, he hoped he wasn’t rambling.

“Okay. Just tell me what to hand you.” Y/n sighed nodding along. If he needed help Y/n would gladly help her pilot, even if it sounded a tiny bit boring.

“Great.” Poe smiled back, the two walked to the hanger and over to Poe’s X-Wing.

“So what’s wrong with the X-Wing?” Y/n asked sitting down next to Poe and the tool box.

“Somethings rattling under the cockpit.” he told her as he shoved his hands further into the open compartment of the X-Wing.

“Hello BB.” Y/n laughed as the little droid rolled over to her beeping happily. The little droid loved her and Y/n loved BB as well.

Helping Poe with the X-Wing took longer than they thought it would. But during Y/n helping Poe, Y/n reached to grab a tool for him Poe noticed her shirt lift up and a ton of scars littered her back. It made Poe become alarmed.

Later the two decided to break and get dinner before it was all gone. ALthough they decided to take it back and eat in the hanger, so they could get to work again when they were done. Y/n and Poe rearranged some cargo cases so they could sit diangle next to each other.

“Y/n can I ask you something?”  Poe spoke up after taking a bite.

“Shoot.” She nodded, taking her own bite of food.

“The scar’s on your back.” Poe nervously pointed out, he didn’t want to upset her or embarrass her.

“You saw?” Y/n put down her food not looking at Poe yet. She had to take a minute to wrap her head around the fact that she now had to tell Poe. Tell him about something that eats away at her constantly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry if this is crossing some boundaries.” Poe apologized.

“You were gonna see them at some point, right?” They had yet to be physically intimate, but Y/n wanted to go there with Poe and she was sure he wanted to go there with her. So eventually she was gonna tell him anyway but not now, not when it was unplanned and out of the blue.

Poe felt guilty for bringing it up, he should’ve waited for her to tell him but he saw and he was worried. “Y/n, what are they from?”

He might as well ask since he brought it up.

Y/n took a deep breath to calm her nerves and gain some confidence. “My brother. When he turned to the darkside and joined the first order.”

“Kylo Ren.” Poe had a moment of PTSD when speaking that name.

Y/n nodded and gulped before she explained further. “Kylo Ren, Ben Solo. I don’t know which. Both most likely. It happened the night he turned. We fought and it was his parting gift I guess. Scar’s that run along my back, some of my arms and torso… I think he was trying to kill me but I’m stubborn and survived.”

Poe had to control his anger, if he didn’t hate Kylo Ren already he definitely did now. But Poe also didn’t want to scare Y/n. Poe pulled Y/n into his arms and rested his chin on top of her head. “If I ever get the chance I’ll get him back for you.”

Y/n wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled at his protectiveness. Y/n nuzzled her face into his neck. “Thanks Poe.”

Taglist: @gruffle1 @padawancat97

[darkdemeter]

Fem Child reader x Strife/War platonic fluff! Strife and War knew humanity valued angels as their “saviors” and thought leaving S/O with some angels might be good. At least until they witnessed S/O innocently going up to them and the angels, envious and disgusted with humanity, swung one of their wings harshly at her like a hammer, leaving a nasty bruise and bleeding for the poor little girl. After “dealing” with the angels, both comfort her, who was confused/scared, wondering what did she do?

GUIDE HER WAY HOME II

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE (Platonic!) Strife and War x Female Child!Reader

NOTES ↳ I was itching to write a part 2 for your initial request anon and then you delivered multiple snippets to work with. Bless! WARNINGS❕ ↳ Strife and War go a little crazy-protective mode — mention of blood and some bruising — some depiction of violence and death — bit of fluff? — mostly hurt/comfort — I think that's it?

✎ 2k ────────────────────────

Through the sundering Autumn of this angelic realm, the Horsemen follow along the old cobblestone path, its bleached appearance saturated against the accompanying pond to its side, a thin veil of watery shrubs and a glassy mist reside over the undisturbed surface.

Brought here in search of answers, the Horsemen ride with thoughtful and wary silence, aware that their presence here will likely be met with hostility. Even still, they’re willing to put themselves in the line of risk if it means getting you home safely. 

Your eyes are wide, lashes beating in quickened flashes so as to not miss a single sight around you as you marvel at the beautiful oasis. Rivers of water pour from the higher cliffs and disappear over the mysterious lip of the land that leaves you wondering what's down there.

“We should keep this brief, Strife,” War says, his voice tinged with discomforted nerves. His fists ring tight against Ruin’s chains. He is no stranger to battle, not with the likes of angels, but he’d rather keep from getting caught in a heated exchange of bloodshed simply because of their trespassing. 

“Agreed.” Strife’s own voice is a tad laced darker, gruffer and coiled tightly in his throat as if even uttering a reply renders his throat scratched raw. 

He has to remember as he holds you securely that this is for the best. If anyone had an inkling of an idea what to do with a wayward human child, it would be the angels. Strife wishes he could be more convinced that they would do right by you. 

The pearly white and golden-accented spire is highlighted by a fading stream of sunlight that slowly falls on the horizon. Armoured vanguards that protect this small sanctuary cast the blare of their eyes towards the Horsemen as if the two pose to invade this plateau on Heaven’s outskirts, the blinking twinkle of their helmed eyes turn smaller and thinned into threatened glares. 

Some of them mutter to their company of officers, hands firmly curled around their polearms. 

“Murderers…”

“Butchers…”

“Unholy abominations…” 

You do not heed the warnings the Horsemen do, both parties alert and tense of the other, but the only thing that seems to keep the angels at bay is you. 

“Horsemen,” the commander sneers, the amber flecks in his eyes spark with curt annoyance. “You should not be here.”

Dismounting, War answers with a rumble. “We seek assistance.”

Strife sets you down slowly, second guessing his decision just as your feet grace the intricately carved stone before he complies. Your small hands reach out and grab hold of the flowing garment of Strife’s scarf, following along like an eager pup at his heel as both Nephilim walk towards the commander and his protective hosts. 

“A child?” The commander sharply sputters, brows raised high to his forehead of cascading blonde locks pushed back past his ears. 

“How did you—”

Strife interjects suddenly, “We assume she must have come through a portal of some kind when we found her.”

A twisted version of the truth to keep their dealings with Vulgrim and Samael secret. They had no doubts that mentioning either would only turn the angels on them. 

Still visibly discontented by the Horsemen, the commander tilts his head back, eyes astute in his glaring study of them and paying little mind to your form that happily bounces and skips around their legs. Your attention is taken with a glittery butterfly that flutters about you, teasing your tiny nose, your grip slides away from Strife’s scarf and give chase to the familiar insect with a gleeful coo. 

Distantly, the conversation continues. “What is it you seek from us, Nephilim?”

Strife and War both bear an almost sickened snarl on their faces, bitter to the fact they must admit. The commander snickers, knowing what it is they very well mean to imply. 

“Humans regard Angels with… respect. They view you as insightful and protective entities.”

“Go on…” chides the commander, now grinning with pride. 

Strife barely holds back a growl before he continues. “Can we entrust her to you and that you will deliver her back home, unharmed?”

The commander rubs at his stubbled chin, eyes now lulled to relax, glimmering. “Well, it won’t be easy taking her back. Earth is sealed and bound in secrecy. A powerful ward protects the realm.”

“Explain yourself, Commander. How exactly can she return if Earth is sealed?” War says with a clenched grind of his teeth. 

Huffing, the commander shakes his head. “And your wanting to know is all the more reason not to tell you.”

Strife cannot help the fidgeting twitch of his fingers that sit upon the holsters of his pistols, something doesn’t sit well and it makes itself known with the unsettled churning in his gut. “You believe we have bad intentions?”

The commander rolls his shoulders back with a slitted stare. “I wouldn’t believe you would intend anything good if you knew of Earth’s location.”

Lead astray from the Horsemen’s protection, your eyes are captured by the majestic beauty of two female angels that stand idle by the flourishing gardens. Sensing something small, their eyes flick down at you, faces turned and coiled that you don’t perceive as disgusted as you offer a kind smile, gasping aloud in your awe. With a small hand stretched out, you try to gently touch the soft flowing feathers that gracefully sweep low to the ground. “Hello. You have pwe—p-retty wings.”

“Tsk! Begone human!” The feminine voice of the angel sounds more of a snake’s hiss. She bats her wing down hard against you. A yelp pulled from your throat, you're flung back under the windy current, causing your palms and knees to scrape across the stone. You push yourself up slightly, chin bobbling with a low whimper, you bring your hands out in front of you to see the swelling bruises and thin oozes of blood. It stings. It hurts…

Your eyes once filled with only adorable curiosity and wonder are taken over by fat tears that brew and spill down your rosy cheeks, eyebrows scrunched tight together. 

Strife’s voice chokes on a silently rung gasp that physically constricts in his throat, his golden eyes flare as heat scorches and writhes within his entire being. War, much like his counterpart, is unleashed from his honourable collar laying shattered ten yards behind him. Something cold and dark inevitably snaps inside each of the two brothers upon witnessing a terrible crime committed against a pure and innocent soul. 

They were wrong to trust in these corrupted halos that humanity lays so much trust and adoration in. It’s all a veil that they use to blind the poorer and unknowing mortals with — a facade.

Your cries grow louder into pained wails and it’s reason enough for Strife. All he can say at that moment is one thing. “Close your eyes.”

He attacks the moment your hands cup over your eyes, darting forward with a thrusting sprint Anarchy takes hold, its form shreds his skin through a voided circlet of flame, spurred on by his rage he bellows a rattling roar that twangs in the air as fracturing echoes. When the commander means to unsheathe his weapon, War plants himself in front of him. The length of the commander’s blade poised to strike the form of Anarchy now confronts the hulking mass of Chaos.

No longer are his eyes aglow with pedestal pride, instead replaced with a widened, remorseful glaze under the beast’s enormous shadow.

With a downward strike of his fiery sword, the commander succumbs to a blowing strike that dents and tears into his armor, a cleaving of blood splatters the ground around him in a messy pool.

Enraged and at the targeted head of a rear attack, Chaos pivots and swipes his blade at an oncoming fleet of angels that hover and dive at him. His tall stature leaps, standing protectively over you just like Anarchy who stands to his brother’s back, a spawn of packed fire unleashes from his gun arm. When the angel that dared to so much as ruffle her feathers at you wrongly means to strike the fronting blade of her polearm to Anarchy’s exposed flank, Chaos lashes an arm out and captures her in his clawed grasp. 

She writhes, wings beating profusely to break free but her attempts are futile. Brought near to stare her demise in the eye, Anarchy arches over, head bowed and horns almost caging her. As if the two contemplate her fate, Anarchy rolls his head to the side with a snorted huff, an act that calls her execution. 

The angel’s face pales, features faltering as if she can hear Chaos rumble, “With pleasure.” below a feral laced growl.

Her scream is barely heard before she is crushed by the callosal force of Chaos’ hand. 

Just as swiftly as it had begun, it was over. With the ensuing silence, you slowly lower your hands, nose scrunching a little. Eyes opened and vision slightly blurred by tears you manage to focus on War and Strife who approach you with a clatter and rattling of chinking armor in their haste to reach you. Your arms shoot out to them, voice whining with another small cry.

“Hey, hey,” Strife coos, trying in vain to keep his tone calm. His hands take hold of yours, cupping them entirely in his gentle grasp and carefully, his thumbs prod. “Let me see.”

“Ooch…!” You pout, more tears flow down your cheeks while Strife assesses the damage. Thankfully, mere scratches but in the end, his intuition had been right.

The angels couldn’t be trusted to take care of you. 

“They dare flaunt themselves as bearers of justice and honour… where is honour in hurting a child?” War spits venomously, the widened gate of Chaoseater’s blade embeds itself into the ground, splintering the stone into rubble beneath its furious wake. He growls, the vowel of Chaos on his tongue as a haunting presence. “They disgrace the bannered title as Humanity’s guardians.”

“W-why were they mean?” Your question is stunted by a series of hiccups, the ache and swelling on your hands and knees sore and uncomfortable. Both the brothers can sense your unease.

Your browline only furrows more, you ask, “Did I do someting?”

“No, little one,” assures War before his eyes meet Strife’s. “We were wrong to think they could take care of you. We thought…”

Strife sighs to himself. There still resides that surge of unwavering carnage, the bleed-through of who he formally was bound to take over but he holds fast. No, he will not succumb to it. They are gone, the threat is dealt with. Nobody will ever hurt you again. He swears it and he sees it in War’s eyes too. The enlarged form of War’s gauntlet folds out, inviting you to take hold of it. Your hand, so small and wounded, accepts it and he guides you onto your feet where you stand before him. 

“Cease those tears now, child.” War’s voice has grown warm and low, speaking with an ounce more of care. 

“Come on.” Strife’s arms hoist you up, carrying you back to Mayham where he mounts the saddle, War not far behind him. “Let’s get those scratches mended.”

Sniffling you nod and cling to Strife, guarded by the lifeline of their resolve to protect you. 

Your eyes blink, still glassy when they meet War’s hardened and hooded stare, he gives a nod of his chin. “We will keep you safe.”

Back along the winding stretch whence they came, Strife and War carry you through this realm’s faded season, the auburn leaves fall with slowed recession, coming untethered from the treetops. 

The glassy mirror reflects their passing on the pond’s surface, the boundless mists clearing with now final and eternal rest, relinquished from its hovering prison. You watch, eyes shiny and entranced by the leaves’ fall and cascade of waterfalls. 

You clench your fingers into your palms, wincing at the dullened sting and Strife tenses. His hand curls to the reins and with a stern, commanding kick he sends Mayham into a fearsome gallop followed by War. Both riders head elsewhere, now untrusting of anyone else to care for you, to ensure that you are returned home. 

It is up to them to guide your way home.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

I have another request for your celebration please.

Curtis Everett, Biker au,

“You’re not the person I thought you were.”

Okay so you might not have been expecting smut with this but.... this kinda got away from me... what can I say Curtis Everett does things to me...

An Angel with a Darkside - Biker!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is a man with a dark side, a side he never showed to you... but now you really wanted it

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: SMUT! 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI! Use of sox toys! Language! Dom!Curtis

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist

An Angel with a Darkside

You bit your lip, chin resting in your palm as you leaned against the counter in your cafe. There were many things you could be doing right now, like restocking the pastries and wiping down tables but your attention was solely on the group of bikers across the road.

For many people owning a cafe opposite a bar that was the go-to haunt for the local biker gang would be a dealbreaker. But you loved it solely because it gave you unlimited access to gaze at them all day, especially at one biker in particular.

Curtis ‘the axe’ Everett.

His buzzcut hair, rippling muscles, stern expression and icy blue eyes could make anyone nervous to be in his presence, but to you, it was your kryptonite and made you weak at the knees. After a month of gazing at him, daydreaming about him, you thought you were actually dreaming when he walked into the cafe one day. 

You swallowed nervously as he walked up to the counter, his leather jacket making his biceps look inhumanly large “Hi, what can I get for you?” You smiled hoping you didn’t look too lovesick as you gazed up at him.

The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips “Just a black coffee thanks, to go” he nodded.

“Sure not a problem” you smiled quickly turning your back on him to make his order, you weren’t sure if it was the fact that you couldn’t see him but a wave of confidence crashed over you “Do you want a little Irish added to your coffee?”

“I didn’t realise cafes stocked whiskey” he commented as you finished making his drink and turned back around to face him.

“We don’t but I can make sure I have it for next time” You smirked and the smile that was playing at his lips grew “Can I get you anything else?”

“What do you suggest?”

“Well you can never go wrong with a chocolate croissant, they’re handmade,” you said nodding to the display of croissants.

“I’ll take one of those too then”

“Coming right up” you smiled quickly packing one away into a to-go bag “That’ll be eight dollars please”

Curtis placed 10 dollars on the counter and picked up his coffee to take a sip “Just what I needed, keep the change angel” he winked as he grabbed his croissant and walked out of the cafe.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip as you watched him go, eyes focused on his perfect ass. So much so that it was only when he was out of view that you spotted he’d left the sleeve of his to-go cup on the counter and it was only when you picked it up that you realised he scribbled his number onto it.

Fast forward 3 months and the two of you were officially dating and it had been amazing. You didn’t care about his tough and rough exterior, if anything it was a major turn-on for you. Curtis could also be incredibly sweet behind those frowns and grunts. Whenever he took you to bed he worshipped you, his rough hand gliding gently over your skin, it was amazing. 

But…

You wanted more, needed more. Yes, he had given you some of the best orgasms of your entire life with the smooth and gentle lovemaking, but what really got you going was watching him being tough, commanding and dominating. You wanted him to dominate you. 

You weren’t sure exactly how to ask him to bring that side of himself into the bedroom though. But after watching him holding someone up by the collar of their jacket you couldn’t wait any longer and set a plan in motion. 

You and Curtis already had a plan to meet up this evening, Curtis coming over to your apartment for dinner and a good time, but instead of meeting him downstairs in your cafe you left a note telling him to meet you upstairs.

Which is exactly where you waited for him, dressed in black lingerie which left absolutely nothing to the imagination made from nothing but small straps of black material. The marble kitchen counter cool against your bare skin as you perched invitingly on the edge. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you heard Curtis’ heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, but as soon as he set his eyes on you and you saw them darken you knew you were in for a good night. 

Curtis silently walked over to you, his icy blue eyes devouring your entire body. He said nothing as he reached out and ran his finger underneath one of the straps, his knuckle brushing over your exposed sensitive peak. 

The corner of his lips tugged upwards when you shivered at his touch “What is all this?” 

You leaned forward to run your hands over the shoulders of his leather jacket “I love it when you worship me but… watching you today…” you said taking a deep breath as your gaze met his “Being so… dominant…”

The lopsided grin on Curtis’ face grew “You want that hm?” he hummed, his hand moving to cup the underside of your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. 

“So much” you breathed out.

A flash of worry passed over Curtis’ face “I don’t want to hurt you” he muttered, eyes dropping. 

You cupped his cheek to return his gaze to yours “You won’t” you said before smirking “I’m tougher than I look”

Curtis chuckled shaking his head, his gaze finally falling to the selection of toys you had left out around you “Where have you been hiding all these?” he said as he reached out and picked up a pair of fluffy handcuffs.

You shrugged innocently “Just next to all my deepest darkest secrets” you winked. 

Curtis chuckled again as he leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of you “We should have a safe word Angel” 

You nodded “How about… croissant?” you smirked recalling the first time you met. 

Curtis gave you a wicked grin as he nodded “Okay, now lie back angel, hands above your head” 

You were buzzing with anticipation as you did what he said, your fingers brushing against the cool metal of your kitchen sink behind you. You heard Curtis move around the island before his hands took yours and the handcuffs were placed around your wrists, securing you in place using the kitchen faucet. 

He walked back around to where your legs hug off the edge of the counter, pulling you closer to the edge “I recall our plans to have dinner tonight” he said, pulling aside the thin straps that covered your core “but I guess I’m the only one eating tonight” 

You bit your lips as you felt his breath ghost over you, but it did nothing to stop the moan that broke free when Curtis dove in. Usually Curtis took his time, would gently work you up before diving in but he wasn’t holding himself back. Your legs clamped around his head, his beard burning against your thighs. His hands moved to grip your thighs, keeping them exactly where he wanted them, his grip so tight it was sure to leave a mark. 

Your back ached against the counter, the metal of your handcuffs clinking against the faucet. This unrestrained animal was just what you wanted and more. You tried to hold yourself back so this moment would last forever but you came harder and faster than you ever have before, practically screaming his name. 

You watched with hooded eyes as he rose back up to his full height, in the low light of your kitchen you could see your essence glistening on his beard. He licked his lips before he leaned over to press wet kisses up your body. 

“I know you’re in charge but I have a suggestion” you muttered in between deep breaths.

You felt Curtis smirk against your skin, his eyebrow arched as he glanced up at you “Oh really? And what is it?” 

You smirked back at him “Unlock these and you’ll find out” you said tugging on the handcuffs. 

Curtis didn’t say anything as he rounded the counter once more and freed you from the handcuffs. As he walked back around you pushed yourself off of the counter, turning around and bending over. You saw the wolfish grin on Curtis’ face as he moved to stand behind you. 

“Oh” he muttered in surprise, in all the time you knew him you’d never heard him sound so surprised “What is this?” he asked, his voice dropping. 

You knew exactly what he meant as he touched the gem-encrusted butt plug that you had already inserted before his arrival, his touch making you clench around the cool metal “I thought it would be wise to prepare myself” you said glancing over your shoulder at him. 

His eyes met yours, eyes that were now so dark you couldn’t see the icy blue anymore “You’re not the person I thought you were” he hummed.

“Oh really?” you smirked.

Curtis shook his head “You’re so much better… my sweet little angel has a dark side”

“And I’m all yours” you said pushing your ass out towards him.

Curtis let out a dark chuckle as he leant down to press a kiss to your shoulder “Remember our safe word?” he asked, you hummed and nodded your head “Good because you might need it”

You bit your lip in anticipation as your listened to him unbuckle his jeans. You gasped when you felt him run himself up and down your soaked folds your breath hitching when you felt him press inside you. Except it wasn’t him, he’d grabbed one of your larger vibrators and was using that instead. 

“Gotta make sure you’re ready angel, I’m guessing this is your first time” he hummed as he turned the vibrator on to its lowest setting. 

You whimpered at the sensation of being so full as you nodded your head in answer. Your whimper then turned into a whine as you felt Curtis pull the plug from you, your body mourning the loss of sensation. Curtis shushed you quietly as he ran his hands over your ass, one hand moved to your core collecting your juices before returning to your ass, his fingertip swirling against your rosebud. 

“Relax” Curtis instructed as he slowly teased your hole and your body instantly responded to his command “Good girl,” he said as he pressed his finger further into you.

You could only moan his name as you rutted back against him desperate for more, but Curtis took his time with you, opening you up before he added another finger. When you began to beg for more he responded not by adding more, but by turning up the intensity of the vibrator. 

“That’s it, I want to feel you come one more time, make sure you're thoroughly ready for me,” Curtis said as he pressed a kiss to your spine. 

Your toes curled as you felt another orgasm crash over you, harder than the one before. If it wasn’t for the countertop beneath you, you would have sagged completely to the floor. 

It was while you were coming down from that high that Curtis got himself ready, your body instantly responding when he pressed his tip to your hole. He pressed himself inside slowly, letting you open up for him in your own time. He was only halfway in when it felt like you couldn’t take anymore, you were already too full with him and the vibrator.

“You can do it angel, just a little more” Curtis gently coaxed. 

Your body relaxed some more as he slowly thrust into you until he was fully seated inside you. The both of you pausing to just enjoy the sensation. 

“Fuck you feel so good” Curtis ground out between heavy breaths. 

You could only moan in response, all coherent thoughts gone from your brain, all that was left was the euphoria you were feeling, how good it felt to be so full. 

“How do you want this?” Curtis then asked, his hands running gently across your back. 

“All” was the only thing you were able to say, you wanted it all. 

Curtis thankfully understood exactly what you meant as he began to thrust into you with no restraint. You instantly began chanting his name with every thrust, understanding that this was the true meaning behind the phrase ‘fucking your brains out’. 

It was a miracle that you hung on for as long as you did, your peak dangerously close from the moment he entered you. But when he reached beneath you to turn your vibrator on to his highest setting you completely lost it, screaming his name as you came around him, screaming so loud you were certain the people across the street could hear you. Curtis followed swiftly behind you, spilling himself inside you, cum leaking out. 

The both of you took a moment to recover before Curtis pulled himself and the vibrator from you, making you whine at the breath of emptiness you felt. Curtis then gently helped you stand back up, hooking his arm beneath you and lifting you up when your knees went weak. 

He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead as he carried you from the kitchen and into your bedroom, gently setting you down on the soft mattress. He went to then step away but you grabbed his wrist.

“Thank you” you whispered, your voice hoarse from all the moaning. 

Curtis gave you a soft grin as he bent down to kiss you softly “No, thank you” he murmured “Now relax while I clean you up and look after you like the angel you are”

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Masterlist / Celebration Masterlist

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[dalekofchaos]

Context

Context for choice 3.

Here is what I mean about The New Republic and The First Order.

What happens after you win a war? How do you not make the same mistakes or become the thing you fought. What happens in a power vacuum? The New Republic should have been the dominant emerging power, and the Remnant should have been a small, secretive, unknown order, striking strategically from the Unknown Regions where they hid, and causing fear and panic to spread in the NR. After the Galactic Civil War, The New Republic commanders the Imperial Fleet and starts protecting systems who join the NR, all while chasing down and fighting any of the Remnants (Moffs, Warlords, Crime Lords, etc) who have grabbed power in the resulting vacuum. We could have seen an evolution of ships from Old Republic to Empire to NR ones. They could have renamed Star Destroyers into Star Defenders. Hell, they could have had a Republic of independent systems, each with their own sizable military, so that power isn’t centralized.

But no, instead of telling an interesting story, we are force fed the recycled poorly written rehashed Rebels vs Empire and the Rebels are made to be weaker than The First Order. The First Order are a terrorist movement, they should not be reigning after Hosnian Prime’s destruction, ESPECIALLY AFTER LOSING STARKILLER BASE!

Choice 4. Here is how I would give Kylo Ren motivation as to why Ben Solo fell and his main motivation as Kylo Ren.

Choice 6. I don't think there was absolutely no need for a Palpatine clone and eventually Palpatine himself(🙄) we all knew what was happening around the time this trilogy was being made. Trump. Base Snoke around the mango Mussolini and his lunatic fringe followers. An Alt-Right cult leader who cultivates the worst people imaginable. All The First Order needed to be was pointing out The New Republic brought the galaxy to an age of scum and villainy. A lawless state that usurped the rightful rulers that brought law and order. Basically "Make the Galaxy great again with Imperial Greatness"

You see, originally Lucas was going to make Palpatine JUST a politician and base him around Richard Nixon.

“George Lucas has spoken on various occasions of the way that the Nixon administration and the Vietnam war had an important influence on how he shaped the plot of the early films in the saga. The impact that these two events had an American in the 1970s started him thinking about the ways in which democracies can sale and how they deteriorating to dictatorships when corruption goes unchecked. He’s quoted as saying that Nixon - Who he viewed as having subverted the Senate and as acting an increasingly imperialistic way - what is the direct inspiration for Emperor Palpatine the supreme leader of the evil Empire in the first Star Wars trilogy”

So I don't see why they couldn't do something similar with the CLEAR FUCKING EVIL going on in the world at the time this trilogy was being made. No Sith master was needed.

In this scenario, I would call The First Order, The Imperium

Now you might have questions. What about the Stormtroopers and Kylo?

Stormtroopers? Don’t abduct kids, nationalize and recruit them willingly. Abducting children and training them to be Stormtroopers instantly made The First Order out to be cartoonishly evil from the start. So what do you do instead? Use propaganda. Nationalize them. Make them believe The Empire was right and convince them that the life of a Stormtrooper will help bring order in a chaotic galaxy. We’ve seen cults do something similar, Far Right Wing groups do it and we’ve seen Trump radicalize and nationalize white supremacists, so it’s not impossible for The First Order to do the logical thing.

Finn only leaves because he sees they are murdering unarmed civilians and chooses to leave. He is an example that it isn't too late to leave harmful fringe cult movements.

So how would Ben turn in this scenario? He's radicalized by Snoke. Ben starts hearing passionate speeches in the senate and Ben is moved. "I know he opposes my mother, but he's making a lot of sense" "He's right, we need to bring order to the galaxy" and Ben is radicalized by this Imperium movement and what he believes is Snoke's righteous cause. To Snoke, Ben represents everything great about the Empire. Snoke collects Sith Holocrons and uses the holocrons to turn Ben Solo into Kylo Ren.

In this scenario, I wouldn't redeem Ben. He is far too gone. He's committed atrocities in Snoke's name, for The Imperium and to bring order to the galaxy. While Finn represents those who could break away from Right Wing movements and Cults. Kylo Ren is far too gone, he's radicalized to the point where he's a die hard believer like Hux and Phasma and he's willing to fight and die for this indoctrination.

Choice 11. The Episode IX rewrite with Ben living and Reylo ending

Choice 12. The original plan for the Sequel Trilogy was to just get three young directors together to direct the Sequel Trilogy. It was supposed to be JJ, Rian and Colin Trevorrow, but Colin's IX was bad and his Jurassic World trilogy was terrible. So I would make either Matt Reves or Greta Gerwig as the director for Episode IX and ideally they would plan the trilogy out together instead of JJ setting up Mystery Boxes and expecting Rian and others open said mystery boxes and Rian subverting expectations.

[cthonic-bunny]

1. Pick a Card Reading

What is spooking them from advancing this connection?

Spooky season edition- in honor of Halloween weekend! Take what resonates and abandon all that doesn't. This is my very first collective reading, so feedback would be much appreciated! I am using the Darkside Skeleton Tarot deck and the Romance Angels oracle cards for this reading! Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and choose the deck you gravitate to! Left pile is pile 1, middle pile is pile 2, and the pile on the right is pile 3.

Pile 1-

Cards pulled: Ten of Cups, Ace of Cups, The Magician, Six of Cups, Death, Queen of Pentacles, Page of Cups, and King of Swords

Oracle Cards: "Express your love," "Very soon," and "Heart to Heart Conversations"

Ahhhh, pile 1! This is by far the sweetest pile of the bunch. I actually don't sense much fear at all on their behalf. The lack of progress most likely stems from finding the optimal timing to express their real feelings and plans for this connection's progression. They want to find the right words to say. They want to do things "the right way." They have a romantic side, and appreciate the idea of courting. They want to start off properly so that this connection could have a crack-free, sturdy foundation to support you two through the long-run. They don't perceive this union as one to take lightly. There might be an expectation that this is a relationship meant to last, so we have to get it right before we even begin. I get the sense that they will be very protective of you, and pick up on changes in your emotional state very easily. They are intelligent and well-spoken. I feel like you two might be a little different, but in a way that is complimentary. They can respect you as someone who is at their level, or shares similar values. I think they like how you two would look as a couple in terms of your appearances. They get a lot of satisfaction out of making you blush, or flirting with you. I feel like they wanted to approach you in a romantic context as soon as they first saw you. They might be the type to like to get you flowers. They want this to be emotionally enriching for you both. I see a lot of tenderness and being able to genuinely relax around one another. Your presences might be very soothing to one another, so spending time with one another feels better than not. I don't see it being unhealthy or codependent with this pile. They aren't loud and boisterous, and don't need to intentionally command attention to show their dominance or confidence in a room full of people. Maybe you two met in school, or have childhood friends in common? High school sweethearts, maybe? I feel like they might like to watch sports, or perhaps even play them. You or them might perceive the other as "dreamy." I wouldn't be surprised if one or both of you might have Pisces, Scorpio, or Cancer placements (especially pisces for some reason), but maybe even Aries. I feel like they smell good, and their perfume or cologne lingering on you after you see them fills you with butterflies. I also think butterflies might be important to someone in this connection. You like the way they dress. They come off as clean and hygienic. I feel like for some, they grew up financially comfortable or well-off. They might have been taught to be chivalrous. If this is a man, there is something about his energy that reminds me of Conrad from The Summer I Turned Pretty. I think you two might really enjoy drives together, and giggling in the car. I can see someone sharing their hoodie with the other. They might enjoy your music taste or not mind it, even if it is different than theirs. You might have a deeper connection to music than them. if this reading resonates so far, I would just give it time to unfold organically and enjoy the present.

Pile 2-

Cards pulled: 8 of Swords, 4 of Cups, The Sun, The Fool, 6 of Wands, Judgment, Knight of Pentacles, The Devil

Oracle Cards: "Healing Family Issues," "Love yourself first," and "Separation"

This is easily the most chaotic and confusing pile. This person seems extremely inconsistent, and seems to change quicker than the moon. I get air sign energy from this pile though, especially Libra energy. I don't think they necessarily have bad intentions, but they don't awaken the most positive feelings in you. I think this person tends to get a little ahead of themselves because they are so full of thoughts they can't fully interpret themselves. They think something is a great idea, get super motivated, and then all of a sudden refuses to act or changes their mind. Their flame shines super bright, but burns out quick. I think some of these people might be suffering from addiction or is an escapist. They might have family issues that have really affected them and their adult relationships. If that isn't the case, for a select few of you, you can possibly be dealing with someone who has a family with someone else that they cannot abandon to be with you without causing massive upheaval and chaos in their life. This person is pretty up and down. They might come off as the life of the party, but inside are jumbling a lot of unspoken feelings. They need to learn to love themselves first before they can properly give you the love and commitment they need. I recommend giving this person space to collect themselves. They are not thinking clearly, and might be acting impulsively and carelessly to see what fills a void. They are trying to seek joy and gratification, and want to make sure they aren't making the wrong decision and depriving themselves of the solace they are searching for. They need to sit down and reflect on a lot. Despite making rash decisions, I see they are also really scared of making mistakes that will cast judgment on them. They might overcommit to plans with friends so that they can avoid their inner wounds (I feel like they are kind of popular too). They can be in the middle of some sort of spiral, and it is best to not get too wrapped up in their tornado. "I also hear that they don't trust themselves." I see them as someone who is financially frivolous. All of this isn't to say that they do not care about you as a person, but they might be too wrapped up in discovering themselves to truly give you the intimacy and stability you might crave. Give them time to come back down to Earth.

Pile 3-

Cards pulled: 9 of Pentacles, The Hermit, 7 of Cups, 5 of Cups, 4 of Pentacles, The Emperor, The High Priestess, The Lovers

Oracle Cards: "Forgiving and learning," "Romantic feelings," "Honeymoon"

Pile 3! For some reason, I can't stop thinking about this person as being a little bit on the alt side. Maybe they have wavy/curly/or messy hair and it is one of the things you find the most attractive about them. They might skate, or look like they skate I feel like? They look like a "sad boy" or maybe an "e-girl" depending on what gender you are inquiring about. I feel like they might like to read a lot, or are starting to get into reading. They give me Aries energy, or maybe another fire sign. I think their fears on furthering this connection with you comes from fears of not being good enough or fear of rejection. I think this person is going through changes and re-evaluating their past mistakes and tendencies so that they can become a more stable and mature version of themselves. I think they are a hopeless romantic at heart, but they are also someone who requires a lot of reassurance. I think they need to spend a lot of time with you before they can feel comfortable expressing their feelings because they are constantly trying to read the vibe of the room. They might be extremely self-aware or sensitive to their environment to the point it can become really overwhelming to them to process so much at once. They might be the type to ruminate on the things they said to someone once they leave that social interaction. I think they might be waiting for you to give them a definite sign first before confessing their feelings so that they know they are not crazy and misreading the dynamic. I feel like they might have a small circle of friends, but they are super important to them. I think they find you to be gentle. They might love to daydream a lot. They get lost in their thoughts and forget time is passing that they don't really make a move. They might be assertive and quick-witted in other situations, but not so much in love. They might be the type to enjoy watching romantic comedies with you. They want a relaxed love. They are a softy, I feel like. I also wouldn't be surprised if they also have Pisces or Taurus placements. Maybe they were born in June, or June is an important month for you two? They would not want to share you with anyone else, and would want to make sure you have feelings for absolutely no one but them. They will not handle that heartbreak well, and will lament on it for a very long time. They think very deeply and ponder as well. If it is a man, I can sense them being in tune with their feminine side. They also might be very intuitive. I feel like they will defend the ones they love with every ounce of their being. Introducing you to their friends might be a bigger gesture than you think. I think they just need to work on their confidence. Reassurance is big in this pile. I think they like to watch and admire you, and appreciate your physical beauty.

-D

[blisss777]

PART 3

Anakin skywalker x fem best friend reader

Warnings:angst, mentions of death, manipulation, heavily pregnant reader. Obi-Wan loses the fight against anakin, sorry to all the Obi-Wan lovers, this hurts me as much as it hurts you🙏🏽

There is a time jump, sorry 🙏🏽 ps, listen to any lana song as you read, or if you'd like Taylor swift. Anyone your little heart desires💕

Her heart sinks to her stomach as 3P0 informs her of how the attack on the Jedi temple, her worry centred around anakin skywalker. She shallows a lump in her throat, fidgeting with her silk robe anakin has brought her as a gift. And she knows she won't be able to sleep tonight, not a wink until anakin is in her arms once more.

So she waits, a painstakingly long wait. She can't stay in one place for to long, but she tries, she truly tries. For her, for her unborn child. She's broken from her dark thoughts once more by 3P0. "Master anakin has returned." A sense of relief floods her, she runs as best as she could while being heavily pregnant.

Seeing Anakin getting of off his ship, his eyes conect with hers and he rushes towards her. Wrapping her up in his strong arms, he takes in her familiar sweet scent. It soothes him greatly. "Oh ani, I was so worried. I heard there was an attack on the Jedi temple you can see the smoke from here"

"I know, I'm sorry I'm alright, see. I came to see if you and the baby are safe." He takes her face in his hands. "What's happening ani?" A now serious look taking over his features. "The jedi have tried to overthrow the Republic." Her eyebrows furrowed in a look of disbelief. "What, why would they do that?" She thought the jedi were the good guys, why would they do that. What purpose would it serve.

"I saw master windu attempt to assassinate the chancellor myself." Anakin says it with such certainty that she believes him, she always would. "Ani, what are you gonna do?" She looks into his eyes, fear filling hers. His eyes narrow in anger but not at her, he turns and faces away from her. "I will not betray the Republic. My loyalties lie with the chancellor."

"And with the senate, and with you." He walks towards her, placing a hand on her bump and rubbing. "What about you're master, obi-wan?" She wondered about his supposed master, someone she hasn't met or even seen with her own two eyes. But anakin has always mentioned him in a good light, as a father to him. "I don't know, Many jedi have been killed, We can only hope that he's remained loyal to the chancellor."

"Ani, I'm afraid." She looks up at him with furrowed brows, anakin tilts his head slightly and caresses her face. "Have faith my love, everything will soon be set right." His eyes softened in adoration. "The chancellor has given me a very important mission, the separatists have gathered on the mustafar system. I'm going there to end this war."

His voice rises slightly before again softening. "Wait for me until I return, things will be different I promise." She nods slightly at anakin's words, he leans in and she closes her eyes. They're lips meeting in a sweet kiss. "Please wait for me." He begs before turning to leave, immediately jumping back in his ship and flying away.

3P0 walks back up the steps and stops in front of y/n. "Well then my lady, is there anything I might do?" She shakes her head slowly, trying to wrap her head around everything that gas happened in a span of minutes. "No thank you 3P0." He muttered something about feeling helpless as he walks away.

Leaving her to her thoughts once more.

🌌

Landing the ship on mustafar, she cradles her head in her hands. A horrid feeling in her stomach as she thinks of what obi-wan has told her of anakin's turn to the darkside. Looking in the distance she sees a familiar figure, anakin. She quickly opens the ships ramp and runs down it to then meet him half way in an embrace.

"I saw your ship." He moves his head back to gaze at her worriedly. "What are you doing out here?" Anakin asks as he rubs the side of her arms, up and down gently. "I was so worried about you, obi-wan told me terrible things." She shakes her head, thinking about her anakin doing those things. She couldn't even fathom it.

"What things." Anakin's voice is aggressive, anger flowing through him like the hot molten lava on mustafar. "He said you've turned to the darkside, that you killed younglings."

"Obi-wan is trying to turn you against me." He whispers as he tries to quell his quickly building anger. "He cares about you, about us." His face drops at her words. "Us?" She grabs his shoulders and squeezes softly, before moving up to his neck and playing with the hairs there.

"He knows, he wants to help you." Anakin just looks down and smiles a sinister smile, and she shivers at that. "Ani, all I want is your love. Please, I need you, we need you." She grabs his hand and places it on her rounded stomach. "Love won't save you y/n, only my mew powers can."

"Ani please, don't do this." She pleads, reaching up to hold his face in both her hands. Pushing his hair out of his face. "I won't lose you, I am becoming more powerful than any jedi has dreamed of." Her arms drop down slowly as he says that, her hope that there is still good in him slowly dwindling. "And I'm doing it for you, to protect you."

"Come away with me, let's leave this all behind. We can raise the baby together in a little house on naboo, like we talked about. Remember?" She smiles but it's covering her sadness, as she tries to believe that he'd listen. That they'd leave like they always talked about.

"Don't you see, we don't have to run anymore. I have brought peace to the Republic, I am more powerful than the chancellor I can overthrow him." She slowly backs away, her eyes tearing up as obi-wan's words prove to be true. And it breaks her heart. "And together you and I can rule the galaxy, make things the way we want them to be."

The smile on his face is alarming, her heart beats furiously against her chest. Making it hard for her to breath. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Obi-Wan was right, you've changed." Anakin's eyes narrowed and he looks away quickly before looking back at her, his glare sends a shiver down her spine.

"I don't wanna hear anymore about obi-wan. The jedi turned against me, I won't let them turn you against me." His voice is frightening, and he senses the fear in her. She holds a protective hand on her stomach, thinking of making a run for it. "Don't, don't you dare." His words are ominous, and he takes a menacing step towards her. Making her take two back in response.

But he stops suddenly, his icy glare is directed behind her. Making her brows furrow in confusion and she turns to see what has caught his attention, she gasps as she spots obi-wan standing at the top of the ramp. "Ani, no no ani please." She cried out as she sees the deathly look on his face, as he raised his arm. Force chocking her.

He says nothing as she begs, chocking on her words and gasping desperately for air. "Let her go anakin." It's obi-wan's voice, but everything starts to blur and fade around her. And her eyes plead with him to let her go, to listen as tears roll down her cheeks. Her heart shattering into pieces.

"Let her go." At obi-wan's words he does, but it's to late, she falls to the ground on her side. She isn't responding anymore, and obi-wan stares at her form worried. But he senses through the force that she is alive. "You turned her against me!" Anakin shouts out, wanting to end him where he stands.

"You have done that yourself." Obi-wan's words are firm, as Anakin starts to pace. "You will not take her from me!" It's obvious that he's to far gone, the darkside has already sunken it's claws into him. "Your anger and your lust for power have already done that." Obi-wan thows his robe to the ground, as Anakin has done.

"You have allowed this dark lord to twist your mind, until now. Until now you have become the very thing you swore to destroy." They circle each other as obi-wan reaches y/n, laying perfectly still. "Don't lecture me obi-wan, I see through the lies of the jedi. I do not fear the darkside as you do."

Obi-wan kneels and lays a hand on her face, feeling her warmth. The life still seeping through her. "I have brought peace, freedom, justice and security to my new empire." Anakin shouts with his back to obi-wan. "Your new empire?" Obi-wan is shocked at what he says, his thick brows furrowed.

"Don't make me kill you." Anakin's voice is threatening, the darkside of the force flows through him. Goading and prodding at him to attack. To kill. "Anakin my allegiance is to the Republic, to democracy!" Obi-wan sounds almost desperate, trying and failing to get anakin to understand. To stop this nonsense while he can.

"If you're not with me, then you're my enemy." It's silent between them both for a moment, obi-wan breaks the silence. "Only a sith deals in absolutes." He reaches down and grabs his lightsaber. "I will do what I must."

"You will try."

🌌

Anakin walks stiffly to y/n, still unconscious, but alive nonetheless. He reaches down and picks her up in his arms almost effortlessly, taking her inside of the huge and looming building that resides on mustafar. Laying her gently on a medical bed as droids move around her, checking her and the baby's condition. Finding them thankfully healthy and safe, anakin shooed them away and sits on a chair besides the bed.

He leans down and placed a kiss on her forehead, caressing her cheek with his flesh hand. Gazing at her with an almost sickly in love look on his face. "I promised to keep you safe by my side, and I will. No matter what my love." The darkside hums around him, loving and feeding of off his obsession. And he'll never let her leave him, never.

Notes:wow I finally finished this lol, anyways leave a request if you'd like😭🙏🏽

[jessicas-pi]

is it possible for the ask game, if you could do either starbirds and wolves or a guide to the mythical and mysterious (the sabezra mythical creatures au) with directors commentary?

OOOOOH MYTHICAL & MYSTERIOUS DIRECTOR'S CUT ok buckle up I think you've unleashed a ramble monster because this AU has SO MUCH WORLDBUILDING that I haven't got to yet, and I might go off on some tangents. I'll try to restrain myself but I make no promises.

Soooo, I'm just gonna kinda read through it and talk about things as I come to them!

Okay, right off the bat, there's the framing of the fic. It's basically one long scene of Sabine & Ezra hanging out and reading each other's diaries for fun, with a ton of flashbacks. But in the first draft, the framing of the story was completely different! Instead of Sabine & Ezra reading the diaries, it was Rune (their adopted daughter) and Jacen who stole the diaries and were reading them! It had a lot of funny lines, so when I changed it, I saved all the old scenes to be reworked/rewritten into a companion fic.

Oh, another thing! So, Hera is a siren in this AU. Something I learned while researching mythical creatures is that there's basically two types of siren in mythology: the ones that are the same as mermaids, and then there's bird-women with singing powers. She's the bird-woman kind of siren because she flies! (Also, I made her a siren because the first thing Kanan noticed about her was her voice. In the very first draft, she was a selkie, and she and kanan had a meet cute where he very innocently picked up her coat that she'd dropped to return it to her and she thought he was stealing it and tackled him.)

And on the topic of selkies, Zeb's a selkie! He's purple because of a prank gone wrong. (Sabine thought the dye would wash right out of his coat! Honest!)

OOH, so, I just got to the part where Sabine's diary entry is about Ezra joining the crew, and that reminded me! One flashback scene that I wrote and ended up cutting was how Sabine and Ezra met. It was very little-mermaid-esque, but with a lot more confused screaming.

Hmmm, not much I can think of in the next few sections...

AH WAIT OK SO THERE'S THIS BIT!!

It had been rough at the beginning, but ever since he got rid of that red crystal pendant he brought up from the trenches of Malachor, he’d been much easier to get along with.

So, in case context doesn't give it away, the crystal he took from the trenches of Malachor is basically the Sith holocron. Dark side planets/places in general (Malachor, Dathomir, etc.) are various trenches and such in this---the deeper in the sea, the Darker the place. And Malachor itself...

Well, lets just say, I may have been slightly (incredibly) obsessed by the deep sea as a kid, so Malachor is my JAM.

Instead of a Sith temple, that giant pyramidal structure is replaced by an underwater volcano. The various pillars and columns scattered across the surface of Malachor are now hydrothermal vents (my beloveds). There's also a lot of bleached bones---whale falls, and (more creepily) merfolk skeletons.

OHH AND THAT BRINGS ME TO VARIOUS DARKSIDERS.

So, Force-sensitives are all merfolk in this AU (but not all merfolk are force-sensitive). But Dark-side merfolk look much different than regular mer. I'm drawing a lot of inspiration from creepy deep sea animals (also my beloveds). All merfolk have bioluminescent patterns that shift colors, but Dark-siders have theirs permanently turned red. partly because of the red lightsaber thing, but also because no red light reaches the deep sea, so a lot of animals are red because they're essentially invisible, UNLESS they're seen by an animal that emits red light and can therefore see/hunt/kill the red animals, so emitting red light symbolizes how the Dark mer have become exclusively predatory and destructive.

uhhh I got kinda distracted there. ANYWAY,

Oh, there's that line about how Ezra has a habit of curling his tailfin around people's legs so he doesn't float away mid-conversation! So, there's lore to that. Basically, it's a mer-child thing. Little Mer don't have enough control of their body in the water to stay in one place. Kanan doesn't do it, because he grew up with the merfolk and in this AU he was an adult by the time they were wiped out, so he learned to adjust himself in the water with little movements. Ezra was a child when the merfolk were killed, so he never learned that and the habit of holding onto people with his tail has carried over, which is why he still does it as an older teenager.

Pff oh yeah also. that "this is... detailed" thing. I know the details. I know all the details. I will not be elaborating. Some things must remain unknown.

Oh! And the scene where they're talking up in the crow's nest of the ship and it's mentioned that Sabine spends time up there! That was a reference to Krownest! Get it? Crow's nest? Krownest? hehehe i'm so funny

OH OH OH SABINE'S BACKSTORY!! This wasn't elaborated much in the first draft but with the rewrite it got more attention. Although the circumstances are different than in canon, I tried to keep a lot of it the same---Sabine goes into a situation willingly trusting someone who doesn't have her best interests at heart and gets blindsided by their betrayal. ALSO ANOTHER FUN FACT!! In the original version she was an Amazon and not a Valkyrie!! But then I changed it up so she only joined the Amazons for a time after leaving her old life behind. She was determined to join their ranks and fit in, despite all the culture clashes, but when her Amazonian battle-sister left her for dead after she was injured in a skirmish, Sabine cut all her ties with them and left.

Ahh yeah this bit never fails to make me giggle.

“All right, all right,” she laughed. “Maybe I was a little slow in admitting my feelings for you.” “Aha! So you do have feelings for me!” He pointed a victorious finger at her.

At first glance, it's cute banter that hints that their friendship has started developing into a romance. Gains a new level of comedy when you reread it knowing that by this point, they're married.

Heheh the boat ride to krownest scene. Kanan's blind and he still knows they're silently flirting with each other.

OOH! JET! K I'm gonna probably go on a ramble now, anyway: Jet was Sabine's pegasus since she was a child. She left Jet behind when she ran away. During this AU's version of "Imperial Supercommandoes," they're confronted by Gar Saxon and his cronies on pegasi. He tells Sabine that after her mother became the leader of the Valkyries, she "generously gave us access to her stables." In reality, Ursa's hand was forced and the pegasi were taken from her. Sabine recognizes one of the horses there as Jet, and he recognized her. During the fight that followed, Jet's rider was shot, and Sabine grabbed his reins and she and Ezra made their getaway with him.

(In Heroes of Mandalore, instead of being bad at flying a jetpack, Ezra got stuck with a pegasus who hated him and kept trying to buck him off in midair lol)

Hmmm going on...

Oh! Ezra is an ocean Merfolk, and like saltwater (ocean) fish, he can't survive (shapeshifted into his mer-form) in freshwater. That's why it was so dangerous for him to jump in after Sabine fell through the ice---it was a freshwater lake.

Also, the scene where he deliriously asks her to take him to Valhalla if he dies, because "merfolk don't have anywhere to go," is a reference to the original fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen, where mermaids turn to seafoam when they die.

Ahhhh yes, the necklace! I think I said this before in the tags of one of my merfolk art posts, but, so, for merfolk, giving handmade shell-jewelry is usually a marriage proposal, but it's not, like, automatically legally binding or anything. So basically, when 15-year-old Ezra gave Sabine her shell necklace, it was the equivalent of if you jokingly got down on one knee and offered your unrequited crush a cheap plastic ring from a cereal box or something, expecting her to roll her eyes, but instead she's like "Aw thanks! A ring!" and she starts unironically wearing the cheap plastic ring all the time and now you realize that she doesn't know it was a joke proposal because apparently rings don't go with proposals in her culture and you can't explain the joke now, it's way too late, and you want to die of embarrassment.

Oh yeah also Ezra found a pair of elaborate jewel-encrusted daggers in a shipwreck and gave them to Sabine. This is a reverse necklace situation--to reuse the metaphor, it's like if your best friend got down on one knee, pulled out a gorgeous diamond ring, and said "I found this in a gravel pit! It's for you cause I know you like cool rings bestiegirl!! :D" and you're like "...uh... thanks!" and you take the ring because it is a cool ring and you do love cool rings and you don't tell him that he basically proposed because apparently rings don't go with proposals in his culture.

mmmm yeah the love's lights scene. ahhh so much I could say. I guess, it was really fun in this part (and throughout the whole fic) to explore how Ezra wasn't entirely human, and how his merfolk instincts would affect him, especially regarding the way merfolk fall in love and the once-a-year merfolk festival. I actually have an outlined idea for a fic in the series that's about weird merfolk quirks and different traditions they have, so I might explore things more in that one.

ah man I am never gonna get tired of writing Sabine deciding to do random impromptu flirting and Ezra bluescreening over it.

oh yeah shoutout to Robert Louis Stevenson by the way, I stole a plot device from him (character hides in an apple barrel and overhears Important Things)

And then Rune and Jacen come in at the end! This was an adaptation of one of the original scenes of the fic that I mentioned at the beginning of this.

One other thing, I guess--the character named Koti is an orphaned mermaid girl that Kanan and Hera took in, so she's Jacen's little sister. the "guppies," as Rune calls them, are her three merfolk siblings--two of them are adopted and one is a sabezra kid. (said adopted children may or may not be rey and finn.) (Oh, and the guy Rune has a crush on? Poe Dameron. Obviously.)

Hmmm I think that's about it for this director's cut! Which is probably good considering I just dumped slightly under 2k words of ramble on ya

Thank you for the ask!! :D

[imagine-darksiders]

Tired dad Ulthane and his adventures with the Human Distribution System makes me smile so hard

Whoever was on the Darksiders dev team missed a great opportunity to record ambient voice lines between the humans and Ulthane that play whenever you go to the tree.

Some examples off the top of my head.

"Hey. It's... Ulthane, right? I-I'm Mary."

"Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Lass."

"Ha... Likewise. Um... Listen, I don't think I ever thanked you... for bringing me to this place. And for, you know, saving my life."

[Suddenly bashful] "Ah, no need to thank me. Just... [clears throat] glad I got to you in time..."

"Yeah... Yeah, me too."

------

"Get out of the way, Ulthane."

"Can't do that, younglin'."

"Bullshit. You can't stop me. I have to go, I can't just sit in this tree while he might still be out there somewhere!"

"If I let you leave this tree, you'll die."

"You don't know that!"

"... And what if he turns up while you're gone? Hm? You think he'd want to find you missin'?"

"Don't do that. Don't use him to make me stay. You don't know what he'd want."

"Would he want you riskin' your life tryin' to find him? Or would he want you to be safe?"

".... I... I.... Oh, Sam."

------

"Hey, how did you get on with that list I gave you?"

"Got most of the stuff on it. The pictures were a nice touch, by the way. Made findin' things a wee bit easier."

"Oh! Well... Happy to help.... So. Um..."

[knowing chuckle] "The supplies are with the other rations, up in the hollow."

"Thanks, Ulthane. You're the best."

"Ach, I don't know 'bout that."

"Literally. The. Best."

------

"Hey you! Giant."

"Tiny."

"Oh, very funny. Say, how come you're not out there searching for more survivors?"

"Just got back. Elanya's goin' out in a bit. Someone's gotta stay behind and protect the tree."

"Some of us can stay and watch it! You should be out there looking for people!"

".... We're doin' everything we can, lad."

"I know!... I.... [muffled sob] I know... I just... I miss her."

"... If she's alive out there, we'll find her."

"Yeah.... sure."

-------

"Hey, big guy? You know there's a demon hanging around right outside the door."

"Aye, I'm keepin' an eye on him. But... if you see him causin' any trouble, you come tell me, got it?"

"Heh. Sure."

-----

"Oi, what's that you've got there?"

"Oh! Um... It's... just a radio... I've been tinkering with it... trying to get it to work. Maybe see if there's anyone else out there... Look. I-I know it's silly, but-"

"No, no, it's not, it's... [deep sigh] Listen, if you... need any help with it, makers are pretty handy. Just have to ask, okay?"

"Oh... Okay. Thanks, Ulthane."

-------

"Still no luck with that... wassit called? A radio?"

"Hmm? Oh... Hi Ulthane. No, no luck yet but... that might just be because they're only able to broadcast on a certain frequency for, like, a few minutes at a time right? Saving power or... something? I-I just need to keep searching."

"Well... All right... But don't stay up too late listen' to it again. You look like you didn't catch a wink o' sleep last night."

"Okay, Dad."

-------

"Say, what happened to your radio?"

"... I tossed it."

"Now why'd you do that?"

"I dunno. Figured it'd be more useful to strip it for spare parts.... I wasn't gonna hear anything on there anyway."

"...Y'know, just 'cause you didn't hear anythin', don't mean nobody's out there."

"..... Hey... Ulthane? Do you think we're gonna be okay?"

"Course you're gonna be okay. You've got me at the helm, don't ya? Old Ulthane's got a plan to set you humans back on track... Just have to trust me, eh?"

"We do trust you. And... thanks. I feel better."

"S'what I'm here for."

-------

[If you find 10 survivors]

"Getting a bit busy in here now, isn't it? A lot of new faces."

"Busy? Hmm. If you need me to carve out another chamber for extra space, I can-"

"-No! Ulthane, that's not... It's okay. I wasn't complaining. Busy is good. I prefer busy."

"... Aye, I'm with you there."

-------

[If you find all the survivors]

"I can't believe there's so many of us now! I didn't think this many people would have survived!"

"Mmhm, the Horseman's been busy. S'nice to have a lot of wee ones knockin' about the tree."

"You make us sound like a bunch of children."

[Gentle laugh] "If you knew how old I was, Lad, you'd feel like a bunch of children."

[moodymisty]

Tree in bloom - Ch2

< Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 soon >

Author's Note: Tehe, hi. I take forever to draft things. Hope you enjoy.

-pushes this towards the darksiders fandom like a skiddish animal- hello please accept my humble offering I haven't done a multichapter thing in like 9 years sorry if it's a mess

Summary: Even after humanity has just been resurrected, Strife still finds himself using Jones. It’s easier; Until you find him out of his façade. (Taking place days after Death revives humanity, you wade through a world still infested by demons, while Strife struggles with growing attached to someone.)

Relationships: Strife/Fem!Reader

Story Wide Warnings: Canon typical violence, Friends to lovers, Teratophilia, Strife being an emotionally stunted jokster and pouter, Eventual smut maybe, Strife is clingy, One or two OCs maybe to fill things out at times, Shooting guns, rebuilding trust

Word Count: 3949

Ao3 Mirror

'thump thump thump'

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, willing your legs to push as fast as they can possibly go and beyond, stumbling and nearly falling multiple times.

What’s left of the concrete sidewalk crumbles under your shoes; Cracks going deep into the dirt underneath from one hundred years of strain and winding along like a spider’s web.

You have no goal in mind, you never thought even close to that far ahead.

You just need to get away. From everything. Your body had said to run and you listened, not caring where you would end up.

One of your knees almost buckles from how long you've run at a full sprint, struggling not to collapse under your own weight. When you finally do look over your shoulder you see nothing is following, though the Maker's tree is farther in the distance that you'd expected it to be. You can barely see the top of it from over the skeletal remains of buildings; It's safety is almost impossibly far away. Realistically it's probably only a few miles, but that might as well be a million or more right now.

There’s an abandoned storefront right next to you on the sidewalk that has a foyer-like entrance, and you quickly push against the wreckage of what once was a door to slip inside. The moment you do, you can actually stop for a moment and feel how your lungs burn in your chest, heart thumping against your rib cage as if trying to burst forth from it. With a few steps, you turn until you can press your shoulders against the wall, breathing for a moment while slowly sliding down it. Once you fall into a squat, your hands press against your cheeks.

How did he know your name? He spoke like he had recognized you, at least to some degree.

The fact that he had spoken at all had frightened you at first; As you'd been under the assumption that he was a giant, abit lithe demon. But demons didn't speak, at least not often. He also lacked an angel's wings, and was far too large to be anything close to human.

It leaves only one option, but you never really thought you'd live to see one of the Horsemen again. For the people of Haven there's not a single soul that doesn't remember the blur of War's red cape and thundering steed racing through the city, and those sights will continue to stick as a collective memory as they already have for so long.

Your heart still feels like it's in your throat from all the running, hoarse and dry, but at least you don't feel about to pass out now.

But you can't go back to the tree, not yet. If he was following you, walking back to the tree would absolutely make you run right into him again. Though if he was following you, it would be odd that he hadn't managed to catch up with you yet, as even with one look from a good margin away, his stature clearly dwarfed yours.

But even if you can't go back to the tree, you sure as Hell can't stay here. Almost every wall is glass, and any passerby human or other could easily see a cowering fragile mess of a human huddled in the barely standing remains of a building.

Sighing and using a significant amount of effort just to stand back fully upright, you look around through the glass of the door shortly before opening it.

There's nothing alive in view, but you can hear the crackle of never-ending flames and the screech of undead, hellish creatures, somewhere in the distance. It's best not to spend too much time around here, especially alone. You only have a single clip of ammo in your gun, along with a knife.

Just as you feel to make sure you didn't lose said knife in your scramble down the tree, you hear an ungodly screech loud enough to whip your head in every which direction, trying to find the source. When you don't it makes your heart beat faster once again.

There's no way I last through the entire apocalypse only to die to a random pissant demon.

There's a fire escape you quite noticed to your left; You can use it to climb to the top story of this apartment building and hopefully wait out whatever is stalking around, and then trek back to the tree.

The Makers are absolutely going to tear you a new one, that's for sure. Ulthane will probably travel miles from his hovel just to do so. You know it wouldn't be out of character for him, in response to you pulling a stunt as stupid as this. He's yelled at the humans for less.

Rushing towards what might be your safely the metal of the fire escape is horribly rusted, and you put your full weight onto the ladder with no small amount of uneasiness. It creaks and groans in pain, but doesn't break as you climb up the first two rungs.

Afterwards you dare to take a look over your shoulder, and what you see sends you into a fluffy of frantic, clumsy movements.

Quickly your pace increases, but once your hand touches the fourth rung the fire escape begins to pull away from the wall, forcing you to abandon climbing lest you get trapped underneath it. You let out a yelp of pain as the concrete scrapes against your clothes, ripping and biting at your skin through the fabric as you fall to the ground.

Get up get up get up!

But no matter how fast you try to will yourself to, your body is so tired that you can barely manage to scramble to your knees. As you do you hear him, getting closer and closer.

Your hands shake and once again your heart is trying to escape it’s cage, but you still try to push it a bit further, stumbling to your hands and feet getting ready to-

“Don’t run!"

He yells, the tone of his voice and wild glow of his eyes only serving to frighten you further. He looks like he could crush you in one fell swoop, which makes it all the odder when his voice actually fades down to a tone that almost seems unfitting.

"Please don’t run again?”

It seems like your fight or flight response is finally well and truly shot, frozen in place looking at him awkwardly as you pause stuck halfway between getting to your feet. But now it seems like he’s run out of things to say, and halts.

“Shit- I, Just-” A sharp gauntlet rakes through his wild hair, as he paces.

He shifts his weight from one leg to another, glowing eyes not looking in your direction. It's like he almost didn't expect you to actually listen to him. You finish rising to your feet, one slightly behind the other.

He's still trying to write up his next sentence or, something, as he's still looking almost beyond you. When he does suddenly make a move however, taking one step forward closer to you, it's a lightning quick habit to grab your gun and point it right at him.

His body posture doesn't change in the slightest, but he does retract his only step forward and raise his hands up slightly- like someone who is only jokingly being held at gunpoint.

“Look, respectfully; That gun really isn’t gonna do much more than hurt my feelings.”

He laughs, though it seems to be at himself more than anything. He turns his hands so his palms face the sky, and gives a heavy shrug of his shoulders.

“...You can shoot me if it makes you feel better... Or somethin’.”

What?

The barrel of your gun lowers slightly, mouth agape as you look at him. Every word that’s come out of his mouth has done nothing but confuse you even more than you already are. And in that bafflement, you lower down the gun just enough that you can speak to him, voice almost cracking with how dry and hoarse your throat is.

“What do you want with me?"

He just awkwardly laughs.

“I just wanted to make sure you were ok. There's demons all over out here.”

That was, not anywhere near an answer you had expected; And you really have no answer to it. Slowly lowering the gun to your hip height you keep your eyes on him, watching the way the light bounces off the shiner parts of his armor. Some of it is clearly worn down after an untold number of years of wear and tear, especially the scarf around his neck, as that remains as only tattered remains of what it probably once was.

Your feet smidge backwards just slightly, trying to get even the tiniest bit of space between the two of you.

“And what, you care that much about some random human?" You're not a fan of the way your voice shakes, even if barely. Not as if your emotions can betray you, as he probably already knows quite well you're terrified and nearly shaking like a leaf.

But it's just so weird, the way he's so casually talking to you. It wasn't exactly what you had expected from someone so... Fabled.

It's hard to tell what emotion he's feeling with his helmet covering all but his eyes, but it's clear he's thinking.

"Tch," He makes an almost annoyed noise. "Look; Back there, you weren't supposed to see that."

Perhaps it isn't the smartest thing to raise your voice at a Horsemen, and maybe you'll live to regret it later, but you can't help but reel back at the nonchalance; Almost disrespectful.

You caught him slaughtering demons- and whatever else, not doing something embarrassing.

'If he kills me, he kills me. There's no chance in hell I could run from him now.'

"See what? I was just looking for my friend! I-"

And you still haven't found Jones, but the Horsemen suddenly interrupts you before you have a chance to finish.

"And you found him!"

......

You stand there frozen and confused, eyes wide after hearing his voice rise to a yell for a moment, watching the Horsemen shift from one boot to another as if he's resisting the urge to pace. Your gun is still in your hand, you remember; The metal is cold and while you know it won't do shit to him, you can't quite put it away.

"I knew all the humans wouldn't trust," He gestures broadly and almost self-deprecatingly at himself. "Me, so... I made Jones."

Made?

Your lips part, eyes glancing over him as if the answer is going to lay somewhere else.

He has to be fucking with you. This is some sort of sadistic attempt to pull one over on a human thats already about to keel over like a frightened rabbit.

"This, this has to be a joke," You say, and he seems almost irritated you're still confused and flighty, if only for a moment. "This sounds insane, I don't know you're trying to do but-" You're backing up, getting ready to just bail from this and hope to whatever is listening that you can loose him and forget all of this has ever happened.

"Wait!" He stutters as his brain catches up with his mouth. "I know you, from the tree! I promised to help you once I came back!"

Looking back at him, you remember that yeah- Jones did offer to help you once he came back. And, well you think you'd remember if there had been a giant horsemen in the vicinity.

Sure you've been through the apocalypse, seen weirder, but you still have absolutely no idea what to say.

"I'm Jones. Me." He points at himself, but you aren't exactly fully listening.

This is... insane. But there really isn't anyway you can deny the fact that he doesn't seem to be lying, other than just trying to forget this all happened. A valid option, after everything.

“But...”

You can hear that he's probably giving some sort of smile behind the mask, judging by the surprisingly light tone in his voice now. He seems to have gotten over everything that happened before, and has done a full 180.

“I’m actually Strife.”

Your eyes glance back up to his face, instead of his chest. So you were right; He is one of the horsemen. You’ve heard his name before, and it was never said in a pleasant tone.

Granted you've heard all of the Horsemen's names from the Makers, though Strife's was the one that was usually said with the most amount of distain, or with a curse following shortly thereafter.

But once everything settles just a bit, you can't really feel much else but angry. Clenching your hands you throw them forward, before they go back to your sides.

“I, I trusted you!" The horsemen straightens up at your tone as if you hit him, surprised. "You were lying to me this entire time!?”

He seems almost surprised by your sudden outburst, prompted upon the realization that you'd been strung around in the dark apparently, for so long.

You're absolutely going to collapse when you fully realize the gravity of yelling at a man who's brother nearly destroyed Earth.

“Hey! I did it to avoid this!” He gestures between the both of you, and thus the defensive posture you still have. Quickly you fire back, your throat still hoarse.

“And so you thought lying was better!?”

He goes quiet.

When he makes another move you flinch, instinctively trying to keep a minimum amount of space between you two. You already regret yelling at a Horsemen, but he doesn't seem to take mind of it at all, surprisingly.

You don’t trust him as far as you can throw him; And that isn’t any at all, judging by the bulk of his armor and the way he towers over you. Even from almost two meters away, his shadow is still brushing over the toes of your boots.

He attempts to speak in a softer tone that seems incredibly unfamiliar to him- the caterwaul of dustwings echos off somewhere in the background.

“Look- You need to get back to the tree. Let me give you a ride.”

Eyes darting around you don’t quite know what he means by ride for a moment, though it’s only a moment, as he whistles and suddenly- something seems to just come from what feels the air itself.

The sound of metal clops on the pavement as it materializes, and you barely register that it’s shaped like a horse, before it looks at you and you almost drop dead right then and there. The whinny it gives sounds otherworldly, and it matches the look impeccably. With how much armor it has on however, it's nearly impossible to tell if there is an actual horse under there, or if it's just some sort of unholy creation.

Quickly backing in from the creature this time instead of the Horsemen, you shake your head and put your palms right out in front of you; Hell bent on putting as much space between you and it as possible.

“No! Absolutely no way!”

The steed paws at the crumbled concrete as if bored, it’s ghost-like mane flowing in the soft wind that sends a chill through your body.

'Strife', crosses his arms, looking down on you with those glowing eyes.

“What,” He's smirking, you can just tell. “Scared of a horse?” Quickly your face goes from shocked and frightened to angry and frightened, as you take yet another step back and hug your shoulders. You only pull one away from a moment to point at it, and as if on cue, the horse looks up at you seeming almost with banality.

“That, is not a horse! That, That is a-” He turns to look at his ‘horse’, for a second, before looking back to you and shrugging his armored shoulders.

“Looks like a horse to me.”

You never remembered Jones being this smug.

The horse snorts as it stands behind it’s rider, bored with it all as you continue to fight going anywhere near it.

“Mayhem doesn’t bite.”

Of course that's it's name.

You look at the way his eyes glow and the almost ghost-like nature of his mane, and find that reassurance hard to believe. The Horsemen however seems to not notice or doesn’t care that you don’t seem entirely convinced, and instead hits the saddle. You shake your head and speak at a more normal tone.

“No, I can walk.”

Strife seems to almost deflate at the way you refuse his offer, oddly enough. But he seems to reinflate fast enough to attempt at convincing you. He hits the saddle again.

“You’re not going to make it in one piece alone. Just,” He blows air from his lips that sounds similar to a raspberry from behind his mask. “Just let me get you back."

As much as you don’t want to admit it, he’s not entirely wrong. You’re out in the middle of nowhere, and running out this far has already sapped a good bit of your energy. You don't like the idea of taking up his offer, but it's not as if you have any better alternative.

So perhaps the ghostly steed and his lying owner could give you a ride. But once you’re in the tree, you don’t want to be near him anymore. You need time. To figure this all out.

“Ok," He perks up so much so you startle, shifting your feet. "So I just, get on?”

Strife, you have to remember his name, moves his hands, grabbing the saddlehorn with one and gesturing with the other.

“Like I said, Mayhem doesn’t bite.”

The jury is still out on that; You see the way this horse is staring at you as you approach his flank. He seems to only be allowing you this close because his rider is the one asking you to be. Or maybe his bored face just looks intimidating, but you're not going to take the risk and find out.

Grasping the edges of the saddle you heft yourself into the stirrup after a few tries, and eventually make it up without assistance. He originally moved to quickly help you, but when you shifted away, he seems to take the hint that you want none of that.

Shifting around in the saddle it's huge, fitted for a larger than human rider, but at least it's somewhat comfortable. Your toes can barely reach the stirrups however, now that you're seated.

Just as you're attempting to put a foot in one Strife Puts his right foot in the right stirrup, grasping the saddlehorn and suddenly shifting the whole saddle to one side. You grasp tight underneath his armored hand, the edges sharp against your skin before he takes it away once he's seated right behind you.

With one heel he gives the horse a gentle nudge and you’re moving forward, the jingle of metal the foremost sound in your ear. If it’s Strife’s armor, Mayhem’s, or perhaps a combination of both is unknown.

"See, It's not so bad," He says, The chains that serve as the steed's reins jingling in his hand.

"I mean Mayhem's probably the least scary one out of all of them," You assume by 'them' he's referring to the other Horsemen's mounts. "Maybe Ruin? He's just big."

"The one that helped start the Apocalypse?" You say quietly. Strife lets out a nervous laugh, and you can even hear him thickly swallow.

"Oh yeah... Right. That's still a sore spot."

Did he, think it wouldn't be? Humanity is still in shambles, and unless his outlook on life is overwhelmingly positive it's a bit hard to deny that.

It's not exactly something you want to think too hard about right now, pursing your lips.

"Don't worry," He says, continuing to ramble on despite the fact that you really aren't talking back; A combination of being like a deer in the headlights and still a flurry of emotions. "Me and Mayhem are far better than those angry louts anyways."

Hands tightening around the saddlehorn you see the tree coming closer and closer, and with it your home base.

You can almost feel the tense, borderline nervous energy Strife is exuding behind you, as he ushers his steed to pick up the pace. But even then he still doesn't get the hint that maybe you aren't in the mood to talk, rambling on and on.

You get the hint that besides his occassional words as 'Jones', he hasn't had someone to talk to for a long time.

When you stop at the base of the tree, you’re off the horse as fast as you can possibly go, beating even him to the ground. You have to hand onto the saddle and effectively plummet to the ground, but you manage it well enough.

“Don’t get into too much trouble.”

You purse your lips tight and nod.

“...You too.”

He may have lied to you but… It’s not as if you hope he gets hurt. Your feet scrape against the bark of the tree as you back away from him, before turning and racing upwards.

When you’re halfway up and glance over the side, you can see he’s still there, oddly enough. If he’s still when you enter the tree you don’t know, as instantly you feel multiple sets of eyes on you.

You can hear the voice of one of the Makers asking what’s on your heels, but you don’t answer. Instead you keep pace forward, up the rickety steps and out onto one of the larger branches of the tree. Outside of the main central 'room'. You can update them later, as you've going to make yourself far too hard for them to reach and try and force you to do so.

This is a go to spot for a few of the humans when everything is just a bit too much, and you don’t want one of the Makers bugging you. Or really anyone for that matter. As getting more than one person out on the branch would be precarious at best.

It’s decently cold tonight, and you would’ve needed something to bundle up with if you weren’t still so hot from running for your life. And while you are cooling down, the torn and weathered jacket you have on is enough for now. You wouldn't want to go get anything more anyways.

How do you even, how do you even deal with this?

Sickly for a moment you think you’d rather have just found Jones dead or gone, before instantly throwing out that thought.

No, you don’t want Jones dead. Strife. You’re just frustrated. Need a minute.

The two are nothing alike; And that will take more than awhile to get used to.

Get used to, as you assume you're going to see him again. What if he's just gone forever now?

Thats not really something you want, even after everything. His façade versus the real deal are so incredibly different, but he is still technically your friend.

You can here people talking inside the tree, probably about your raging entrance, but you just drown it all out.

A horsemen? This whole time?

You don’t know exactly how much time has past with you sitting out here, as it's not completely dark.

One rare nice thing about the Apocalypse was with most of the light pollution gone, you can see the stars in the city central again.

I need a fucking nap.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Eleven.

Remember darlings, it's double update today, so if you see this chapter first, remember you have chapter ten to read prior! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,647

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

If cloud nine existed, James was sat right upon it, standing with his arm around his girl while talking and drinking with her friends and sister, unable to keep from turning to gaze at her fondly. There she was, at last, right by his side. She looked amazing for the extra weight she’d gained, his eyes picking out the obvious, of course. Boobs. His hand moved to rest on the other.  

“Just so you know, I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off this, innit,” he began, squeezing her bum firmly. “You’ve got an arse, Ells bells! I’m so fucking proud of you. And horny, because you looking fucking top grade sexy!”  

He leaned to nibble her neck, making her giggle, Ella turning to softly thump his chest before looking up at him. “Calm down!”  

“Nah.” They happily fell into another kiss then, enjoying it for a few moments before he pulled away, grabbing her hand. “Come with me a minute.” 

Placing their drinks down on the bar, he then led her in the direction of the doors, nodding at the bouncer on the way out into the still warm early October night, moving to the side of the club away from the noise of the music. There, he wrapped his arms around her again, humming happily before giving her another kiss.  

“So, why didn’t you call me?” 

Ahh. She might have known she’d have that coming. “Truth?” 

“Always, babe.” 

Hiding her face against his chest for a second, she took a deep breath. “I was nervous!” 

His facial expression was an absolute picture. “You fucking what?” 

“You heard!” she laughed, shaking her head.  

“But it’s me!” he continued loudly, curling his lip and having her in soft hysterics.  

“I’m aware it sounds ridiculous now, but I was. I had all these silly thoughts, like wondering if you might have gotten out and gone off me, or met someone else.” His eye roll was immense. “Needless to say, I’m not anymore!” 

“You shitting well better not be, darlin’!” He then looked her up and down again, mouth spreading into a wide grin. “Seriously, you look so fucking gorgeous.” 

Beaming, she wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers weaving into his beautiful hair. “Looking pretty mint yourself, BFG.”  

They stayed out the front talking a little more and kissing for a few minutes, James taking her hand again, leading her back inside to introduce her to his band. The rest of Nocturnal Descent were occupying one of the big tables outside in the spacious beer garden, Ella finally able to put faces to all the names of the men she’d heard so much about.  

“Nah, honey,” Steve began upon giving her a meeting hug, “what’s someone as cute as you doing with Kingston here? Fucks sake, you need to upgrade. Get yourself a man who doesn’t fart so bad, you feel like you’re in the gas chamber. Or one who’s got a decent sized cock instead of a worm.”  

She couldn’t help but laugh. Mainly because she knew the former to be true, and the latter she’d bet, from what she’d tentatively felt pressing against her a few times, was very much false. 

James arched an eyebrow. “Well, that ain’t you on either count, is it, fucking flatulent, pin-dicked twat.”  

To his credit, Steve guffawed, gripping James’s shoulder before making as if he was about to punch him in the balls. “Ya dickead,” he growled, turning his attention to Ella. “So, Ella. What do I have to do to get Andrea’s phone number?” 

“Ask her yourself when she comes to stay with me. However, if you’re only like, out for the ‘I shagged a sex addict’ trophy then she’ll let you down, mate. It’s sleeping around spontaneously that lead her into treatment. And that’s all I’m saying. Save her privacy.”  

How very Ella, James thought proudly, snort laughing when Steve pouted. 

“Alright, what about the honey with the massive tits over yonder taking to your sis?” 

“And he calls me a tart,” Janes snorted, sipping his pint. 

“Single,” she confirmed, giggling at the speed he moved down to the next table with. Turning back to James, she leaned to kiss his cheek. “You having a good night?” 

“I am,” he revealed, “but I don’t wanna stay much longer. Just wanna spend some time with you. If you like, you can come stay at mine?” 

Oh yes. She liked.  

They left at midnight, Ella feeling a little buzz, James not so much other than the one he had from walking back up the high street towards home hand in hand with her. 

“So, what was it like at the place you were transferred to? And how long since you came out?” she asked, lighting a cigarette and offering him one he took with thanks. 

“Little, I am fucking telling you, worlds apart from Moor Acres. My therapist is top grade amazing, such a fucking sound guy. First session I had with him was the day I arrived. We just sat and chilled, talking about music and drinking tea for the first half hour. In those thirty fucking minutes, he figured out more about me than Dr. Beaumont did in five and a half months, innit. As for how long I’ve been out, just over two weeks. How about you?” 

“Eleven days, and I’m so thrilled for you, that your last month of being in an institution was so positive: it was one of the things I worried about, after you’d gone. You might have been sent to a bleedin’ shithole of a place and not made progress, and without me there to help you. For whatever that was worth.” 

He stopped then, moving into her path, touching his fingers beneath her chin to lift it gently. “It was fucking worth everything, babe. Everything. That was the only thing that was hard, being away from you. Not having you there to unload everything that was in my head, or just sit and laugh with, forget about it all for a while.” He paused, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Nearly told ‘em to turn around about twenty fucking times along the way, I felt so bad for leaving you. Fucking broke me a bit, innit, doing it like that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have left, though. I needed to, Ella, to get where I am now.”  

The way he’d done it truly had left her feeling completely broken for a time, but she saw it so clearly, how it radiated through him. He could cope with it, the noise in his head, those feelings of despair. Whoever the therapist was who he’d seen at the place he’d ended up, she could have kissed him. He’d definitely helped him much more than Dr. Beaumont.  

“I won’t lie, it was pants, being without you. I was half heartbroken, half bleedin’ livid with you, when I sat and read that letter,” she began. 

“Yeah, thought you would be,” he interjected with.  

“Sat and cried for an hour, blamed myself, had Andrea give me some really sound advice and like, state again what I knew but didn’t want to let myself believe. Then, I knew what I had to do. Get better, get released, and find you.” She beamed, holding her arms wide. “Here I am!” 

He threw his head back, his rumbling laugh sounding like music to her. “Yeah, little. Here you fucking are. I swear, seeing you in the crowd, best surprise ever. I was just like ‘what the fucking fuck? She’s here! Shitting hell, she’s right fucking there!’ when I saw you. Couldn’t believe it.”  

They continued to walk at a leisurely place, James telling her a few stories he’d amassed from his month in Birmingham, Ella sharing a few of her own. 

“He was moved the week I was let out, big Keith. Sent to Broadmoor, so I heard. Went absolutely psycho and almost killed another patient, so they had no choice. I saw the blood all down the stairs, it was fucking brutal,” she spoke, James’s eyes widening, although he wasn’t all too surprised. He’d quietly wondered during his own time there, just how many chances of rehabilitation they would give to the twenty-eight stone, six feet seven behemoth of fury that was big Keith.  

“That don’t really surprise me. He used to sit up all night, howling like a fucking wolf unless they shot him up with tranqs. Wouldn’t take his meds half the time, attacked the staff daily. Way worse than how I was,” he spoke, a scent of familiarity drifting under his nose. “You hungry, by the way? We’re getting near to Prezzo, and they actually do proper pizza in there, none of that carboard tasting shit. If that’s too scary, they do salad and all that, too.” 

Hmmm, she could eat, she supposed. It had been seven hours since her small plate of pasta for dinner. “Yeah, alright then. Let me get it, though. You bought me enough drinks already tonight.” 

“Nope, he spoke, steering her over to the other side of the high street when the traffic broke. “I’ve got music money burning a hole in my wallet. Apparently, while I was away the record took off hugely in Japan. I have a few more zero’s than I’m used to on the ole’ bank balance.” One stop at Prezzo, a small back and forth over Ella’s request for ham and pineapple – and James’s deep distain over such – and a pizza constructed with half that and half tandoori chicken was purchased, the pair on the move again once more.  

“Oh, shit! That building is amazing, I love it!” she spoke as the old factory housing James and Steve’s flat came into view, Ella wondering why the hell he’d referred to something with so much character as a shithole. It really wasn’t, not even when they got inside and climbed the stairs up to the second floor.  

The old brickwork gave it character, the original windows too, James taking his keys from the thick wallet chain he wore and unlocking the door of number six when they arrived there.  

“Bathroom is that door there,” he spoke upon entering, pointing to his right after switching on the light, a light that flickered for a few seconds before the bulb popped. “Ahh, shit! Fuck, don’t think we’ve got any more bulbs. Hang on.” He strode for the kitchen area, lighting a candle on his way and using it to illuminate the cupboard under the sink, Ella just about able to see the sofa through the gloom, placing the pizza box down on the coffee table and taking a seat.  

“Any luck?” 

“Nah, I’ll have to go get some tomorrow. Fucks sake. Don’t matter though, we’ve got about a billion fucking candles, innit.” He went about lighting them, the space nicely illuminated, moving next to the stereo in the corner and taking a CD from one of the shelves that ran the length of the wall. Thier music collection was staggering.  

“What’s this that you’ve put on? It’s very atmospheric,” she spoke, James shrugging his leather jacket off and hanging it on the corner of the armchair, kicking his boots off and joining her on the sofa.  

“This is that guy Varg Vikernes we talked about a while back, you know, the actual church burner,” he replied, opening the pizza box and taking a slice out.  

“Hold on, I might be able to impress you here. I think I know what his project is called, Jane loves it. What is it now,” she began, clicking her fingers and winding her hand around as she tried to remember. “Burdum? Bursim?” 

“Close,” he spoke, taking another bite. “Burzum, but ten points for trying, little.” 

“Thanks!” she chirped on a laugh, reaching for a slice, watching him crinkle his nose up. “What? I like pineapple on a pizza. It’s mint. Get over it.” 

His reply dripped sarcasm. “I’m sure Italians the world over would agree.”  

“Oh, don’t be concerned if I like, only have one or two slices. This is a big pizza and this is a lot for me to eat in one sitting,” she spoke, tucking her chin a little before taking a small bite. 

“Nah, I ain’t gonna monitor you. It’s a scary food, too. Dough, cheese.”  

It touched her greatly, that he remembered all of this. “Yeah. Like, it’s less scary now, but I keep reminding myself what Dr. Beaumont told me. Every meal I manage to eat is an accomplishment, an extra mile on my health journey. It helps. I finally had a breakthrough with it when I’d almost reached my target weight. Mary told me to stand in my undies and look at myself, then showed me a picture of how I looked when I was first admitted.”  

“I bet it was shocking, right?” James asked, starting on his second slice. God, he was starving.  

Reaching for her bag, she pulled out her wallet, taking from it the folded-up picture she kept with her always to remind her how far she’d come. “Here, see for yourself.” 

Taking it, he looked down, dropping the pizza slice back into the box and covering his mouth with his hand. “Shitting hell.” To say she looked like death was an understatement. And he’d thought she’d been scarily thin at just over a stone heavier when he’d first met her. “Ella... fuck. Seeing you like that makes me wanna fucking cry, innit, and I don’t cry easy. That’s twice with you now, fucking dickhead.”  

Taking the picture back, she leaned to kiss his cheek, stroking his hair. “When was the first time?” 

“When they were driving me away from Moor Acres.” He looked very uncomfortable at revealing that, frowning, side eyeing her. “Knob.” 

The snort of laughter that came from her was huge, tucking her wallet away again as she giggled. “My grumpy church burner.”  

“To use one of your favourite expressions, shut your hole,” he retorted, only succeeding in making her laugh more. Oh, how she’d missed him. Even when he was pissed off at her. He didn’t stay that way for long, though, nudging her with a soft elbow and turning his head to kiss her shoulder. “Still think you’re awesome.” 

After eating three slices of his half of the pizza, Ella managing one and a little bit, he rolled them a joint, stretching out on the sofa with his head in her lap. The feel of her nails combing over his scalp and through his hair was a comfort he’d sorely missed over the last seven weeks, reaching to stroke the side of her neck as he smiled up at her.  

“It’s just me and you. No other patients, no orderlies or nurses watching us like fucking hawks. Just us.” 

How they had both longed for it, the simplicity of being together without watchful eyes constantly on them. Still, Ella almost felt like Tony was about to bark an order at her as she slipped a hand beneath James’s t shirt, idly stroking the side of his abs while they chatted.  

“I’m telling you, I lasted an hour when I went see her and my sister for the first time. She’s still coming out with all the same crap, that I’ve somehow brought my mental illness on myself. I just stood up, told her I’d had enough, and took Sam out for a drink instead so I could catch up with her without being fucking hen pecked to bloody death,” he explained of his first visit home after being released, glowering at the memory of his mother being, well, her usual difficult self.  

“You know what it sounds like to me?”  

“What?” he asked, handing her the joint. 

She was thoughtful for a moment before waving her hand dismissively. “No, it’s probably not my place to say.” 

He prompted her again. “It is. Spill.” 

“I think she’s deflecting, like, going in really hard with saying it’s because of your music and lifestyle to absolve herself from her own part in your issues.” 

Michael had said very similar. “Nah, you’re totally right, darlin’. It’s exactly what she does, it's like, if she makes enough noise about the other person, she thinks people won’t notice her, what she says and does.” 

“And that’s up to her to acknowledge,” she sighed, passing the joint back, her hand retuning to his hair.  

“Innit? I know she loves both me and my sister to bits, but I’m not excusing her any longer, or putting up with it. Me leaving the other night was what Michael advised in therapy. Set a boundary, then if she continues to cross it, calmly walk away. So that’s what I did. Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about the duchess. What you been up to since you got out?” 

“Not much, really. Just spending time with mum and Jane, went back to my yoga class for the first time since I got really ill, had a tentative job hunt.” 

“Any luck there?” 

“Nope,” she asserted, widening her eyes a fraction. “Not unless I want to work in the same old utterly pants job roles I used to. Never going back to bar or supermarket work again.” It would be fair to coin the pair as intelligent underachievers, both only having three and four GCSE’s respectively, only James going on to do his A levels. Ella had taken the GNVQ route, choosing health and social care although she wasn’t sure she wanted to work in either.  

He hadn’t sought anything further academically, taking on mainly factory and doorman work around the band until they’d taken off, his touring schedule making it impossible to hold down a full-time job.  

“Yeah, babe. Don’t blame you. I’ve done bar work before. Total bullshit. Ruins your weekend too as that’s when you get the best shifts as far as tips go,” he agreed, taking another drag on the joint. “I can’t smoke much more of that. I’m proper fucking tired.” 

She frowned concernedly. “Is that because you’re drinking on your meds?” 

“Nah, Michael took me off the ones that made me wanna crash in the afternoon, and I only had three pints tonight. Can’t get drunk or it’ll stop the pills from working. Trust me, I’ll miss getting wankered, but I don’t miss that fucking mess my head was in before I got help.” 

Smiling down at him, she kissed his forehead, taking the joint from him. “I’m proud of you. You’ve worked hard to get through what must have been a hugely heavy weight bearing down on you,” she began, trying to stifle a yawn and not manage it. “Bleedin’ hell, are there crushed up sleeping pills in this weed?”  

“Fucking feels like it, innit?” he laughed. “I didn’t feel this mashed so quickly last night. What I bought off Gaz must be different strains. I’m irritated by that.”  

“Why?” 

“Because my brain is saying sleep, but everything south of my waist is like, ‘Nah, man. You’ve got a top grade girl here, the one you’ve been missing for weeks! Go shag her through the bed!”  

She almost choked on the lungful of smoke, wheezing, softly slapping his shoulder as she spluttered. “I don’t mind not being shagged through the bed tonight, so don’t feel like, all conflicted and stuff.”  

Internally, he breathed a sigh of relief. It could go either way with weed, depending on the type. Just enough and he could have sex for elongated periods before orgasm, too much and as soon as his body hit a bed, he was asleep. It was a balance he couldn’t bank on prior to smoking, but suffice to say the one joint of very strong weed he and Ella had shared most definitely took the wind out of his sails.  

Sitting up, he grabbed a marker pen and shut the pizza box, writing ‘DO NOT EAT’ upon it. “Snedders’ll inhale it otherwise, the lardy cunt.” They made their way to his room, the space much bigger than she was expecting, pulling off her clothes all bar her knickers and top, unhooking her bra beneath it and pulling that off for comfort.  

He made no mention of her leaving it on, remembering her insecurity there. It didn’t matter to him one bit; she could have laid next to him fully clothed and he wouldn’t have cared. Having her beside him was all he wanted. Climbing beneath the deep grey duvet, she happily sank into his arms, enjoying both the look and feel of that gorgeous chest against her bare for the first time. He looked more or less exactly how she pictured he would, and lord, it was a mouthwatering sight.  

“Wow, you were right. This bed is like, the comfiest ever,” she spoke, leaning to kiss him beneath his jaw as they entwined, James resting his hand to her hip and stroking the slender curve. God, it felt so good to hold her and not feel bones jutting out.  

“Told you,” he spoke, kissing her head. “Even comfier for having you in it, too.” 

Her heart thrummed waves of pure happiness, falling into sweet kisses with him before he switched off the lamp and they fell asleep. He was out before her, Ella seeing it was entirely true when he’d told her he was like sleeping next to a corpse, except he ran hot. He didn’t move and he didn’t snore.  

It made a peaceful change to the last man she’d shared a bed with, her ex-boyfriend Ryan over two years before. He’d sounded like malfunctioning power tools whilst he’d slept. She was asleep before she knew it, both of them soothed not only from the strong weed, but what they’d ached for over the past seven weeks. The simplicity of being able to hold each other close once again. 

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Hunted

Masterlist

"Before Dad died he, he told me something — something about you two." Dean said to us. "What?" Sam asked but he doesn't respond. "Dean, what did he tell you?" I asked. "He said that he wanted me to watch out for you, to take care of you." Dean said. "He told you that a million times." Sam said. "He also wanted me to watch out for (y/n)." Dean added.

"Why?" I asked. "He said that I had to save you two." Dean said. "Save us from what?" Sam asked. "He just said that I had to save you two, that nothing else mattered; and that if I couldn't, I'd..." Dean stops as his jaw sets and he swallows.

"You'd what, Dean?" I asked, curious but also nervous. "That I'd have to kill you two. He said that I might have to kill you guys." Dean said and I felt the air leave my lungs for a moment as my jaw drops and my eyes widen. "Kill us? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sam asked him, confused.

"I don't know." Dean said, shrugging. "I mean, he must have had some kind of reason for saying it, right? Did he know the demon's plans for us? Are we supposed to go Darkside or something? What else did he say, Dean?" I asked, frantically. "Nothing, that's it, I swear." Dean said.

"How could you not have told us this?" Sam asked, angrily. "Because it was Dad, and he begged me not to." Dean said and I let out a scoff and place my hands over my face. "Who cares?! Take some responsibility for yourself, Dean! You had no right to keep this from me or from (y/n)!" Sam shouts.

"You think I wanted this? Huh? I wish to God he'd never opened his mouth. Then I wouldn't have to walk around with this screaming in my head all day." Dean yells and I turn and take a few steps away from them, I hear Sam following behind me.

"(Y/n)?" Sam said and I don't respond immediately. Right now there was so many emotions going through me right now, anger, hurt, shock, fear. I'm just so confused about everything.

I let out a sigh before I speak. "We've just got to figure out what's going on, then, what the hell all this means." I said. "We do? I've been thinking about this, I think we should just lay low. You know? At least for a while. It'd be safer. And that way I can make sure—" Dean started to say and I turn around to face him.

"What? That Sam and I don't turn evil? That we don't turn into some kind of killer?" I yelled. "I never said that." Dean said. "Jeez, if you're not careful you will have to waste me and Sam one day, Dean." I growled. "I never said that! Damnit, guys, this whole thing is spinning out of control. All right? You two are immune to some weirdo demon virus, and I don't even know what the hell anymore. And both of you are pissed at me, I get it. That's fine, I deserve it. But we lay low until we figure out our next move, okay?" Dean said.

"Forget it." Sam said. "Sam, please, man. Hey, please. Just give me some time. Give me some time to think, okay? I'm begging you here, please. Please." Dean pleads and Sam looks over at me and I shrug at him before we nod, reluctantly, at Dean.

That night, Sam and I pack up our stuff and leave the motel room, a bag over our shoulders. I hate leaving Dean behind on his own but...I just can't be around him right now. Hiding that very important information from us, was just wrong. I don't care if John made him promise.

We walk quietly past the Impala to a small black car; Sam opens the door with a coat hanger as I look around. Sam gets the door open and gets in then he unlocks the passenger side doo and I get in. And we began to drive away.

*3rd Person POV*

Sam enters the Roadhouse, and heads turn to look at him. Ellen is behind the bar, and looks up as he approaches. She smiles knowingly. "Sam." She said. "Hey, Ellen." He said as he grins sheepishly. "You don't seem that surprised to see me." He said to her.

"Well, your brother's been calling, worried sick, looking for you and (y/n). By the way, where is she?" Ellen said. "Yeah. Figured he might. Um...(y/n)..I dropped her off at one of her safehouse. She said she needed to clear her mind, haven't seen her since." Sam said.

"What's going on between the three of you?" Ellen asked and Sam bites his lips. It had been a few days since him and (y/n) left Dean at the hotel and just a couple of days since Sam last saw (y/n). She told Sam if he ever got a lead about ol' yellow eyes, she would come help him but for now she needed to get some fresh air and got on her bike and drove away.

Sam pulls out of his thoughts and ignores Ellen's question. "So, um, how's Jo?" He asked her and she nods. "Well, I don't really know." She replied and Sma furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" Sam asked. "Well, I haven't seen her in weeks. She sends a postcard now and again." Ellen said.

"Well, what happened?" He asked her. "Well, after she worked that job with you three she decided she wanted to keep on hunting. I said not under my roof, and she said fine." Ellen replied and Sam looks down in guilt. "So I'm probably the last person you want to see right now." Sam said and Ellen let's out a throaty chuckle.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I wish I could blame the hell out of you boys and (y/n). It'd be easier. Truth is, it's not your fault, Sam. None of it is. I want you to know that I forgave your daddy and (y/n)'s daddy a long time ago for what happened to my Bill. I just don't think they ever forgave themselves. Especially, (father's name). He may have had a rough exterior but he had a big heart." Ellen said.

"What did happen?" Sam asked her and she looks down before clearing her throat. "Um, so, why did you come here, sweetie?" She asked, ignoring his question. "I need help." Sam said.

"What am I looking for, Sam?" Ash asked Sam as he and Ellen sit at the bar. "Other people, other psychics, like me and (y/n). As many as possible, and I need a nationwide search." Sam replied. "But I thought there was no way to track them all down. Not all of them had nursery fires like you and (y/n) did." Ellen said.

"Well, no, but some had to. Start there." Sam said to Ash.

Sometime later, Ash emerges from his back room with a piece of paper in his hand. He gives it a flourish. "Done, and done." He said as Sam looks over at him. "That was fast." Sam said as Ash comes over to him. "Well, apparently, that's my job. Make the monkey dance at the keyboard." Ash said and Ellen rolls her eyes.

"Just tell us what you got, Ash." She said. "Five folks fit the profile nationwide. Born in '83, mother died in a nursery fire, the whole shebang." Ash said. "Five? That's it?" Sam asked. "Sam Winchester from Lawrence, Kansas, (y/n) (l/n) from Eudora, Kansas, Max Miller from Saginaw, Michigan, Andrew Gallagher from Guthrie, Oklahoma, and uh, another name. Scott Carey." Ash said.

"You got an address?" Sam asked. "Kind of. The Arbor Hill Cemetery in Lafayette, Indiana. Plot four-eighty-six." Ash replied. "So he's dead?" Sam asked and Ash nods. "Killed, about a month ago." Ash said. "Killed how?" Sam asked. "Stabbed. Parking lot. Fuzz don't have much, no suspects..." Ash said and Sam nods. "All right. Thank you." He said.

As he gets up to leave, Ash slaps him on the back; when he's out of eyeshot Ash picks up Sam's half-full beer and starts drinking it. 

"Where are you going?" Ellen asked Sam as he pulls out his phone. "Indiana." Sam said. "Sam? I've gotta call Dean, I've gotta let him know where you are." Ellen said. "Ellen. I'm trying to find answers, about who (y/n) and I are. And my brother means well, but he can't protect us from that. Please." Sam said and Ellen nods, reluctantly.

Sam nods back and starts to walk out of the bar and dials a number. "Hey, it's me. How far are you from the Roadhouse?" Sam asked to the person on the other end. He smiles once the person answers. "Well, I think I've got something. Just pick me up at the Roadhouse. Thanks. See ya." Sam said and he hangs up.

Ten minutes later, a roar of a motorcycle sounds out and Sam watches as the motorcycle gets closer and then stops. The driver pulls off their helmet to reveal that it was (y/n). "Well, hey, good-looking! Need a ride?" She teased him. Sam scoffs, playfully, and shakes his head as he walks up to the bike.

"Hey, (y/n)." He said as he gets on behind her. "So where are we going?" (Y/n) asked him. "Lafayette, Indiana." Sam replied as she digs into her bag and pulls out an extra helmet. "Alrighty then. Here you're gonna need this. And hang onto me." She said as she hands the helmet to him. He puts it on as (y/n) puts her helmet back on, Sam places his hand on her waist and they take off.

*(y/n)'s POV*

"So you say you two went to high school with Scott?" Mr Carey said to us as we sit in his living room. "Uh, yes sir, we did. We just heard about what happened, we're so sorry." Sam said to him. "Scotty was a good boy. He changed a lot since you two knew him." Mr Carey said.

"What do you mean?" I asked him. "It started about a year ago with these headaches. And then he got depressed, paranoid, nightmares." He explained. "Nightmares?" I said and Sam and I look at each other. "Um, did he ever talk to you about his nightmares? What he saw, or..." Sam started to ask but Mr Carey shakes his head.

"No, no. He closed up with me. I tried to get him help, but nothing took. He'd just lock himself in his room for days." He said. "You think maybe we could see his room?" Sam asked him.

Later, Sam and I enter the room which contain a bare bed with a sleeping bag, some bookshelves covered in books and cassette tapes. On the bedside table, we see several bottles of pills, prescribed by Dr. George Waxler. Then I go and open the closet and shove aside the clothes to reveal a collage of yellow eyes cut out of photos or magazines, glued to the wall. 

"Sam..." I said, nervously, and he comes up next to me and sees the collage. Then the two of us share a look.

That night, we walk across the parking lot of the Blue Rose Motel. As we get to the door, I sensed we're were not alone. I turn and grab the figure behind us, shoving her against the wall. "Who are you?" I asked her, angrily. "Please! You two are in danger." She said to us, frantically.

Inside, we let the girl in as she paces along the floor, talking somewhat frantically. "Okay, look, I know how all this sounds, but I am not insane and I am not on drugs. Okay? I am normal, and this is way, way off the map for me." She said. "All right, all right, just, just calm down. Okay? What's your name?" Sam asked her, calmly.

"Ava." She replied.

"Ava?" Sam and I said.

"Ava Wilson." She said.

"Ava, I'm Sam Winchester and this is (y/n) (l/n), all right? Now, you were telling us about these dreams of yours?" Sam said. "Uh, yeah, uh, okay, about a year ago I started having these, like, headaches, and just, nightmares, I guess. And I really didn't think much of it until I had this one dream where I saw this guy get stabbed in a parking lot." Ava said.

"When was this?" I asked her. "Uh, about a month ago. But, anyway, a couple of days later, I found this." She said then she pulls out a newspaper clipping and hands it to us; it reads LOCAL MAN STABBED TO DEATH IN PARKING LOT next to a picture of Scott Carey. Sam takes the clipping. 

"I saw this guy die, days before it happened. I don't know why, I don't know, it's just for some reason, my dreams are coming true. And last night I had another one." She said to us. "Okay." I said. "About you two. I saw both of you die." Ava said.

"How did you find us?" I asked her. "Oh, uh, you had motel stationery, and I Googled the motel, and it was real, and so I just thought that I should warn you two." Ava said to us. "I don't believe this." Sam said, almost relieved.

"Oh, oh, of course you don't. You think I'm a total nutjob." Ava said, disappointed. "Wait, no, no, no, I mean, you must be one of us." Sam said to her. "Sorry, one of, one of who?" She asked. "One of the Psychics. Like us. Look, Ava, Sam and I have visions too, all right? So we're connected." I said to her and she laughs.

"Okay, so, you two are nuts. That's great." She said. "Okay, okay, look. Did your mother happen to die in a house fire?" Sam asked her. "No, my mother lives in Palm Beach!" She replied and I look over at Sam. "So she doesn't fit the pattern either." I said and he nods while Ava frowns at us in confusion.

*3rd Person POV*

Dean was driving alone when his cell phone rings. He picks up. "Hello?" He answers. "It's Ellen." Ellen said. "Hey, have you heard from Sam or (y/n)?" Dean asked her.

"I've heard from Sam, but he made me promise not to tell you where he is." Ellen said and Dean rolls his eyes. "Come on, Ellen, please. Something bad could be going on here, and I swore I'd look after those two." Dean said, annoyed.

"Now Dean, they say you can't protect your loved ones forever." Ellen said then she sighs. "Well, I say screw that. What else is family for? He's in Lafayette, Indiana." She replied. "And (y/n)?" Dean asked, his heart beating faster. "She's with him. She picked him up on her bike and the two took off." Ellen said. "Thanks." Dean said and he hangs up.

*(y/n)'s POV*

"Why can't you two just leave town? Please? Before both of you blow up?" Ava asked us. "No, we can't." I said to her. "Oh, God. Why not?" She asked us, frustrated. "Because there's something going on here, Ava. With you, with me, with (y/n). I mean, there are others like us out there. And we're all a part of something, and (y/n) and I have got to figure out what." Sam said and she rolls her eyes at us.

"Okay, you know what? Screw you, guys. Okay? Because I'm a secretary from Peoria and I'm not part of anything! Okay? Do you see this?" She exclaims as she fingers her engagement ring. "I am getting married in eight weeks. I am supposed to be at home addressing invitations, which I am way behind on, by the way. But instead, I drove out here to save both of your weirdo asses. But if you guys just want to stay here and die, fine. Me? I'm due back on Planet Earth." Ava exclaims.

"Don't you want to know why this is happening? I mean, don't these visions scare the hell out of you? Because if you walk out that door right now you might never know the truth. We need your help." I said to her and she sighs.

After getting Ava to distract Scott's therapist and Sam and I broke in to his office and grabbed Scott's file, we make it back to the hotel and look at the files. Ava looks at it, stunned.

"Are you okay?" I asked her. "Am I okay? I just helped you two steal some dead guy's confidential psych files." Ava said, panicked, then she smiles. "I'm awesome!" She exclaims, excitedly, and I chuckle.

Later, we pull out the voice recorder and play the session. "It started a little over a year ago. Migraines, at first. Then I found I could do...stuff." Scott's voice said. "What do you mean, do stuff?" The doctor asked. "I have this ability. When I touch something, I can electrocute it if I want." Scott replied and the three of us share a worried look.

*3rd Person POV*

Dean pulls into the parking lot in the Impala; when he sees (y/n) through the window of the room, and Sam pacing behind her, he sighs in relief. "Oh, thank God you're okay." Dean whispers as he stares at her. He didn't want to admit it but he not only missed Sam but he missed (y/n) too. Probably more than he should and he starts to think does he care for (y/n) more than just friends?

(Y/n) moves aside, revealing Ava through the window. Dean's brow furrows. "What the hell? Who is that?" He mutters as he looks at this, confused.

*(y/n)'s POV*

"What else does the yellow-eyed man say?" The doctor asked as I lean forward against the table and Sam looks at the recorder, confused. "He has plans for me. He says there's a war coming. That people like me, we're going to be the soldiers. Everything's about to change." Scott said and the recording ends.

"He's not talking about us, right?" Ava asked us. "Yeah, I think he is." Sam said. "But how can we turn into that?" She asked. "I don't--" I started to say when the window behind us shatters. Sam and I dive to the floor with Ava, shielding her body. 

"Get down!" I shouted. "Oh my God! What's happening?" Ava asked as a couple of more gunshots go off then stop. "I don't know." Sam and I shouted.

*3rd Person POV*

As the shooter, Gordon, is about to take another head-shot at Sam, Dean jumps him from behind. "Gordon!" Dean shouts as he kicks Gordon, then pins him down on his back, hitting him over and over again in the face. Dean then grabs him by the collar.

"You do that to my brother or (y/n), I'll kill you!" Dean growls at him. "Dean, wait." Gordon said then he manages to grab the rifle and slam it into Dean twice, knocking him out. He stands over Dean, panting and gushing blood from his lip.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Ava, Sam and I go up to the roof of the building across from the motel. We came up cause if Sam and I were correct this would be where the shooter was but whoever the person was they are long gone.

"Wait, I don't understand. Shouldn't we be talking to the cops?" Ava asked us. "Trust me, that wouldn't do us much good." I said as Sam picks up a bullet shell. "These are .223 caliber. Subsonic rounds. The guy must have put a suppressor on the rifle." Sam said as he hands the shell to me.

"Dude, who are you?" Ava asked him. "Oh. I just, uh, I just watch a lot of TJ Hooker." Sam said and he pulls out his cell phone. "Who are you calling?" Ava asked. "My brother. I think we definitely need help." Sam replied.

*3rd Person POV*

"Hello?" Dean replied as Gordon holds the phone up to his ear since Dean was tied up in a chair. "Dean!" Sam said. "Sam, I've been looking for you and (y/n)." Dean said. "Yeah. Look, we're in Indiana, uh Lafayette." Sam said.

"I know." Dean said and Sam looks confused. "You do?" He asked. "Yeah, I talked to Ellen. Just got here myself. It's a real funky town. You and (y/n) ditched me, Sammy." Dean said. "Yeah, I'm sorry. Look, right now there's someone after us." Sam said.

"What? Who?" Dean asked. "I don't know, that's what we need to find out. Where are you?" Sam asked. "I'm staying at, uh, 5637 Monroe St. Why don't you and (y/n) meet me here?" Dean said and Sam nods. "Yeah. Sure." Sam said and he hangs up.

"Now, was that so hard?" Gordon asked Dean as he puts away the phone. "Bite me." Dean growls.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Sam puts his phone away but he looked worried. "What is it?" I asked him. "Dean's in trouble." Sam said and my eyes widen. "What?" Ava exclaimed. "He gave me a codeword. Someone's got a gun on him." Sam said

"Codeword?" Ava said, confused. "Yeah. Funkytown." Sam said and Ava gives him a confused look. "Well, he thought of it. It's kind of a...long story. I...come on." Sam said and the three of us started running

*3rd Person POV*

Gordon has his back to Dean as he opens a canvas bag and starts pulling out weapons. "So Gordy. I know me, Sam and (y/n) ain't exactly your favorite people, but don't you think this is a little extreme?" Dean asked him.

"What, you think this is revenge?" Gordon asked him. "Well, we did leave you tied up in your own mess for three days." Dean said before he laughs then he looks back at Gordon. "Which was awesome. Sorry, I shouldn't laugh." He said.

"Yeah. I was definitely planning on whuppin' your ass for that. But that's not what this is. This isn't personal. I'm not a killer, Dean. I'm a hunter. And your brother and that girl are fair game." Gordon said as he slams a knife into its sheath while Dean looks at him, stunned.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Sam, Ava and I approach her blue VW beetle as she turns to us. "I don't think I should leave." She said. "We want you out of harm's way, Ava." Sam said to her. "What about you guys?" She asked us.

"Harm's way doesn't really bother us." I said to her. "No, but you guys are walking right into my vision. I mean, this is how you two die." She said to us. "Doesn't matter. It's my brother." Sam said. "Maybe I could help!" Ava said and ibplsce a hand on her shoulder.

"You've done all you can. Just, just go back to your fiance." I said and she looks at us, worried. "Are you sure?" She asked. "Yes, we're sure. Go home, Ava. You'll be safe there." Sam said and she gets into her car. "Well, just, promise me you'll call, then. I mean, when you get your brother, just to let me know that everything's all right." She said.

"We promise." Sam and I say and she smiles then starts her car and drives off.

*3rd Person POV*

Gordon was leaning against a pillar, cradling a rifle and speaking casually. "See, I was doing an exorcism down in Louisiana. Teenage girl, seemed routine, some low-level demon. But between all the jabbering and the head-spinning, the damn thing muttered something. About a coming war. And I don't think it meant to, it just kind of slipped out. But it was too late. Piqued my interest. And you can really make a demon talk, you got the right tools." He explained.

"And what happened to the girl it was possessing?" Dean asked her. "She didn't make it." Gordon said and Dean shakes his head. "Well, you're a son of a bitch." Dean grumbles.

Gordon stares at him then stands up and slaps him. "That's my momma you're talking about." Gordon yelled as Dean groans in pain. "Anyway. This demon tells me there are soldiers to fight in this coming war. Humans, fighting on hell's side. You believe that? I mean, they're psychics, so they're not exactly pure humans, but still. What kind of worthless scumbag have you got to be to turn against your own race?" Gordon said as Dean glares at him.

"But you know the biggest kick in the ass? This demon said I knew two of them. Our very own Sammy Winchester and (y/n) (l/n)." Gordon said and Dwan begins to chuckle. "Oh, this is...this is a whole new level of moronic, even for you." Dean said to him

"Yeah? Come on, Dean. I know. About Sam's and (y/n)'s visions. I know everything." Gordon said. "Really? Because a demon told you?" Dean asked and he laughs. "Yeah, and it wasn't lying." He grumbles. "Hey, Dean. I'm not some reckless yahoo, okay? I did my homework. Made damn sure it was true. Look, you've got your Roadhouse connections, I got mine. It's how I found Sammy and (y/n) in the first place." Gordon said as he crosses to the corner and sits.

"About a month ago I found another one of these freaks here in town. He could deep-fry a person just by touching them." He said. "Yeah, did he kill anyone?" Dean asked him. "Well, besides Mr. Tinkles the cat? No. But he was working up to it. They're all gonna be killers, Dean. We've got to take them all out. And that means Sammy and (y/n) too." Gordon said as he cocks the rifle.

"You think Sam and (y/n) are stupid enough to walk through that front door?" Dean asked him. "No, I don't. Especially since I'm sure you found a way to warn them. Ha. You really think I'm that stupid?" Gordon said as Dean raises his eyebrows, meaningfully.

Gordon stands and starts pacing. "No. They're going to scope the place first, see me covering the front door. So they're going to take the back. And when they do they'll hit the tripwire. Then --" he said as he takes a grenade from his bag. "Boom." He said.

"They're not gonna fall for a friggin' tripwire." Dean said. "Maybe you're right. That's why I'll have a second one." Gordon said. "Hey, look. I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to do this, I really do. But for what it's worth, it'll be quick." He said then he goes to setting up the tripwire across the back doorway.

Then he returns to the room where Dean is tied up and straddles a chair. "Come on, man. I know Sam and (y/n), okay, better than anyone. Sam's got more of a conscience than I do, I mean, the guy feels guilty surfing the Internet for porn. (Y/n), she's kind've like in the middle, it depends on the situation; but killing innocent people, she can't stand that." Dean said.

"Maybe you're right. But one day they're going to be a monster." Gordon said. "How? Huh? How's a couple of people like Sam and (y/n) become monsters?" Dean asked. "Beats me. But they will." Gordon said. "No, you don't know that!" Dean yells, angrily.

"I'm surprised at you, Dean. Getting all emotional. I'd heard you were more of a professional than this. Look, let's say you were cruising around in that car of yours and, uh, you had little Hitler riding shotgun, right? Back when he was just some goofy, crappy artist. But you knew what he was going to turn into someday. You'd take him out, no questions, am I right?" Gordon asked and Dean shakes his head. "That's not Sam or (y/n)." Dean said.

"Yes it is. You just can't see it yet. Dean, it's their destiny. Look, I'm sympathetic. He's your brother, you love the guy. And she's your best friend, or maybe she's more...I don't know, you seem to have a soft spot for her. This has got to hurt like hell for you." Gordon said as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a scarf.

Then he stands up and walks towards Dean. "But here's the thing." Gordon said and he gags Dean with the scarf. "It would wreck him. But your dad? If it really came right down to it, he would have had the stones to do the right thing here. But you're telling me you're not the man he is?" He asked and Dean glares, furiously, at him.

*(y/n)'s POV*

Sam and I approach the cabin while Sam holds up the sheet of motel stationary with an address written on it. We approach the house, cautiously, and we could see Dean tied up to a chair and someone I didn't expect to see, Gordon.

I bit my lips in anger as Sam and I exchange a look then we go around back. We try the door and find it locked; I pull out my lockpick and work it open. 

*3rd Person POV*

The clicks from the door can be heard in the front room; Dean looks around wildly. "Ya hear 'em?" Gordon asked while in the back room, (y/n) gets the door open and the two creep in.

"Here they come." Gordon mutters and a second later the first grenade explodes. Dean flinches, helplessly, and he screams at Gordon through his gag. "Hold on. Not yet. Just wait and see." Gordon said and the second grenade goes off.

Dean struggles, violently, choke-sobbing through the gag. Gordon crosses the room and stops beside him. "Sorry, Dean." He said and he goes into the back room, rifle ready. He sees Sam's and (y/n)'s smoking boots on the ground. He smiles but is still wary.

As he turns away from the back door, Sam raises a gun to the back of Gordon's head and cocks it. "Drop the gun." Sam said in a low commanding voice. "Shouldn't take your shoes off around here. You might get tetanus." Gordon said.

"Put it down now!" Sam shouts at him

In the front room, Dean turns, hearing Sam's voice, and grunts in relief. Then he felt someone touch his arm. He jumps slightly then turns to see (y/n) kneeled by next to him and she smiles at him. "Hey, Princess Peach. I'm here to rescue you." She jokes as she pulls out her knife and starts to cut his binds while Dean grunts in relief again.

Out back, Gordon slowly lowers the rifle to the floor. "You wouldn't shoot me, would you, Sammy? Because your brother, he thinks you're some kind of saint." He said to Sam. "Yeah? Well, I wouldn't be so sure." Sam said. "See, that's what I said." Gordon saud and he turns quickly, knocking the gun out of Sam's hand and attacking him methodically until he goes down.

In the front room, Dean and (y/n) hear the scuffle and (y/n) starts to cut the ropes faster.

Out back, Gordon slowly approaches Sam, who's flat on his back, coughing. Gordon pulls out his knife. "You're no better than the filthy things you hunt." He said. As Gordon raises the knife, Sam lashes out, flipping Gordon over. He punches him twice, then grabs the rifle and points it at his head. 

"Do it. Do it! Show your brother the killer you really are, Sammy." Gordon yells. Sam hesitates, then slams the butt of the rifle into Gordon's head, knocking him out. "It's Sam." Sam said, fuming.

*(y/n)'s POV*

I finally get Dean out of his binds and he pulls off the gag from his mouth. After we stand up, Dean goes and hugs me and I hug him as well just as Sam shuffles exhaustedly into the room. Dean and I pull away from the embrace and we look over at Sam. Dean goes over to Sam and he cups his hand around Sam's neck, staring at him closely.

Sam nods at him then he claps a hand to Dean's shoulder. Dean wheels around to head to the back room. "That son of a..." Dean growls but I go and grab his shoulder. "Dean. No." I said. "We let him live once. I'm not making the same mistake twice." Dean growls and Sam shakes his head.

"Trust me. Gordon's taken care of. Come on." Sam said as we reach out and fists Dean's jacket, pulling him towards the front door. 

We walk, well Sam staggers, down the steps from the cabin and away from it. Moments later, we hear gunfire then we look over and see Gordon chasing us. The boys and I duck and run for cover. "Come on!" Dean yells as we run. "You call this taken care of?" Dean asked us and we dive into a ditch by the side of the road and huddle, watching Gordon approach.

"What the hell are we doing?" Dean asked us. "Just trust us on this, all right?" I said to him as we watch Gordon approaches. Then three police cars, sirens blaring, pull into the clearing and surround Gordon. Cops emerge, weapons ready. 

"Drop your weapons! Get down on your knees!" One cop yells. "Do it, now!" Another cop yells. The boys and I grin at each other as Gordon drops to his knees and glares in our direction. "Put your hands on your head. Easy now." One cop yells and the cop cuffs Gordon and pats him down, then leads him to a squad car.

"Anonymous tip." Sam said to Dean, who smiles at us. "You guys are fine upstanding citizens." Dean said and I smiled back at him.

*3rd Person POV*

"Gordon Walker was hunting Sam and (y/n)?" Ellen asked as she was on the phone with Dean, who was standing outside of the Impala, and Sam was sitting inside of the car and (y/n) was sitting in her bike which was parked against the Impala.

"Yeah, he almost killed all of us because somebody over there can't keep their friggin' mouth shut." Dean yells, angrily. "And you honestly think that it was me? Or Ash? Or Jo? No way." Ellen said. "Well, who else knows about Sam and (y/n), huh?" Dean said as he turns to look at Sam in the car then over at (y/n), who gives a smirk.

"I mean, you must have been talking to somebody." Dean said, accusing. "Hey, you can say a lot of things about us. But we are not disloyal. And we're not stupid. We haven't breathed a word of this." Ellen said. "Gordon said he had Roadhouse connections, Ellen." Dean yells.

"And this roadhouse is full of other hunters. They're all smart. They're good trackers. Each of them with their own patterns and connections. Look, hell, I could name twelve of them right now that are capable of putting this together." Ellen said before she sighs. "I am sorry about what happened, Dean. But I can't control these people. Or what they choose to believe." Ellen said to him.

*(y/n)'s POV*

After stopping by my safe house and dropping off my bike, I sit in the Impala as Dean drives and Sam is talking on his phone. "Hey, Ava, it's Sam. Again. Um, call me when you get this, just want to make sure you got home okay. All right. Bye." Sam said. 

"Everything all right?" Dean asked him. "Yeah, I hope so." Sam said. "Well, Gordon should be reaching for the soap for the next few years at least." Dean said and I chuckle. "Yeah. If they pin Scott Carey's murder on him. And if he doesn't bust out." I said and we sit in silence.

"Guys, you two ever take off like that again..." Dean started to say, warningly, until Sam speaks up. "What? You'll kill us?" Sam asked and we chuckle. "That is so not funny." Dean said.

"All right. All right. So where to next, then?" I asked. "One word: Amsterdam." Dean said. "Dean!" Sam and I shouted. "Come on, guys, I hear the coffeeshops don't even serve coffee." Dean said. "We're not just gonna ditch the job." I said to him.

"Screw the job. Screw it, guys, I'm sick of the job anyway. I mean, we don't get paid, we don't get thanked. The only thing we get's bad luck." Dean said, angrily. "Well, come on, dude, you're a hunter. I mean, it's what you were meant to do." Sam said. "Ah, I wasn't meant to do anything, I don't believe in that destiny crap." Dean growls.

"You mean you don't believe in mine or Sam's destiny." I said. "Yeah, whatever." Dean growls. "Look, Dean, I've tried running before. I mean, I ran all the way to California and look what happened. You can't run from this." Sam said to him. "And you can't protect me or Sam." I said and Dean looks up at the mirror at me.

"I can try." He said. "Thanks for that." Sam and I said and Dean nods. "Look, Dean, we're gonna keep hunting. I mean, whatever is coming, we're taking it head-on, so if you really want to watch our backs, then I guess you're gonna have to stick around." Sam said to Dean.

"Bitch." Dean said to Sam.

"Jerk." Sam said.

"Jackass." I said to Dean.

"Weirdo." Dean said and the three of us grin at each other.

But seconds later, Sam frowns and picks up his phone again. "You calling that Ava girl again? You sweet on her or something?" Dean asked him. "She's engaged, Dean." Sam said. "So? What's the point in saving the world if you can't get a little nookie once in a while, huh?" Dean said and I scoff as Sam hangs up, scowling in thought.

"What?" Dean asked Sam. "Just a feeling. How far is it to Peoria?" Sam asked him.

Later, we break into Ava's house and look around. "Hello? Is anybody home?" Sam calls out and we go into the bedroom to find Ava's fiance dead, face-up on the bed; his shirt and the sheets are soaked in blood. 

"Oh my God." Sam gasped while I place a hand over my mouth, shocked. Dean runs a finger along the windowsill, staring at the powdery substance collected there. "Hey." He said and Sam turns and Dean holds up his fingers.

"Sulfur. Demon's been here." Dean said then I see something on the floor and kneels, picking it up. It was Ava's engagement ring.

Sam and I look up at each other as I look back at the ring in fear. "Ava." Sam whispers as I bite my lips.