#that he remains her favorite engine EVER

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (15/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Showing your friend your favorite place shouldn't be as romantic as it is.

Warnings: this is soft, like really soft, Charles is cute, everything's cute so be prepared, Charles playing piano

Word Count: 3.5k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: ahhhhhhhhhh. feedback is appreciated.

"Not happening."

You put your hands on your hips and look at your roommate with narrowed eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Because I said so." Charles holds your Renault's car keys tightly in his hand as you stand in front of your car in the underground parking garage. 

Ever since you left the apartment - wrapped in thick, cozy sweaters and warm socks - you've been bickering about who should sit in the driver's seat.

"You don't know where we have to go," you argue, holding out your hand, so he can put the key in it. After all, he really doesn't know where your favorite place is, and for sure you wouldn't tell him if you wanted it to remain a surprise. 

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "So what? You can guide me." He lets the key ring circle around his finger. "But I'm driving."

"But it's my car," you try to change his mind. "And you've driven it the last few times. Both to your place and to Joris and to the restaurant. Would you want to be the passenger princess in your own car?"

Your buddy raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Passenger princess? What's that?"

You cross your arms in front of your chest. "Actually, it's a girl who can't, won't, or shouldn't drive, and that's why she's always driven by her boyfriend." You point to your car. "But I can, and more importantly, I want to drive my car too."

"But you don't have to now." A grin spreads across his face and it becomes clear that you can't win here. "So, be a good passenger princess. Sit in your seat, look pretty, and let your boyfriend drive you around." He walks around the hood and opens the passenger door. "Let's go. I thought you said we were supposed to make the most of the time before I left for Italy. And you can pout on the drive, too."

As he titles himself your boyfriend, your heart beats a tiny bit faster, but you block that out as you follow him and reluctantly plop down in the seat. "Alright, go ahead and drive. But I'll be complaining the whole time."

Charles smiles at you. "I expected nothing less." He closes the door as you buckle up and trots back to his side of the car, where he takes a seat next to you. "So, where are we going?"

"If you'd let me drive, then you wouldn't have to ask," you reply to him, playfully annoyed, letting the seatbelt tighten against your chest. 

The brunette puts the key in the ignition and lets the engine rev briefly. "But you're my passenger princess. So, which way do we have to go?" He presses down on the gas pedal and steers the car out of the underground garage and onto Monaco's streets. 

You pucker your lips into a thin line. "Nice."

Charles' head jerks in your direction. "You traitor." 

You turn to him and cross your arms in front of your chest. "Why is that? It's not my fault there's no place like it here in Monaco."

"Maybe you just haven't been looking properly," he says, turning - reluctantly - at a street sign that says Nice. "There's so much to discover here. So many beautiful things. And they're right under your nose."

You raise an eyebrow. A song is playing softly on the radio, whose name you don't know, but it sounds very familiar. "And what would that be, for example?" you ask. 

Charles' gaze lingers on you for a moment before he looks ahead again. He swallows once and his slender fingers curl around the worn leather of the steering wheel as he turns again to drive out of town. "Tiramisu, for one."

You have to laugh. "I already know that, Charles. That tiramisu was by far the best thing I've ever eaten. So it doesn't count."

He shrugs. "Then you don't have to go all the way to Nice for it." He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, then clears his throat. "I mean, if you've already had the best tiramisu here, then it's not even worth the effort. You can be perfectly happy with the tiramisu here, no?"

You turn another bit in his direction, your hands folded in your lap looking at him. 

The lights of the lanterns on the streets and the last rays of the day's sun bathe his face in a warm gold, his hair hangs slightly in his forehead and the dimples that usually bore into his cheeks are only slightly hinted at as he purses his mouth into a thin line and waits for your reaction.

Is his remark about Nice an innuendo about Lando? That you don't have to go to Nice with him when it's best with Charles? Is Charles then the "best tiramisu"? The one that's right in front of your nose, but you're too blind to recognize? 

Even though you're not blind at all. You see Charles clearly in front of you, you know how beautiful and wonderful he is, and with all due respect, you've even dreamed about him. You know full well that Charles is the absolute best thing that has ever happened to you. But your focus is limited to your friendship, not allowed to spread to anything else for fear that it might affect yours and that it might suffer. 

Charles is your favorite tiramisu. And you don't need to try another to be sure of that. But maybe tiramisu is just a dessert you share out of friendship because it's easier, more enjoyable. A means to an end. 

You smile at your friend. "I'm perfectly happy with my tiramisu here."

A slight blush creeps onto Charles' cheeks, almost certainly from the fact that the heater is warming up the inside of the car and he's wearing a thick sweater. At least, that's what you try to tell yourself. "I'm perfectly happy with the tiramisu here, too."

The rest of the car ride is quiet. The radio continues to play songs that you hum along to as Charles focuses on the road and it grows darker outside. The silence between you is not uncomfortable, but relaxing and comforting. Neither of you feels compelled to say anything, to keep the conversation going, but you simply enjoy the closeness the car gives you before you break the silence and give Charles instructions on which direction to drive. 

When you end up at a narrow road after twenty-five minutes, he turns off the engine. "So, where's your favorite place now?" He spins around a bit, trying to make out something through the windows of the car, but he can't make out anything except houses, small boutiques, and a deserted neighborhood. 

No normal person would venture out of the warmth of their own home in this cold. Except the two of you. 

"Over there." You point to a dark alley from which a small beam of light shines on the asphalt. Your gaze wanders to Charles. "If you laugh at me for that, or talk down to it, I'll hurt you." You knead your fingers in your lap. 

Showing Charles your favorite place makes you incredibly nervous. Showing someone something so personal, so intimate, makes you vulnerable. And if Charles actually thought your favorite place was terrible, or said something bad about it - you don't even like to think about that. 

"Don't worry," he says, putting his hand on the doorknob. "If the place is as great as you are, then nothing bad can happen at all."

Together you walk off, cold winter wind sweeping your faces, and you're so grateful Charles lent you that thick hoodie. Hiding your hands in your sweater, you walk beside him down the street, following the narrow strip of light into the narrow alley. In front of a store with dim lights, you stop. 

You look at Charles. "This is it."

Your friend looks up from you to the store. The petits mondes is a small, two-story bookstore with ivy entwined around its sign. Fairy lights hang under the rain gutter, casting warm light on your faces. From outside, you can see the countless books stacked to the ceiling in the store through the small store window. "Petits mondes? Little worlds?" asks Charles without looking at you. 

"Exactly," you answer him, rocking from one foot to the other. 

"Okay." Charles looks at you and gestures toward the bookstore with a nod of his head. "Shall we?"

Your friend kindly holds the door open for you and lets you enter the store first, and immediately the smell of old books wafts around you. The shelves are overflowing with books so that the boards bend, and even the floor is piled high with copies, so you have to watch where you step. As you stop to let the place sink in, you sense Charles behind you. 

"Show me," he breathes into the back of your neck and goosebumps spread across your body. "Show me your favorite place, mon amour."

Paralyzed, you stand in front of him, feeling his hot breath on your heated skin, and when he gently places his hands where your hips are, your brain seems to short-circuit. His touch burns through your clothes, through your skin and it feels like his touch is twitching through your veins. 

As someone comes up to you from the back of the store, he takes his hands off you. You take a deep breath. 

"Y/N!" An older gentleman stands behind the sales counter. "How nice to finally see you again! Where have you been the last few days?" 

"Hi, Thomas," you greet him with a smile. "I've been incredibly busy. How's Agathe doing? Did she take her new medication well?" You take a few steps toward him as Charles stops in the doorway. 

"Oh, it was terrible at first. She barely ate and slept very little, but she's much better now," he replies before glancing over your shoulder. "Who's your friend over there? Come here, young man, I won't bite."

You look to Charles, whose gaze lingers on you. He follows you and stops beside you. "I'm Charles. It's nice to meet you," he says, a little nervously. 

"Likewise. Make yourself at home here," Thomas smiles at him before turning back to you. "You know where everything is. I'll lock up the store in a good fifteen minutes, but I'll leave the spare key here." 

You nod gratefully at him. "Thank you very much. Please give Agathe my regards, and above all, please continue to get well, won't you?" You take a few steps toward the spiral staircase, which is in the back of the store, before turning to him once more. "And don't stay up too late, or you'll have that headache again tomorrow, yeah?"

"Of course, Y/N." Thomas smiles at Charles. "Go on, enjoy the evening. I'm sure we'll see each other again." Then he disappears. 

"He's nice," says Charles, who joins you but glances after Thomas. 

"He is," you counter him, and together you climb the steps of the steep spiral staircase to the top floor. "Agathe - his wife - is sick, which is why he's closing the store early to get to her faster. They've known each other for sixty years and they've been married for fifty," you tell him. When the two of you arrive upstairs, you look at Charles. "I guess they were best friends at first before they finally found each other." 

Charles' smile is gentle. "And they opened the store together?"

You nod and take a few more steps as you let your outstretched fingers roam over the many book spines on the shelves. "The store is twice as old as we are, and they put so much time and love into this. I think you can tell with every single book."

"With every single little world," Charles adds. "Petits mondes."

The two of you browse through various books until you arrive at a small couch with books piled up on its sides. A table lamp stands on the small column, casting warm light on the dark red fabric. In the corner next to it is an old piano with loose sheets of music. 

"I like to come here when I feel lonely. When I'm surrounded by these many little worlds, I know I'm not alone," you explain your favorite place, Charles listening intently. "Although I've been living in Monaco for months, and even though it's my home, I still feel quite lonely sometimes. And ever since I broke up with Raphael and all my friends dropped me, this place has been my refuge."

Charles drops onto the narrow bench that sits in front of the piano and surveys the slightly yellowed keys. "When was the last time you were here?" 

You sit down on the couch. "The day you stood in my apartment," you reply, a smile spreading across his face. 

"You mean when I was standing in my apartment," he grins, tilting his head. 

You purse your lips. "Do you play?" you ask him, gesturing toward the piano with a nod of your head. 

He shrugs his shoulders. "A little. I started learning to play two years ago, but I'm not particularly good at it."

You prop your elbow on the armrest and rest your head in your hand. "Would you play something for me?"

"Something from the sheets here?" he asks, sliding the loose pages back and forth on the piano, looking for something appropriate for this moment. 

"Whatever you like," you answer him.

Charles nods and raises his hands to place his fingers gently on the keys. He takes one deep breath before looking to you. With a smile, you encourage him to get started, and as he returns your smile, his fingers begin to dance across the piano. 

You watch him as he intently plays a melody you don't know. His eyes flicker as well as his movements across the keys, moving from the high notes to the low ones. The sight of seeing him so in his element, so captivated by the music, brings tears to your eyes. 

He plays with a passion that you would also like to feel for something, and whatever the song is that he is playing there for you, you would love to tattoo on your skin. The warm light from the lamp shines softly on his face as he looks over at you for a moment. 

After a few minutes, when he lets his fingers linger on the keys and the last notes fade away, you have to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

"It's beautiful," you breathe, smiling at him. "Who's it from?"

Charles turns back to you and there's a twinkle in his green eyes. "It's my piece," he replies, looking down at his hands. "I wrote it."

You widen your eyes. "That was from you?" you ask, aghast, pointing your finger at the piano. "Don't bullshit me, Charles. That's really from you?" When he nods, you slap your hands over your head. "And you say you're not very good at it." 

He shrugs. "I didn't write the piece, it - it just came out of me. This place -" He stands up from the bench and spreads his arms, "I can see why this is your favorite place. It's beautiful here, and I'm very grateful to you for sharing all these little worlds with me. It means a lot to me." He tilts his head. "I just hope you don't feel lonely around me and need to seek refuge here."

You get up from the couch and stand in front of him. Most of all, you want to tell him that Charles is the reason you haven't been here since you met, that he is your haven. But you can't tell him that as a friend. Friends don't do that. 

"Thank you for coming here with me." You poke his finger against his hard chest. "And thanks for not making fun of it. After all, it's not as special as the place you showed me."

Charles takes a deep breath. "Everyone has their own experiences that make certain places special. I would never make fun of you. You're too important to me for that." He leans a bit in your direction and tilts his head. "I know it's your place, and I definitely don't want to seem like an intruder, but maybe we can make this our place too. To one of our little worlds," he suggests, pulling back a little, only to reach out to you. "Dance with me, mon amour."

You smile at him. "We don't have music, Charles."

He shrugs. "We can make our own music," he counters, noticing how reluctant you are to take his hand. 

His suggestion to make this place one of yours is lovely, but what would happen if the two of you stopped being friends at some point? Then you would have to find a new place, a new haven - and you definitely don't want that. This place means far too much to you for that. 

You don't know what to say to that, so you just smile and move away from him a little more. A glance at the clock hanging on one wall tells you that you've been in the store longer than you think.

"We'd better get going. We haven't eaten anything decent yet, and it's getting late, and we still have to head back." You make your way back toward the stairs, where you then stop and glance back. Charles' outstretched hand is now in his pants pocket, and judging by the look on his face, you've hurt his feelings. Something you definitely don't want to happen, but you can't stop it either. "You coming?"

Putting a little distance between you, you head down the stairs and hear Charles slowly following you with heavy footsteps. Once downstairs, you reach for the spare key Thomas has left for you. There's a switch under the counter, which you flip as your friend joins you, and all the lights in the store - including the string of lights outside - go out. 

"I don't want the day to end." Even though it's dark in the store, you see Charles clearly ahead of you. His look is a little sad as he walks toward you. A few inches in front of you, he stops. "When the day is over, it's already tomorrow and then I have to go. And then we won't see each other for four days." You feel him reach for the hem of your sweater with his fingers. 

You smile softly at him. "It's only four days. You'll be fine," you try to talk him down, even though you feel the same way. Four days isn't the end of the world - so why does it feel like an eternity?

Charles continues to play with your sweater. "It's our third day together, and I don't know why, but I've already gotten so used to you. To your company, being so close to you." He looks from the hem into your eyes. "It's going to be weird not having you around me all the time."

"How do you think I'll be?" you venture to ask him, and confused, he looks at you. "Well, you're in Italy having your meetings, your work colleagues and I'm here just waiting for you to come home." You push your bottom lip forward. "Not that you'll forget about me and not hear from you."

Charles wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you against his body. Chest to chest, you stand there in the dark bookstore, only the thick sweaters between you, your faces inches apart. If you would just stretch a little, go up on your toes, your lips would brush his. His hot breath glides over your face and you close your eyes. 

"I could never forget you, mon amour. How many times do I have to tell you how important you are to me?" You feel his hands on your back, pressing you against him. Not a sheet of paper fits between you anymore. Heat spreads through your body, and it's definitely not because of the thick sweater. 

"So often, until I believe it," you answer him softly, and there's so much more meaning in your words than either of you can imagine. 

He tilts his head forward a little more. "I promise you that you'll never have to doubt how much you mean to me, even if I have to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, a million times." His scent envelops you like a cloud and that feeling, what you can only describe as Charles, surges through your body. "I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it, mon amour. In this life and the next. In each of our little worlds."

next part

[fraugwinska]

FrauGwinskas Wonderful World of Works

Main Fic

on AO3 and tumblr (Alastor x Reader; #RadioGem📻💎)

Quick-Fics and One-Shots (#fraugwinskawrites)

The Nice (Fluff, Angst and everything in between - SFW)

Pour Decisions - Alastor & Reader Al and Reader have a pun-off, with Angel getting increasingly frustrated

Rainy Days - Charlie x Vaggie Just a little fluff between hells most wholesome couple on a rainy, boring day

Pandoras Box - Alastor x Reader Reader wants kisses - Reader gets kisses, whether our mighty overlord likes it or not (Spoiler: He does)

In Sickness and in Health - Alastor x Wife!Reader When his doe is sick, the buck will care for her. (TW: Mention of death by sickness)

Taking the edge off - Husk & Angel & Reader (+ Alastor fluff) A few drinks too much, and Husk finds himself being hug-attacked by Alastors girlfriend. Angel barely helps. Al to the rescue!

You put a spell on me - Alastor x Reader Reader gets caught singing and dancing by herself by Alastor, just to have him join in - both in dancing and in acting out the lyrics *wink wink*. The outcome surprises you both!

Fake it 'til you Make it - Alastor x Reader When Reader is stalked, Alastor - accidentally - has a most genius idea on how to help them. What could go wrong? (Tw: Stalking)

Mother'O Mine (Alastor x Reader) Mothers Day is hard for everyone in the hotel.... but one especially has a hard time. Maybe Reader will be able to help? (Angst/Comfort)

Worth a Shot (Alastor x Reader; Fluff) Reader has everyone in the hotel pictured, collected in a photo album, captured by her lense. All but one. But Alastor vehemently eludes her phone camera. Will a polaroid suffice?

Past and Present (Alastor x Reader) Alastor gives Reader the most perfect birthday present. Birthday One Shot for @alastor-simp

Gravitate (Alastor x Reader) - soon to come

The Naughty (NSFW - Minors DNI!)

Joke's On You - Alastor x Reader (NSFW) Alastor isn't the only prankster at the hotel. You join in on the fun,matching his energy and turning his solo act into a delightful double trouble. But the prank you want to pull on Angel might've gotten a little... out of hand.

We just have Forever (Alastor x Reader; MDNI) Waking up in the radio demons arms is nice. A little make out session before hell expects you back, is even nicer.

Shadow Games (Alastor x Reader x Alastor's Shadow; NSFW) Possessed by and therefore gifted to @hazelfoureyes What's better than getting it on with your favorite deer demon? Getting it on with him AND his ever-present shadow companion.

Pretty Desperate (Vox x Reader; NSFW) Bribe for @macabr3-barbi3 Vox hates Alastors new assistant who just drools over his friend. Too bad for her that he doesn't want her. And too bad for Vox that he doesn't want him either.

Transient Response (Human!Alastor x Reader, NSFW) When the new and only female sound engineer caught the eye of New Orleans favourite Radio host, she turned out to be quite elusive. But Alastor is always game for a little hunt, especially when he traps his prey in his broadcasting booth.

Antidote (Radioapple x Reader, NSFW) While almost everyone is away for a night out in town, back at the hotel Reader accidentally drinks a potent lovedrug. With Alastor and Lucifer beeing the only two remaining demons mannig the building, they have to somehow set aside their differences to help their darling girl.

Battle Scars (Alastor x Reader, Angst/Hurt/Comfort, NSFW) TW: Dark themes, mentions of self-harm and depression After a fight with Alastor, reader fights with herself. At the brink of relapsing into habits she tried to bury, he shows her that that's a battle sha doesn't have to fight alone.

Master of Puppets (Alastor x Witch!Reader, NSFW) Alastor and reader not only share interests in magic, but in each other. With what the little witch already knew and what Alastor taught her, she creates a gift that turns out to be a very naughty piece of witchcraft.

Heavenly (Radioapple, MDNI) - Gift for @minkdelovely Lucifer is tired. Tired of his domain, of his duties, of being a ruler... of just being itself, really. Ready to break by the circumstances and be put back together by the Radio Demon, who both infuriates and tempts him alike.

Mirror, Mirror (Alastor x Bodyconscious!Reader, NSFW) TW: Explicit depictions & mentions of ED and body dysmorphia An innocent remark from Angel confirms what Alastor long suspected. And he is determined to help reader see just how much more than beautiful she really is.

Sensory Overload (Vox x Reader, NSFW) Valentino's new hire is a genius when it comes to write about sex - but unfortunately, having it proves impossible to her because hell made her senses numb. Not even the moth pimp could get her off, much to the amusement of Vox. When they make a bet about whether or not Vox could suceed where Valentione had failed, Vox takes on that challenge as he does any other challenge. Head on and with full power.

Visions of You (Alastor x Blind!Reader, MDNI) TW: Depictions of attempted SA, Blood & Gore Managing hell without seeing, Reader made a modest living for herself selling books in her little store. A quiet, mostly uneventful life, until a certain overlord visits, interested in the various stock Reader keeps - as well as the little blind mouse herself.

No Hard Feelings (Alastor x Fox!Reader, NSFW) "Don't tell me you don't know?" he purred, a dark smirk pulling at his lips, a slight glimmer of the yellowish hue of his sharp teeth showing from behind them. "How quaint. I'm afraid I didn't take into consideration that you are not the type to make yourself acquainted with the hellish form you took on. Why, you're in heat, darling. A very... desperate and needy one, at that."

The Mini-Series (SFW & NSFW, mind the tags!)

Good Times Series - Alastor x Reader Al and Reader explore which era had better dance moves 1.Going with the times 2.Goody-Two-Shoes

Brat Series - Alastor x Bratty!Reader (NSFW) Reader tests the limit of Al's patience, it's just so fun! But what happens when his patience runs out? Uh-oh... 1. (Un)Holy Tease 2.(Un)Holy Terror

Hard Days Series - Sub!Alastor x Reader (NSFW) Alastor doesn't often feel the need to give up control, but when he does, we know - and we're ready! 1.Hard Day 2.The hardest Day

Actions and Words Series - Alastor x Reader Reader joins a lonely, tipsy Al at the bar for a night filled with much more than words. After the nightly drunken escapade, Charlie and the crew is hellbent on getting Reader and Alastor together. While Reader tries to stop the shenanigans, no one asks Alastor what HE wants. 1.More than Words 2.Louder than Words

The full Picture Series - Alastor x Reader Reader is an artist who draws everyone - just not Alastor. Which bugs him. Majorly. 1.Pictures of You 2.Ripped Canvas (WIP)

AfterLife Series (NSFW) Heavy Angst; TW: DARK themes, suicide, mental/physical torture, religious trauma Reader finds an old radio and with it, a friend. Her only friend in a word she feels shut off of. When that friends vanishes, she doesn't see another way to continue but to take a leap of faith. In the most horrible sense. You have to bargain with something much bigger than yourself, hoping to find your way to the one you jumped for in the first place. 1.Leap of Faith (Alastor x Human!Reader) 2.Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (Alastor x Reader)

Beauty is Power - A Smile is it's Sword Series (Alastor x Cheshire!Reader; NSFW) What's more dangerous than one smiling murderous deer overlord? Well, him with a similar murderous and ever-grinning cheshire wife, going out for a little game night. (Please mind the TW!) 1. Game Night 2. A Night to Remember 3. No Place like Home

Our Deer Family Series - (Angst/Fluff, NSFW) (TW: Sickness, Death) An unconventional offer from a gravely sick young woman turns Alastors whole afterlife upside down when she, now deceased, turns up at the hotel with the most unsuspected news. 1.One plus One makes Three (Alastor x Human!Reader) 2.What to expect... (Alastor x Reader, WIP)

Tempest Series - Alastor x Reader (Angst/Comfort, NSFW/MDNI) When Alastors nightmare threatens to destroy the hotel, Reader heads to his room, determined to wake him up before they are all buried in the rubble. But waking a sleeping beast is a dangerous thing. 1.The Eye of the Storm 2.Taming the Tempest

The Alchemist Series (Alastor x Reader, NSFW) The Alchemist, a powerful new sinner that quickly rises up the ranks of the pride ring's top demons and with no interest to join the elite group of overlords, is a thorn in Alastor's side from the moment she sets foot in hell. Chaos and Order just have to clash, so nature dictates The Alchemist and the Radio Demon have to do the same. Too bad that there is only a very thin line between hatred and love. 1.The Principle of Equal Exchange

#SlutSnacks (NSFW Shorts)

Early Morning Pick-Me-Up (Alastor x Reader) Incorrect Alastor x Reader Quotes: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 Lessons in Leather (Human!Alastor x Reader) Let Down your Hair (Alastor x Reader)

Collaborations

DoubleTrouble No.1: Sweet as Cherry Wine - Alastor x Reader (NSFW) Reader has her period, Alastor is a cannibal. Seems like a plan, right? (Alastor POV, companion piece to Reader POV The Blood is Rare by @macabr3-barbi3

Double Trouble No.2: Missionary Impossible - Vox x Reader (NSFW) (Reader POV, companion piece to Vox POV by @macabr3-barbi3)

One Word to lift the Pain of Life - Alastor x Reader (+RadioSilence) Regency AU piece done in the collaborative event 'PrideRing and Prejudice' by Bapples Orchard Discord Server, thanks to the one and only @bapple117

Never have I Ever - Vox x Kora (@macabr3-barbi3's OC) Fluffy One Shot of my favorite Vox/OC couple!

Asks to come (Not in chronological order; Working Titles)

For Reasons Wretched and Divine (Lucifer x Reader; NSFW) Business is Business (Alastor & Vox & Lucifer x Chuck the Tailor) Cheap Tricks and Tasty Treats (Alastor x Reader; NSFW) Midnight Snack (Alastor x Cannibal!Reader; SlutSnack WIP) Beyond the Horizon (Alastor x Reader; Part 3 of the Tempest-Series, NSFW) Stress Relief (Alastor x Reader; Slutsnack WIP) A Friend in Need (Alastor x Reader, Gift for the Coven)

[odo-apologist]

Every ENT character is the most character ever. Archer is a bitch he plays a fundamental role in the creation of the Federation he brings his dog on away missions which once causes a diplomatic incident he likes water polo he commits war crimes he saw a gazelle giving birth and implements it into his rousing speeches he had a wet dream about his first officer that included his dog's funeral he had to carry the soul of the creator of the main tenets of Vulcan philosophy in his head he gives a lecture on Tycho Brahe while getting his ass beaten during an interrogation scene. T'Pol is strict in her Vulcan beliefs she doesn't believe in time travel even as she's presented with irrefutable evidence and remains somewhat skeptical after experiencing it firsthand she is the funniest person on Enterprise she is more emotional than average Vulcans to the point that she had to have memories erased for causing her too much distress she could canonically pick up any of her crewmates and carry them bridal style she has Vulcan HIV she has it cured by the woman that later watches Spock and Kirk roll around in the sand in Amok Time she is technically canonically trans she is a recovering drug addict. Trip is a perfect gentleman he undergoes incredible emotional losses his favorite movies are Frankenstein Bride of Frankenstein and Son of Frankenstein he gets pregnant five episodes in he dies in the worst episode of the entire series (and the entire franchise) only to have that death retconned in the following tie-in novels he ran around the ship in his underwear he leaves the ship for a couple weeks only to come back after one person had been kidnapped another thrown in jail and the engines are on the verge of destruction and reacts like :/. Malcolm is gay he has 50 ex-girlfriends he has only had one friend in his life his own sister barely knows anything about him he dies alone he likes pineapple even though he's allergic to it he gets spacesick he worked as an agent for a top secret organization he's afraid of drowning he whined about getting a cold he had a spike driven through his leg and didn't complain at all he has a psychosexual obsession with a man he thinks is after his job and grows to respect once they had a homoerotic fight scene before witnessing him die. Hoshi is a linguistic prodigy she's the greatest contributor to the universal translator she has a panic attack on one of her first missions she ran a gambling ring she has a black belt in aikido and broke her superior's arm she has never been to the principal's office in her life she is afraid to use the transporter she became an empress in an alternate universe she is the only one who gets laid on Risa making her the first human to do so she reacted to the threat of getting worms injected into her brain to make her reveal secret information by spitting in her interrogator's face. Travis is the sweetest man ever he loves rock climbing he gets injured whenever he tries to use those skills he's a fan of ghost stories he grew up on a small freighter he gets neglected by the narrative his counterpart helps Hoshi become empress he works out when he's horny he dies in a alternate future where Earth is destroyed he's a movie buff who would probably love the Criterion Collection he likes to chill in a part of the ship with zero gravity which he calls "the sweet spot." Phlox grins like the Cheshire Cat he breaks doctor patient confidentiality to help figure out Malcolm's favorite food he goes crazy when the rest of the crew have to sleep through part of space because of how social his species is he has three wives who in turn have three husbands he responds to the news of one of his wives propositioning a crew member by being like "cool! have fun :]" he once nearly vivisects Travis because he's being affected by radiation and gets obsessed with knowing why the guy has a simple headache he has a menagerie in the middle of his sickbay. And they're all my best friends.

[thatbennybee]

ChordStriker!AU Q&A

I'm doing a bit of a Q&A about my ChordStriker!AU on insta after sharing this teaser WIP, so I figured I'd present some of the questions here! (Feel free to ask more btw!)

↓↓↓

Rock!Poppy

Q: "Is Poppy's family (Peppy & Viva) still with her since the Bergens didn't attack them?"

A: Peppy is with her, but he is confused/in mental decline like canon King Thrash was. Viva is missing. Poppy was old enough to remember her.

Q: "Will Viva play somewhat of a role in this AU?"

A: Yes, she's had a much bigger impact on Poppy's life, even till this day even though she's been missing for many years now. Poppy has never stopped looking for her.

Q: "Is King Peppy still a liar in your AU?"

A: Nah, he's normal. Sometimes hating him with my entire being is hard, so he gets to be a good dad this time. He's just not all there mentally so Poppy is more like his caretaker now.

Q: "Poppy's relationships don't last long because she gets bored... So how long is Branch going to last?"

A: The Rat Pack (Snack Pack) is wondering the same thing, but Poppy's never used the bf/gf/partner labels before meeting him which is strange... 👀

Q: "Does Poppy still party?"

A: She's a total party animal! Her parties are even more intense than a Pop Troll party since Rock Trolls are pretty extreme. LOL

---

Pop!Barb (Barbie)

Q: "What does Barb look like?"

A: For now, this is her design, it might change once I have time to draw her digitally.

Q: "Does this mean Barb has to go through the events of Trolls 1?"

A: Nope, Barb never befriends Bridget because they have never met. They have found a way to remain undetected in the forest. (Thanks to Branch’s constant nagging about safety)

Q: "How does Barb's gang look? Is there any significant differences in their dynamics?"

A: I haven't had time to finish them all, but here's some of them for now. There's more members of The Lunch Rush, but this is all I have for now!

Val Thundershock → Valentina Wondershock.

Only Queen Barbie calls her Val. She is very optimistic & loves to sing & dance! She's Barbie’s right-hand troll, BFFL & knows everything about her. They have a very... "close" relationship. ;] She's a popstar who's managed by Demo and loves to help make Pop Village a happier place.

Riff

He's a university student studying to be an engineer. He's very soft spoken, doesn't like to make a fuss and is probably the nicest guy around. He's quite close to Barbie and sees her as an older sister. He's actually on friendly terms with Branch. His favorite treat is lollipops. 🍭

Carol

But you can call her Carrie! Everyone does. She's a bit of a diva, loves to look good & dull things bore her. She will ignore anything that doesn't catch her eye, even trolls. Best to be looking your very best!

Sid Fret

Just call him Sid, no need to be so formal. He is every trolls dream guy and he knows it! He's a great roller derby racer and loves the attention trolls give him. Sure, he's a little self-absorbed, but he's a very loyal friend.

Demo

Not much has changed about Demo. He's perfect as he is <3 He's just a little more excitable & cutesy than before. He cares about Valentina a lot & they are very close friends.

Petra

She is the blueprint, she's the moment, she's everything. A model, actress, singer, you name it, she can do it. She's perfect... Who doesn't want to be her?

---

Branch

Q: "How different is Branch in this AU vs canon Branch?"

A: He is the same Branch essentially, just without the development he gains at the end of Trolls 1 & so-on. None of it occurred, so he is still grey, miserable & a recluse. He helped Barb to come up with a plan to keep everyone safe after nagging & warning her for ages, but after that, he returned to his bunker & is still not well-liked by the village.

Q: "Does she know Branch's whole past? If she does, what was her reaction?"

A: Not sure if you meant Barb or Poppy, so I'll answer for both. Barb—no. I don't think she'd ever find out, and she's also not the type to ask. Their personalities clash a bit too much, she stays out of his way like he asks her to.

For Poppy—I think it would come up naturally in conversation after a while when Branch feels more comfortable sharing. Poppy isn't the type to pry, but makes it clear that it's out of understanding, not a lack of caring. She can tell that he is closed off for a reason. She relates to that. I think she'd be beyond pissed once he told her, though.

Q: "Will Branch's brothers be in this?"

A: Yes, but Floyd will be getting the bigger role this time.

Q: "How quickly does Branch fall for Poppy? I'm sure the answer is yes, but is he happy?"

A: I'd say he's quite guarded in the beginning. He is cautious around her for the first few weeks, but he starts to come around once he picks up on Poppy being emotionally guarded herself.

Things move quickly once their walls come down around each other, & a mutual understanding is there. Poppy fell for him first. (At least, that's what Branch lets her believe, as it was love at first sight for him, but he'd never tell her that; she'd get a big head about it.)

[chaoticloving]

the making of stomper

harry styles x reader masterlist

summery: harry has his wife make the feature of his new music video

a/n: reader is described as an engineer and the "flashbacks" are italicized

“Satellite was inspired by my love of Wall-e.” Harry explained. “I love the little guy, looking around in search for his point of life—so human, really.”

~

“I need your skills.” Harry ambiguously stated, rushing into the bedroom and meeting Y/n who was relaxing on the bed on her laptop.

"Come again?" Y/n laughed, confused by her husbands question and vaguely raunchy implications.

Harry climbs on the bed, sitting between his wife's legs on his sock-clad feet, yes, the pair with holes in them. "I have an idea and I need your help building it."

Harry gave a sweet smile, the face he poses whenever he wants Y/n to build something for him, first it was a new camera, fixing up a new engine for an old car harry had his eyes on, and any other little thing Harry wanted. Y/n never minded of course, she enjoys creating new things and Harry was always there to help by any means he could. She enjoyed working on other things besides work--which at her level typically involved designing, no actual building.

"Intriguing , what is it?"

"Wall-e."

"Wall-e?"

"Wall-e."

"Huh." Y/n thought for a moment, before switching tabs on her laptop and opening up a new design file, labeling it "wall-e". "What's your vision."

"It's to go with Satellite and it would feature a little robot roomba thing thats looking for the meaning of life. It would walk or roll and move it's little face around." Harry summarized, stopping before he rambles too long, and make a list too extravagant.

“I’m down, I just need some time to think about what I’ll need and the process.” Y/n decided.

~

“Stomper was actually the 6th Stomper.” Harry thought back. “The first couldn’t move its head and only go very slowly on it’s little wheels. Two through four short-circuited. Five got injured by our cat. But six—he was a trooper.”

~

“Alright, we rolling?” Y/n spoke over to Harry, doing some final looks on the remote and Stomper.

“Yup! Ready for testing!” This was always Harry’s favorite part, despite it not being Y/n’s because she was always very thorough and was always waiting for a flaw with her creation. Harry, ever the optimist, was excited to see the little creature come to life.

“Okay, lemme just turn him on.” It was definitely a he this one, something in Y/n was just telling her it was a boy—as boyish a robot could be. But maybe she just thought the robot would act like Harry and all of his boyish charm.

Stomper grew to life, it’s “eyes” producing a subtle glow.

“Alright and moving forward—“ He moved, a little quicker then the others before him, which Y/n surprised and confused about. “Turning around…” The little robot did just that.

“It works?!” Harry shouted, letting the camera out of focus. He ran up to Y/n and hugged her tight, kissing her wherever his mouth could reach.

“Harry we got to give it more time, he might explode or something-“

“It’s perfect.” Harry chided, ignoring any concern his wife had for the little robot.

~

“I think Stomper was a subliminal message of some sort—“ Harry told the camera. He held on tight to the small child in this lap, who was trying to grab his ear and hair. “Y/n didn’t know she was pregnant yet. Only about a week after the music video went up Y/n had this epiphany that she didn’t have her period for the past two months—and the rest was history.”

Harry looked down at the little boy in his arms, brown hair showing through and a nose like his daddy’s. His eyes and lips through, were a copy and paste from his Mama.

“I joked that we should name him stomper--Y/n did not like that joke at all—so we settled on something else that will forever remain a mystery for you lot, or until I end up rambling uncontrollably.”

Harry, ever the scared Papa Bear, wouldn’t let anyone get a picture of any sort of the small boy. During the video, the boy was wearing a hat covering his face while Harry’s large hand would cover from the neck up. The only way you could know that Harry’s son was there was from the little grabby hands that kept making an appearance.

“But it’s getting close to this bubs nap time, so thank you for all the love.” Harry turned the camera off, smiling as he know the fans would love the one year special treat.

Harry went upstairs and met with his lovely wife taking a nap in their shared bed. His little boy yawned, causing Harry to yawn, so he knew it was family nap time.

“How’d it go?” Y/n whispered.

“Good.” Harry said, moving around so he could big spoon his son and wife. “Bubs was the star.”

“He takes after you.”

Harry smiled at the comment, but knew the opposite to be true. His little baby was showing signs of intelligence that could only be traced to his wife. “With any luck he’ll turn out just like his mama.”

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 160 }

within your embrace.

no curses | college au

megumi fushiguro x fem.reader

when megumi spent the whole day without receiving a single text or call from you-

the young man knew that something was completely amiss within the universe. ever since he began dating you 3 years ago, your presence always remained the one stable part of his life.

sure, megumi would feign annoyance each time you would shoot him a good morning text, but little did you know, his smile would remain so wide and bright each time he looks down at the screen while reading your text over and over again.

and during those long nights where megumi had to pull an all-nighter writing papers, or studying for those last minute exams, he deeply cherished your calls while attempting to keep him company (not even minding when you ended up falling asleep in the process).

so the fact that he had to spend nearly 21 hours without any contact with you-

megumi knew that he had to act fast.

he looks at the time on his phone, with the time nearing 10pm. if he made a run for the closest convenience store, then he would be able to buy all of your favorite snacks and food before heading to your apartment. not wishing to waste even another second, megumi exits his dorm with his wallet and keys in hand.

megumi reaches his car, pulling out his phone from the confines of his jeans, getting into his car while dialing your number. he keeps his phone pressed against his ear even as he drove to the nearest convenience store. and at the tenth ring, your voicemail was heard echoing within his ear.

{ sorry, i can't get to the phone right now. how about you leave a message, and i'll get back to you later? byyyyye! }

"i'm coming over, you better be ready for me." megumi states while clicking his tongue, hanging up the phone while trying to fight back the anxiety that threatens to take over his mind.

please for the love of god, be okay!

megumi tosses aside his phone on his passenger seat, parking haphazardly when he reaches the store and kills his engine. as if he were running on autopilot, he stiffly gets out of the car and heads directly toward the brightly lit building, grabbing a basket while filling it with all of your favorite things.

from snacks, to candies, even ice cream and a variety of sodas-

megumi did not hesitate to buy all of your favorite items in bulk for you, adding your favorite bento boxed meal into the basket before proceeding to pay for it all.

when he dumps all of the food and snacks onto the cash register, the cashier lets out a low whistle while ringing it all up. "what's all this? you got a heavy study session tonight?"

megumi shakes his head while running a hand through his hair. "no, i'm worried about my girlfriend. she hasn't been picking up her phone, and whenever i text her, she leaves me on read."

the cashier hums, now bagging all of the items. "you got into a bad argument with her?"

"hell no. we've been fine. but she did start working recently-"

megumi's eyes widen with realization now. the cashier seems to realize his epiphany while grinning at him, handing him the bags filled with snacks and food. she tells him the total as megumi pays for it all with his card, and after waiting a few seconds for the transaction to go through, he takes out his card from the reader and grabs the bags.

"thanks..."

"go get her, dude!" the cashier calls out to him just as he leaves the convenience store, placing all of the food within the backseat before returning to the driver's seat.

feeling a little more relaxed and confident in your reasoning for not contacting him today, megumi arrives at your apartment and parks in a random corner, taking all of the bags while making his way up to you. he takes the stairs two at a time, all too eager to see you again.

a few minutes later, he stands in front of your door while giving it several loud knocks. "oi, dummy, you better open the door!"

megumi hears what sounds like a gasp coupled along with some shuffling. after waiting a few beats, the door opens, revealing you as you had to be in the most pathetic state of your life.

your eyes were still rimmed red with tears, cheeks appearing damp from the sheer amount of times you had to have cried today. adjusting his hold on the bags, he transfers them all to one hand, using his free hand to bring your body closer to him in an embrace.

megumi softly whispers comforting words to you, brushing his lips against your temple, soothing you for a moment before inviting himself into your apartment.

once he was finally inside, he demands that you relax on your couch as he moved around your kitchen (after handing you the bags of your favorite snacks, first). he opens the bento box and works on heating it up, getting it to the perfect temperature before giving it to you with some utensils.

as you dig into the food, megumi takes sips from one of the bottles of sodas he had purchased, listening to you talk about your first week at work between bites of your food. he allows you to vent about your strict supervisor and almost lazy coworkers, listening to each and every syllable that comes from your mouth.

when you were finished talking about your first week at your new job, megumi flashes you a smirk. "shall i take you to work tomorrow and have a little talk with your coworkers?"

your eyes go wide, and megumi almost chuckled in response to your panicked expression. "no! absolutely NOT, 'gumi! i know you're going to want to threaten or beat them up...!"

megumi raises his eyebrows at you. "well damn, i guess you know me too well after all."

ah, there it was, the smile he had so desperately wanted to see the whole time. you were giggling while playfully hitting at his chest, and megumi couldn't help but feel relieved now. getting a bit emotional, he takes you in his embrace, causing you to stiffen slightly in response.

"you have no idea how worried i was about you... when you didn't send me an annoying good morning text, or even called."

a soft giggle was heard coming from you before you wrapped your arms around megumi, placing your lips against the side of his neck. "sorry, 'gumi... i guess i just needed some time to cool off. i didn't mean to ignore you."

"it's okay, don't apologize." megumi's voice takes on a deeper tone, gently moving your head away from his shoulder. he takes a moment to admire your beauty before placing a hand on your chin. "you're allowed to have all the time in the world you need for yourself... just... just let me know, so i won't have to worry, okay? can you promise to do that for me?"

he watches as you give him a nod, "i promise, megumi."

"good."

satisfied with your answer, megumi leans in forward to capture your lips within his, having every intention of helping you forget about all the stress your job had given you-

and you weren't one to complain as you spent the entire night basking in his kisses.

a.n. - dedicated to @xbarrjallenx 🥰

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[can-i-see-your-passport-please]

Okay so here's everything I know about TF2. Please no one elaborate on anything I know about, because I think it's so much funnier if I have no context to anything. I have absorbed all of this through Tumblr osmosis

Emesis Blue is an excellent film

Soldier apparently was never an actual soldier, he just loves America and really wanted to kill Nazis (the second one i respect greatly)

Medic would probably give you a lobotomy for fun (i don't think this guy's even a doctor)

Two really old guys are fighting bloody wars over gravel I think and their father is named Grey Mann which was most definitely meant to make Gman enjoyers lose it but to be fair his name could also be Gary Man.

What am I on

Heavy and Medic are apparently gay but idk if this is a fandom seeing two men next to each other and going "gay" thing or a "all but confirmed gay" thing but TVTropes referred to them as "Heterosexual Life Partners" which is very funny

emesis blue is so fucking good oh my godddddd the respawn machine is horrifying just from the concept it turned scout into soup

Scout is half French and loves his mother (who is not french) and does not love his father (spy i think)

Medic presumably died went to hell and told the devil "oh I'm like a cat I have nine souls actually. So I should get to go back to being alive" and it fucking worked??????

THE FUCKING SCENE IN?? IN EMESIS BLUE??? WHERE. WHERE SOLDIER TELLS MEDIC "YOU'RE GONNA MAKE IT OUT" AND MEDIC SAYS "i KNOW" BEFORE HE JUST FUCKING DIES AND HE'S THE PROTAGONIST SO YOU'D EXPECT HIM TO LIVE RIGHT??? AND THEN HE JUST DIES AND DOESN'T APPEAR AGAIN FOR SO SO LONG

Pyro is an any pronouns warrior and it commits great atrocities while also having so much sillyness in his heart. I love her

I think Engineer blowed up his arm. I think

Spy is a cunt and also French. I do not think this I know this. I look at him and I sense his cuntery. It radiates off him. I can feel it.

SOMETHING ABOUT THE LETTER M BEING BRANDED ONTO MEDIC'S FACE BEING A REFERENCE TO THE MOVIE SCOUT WAS WATCHING WHERE THE LETTER M IS USED TO MARK A MURDERER. HE'S LITERALLY MARKED AS A MURDERER BY PYRO. SOMETHING ABOUT THE SCENE WITH DEMOMAN AND DELL'S BAR BEING A REFERENCE TO A SCENE IN THE SHINING WHERE THE MAIN CHARACTER IS LITERALLY TALKING TO A GHOST. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S MOTHER'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED PARALLELING PYRO'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S "IF THEY EVER HIT YOU WITH SOMETHING, YOU HIT BACK TWICE AS HARD" WITH MEDIC SHOOTING SPY TWICE IN THE HEAD AFTER BEING SHOT ONCE IN THE GAME OF RUSSIAN ROULETTE WHY IS EMESIS BLUE SO GOOD

TF2 is in an eternal war with Overwatch for some reason

I was doing a poll a few days ago and the tags psychic blasted me with the information of "by the way people pay like fifty dollars to see medic's tiddies in game." I have gotten varying answers between ninety dollars to three hundred fucking dollars but the constant remains that people will pay Valve comically high amounts of money to see Medic's boobs. What

Scout almost got Earth exploded because he died a virgin???? But then God was like "Okay go back down to earth I'm giving them one last chance to all have sex with you" I'm so confused what does any of this mean none of this makes any sense but it's hilarious

Scout might be legitimately named after Jerma and bears a frightening resemblance to him (though to be fair scout is every white boy in one)

You should watch Emesis Blue it's free on youtube

Demoman's eye is sentient even though he doesn't have it????

I can't decide who's my favorite the white boy the unethical scientist or the silly nonbiney war criminal

Conclusion: What the fuck is team fortress the second one about

[djarincore]

The Name of Love

SUMMARY: You knew him by three names: Mando, Din, and finally, riduur.

PAIRING: din djarin x gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, canon typical violence, blood, hypothermia, happy ending

A/N: a repost from my previous blog! i've only written 2 full din fics so far but this is def my favorite one <3 thanks again to @xiadeptus for beta reading this

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You first knew him as the Mandalorian, the stoic and aloof bounty hunter that drifted in and out of Tatooine looking for work or ship repairs. The glinting armor was hard not to notice under the scorching twin suns, along with his infamous reputation that followed in whispers—whispers which mainly revolved around the strange, green child he carried around in a bag and the fact that he never showed his face. 

When you first got the job at Peli’s garage, thanks to the favor she owed your mother, the sight of the Mandalorian descending the ramp of his beaten-up Razor Crest had you slipping behind a couple of stacked crates with the rest of the quivering pit droids. He strode down the ramp toward your boss who was already reaching for the green child trailing after him. 

“There’s my little guy!” She exclaimed, scooping him up and cradling him in her arms. The child cooed and clasped her finger in his three-fingered grasp. His keeper watched on with hands on his hips; the helmet remained solely focused on the child. 

“We need a repair,” he said, the rasp in his voice still remaining despite the modulator. 

“Sure thing but, just so you know, it’ll cost you a little extra this time. Got a new hire.” She jerked her thumb in your direction. 

You took it as your cue to reveal yourself, noting the way his helmet turned, carefully looking you up and down, and his hand slowly moved toward the blaster at his waist, like he wasn’t above shooting the harmless mechanic’s assistant and a couple of droids. You lifted both hands, stained with oil, as a show of goodwill.  

“Aw, relax, Mando,” Peli drawled, swatting the air with her nonchalant attitude. “They’re not a droid.” 

His hand slipped off the handle, but remained at his side, ready to draw if necessary. 

You sent him a friendly half-smile and his gloved fingers twitched. 

“Fine.”

The remainder of the day was spent repairing the left wing and engine of his ship, which looked like it had seen the losing side of a gunfight, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to limp down to Tatooine without crashing and burning once he broke through the atmosphere. 

The job would have been faster if you had some assistance from the droids, but Peli made it clear they weren’t allowed anywhere near the ship or the Mandalorian, making his disdain for them abundantly clear. You wondered the whole day what a droid could have done to make him hate even the smallest of droids. The theories you built in your head ran wild, ranging from a nasty betrayal by a trusted ally to tripping him in a crowded cantina, embarrassing him so badly he vowed to never show his face ever again.

You leaned against the rope of the swing suspending you off the ground, taking a break from welding metal back together, and watched the Mandalorian move below your feet. He walked with purpose, something a fearsome bounty hunter with a widespread reputation was expected to do; every step was carefully calculated like a predator hunting prey. Behind him was the child clumsily waddling, as fast as his legs could carry him, after the man. 

Your lips curved into a soft smile while observing the dichotomy of the two. It warmed your heart to see how attached the child was to his guardian. More questions formed in your mind about their relationship; the rumors didn’t contain the exact details of how the two came to be together. 

Maybe the child is his biological son and beneath all the armor is green, wrinkly skin and comically large ears tucked into the helmet, you joked to yourself. 

You pressed one of the buttons on the side of your swing to lower yourself to the ground. Your feet touched the floor, but you didn’t get up. 

“Your ship should be up and running in no time.” 

“Thank you for your help.” 

“No pro- Oh!” You exclaimed when something poked at your leg. A three-fingered hand was tapping your leg; large black eyes gazed up at you. You cooed, “Hello there, little guy.” 

He tugged at the cuff of your pants, waving his arms in the air. You waved back, fighting back the urge to smooth your fingers over his floppy ears.

“He wants you to hold him.” 

“Ah,” you chuckled, cheeks warming. You didn’t have much experience with children; in fact, you didn’t know the first thing about caring for one. They had so many needs, so many different ways of communicating them too. The pressure to mold them into upstanding beings—it was just too much. But, you could definitely hold a child, especially one as cute as him. 

You pulled him into your arms and he immediately found the strings of your shirt vastly entertaining.

“I think he likes me,” you quipped. 

The child’s babble sounded like a positive response. 

“Me too,” the Mandalorian said, leaning against a crate and watching the two of you. 

There were multiple rotations between their visits. Each visit brought a new scratch, ding, or completely wrecked engine that made you look on in disbelief, but you were eager to see the two nonetheless. They brought stories of their adventures, bounties, and new people they met. 

You would be the first to greet them, standing at the base of the ship’s ramp with a wide grin and many questions budding on the tip of your tongue. 

“Hey.” 

The modulated voice made you snap out of your thoughts. 

“Yes, sir?” 

You could hear him huff behind the modulator. He said to just call him Mando the first time you called him sir, but you never picked it up, finding it too entertaining to hear his exasperated sighs. 

“Want to get off this planet? I’ve got a job proposition.” 

Your goodbyes were easy—a hug for Peli, head pats for each droid—and suddenly, you found yourself sitting in the cockpit of the ship you had been repairing for the past few rotations. 

You quickly learned space was cold and you were not prepared. The thin clothes you were used to on Tatooine wouldn’t cut it anymore and it left you shivering in the passenger seat. 

You sunk down your seat, wrapping your arms around yourself to find a semblance of warmth. 

You weren’t sure what your purpose was in the time between ports, but even if you knew, you were frozen to your seat and unable to move without feeling stiff. 

Soon, you fell asleep, lulled by the stars and the sound of beeps and hollow groans of an old ship.

You woke to fabric being draped over your body and a glimmer of beskar. 

The hands over the fabric paused; the Mandalorian stepped back, hands returning to his side, flexing at his waist. “Should have told me you were cold.”

You gripped the fabric and realized it was one of his thick, woolen capes which smelled of caf beans and leather. You resisted the urge to nestle your cheek against the wool and savor the comfort it offered.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” 

“You’re a part of my crew now,” he said firmly. “We take care of each other.” 

Your heart stuttered, fingers curled tighter around his cape, and you muttered a pathetic, “Yeah.” 

From the kindness he offered, you made a silent promise at that moment; as long as the three of you were together, you would do anything to protect them. 

It wouldn’t be long before you realized he felt the same. 

—

Then, you learned his name, his real name—Din Djarin. It had been a while into your partnership. You learned far more about the two than your theories could have imagined—his Creed, his force-wielding child. 

The three of you had a good routine. He would scout out bounties while you either worked on the ship or found other mechanic work elsewhere if the ship was (miraculously) undamaged. Grogu would be passed between the two of you. If Mando’s bounty was too dangerous for him to follow you’d take him for the day, letting him pass you random tools and praising him for helping. And at the end of the day, the three of you reconvened with separate checks that would go toward supplies and other basic necessities. If it was a particularly rough day, you would be forcing him onto a crate and checking his wounds. 

“I’m fine,” he would insist, attempting to push your wandering hands aside. But, you could see the unsteady shake of his hand and the sliver of skin and blood showing on his waist where he was cut. 

It was a simple routine, but it worked. You had no complaints… 

…Well, just one.

“ Kriff, we’re gonna crash!” You cried, shutting your eyes to avoid seeing your imminent doom that took the form of two towering cliffs of ice far too close together for the ship to slip through. The two tailing bounty hunter ships had followed you from Nevaro, after accusing Mando of stealing a bounty from them, which he rightfully caught. 

You knew working for a bounty hunter wasn’t going to be easy, comfortable, or safe—but, you trusted him. He was good at what he did and you never doubted it. 

The ship turned on its side, jerking your entire body to the right, and left you at the mercy of the belt across your body to keep you in your seat. You could hear the scrape of ice across the bottom of the ship and cringed, knowing you’d have to repair that (if you even made it out of this alive). 

When the ship slipped free from the narrow gap and straightened. you let out a breath and opened your eyes. Snow, miles, and miles of it, touched everything your eyes could see. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder. If you could see his face, you’d guess it was smug. 

You were getting better at reading your faceless partner. He didn’t say much but his body did with every head tilt and shrug. And you would catch yourself spending a lot of time just observing him. 

“You’ve gotta stop piloting like that,” you huffed, cradling your head when you feel the slightest throb. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

“Don’t plan on it,” came his monotone response. 

The ship cruised, his helmet scanning the horizon, and kept low in the meantime. There was no sign of the other two ships. 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stood; a wave of dizziness had you staggering. When your hand flew out to catch on to something, you found his, already reaching out to steady you in his strong grasp. The brush of his thumb over your knuckles made your breath catch.

“I have to lie down.” To stop your heart from racing at his subtle touches. 

You thought you had gotten used to it by now—the way he made you feel safe. Whether it was his hand hovering over the base of your spine as he guided you through a crowded market or how he would always position himself between you and whatever shady character he had dealings with. The small gestures piled up and toyed with your mind. You understood the signs—heart racing, nervous tension in your chest—the budding symptoms of love. 

“We’re not in the clear yet.” 

You brushed the heat crawling over your neck off and said, “Can’t we land somewhere and wait them out a while? I’m gonna be sick if you start flying upside down.”

The beginning of his argument was cut off by the cockpit door opening. You slipped out and down the ladder into the cargo hold. Some crates shifted to the right of the ship as a result of the sharp turn. You weren’t concerned with them as much as you were with your makeshift bed space, a flimsy sleeping bag and some blankets, which were also flung off to the side. One of your blankets was stuck under a crate, too heavy for you to lift by yourself. 

You groaned, weakly tugging at the fabric peeking out beneath. You were cold, tired, and sick—you already hated this planet. 

You heard a curse from above and Mando shouted, “Hold onto something!” 

You didn’t have time to react before the ship was nose-diving, throwing you against the wall. You clung to the ladder as the ship's sporadic movements jostled your entire body. It continued for a few more seconds before settling and the engines cut out. Everything was finally still, except your heart. 

You heard the creaks of ice settling beneath the ship, then cracks. It wasn’t long before the ice gave way to the weight, shattering into a cavern below and dragging the ship with it. 

You don’t remember hitting your head, just the scream that came before it. But, when you finally came to, numb and confused, Mando was rattling your shoulders with a panicked voice.

“Wake up.” 

You could have sworn in your daze there was a desperate ‘please’ added at the end. 

You groaned, peeling your eyes open, “Mando?” 

He sighed like a massive weight was lifted off of him. “Yeah,” he said, there was a hint of a smile in his voice. He carefully slipped his arms behind your shoulders and knees. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”

You were half aware of him lifting you, too dazed by the cold settling under your skin and making a home deep in your bones.  

The hull was dusted with snow and frost. You spotted a large hole in the side of the ship, crudely covered with a tarp and some crates. 

“Got t’ fix,” you mumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder pauldron. You didn’t even know where to start with something that large on this barren planet. If you weren’t so cold, the dread would have set in, realizing you were stranded on a barren planet with little resources to dig yourselves up from a cold grave. 

“Not right now,” he grunted, kicking your toolbox aside—the one he gifted you on Nevaro after you eyed it at a stall for too long. He approached the small corner beside his bunk, which was caved in, where there was little snow piled. He set you down, supporting the back of your head with his hand as he laid you against the wall. “I’ll be right back.” 

You could’ve protested if your mouth or eyes didn’t feel frozen shut; all you wanted to do was drift off.

“Hey, hey,” he said. He ripped a glove off and pressed his warm hand to your cheek. “Don’t fall asleep.”

You moaned, pushing closer to the warmth, and tried to focus on his visor. 

“There you go. Good.” 

With your thoughts slowly catching up, you glanced around his shoulders, not seeing a floating pram anywhere. You wanted to get up and rush around him in search of the child, but all you could muster was a sharp turn of your head that still sent pain down your neck. “Where’s-”

Mando brought your face back to him. His steady voice pulled you out of your panic. “He’s fine. He’s up in the cockpit; I’ll bring him down after I get you some blankets.” 

“Okay.” You rested your head against the wall and watched as he untied his cape and slipped it over your shoulders, tucking it close around your body. 

He disappeared up the ladder. You heard his faint footsteps, scouring the upper level. He returned soon, a few blankets slung over his shoulder and Grogu tucked in his other arm. 

He set Grogu down and moved you forward just enough for him to sling more blankets over your shoulders.

If you could feel your face, maybe you’d laugh at how ridiculous you looked and felt, like a small child being coddled by a worried parent. But, he wasn’t a worried parent, he was your employer—your incredibly kind and caring employer, who you often dreamt of as more than an employer, more than a friend. 

“Aren’t y-you,” you chattered, “cold, too?” 

You worried about him under all that shining armor; he could be hiding an injury like he always did, pretending he was fine and limping off somewhere else to lick his wounds alone. You wished he wouldn’t be so stubborn all the time. 

Grogu crawled into your lap, playing with the tips of your frozen fingers. Mando said something about his armor keeping him warm, but you didn’t register any of it when his hands enveloped yours—calloused and warm.  

“Try to keep your arms and legs moving,” he said, massaging the palm of your hands. Then he directed his attention to Grogu. “Okay, kid, keep your buir warm. I’m going to repair the ship.” 

“Hm?” You cocked your head at the word. Sure, he liked sneaking Mando’a words into his sentences from time to time—sometimes calling you mesh’la or cyar’ika, which made you blush because of how sincere he sounded—but you just assumed they were nicknames. You assumed buir meant babysitter or something along those lines, too. “Stealing my job, Mando?” you quipped instead. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When his hands slipped from yours, your fingers twitched, almost asking him not to go. You would warm up faster if he were with you.

He slipped past the tarp, into the cavern of snow. Grogu’s babble drew your attention; his arms were raised.

You apologized, “Sorry, kid, I’d lift you up, but my arms are a bit sore right now.”

He continued to babble as he found comfort nestled in your lap instead. You rested your head against the wall and stared at the opening where Mando left, still feeling the ghost of his warmth on your hand. 

The minutes you spent slowly flexing your hands and feet paid off; your strength was slowly returning. Grogu crawled off of your lap and watched as you, with the grace of a newborn calf, pushed yourself onto unsteady feet.

“Okay, kid, let’s go help your dad.” You scooped him up and braced yourself with Mando’s cape, making sure the two of you were snug beneath the fabric before pushing aside the tarp and stepping outside into the frigid weather. 

The cold winds were the first to greet you; already, your cheeks were growing numb. Grogu let out a disapproving grunt, clearly not favoring the cold either. 

You stayed close to the side of the ship in case your legs gave out and rounded the tail end before finding Mando, with frost coating his armor and hands on his hip, staring at a jumble of wires hanging from an open panel. 

Upon seeing his father, Grogu cheered in your arms, alerting the Mandalorian whose head snapped in your direction. 

He was already approaching you before declaring, “You need to rest.” 

“I can’t cozy up in there while you’re out here all by yourself. Look at you.” You drew a line in the frost coating his chest plate. “You must be freezing under all that.” 

“I said I’m-”

“Fine,” you finished. “I know, I know—you’re always fine, Mando.” 

You were growing tired of his stubborn attitude concerning his well-being and of standing for so long. You were beginning to sway without realizing it, but Mando’s quick hand on your shoulder steadied you. 

“I got you,” he murmured. He took Grogu from you and moved to your side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, silently guiding you back into the ship’s hull and onto the spot where the blankets were piled. 

Once you were settled, you expected him to wander back out but, to your surprise, he began detaching pieces of his armor. 

You watched, mouth agape, as one by one the shining beskar revealed a dark flight suit that molded with the contours of his body. The helmet, of course, stayed.

He eased himself onto the floor beside you and wrapped the three of you beneath the blankets. Your eyes widened when his arm pressed against yours. You dared to rest your head against his shoulder; you relished in the comfort of his presence, finally feeling warmer than ever. His body began to relax gradually with your head on his shoulder and his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. 

With Grogu resting in your lap it almost felt like the three of you were a family, settling in after a long day. 

“You’re always protecting everyone,” you said, exhaustion beginning to creep over you once again. “We’re a crew, right? Let me take care of you too.” 

You knew the irony in saying that while he was taking care of you, but you hoped he would remember it. 

He slipped his gloves off to flex the stiff muscles. “I’m,” he started, “just not used to this.” 

“Having a crew?” You guessed. 

“Having someone care.”

Your mouth dropped open with a response dying on your tongue. Instead, you resolved to take his hand and curl your fingers through his. They were stiff from the cold, but relaxed once your thumb ran over the ridges of his knuckles. 

“You’re a good man and I trust you with my life. Don’t think for a second I don’t care about you, Mando. I-” You cut yourself off.

You what? Loved him? Kriff. He just started opening up to you. Telling him you were in love with him right after would surely make him run in the other direction. You doubted he felt the same. You could read him, but not that well. 

“Din.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, relieved he didn’t attempt to figure out what you were going to say. “What?” 

“My name’s Din.” 

He was looking at you now. Maybe if you squinted hard enough you could catch a glimpse of his eyes behind his darkened visor, but you wouldn’t disrespect his Creed and you didn’t think you could handle seeing his strong gaze, boring into you. 

So, you turned your eyes down toward your intertwined hands; you tested his name on your tongue and smiled. 

Getting off the ice planet took work—a mix of frustration and determination—and you swore to get a nice vacation on some far, far away planet, preferably with a warm, sunny beach. 

But, the ship needed heavier repairs, forcing the three of you to find the nearest planet, Trask, for maintenance. A dock worker was quick to offer his services, charging more than necessary, once you landed. 

You frowned when Din agreed without hesitation, dropping the credits into his slimy hands. You could have rolled up your sleeves and got to work yourself with better equipment at hand, but Din insisted on the three of you getting some real rest after the stress of the past three days. 

The place was seedy, smelled of fish, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of unwanted eyes stalking the three of you as you passed through the quiet harbor. You and Din walked on either side of Grogu’s floating pram. 

You, with a scowl glued to your face, pulled your cape, one of Din’s, tighter around yourself. The toolbox Din gifted you was clasped in your hand, deemed too precious to leave behind while strangers fixed the ship. You leaned into Din and whispered, “We should just go back to Tatooine for the repairs; I can do it.”

“I know you can, but the ship’s too damaged and you know it.”

You huffed. 

Grogu mimicked your huff, putting on his best grouchy face, and your frown lightened into a smile, pointing at the boy. “See—even he agrees with me.”

Din let out an amused hum. “When did the two of you decide to team up against me?” 

“We hold secret meetings when you’re out and conspire against you.” 

“Guess I should watch my back,” he deadpanned. 

Night fell quickly on Trask and before you knew it, the streets were oddly quiet, only lit by dim street lights in rounded sections. 

Din’s stride grew cautious; his helmet subtly turned to scan the area. 

You also took caution, straining your ears for anything out of place, but all you heard was the nearby tide pulling in and out. 

There was a shift in the gravel behind you. Din’s hand shot out to shove aside Grogu’s pram, sending him off to a nearby stack of crates, and he could only brush your shoulder before turning and deflecting a blaster shot with his vambrace. The heat from the blast radiated in the air around you. 

“Run!” He barked, ripping his blaster from its holder and firing off a shot into the dark. 

Your feet hesitated and your heart stuttered when another blast hit his chest plate, forcing a grunt from him. But, the sound of worried coos snapped you out of it. You turned and ran toward Grogu who watched the fight with large eyes.  

Three figures emerged from the darkness, dressed like pirates, and armed with unrelenting blasters all aimed at Din.  

“Give up the armor, Mando.” One of them demanded.

“It’s time to hide, okay?” You said, tucking Grogu into the pram. Your thumb brushed over the mythosaur necklace he always wore like a lucky charm and you were praying it would work. You pressed the button on the outside of his pram to shut it. 

The fight was coming to a close by the time you turned back, much to your relief. Two were knocked out cold, sprawled across the floor while the remaining one continued to fight. Both of them resorted to hand-to-hand combat after they managed to disarm one another. 

Just when you thought you could relax, the remaining pirate pulled out a blade and took a swipe at Din, plunging it deep into his side and back out. Your breathing stopped when Din staggered and fell to his knees. 

The pirate grabbed him by his cowl, pressing the bloodied blade to his throat, and sneered, “Give up.” 

Your hands shook. Not like this, you thought. You couldn’t— wouldn’t —lose him. You dropped your toolbox and fell to your knees, wrenching it open to look for anything that would help. You pulled the largest item free, the hammer, and ran. Adrenaline pushed your feet toward the two and, putting all your weight into it, you swung at the pirate's head, sending him stumbling back.

Only dazed, the pirate sent you a menacing glare, lips pulled back into a snarl, and spat out curses, promising you’d regret it. 

Your hand clenched the hammer, heart racing, ready to swing again as he prepared to lunge at you. Not even fear or the promise of death would stop you from saving Din.  

Then, something ignited, cold and droning like echoes of the abyss, behind the pirate. 

You smelt the smoke before the nauseating burnt flesh. It made your stomach roll.

A haunting glow emitted from the pirate's chest before it was sliced clean through. He fell—lifeless—with a thud, crimson leaking from the gash and pooling around him. 

Din stood over him—one hand clutching his waist and the other holding the darksaber. His chest rose and fell; his helmet was fixated on the body. You could hear the leather of his gloves cry as his hand tightened around the hilt of the saber.  

You never saw him use it before. It looked more like an accessory on him rather than a weapon. He once explained its bloody history and how he came to acquire it. The weight of its importance haunted him, a burden he never wished to bear. 

“Oh, Maker,” you cried, rushing toward him. The darksaber unignighted; the heavy atmosphere disappeared along with it and time continued. You dropped the hammer and pressed your hand to his wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and onto yours. 

He grunted, “I’m…” 

Your wavering voice saying his name made him pause. 

“Let’s get out of the street,” he said instead. He waved Grogu’s pram forward with the controls on his vambrace. It opened, revealing the whimpering child. 

The three of you limped all the way to an inn. When the innkeeper sent you a weary look, you demanded the first room available and a medical kit—whatever the price. After slapping the credits on the counter, you snatched up the kit and dragged Din toward the room, not caring about the drops of blood staining the hallway.  

The room was small and gray; a single bed set in the middle of the room, a nightstand on either side, and a fresher. You eased him onto the bed, where he slumped and groaned.

The medical kit was meager; a suture kit, antiseptic wipes, and a few bacta patches, but it would do. You dashed to the fresher to wash your hands. You scrubbed them viciously, watching his blood run down the sink. Tears blurred your vision. The red wouldn’t stop running. 

When you emerged from the fresher, his shirt was already rolled up and he was attempting to clean his wound. Grogu was asleep in his pram, wiped out from all the excitement. 

You released a tired sigh. “Let me.” 

You moved to take the cloth from him, kneeling at his feet and wiping around the area of the wound gently.

“Don’t do that again,” he rasped.

“Save your life?” The playful tone you attempted fell flat. As much as you wanted to be amused, the fear of losing him still suffocated you. He was safe, your thoughts repeated.

Once the wound was cleaned you pulled the needle from the kit. You were in over your head and a bit nauseous. Cleaning wounds was easy, but stitching them up was something else. 

You’ve seen him cauterize his own wounds and pinched your nose when the smell became too much. He didn’t deserve the scars they left behind and this was your opportunity to finally take care of him. 

You willed your hands not to tremble as you notched the needle through his skin, apologizing when he sucked in a sharp breath or flinched.

“I told you to run.”

Your voice was finally firm when you said, “I’m not going to leave you.” 

He was your partner, through and through, and you cared for him. 

When you were finished, you unwrapped a bacta patch and laid it over the suture. You smoothed over the patch and withdrew your hands. 

He was already sitting up taller, no longer hunched over or wheezing. You knew it was a good sign but you still trembled all over.

You raised your head, but your eyes were stuck on his cowl where a sliver of his blood was left from the blade. The tears were returning, flooding your bottom lashes. 

Would that pirate have killed him right there on the street, stripped him of his armor, and left him like trash? You would have had to drag his body back to the ship—would have to tell Grogu his father was dead. 

“Cyar’ika, look at me,” he said, finding your cheek with his palm. “Just breathe.” 

You didn’t realize you were gasping for breath, tears running down your cheeks until your eyes finally connected with his visor. 

“I just can’t lose you, Din,” you cried. “I can’t .”

There was so much you wanted to say—so much he needed to know. You were so close to losing him and losing the chance to admit how you’d grown to feel over the course of your partnership.

He guided you onto the bed and held you until the tears stopped and subsided into sniffles. Your face was buried in his cowl and your arms were thrown around his shoulder. 

“I can’t lose you either,” he admitted, a waver in his voice. You were so close you could almost hear the sound of his real voice. His words were tender and sincere. 

Your breath hitched and a realization washed over you. 

He pulled back and you pulled yourself out of his neck with wide eyes. Cold metal met your forehead. 

“You mean far too much to me.” 

For a man of few words, he still said so much. Your hand brushed below the rim of his helmet. “I love you, Din,” you confessed.

Your heart pounded as you waited for his response—for even the sharpest intake of breath. But, it was silent—all but your heart remained still as he processed your words. Your hand slipped away, back to the safety of your personal bubble, which was beginning to shrink as the silence became an oppressive weight on your shoulders. 

Say something, you wanted to shout. Did you read his words wrong? Was it just appreciation for his… employee? 

“Close the curtains and turn off the light.”

Your brows furrowed and you cocked your head to the side. “What?”

“Please.”

You stood with a frown and shuffled to shut the curtains, then made your way to the light switch. You took one last glance over your shoulder, before flipping the switch and submerging the room in darkness. You could hardly see his silhouette as you shuffled back to the bed with your hands out in front.

A calloused hand found your wandering ones, carefully pulling you down to sit beside him once again, not letting go. Then, you heard a click and a hiss, like he was detaching his—

Your eyes widened when you realized what he was doing and you tried pulling away. Even in the darkness, where shadows fell across the silhouette of his body, you couldn’t risk seeing him—no matter how curious. 

“Din, no-” 

“It’s alright,” he reassured. The low rasp of his voice was no longer modified by his helmet. He chased after you in the dark; his hand moved to the back of your neck, drawing your face closer to his. You could feel the warmth of his breath brushing across your lips. 

The smell of caf and leather drew you closer you and you fell into its embrace. It was your safety, your haven—the home you found in him, along with his son and his beaten-down ship. 

“ Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika, ” he whispered into the darkness, gentle devotion laced in his words. “ I love you .” 

When he kissed you, it was slow, a tender meeting of lips which you both relaxed into. The weight off your shoulders disappeared and all you could do was smile against his lips and draw him closer. 

That night you traced his features in the dark, committing every outline and curve to memory, with a content smile and full heart while he held you close. You didn’t need to see his face to love him; it could wait—forever if it meant you’d still have him.

“You know,” he said in the darkness with you tucked close under his arm, “you wield a hammer well. It reminds me of someone I know.”

“Really? Who?”

It was nearly a full cycle before you met the Armorer, the mysterious figure Din would mention from time to time, a woman he seemed to respect. 

You were nervous. Though he never said it directly, she was like a maternal figure and you wanted to make a good impression. 

Ever since Trask, the two of you were closer than ever. He had no reservations when it came to you. His hand would lay firmly against your lower back as he crowded around you, guiding you through busy markets, pulling you close whenever someone bumped into you. You no longer slept alone, trading out your flimsy sleeping bag for a cozy spot in his bed. At night when the lights were out, you’d finally get to kiss him and share dreams. 

The covert was located on a barren planet. You wouldn’t have guessed there was any life if it weren’t for the scattered Mandalorian sparing at the mouth of a cave. 

By the time you landed near the lake, only two Mandalorians emerged to greet you. 

“It’s been a while.” A large, blue man said upon approaching, greeting the three of you with a simple nod. He towered over everyone, a mass of muscle and armor that radiated intimidation. 

As he approached, your foot slid back as you bent your neck to meet his visor and you bumped into Din. He rested a hand on your shoulder. “This is Paz, my brother.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, sticking a hand out. 

The hand that takes yours is firm; he shook once and let go. The hand on your shoulder squeezed. 

“It seems your clan has grown.” The figure to Paz’s right spoke, her visor trained on the hand over your shoulder. You needed no introduction for her. It was obvious in the way she spoke, authoritative and clear, that she was the Armorer. 

Your lips quirked. A clan, huh? 

She welcomed you briefly and Din requested a private audience in her forge. When Din handed Grogu off to you, he said, “Stay with Paz, cyar’ika.”

“Cyar’ika?” The Armorer paused. “Have you claimed them as your riduur?”

You cast Din a curious glance. Riduur?

“I… haven’t,” he said carefully.

“I see.” She resumed her pace and disappeared into the cave.  

Din followed, not before pressing his forehead to yours. It was like a kiss, he explained once. You were fine with it. You knew as soon as the day was over, he’d make up for all the kisses you’d missed out on.

“He seems to like you.”

“I would hope so,” you quipped, turning to Paz once Din was out of sight. “He loves me, after all.”

You finally got your well-deserved vacation—on a planet called Pabu, with bright blue skies and a sparkling blue ocean—and more than you could have ever wished for. 

Gentle waves lapped at your bare feet as you leaned back against the palm of your hands to soak in the last of the dying sun. 

Relaxing like this felt rare and fleeting; part of you was worried some other danger would rear its ugly head and ruin the tranquility. But, a quick glance toward Grogu, who was splashing in the water, and Din, standing watch to make sure he didn’t snatch up any crabs as a snack, dispelled any worry and replaced it with a warmth that spread through your chest like the sun's rays. 

You cracked a smile at the Mandalorian who was barefoot as well, after you convinced him to step into the waves, with his pants rolled up to the bottom of his knees. 

“Stop that,” came Din’s chastising demand. Grogu was levitating a poor crab toward his mouth before letting it fall back into the water with a grumble, his ears pulled back as he looked up at his father with a pout. “You’ll ruin your dinner,” he reasoned, reaching down to scoop the fussing child from the water. 

You stood, wiping away sand clinging to your thighs, and walked over to the pair. Din’s helmet followed you as you approached, his shoulders were far more relaxed than you’d ever seen them. 

Even when you stood in front of them, finger brushing along Grogu’s ear as he cooed, his gaze did not stray. You just thought it was your bathing suit; it showed off more skin than usual. Which, you admit, you hoped would catch his attention.  

“Problem?” You teased, looking at him with a sly smile. 

He shook his head slowly. He was uncharacteristically quiet, more so than usual. Ever since his private chat with the Armorer, he’d been distracted. Staring more than usual—at you, the controls of the ship, the floor—like he was lost deep in thought. 

You looked out at the sunset, a wash of orange and gold against a glittering sea. You let out a wistful sigh. “I could spend forever here with you two.”

“You mean that?” 

“Nothing would make me happier.”

His hand drifted toward the pouch on his belt, fingering the hem. A nervous habit, you assumed, he picked up after visiting the Armorer. 

You rested your hand on his and asked, “Are you sure there’s no problem?” 

“Marry me.”

You froze, mouth agape.

“M-marry you?”

“I wish for more days like today, too—safe, peaceful days together with our son.” He opened his pouch and pulled out a silver ring that glittered against the setting sun, reminding you of his armor. 

Your hand slipped from his to your mouth, covering up the shock written across your face. Your watering eyes moved between the two who’ve grown so close to your heart. They were your life, your home, and you’d spend forever with them. You knew your answer—you’ve always known, ever since he asked you to join them. In your heart it was always—

“Yes,” you cried, throwing your arms around the two of them. “Yes, absolutely!” 

You stayed tucked in his arms with Grogu nestled between the two of you. And, in the foreground of a golden sky, he asked if you would cite the Mandalorian vows. 

Riduur, he said, you would be mine, and I you. Our hearts will be written together in song.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.”

Finally, he was no longer just the Mandalorian or Din, he was your riduur. 

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter Eight

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!oc

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warnings: 18+ heavy angst, references to past injury related to DV, very brief and very vague smut

a/n: we've reached the end of this story. i love these two, very much. thank you for reading.

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Maybe there's a God above But, all I've ever learned from love Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you? And it's not a cry, that you hear at night It's not somebody, who's seen the light It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah as performed by Jeff Buckley

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The car is real. It is parked outside the house now. Sneering a chrome smile at him, taunting him. The sound of its engine in the mornings when she goes to the diner whispers the same thing everytime. Soon. 

One day after the perfect mess he made, he dropped her off at the diner and she informed him with all the warmth of a business associate that he need not come back to pick her up, because Sal would be giving her the keys to the car that is now parked outside the house, the car that is now hers. The car that is going to take her far away from him, any day now. 

They move around each other like ghosts. How fast fission breeds new rhythms and routines, never in the kitchen at the same time, nor the fields, fleeting passings in the evenings. He has taken on more night shifts to keep himself out of the house, to keep himself from doing something stupid, like knocking on her bedroom door and getting down on his knees. Only a few days, though it feels like a yawning beast of time has already blinked by.

She will tell him, won’t she? At least that. Actually, he’s not sure if she will. If he will come home one morning and the sheep will be calling a grievous sound into the thin air because their favorite has left, stuck with him once again. Warning, notice, if not for him, then at least for her flock. 

How quickly things soured, all their jagged pieces tearing and teething at each other. His mean, her mean, and the desolate monster it has made between them. He will let her leave, he must. Care has turned into a cage, and he must leave the door open, must let her step through to something else, something better. Because clearly, whatever this is, plainly no good. 

The mind is a cruel machine. The worst part of all of this, he has been dreaming of her. Scraps of visions, what he can remember. The perfect line of her clavicle, and how breath made the pools of shadows swell and bend against her skin. The way his hand curled around her thigh, the hinge of it. He wakes up wanting, warm and wretched, alone in the night. But the patrol shifts help with that, something about sleeping with the sun trying to pry through the blinds staving off the darkest of his thoughts. 

Sarah called the other day, asked how Dove was doing. Oh, you know, he said. Because he could not lie to his daughter, but he could not offer the truth either. The truth, neither of them are doing very well. Partial, parallel unraveling. The kitchen remains dormant. There are no trips to the grocery, to the library. Only what is needed for another day to pull over into another night and over again. He looks miserable because he is miserable. Glances he has stolen of her, peering out his bedroom window to watch her get into her car in the mornings, he sees that she has turned sharp again, drawn down and in around the edges. This pain, this sickness, is shared. 

He runs through all the ways it could never work while he sits in the slumbering cruiser on the side of the highway. That lull between spring and summer has arrived, all living things bracing and bending beneath inevitable change, quiet in their submission. Life raises its hackles and curls down low to the ground, silent sulk, waiting for new prey, new time. And in the silence, his thoughts grow and gristle.

No, it could not work. He thought that he could, but clearly he couldn’t. Couldn’t be careful enough around all the big and small hurts that trail after her. Because that’s what that was, that night of no, a hurting thing. A wounded, rejected thing. Easier to call it anger. And so was his, the next day, the car, the turn of her shoulder away from him so he could not see the first line of tears fall. 

And now it’s just a meanness, isn’t it? Anger that festers and flumes into something bitter and blistering. Easier to be mean about it. Sorry is so very difficult to swallow, after all. This silence, this sharp shuttering out, mean, the both of them digging their thumbs into the places it hurts the most and pretending to enjoy it with grimacing grins. Good for you, good for me, so there. Good for us.

Always, at some point in his shift, somewhere in the middle of the thick night, his thoughts turn small and young. We are born wanting, and we will always return to wanting. And he does, now, lets himself want all of it. Even the pain she caused him, he would take it happily, standing up and smiling. Something poetic could be said, something beautiful, but there is no need for the fuss or frill of it. Simply, he wants her. Urgently, he wants her to stay. 

Like all things, the wanting passes just as the night does. Eventually, his grip on the steering wheel unfurls and unfists. Eventually, the light begins to spread a pale blue out across all the ink of the plains. Morning starting to suggest itself, mercy. 

He blinks, bleary, a small protest from the engine when he inches the car back onto the road, time to return to the station, want still clearing from the fuzzy periphery of his mind. 

It does not scare or startle him, but it does give him pause. Coyotes, fur dunned and dull, matted tufts sticking up over their slinking bodies. They cross the road with no concern for the car, slow languorous placement of paws, the largest of them turning its jaded eyes into the headlights, perhaps a disillusioned sigh, before it continues on its path. Pups trail and trundle behind, nipping at mother’s tail, new energy, new life, and how dangerous, daunting, daring it can be. 

He does not go back to the station. He goes home. 

Still early, still sleeping, maybe. He does the thing he has been telling himself he shouldn’t. But shouldn’t is what got him here in the first place. Enough of needless shouldn’t. 

She is awake. Her hair still damp from a shower, darkening the blue shoulders of her uniform when she opens the door to her room. Her room, the guest room, whatever it is. Confusion is clear in her frown, the pull of her brow. She keeps the door halfway closed, a quiet understanding of distance needed.

“Are you leaving soon?” Shit, stupid, wrong words that got ahead of what he meant to say. And he just made this so much worse, her whole face pinching tight before slackening into something smaller, something sad. 

“I am. I’m sorry that I haven’t yet.” Sorry that she hasn’t left yet. Sorry that she didn’t get out sooner. And here he is, rubbing all that sorry in her face. 

“No.” All he can think, to quickly slip up his throat to, at the very least, keep her here with half of a closed door between them. Better than the alternative anyways.

“What?” 

“That’s not what I want, not at all.” It is selfish to make this about him, but it is all he can think to say, the only truth that seems to be offering itself up. Dove just looks tired, weary and worn, waiting for the catch. What she said, all those months ago. Always a catch, always waiting for it.

“Joel.” A sigh, but still smarting sweet because he hasn’t heard it from her in too long. 

“This isn’t working.” Going about this all wrong, he has finally realized. While he has been so afraid of no, of unwanted, he has failed to remember that she was taught a long time ago that wanting was not allowed, and that being wanted was an even worse impossibility. Both of them, lashing out against the same thing, though it’s each other that they leave bleeding.

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m going to try to speak plainly.” What he’s going to do is make her late for her shift if he doesn’t kick whatever courage there is whining in his chest up into his throat. But she shows no sign of rush, wide eyes and the smallest frown. 

“Okay.” Okay opens the door fully, though she doesn’t move in invitation, staying separated by the threshold. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” 

“Ever.” Added in the afterthought of silence, because he needs to make himself very clear. Soon, after all. 

“I’m not what you want, Joel.” Said with a scoff, a jerky wave of her hand like no, not even going to entertain it. But it’s enough for something soft to snap in him, hands reaching, but not touching, suspended want as he murmurs, or prays maybe, to her you are, you are, you are, Dove.  

“But I can’t keep you here. Not if you don’t want it.” Me, he meant to say me. But he thinks that she understands all the same, something slipping behind her eyes. 

“I shouldn’t.” Shouldn’t stay, shouldn’t want. A shameful confession that is said to the tips of her shoes more than it is to him. 

“I don’t fucking care.”

“You should.” 

“Just, please, tell me.” 

“I do, okay? Probably more than you do.” 

“That’s not true.”

“How can you just say that?”

“Because I know how much I do. And it’s everything.” And that’s it, he wants to say, that’s all that matters and nothing else and you do and I do. Case closed, finally fixed this thing, this lame, limping thing between them. If only it were that simple. 

“Do you really?” A leap, or more like a lurch, but pure relief when she lets him, two stuttering steps closer and one palm finding the space between her shoulder blades, the other the hilt of her spine, pulling her into him. His and hers, finding the other’s rhythm. Beat like this, body and blood like this. His mouth settles at the crown of her skull. Here, and nowhere else, not ever again, please. 

“Sometimes it makes me sick.” The truth, because there can be nothing else now. Yes, he is sick with it. Sick for her. 

“I want to be normal for you.” Muffled into the fabric of his shirt, and the unsaid after of it. I don’t think I can. Like sorry, like penance, her hands curling closer around his shoulders as she starts to shake. But what he can offer her, something still, something sure, his palms drawing her in even more, him breathing her breathing him.

“I’m not asking you for that, Dove.” No, asking for something much bigger, much more terrifying. Asking for all of it. 

…

Dove is only a little late to her shift. Joel drops her off, waits a few minutes to make sure there is no grief from Sal about it, not that he was expecting there to be. Replays to himself her explanation, what she told him on the way there.

“I didn’t get the car to leave, not really.”

“You didn’t?” 

“Before, I thought it would make things easier.” For him, he realizes, something she had thought of for him. Make things easier for him, not having to pick her up and drop her off and look bored at the library while she browsed. And no, he’s never going to forgive himself for this one. 

He doesn’t go back to the diner for lunch, but it’s not for spite or scorn. Agreed-upon space for both of them to think, offering an out for each other, one last opportunity to decide that this is actually a terrible idea. 

The sheep accept his presence and it feels like he finally got something right, even a laugh when Judy offers her head to him for a brisk rub beneath her chin. 

“She’s coming home, I think. I know you wouldn’t forgive me if she didn’t.” No response, she is a lamb, after all. But he’d like to think that her two hard blinks commend him, already plucking away through the grass toward her mother. 

When he does pick her up after her shift, her lips purse trying to pull back a smile as she walks around the front of the car. Hope lifts, winged and real in his chest. 

The day steals from the night this time of year. It won’t be dark out until much later. For now, the light is starting to bleed a little, orange syrup and haze filling and flooding the cab of the truck. Nothing is said, but staying is understood when she takes his hand in both of hers, and keeps it for herself, tucked in her lap the whole ride home. 

So much of their time together has been spent like this, driving toward and away from town, sometimes silent and sometimes not. A selfish part of him wishes she hadn’t gotten the car, wanting to keep her needing him in this way. But no, he reasons, there will be plenty of other time besides this. No need to be greedy about it. 

There is not much food in the kitchen, but there are always eggs. Two for him and two for her. They eat standing up, propped against the counter. And when he moves to wash the dishes in the sink, she catches his wrist. The dishes can wait until the morning.

The thing about Dove is she has always had a curious way of touching him. Literally curious, like she is surprised she is allowed to trace the pads of his fingertips with her own, spirals fitting together. Like she is testing the boundaries of him, finding all the soft places with her palms, spanning his sides and up along his chest, fingers flirting beneath the collar of his shirt, shivering down with it. But before this continues, he must make sure, must ward off that ghost for good. He takes her face in his hands, thumbs settling along the soft curve beneath her eyes, tracing some constant constellation, her cheeks rounding with it.

“I need to know that this is what you want.” 

“It is.” 

“I need you here. With me.”

“I am, Joel. I am.” This isn’t want, after all. Want isn’t big enough for whatever this is. Something deeper, something threaded in with all the sinew and stretch of bone, ligament, and beating tissue. This is need. Vital and visceral, and so very precarious. 

His need makes a foolish fumble out of the buttons of her dress, a laugh dancing beneath the brush of his knuckles, catching somewhere under her sternum when his eyes flicker up to hers. She rolls her lips back into her mouth, trying to tamp down any mirth or mocking, but a huff still slips out, smile threatening at the edges. How easy, how lovely, fitting the curve of his own against hers. That laugh turns into a sigh that he swallows. 

And it was never about letting or allowing, never about being big or strong enough to scare off all her specters. What has changed, he isn’t sure. But waiting, he has found, is often a solution in itself. Maybe just the mercy of enough time, enough space shared and understood. Brains finally catching up to bodies, deciding yes, now is good. 

Need makes animals stupid. A caught thing, captured and crumpled thing, will gnaw off its own limb in need of escape. A hungry, hungered thing will turn so desperate, so singular and silly in its need. It will take whatever sate it can get. Hands and skin and teeth and tongues. And in the kitchen no less, still hungry, still needing. Jawing up each other, and humming at the taste. Feast and fire and flood all in one. 

Her mouth settles sharp along the tendons in his neck, humming there as he curls over her to shrug her dress down and down into a pool around her feet. A little snarl, a little curl of her lip, preening when his palms squeeze her hips, coaxing her closer into his chest. She is far more schooled in the work she makes of his shirt, and then, missed this. Missed skin against skin and heart straining to press against heart. Missed the run of his fingers down her ribs, the quick catch at her waist. He only got it once before, a blink compared to this, but he has been missing it ever since, a sigh now that he has it again. Has her again. And Dove, still learning how she gets to have him.

“Can I?” A kiss to her brow, a smear of words whatever you want, Dove. Tentative at first, she presses her mouth to the hollow where his throat slips into clavicle, letting her nose run a line out to the edge of bone, to shoulder, enough sense to turn her a little bolder, fingers curling into the waist of his jeans, tugging. And it is not graceful, silly, stupid, needing bodies curling and caving into each other. His legs splay out long as he settles back against the cabinets below the sink, Dove furling into his lap, the perfect spread of her thighs at his hips. 

A lesson in the anatomy of need. Here is how. How a body can give and take everything it needs from another body. So simple, really. Open mouths and muscles slackening sweet and syrupy to make space for more, more, more. She keens when he turns his face into the curve of her breast, fingers curling in his hair, holding him there in the cradle of her heartbeat, his ears rushing with it. 

It is not pretty, it is not about making it perfect, or even right. It is a desperate seeking, it is relief from this need in the way they just manage to shrug his jeans and boxers down over his thighs, in the way she slips the faded cotton of her underwear to the side. Wet for him, wanting for him, he will have to sate the want to see some other time. For now, feeling, all sense and singe, spreading her open until her hips settle down against his. A broken, murmuring sound in the back of her throat, eyes scrunched shut. He brings his hand to her jaw, thumb stroking along the hinge as he calls to her, let me see, Dovey, please. Hello, lashes flutter first, and the slow slip open. Hello, looking at him, her forehead against his, her mouth resting open and panting against his. 

They move ugly, muscles jumping and jolting, sharp breaths that break and swell in their chests. Skin starts to stick, he holds her closer and chases down their pleasure, shared and searing. 

In the kitchen, she crashes with a cry of his name, her face hidden in the curve of his neck, mouth to pulse. 

In the kitchen, she whispers and wills him right over his own edge, her name, more sob than sound. 

In the kitchen, he would feed her his heart if he could. It’s hers anyways. 

…

Want is a child. But need is an animal. Need is base, bruising, battering. There is no escaping need. There is no lying about need. There is only offering it up, and hoping that someone will see it and decide yes, animal, come here, let me do something about your need, and you can do something about mine. 

Later, after they pick their clothes up off the kitchen floor, kind hands setting things back into place for each other, they slink outside to care for the flock, the sun starting to flirt back behind the mountains with a fierce blush. It’s then, surrounded by the low murmurings of sheep, that she whispers her own need to him, tucked into his side, her cheek pressed against his chest. 

He nods, says yes, okay. He can do that for her. And she will do the same for him. 

For now, all that matters is staying. Ghosts yet to be greeted and goaded out of their house. But for now, spring is rolling over to expose its soft, slumbering belly. Soon, summer will sink in, snarling and bright, a new list of chores and duties with every season. They will do it together. 

For now, the lambs are still lambs. Stumbling still around the edges, seeking out their mother even amidst her seeming exasperation, tired of their clinging, their closeness. Time yet to be had, getting older and bigger every day. But for now, they are young and soft, and nipping after each other in the field. 

For now, the feeling of her ribs expanding and contracting against his side is all the goodness he could want, or even need. Pain yet to be understood in all the places that her breath catches. But for now, she is looking at him and smiling, and saying something about the sheep that makes him laugh.

For now, it is enough. 

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taglist: @casssiopeia @eleganthottubfun @anoverwhelmingdin @sscorpiiio @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @suzmagine @syakhairi @spookyxsam @northernbluess @hier--soir @joelsgreys @wannab-urs @tieronecrush @trulybetty @softlyspector @noisynightmarepoetry @csarab615 @ratoonstown @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @beskarandblasters @motherofagony

[mynamesaplant]

Morning Light at the End of the Line

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Summary: Elesa is woken up way too early for an excursion into the train yard, but Emmet and Ingo drag her along anyway. Their adventure leads to a revelation for the twins.

I want to say thank you to @critterbitter for all their amazing takes on SUBMAS (you keep doing you, champ) and to @ingo-ingoing-ingone for beta reading my work (thanks for all the encouragement, Blue). You're both amazing and I cannot thank you enough.

Slight disclaimer: I have a character using neopronouns, my first one ever, and while I'm familiar with them, I've never used them in a fanfic before. If I used them incorrectly, let me know in the reblogs or comments.

Don't like to read on Tumblr? Read it here on AO3!

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The day that Emmet and Ingo learned that Elesa had never been to the railyard, they were almost insulted. Frankly, this knowledge was unacceptable to the twins. Between their uncle and all the adults working in the yard, everyone had begged them to remain on the platform to spot trains. However, they were at the yard almost daily, a small notebook shared between them that cataloged every train they had seen down to the make, model, and specs of the trains they would watch with dreamy-eyed wonder.

Although neither twin would be willing to admit it aloud, they had their favorites. Ingo was a lover of the classics; he found all the moving mechanisms and billowing white smoke from steam engines to be the pinnacle of train design. Heisler locomotives were his personal favorite – they just had so much more personality in his humble opinion, their movement so musical between the clanging bell and the tack-tack-tack of the wheels and coupling rods, and the iconic star on the nose. Although they appeared much more infrequently than Emmet’s personal favorite, the Gensis models, Ingo never failed to emit a longing sigh when those steam locomotives sat in the yard. So close, and yet so far.

The Gensis locomotives were designed with passengers in mind, smooth and aerodynamic to get the occupants to their destinations with ease and comfort (well, more aerodynamic than earlier styles of locomotives, but not nearly as efficient as the bullet trains of Kanto and Johto). Their sleek metallic shells accented with different colors were frequently dotting the yard as they arrived from all over Unova for repair. Emmet thought it was a slick-looking engine and, although he respected his brother’s (wrong) opinions, nothing could hold a candle to the power and beauty of the Genesis models.

Elesa was completely oblivious to the wonderful world of trains and that was a fact that had to be rectified quickly. That was why they had her up so early, dragging a bleary-eyed Elesa by the wrists through the sleepy streets of a pre-dawn Anville Town. They were going to introduce her to their second love: trains.

“How are you even awaaaaaake?”

Elesa whined, Blitzle nudging his shoulder into her hip to keep her balance while the trio walked to parts unknown. This must have been what a zombie felt like; all of Elesa’s post-apocalypse books always described them as driven around by forces beyond anyone’s reckoning. That was essentially the twins to her. Her question was directed to Ingo, who looked about as bright-eyed and bushy tailed as an Emolga.

Ingo was not a morning person in any sense of the word. The whole region could be in mortal peril and Ingo could (and would) sleep right through it if it was early enough. There were only two things that could get him out of bed this early: Pokémon and trains.

“Who’s to say that I even went to bed?”

“Yep yep. Can confirm. He did not go to sleep.”

There was a fine line between early-early morning and late-late night; it was almost indistinguishable, but very important. Ingo knew he was going to feel awful that evening and would still end up staying awake until three or four in the morning because he was like a Noctowl and he just couldn’t help himself. He knew it drove Drayden a little crazy; that and his newly developing caffeine habits that his uncle had to curb by changing all the coffee in the house to decaf, so Ingo didn’t find himself cripplingly addicted to coffee at the tender age of eleven.

“Where are we going?”

Elesa failed to suppress a yawn, dragging one eye open to get a sense of direction only to find it too dark to really make such a determination.

“Our destination is a secret. You even saved us the trouble of blindfolding you to ensure confidentiality.”

Their friend’s groan was drawn out and miserable, but she allowed them to tow her to the train yard with the full confidence that they would not allow anything to happen to her. Elesa couldn’t find herself in safer hands.

Once the threshold between town and yard had been crossed, two things happened: first, was the heat radiating off the trains like they were so many massive Fire-types, and the second, was the immediate uptick in volume that seemed to hit the trio like a wall of bricks. Perhaps because they lived in Anville Town, they had grown accustomed to the ambient noise, that it only stood out to them once they got within distance.

People and Pokémon bustled to and fro, the screech of steel as the trains began to move along the maze of tracks, conductors yelling confirmations to one another, shrill whistles and booming horns that signaled that the day was starting.

One engineer and conductor duo instantly spotted them, and the conductor was quick to bustle over and try to shoo them away. The engineer was soon to join him.

“Boys, please, I’m begging you to go to the concourse and watch the trains from there.”

“Salutations Mr. Rinehart,” Ingo chirped, no malicious or devious intent in his tone. “Unfortunately, we must decline your request. We shall exhibit the utmost caution while traversing the yard if that is your concern.”

Mr. Rhinehart, a tall, lanky man in his mid-forties, looked visibly pained as he attempted to impede their progress. He, like all the other rail yard workers, really liked Emmet and Ingo. Their enthusiasm for trains was so refreshing after a long day. Mr. Rhinehart and his husband, his engineer who was grinning at the two boys with an amused glitter in his eyes, could personally attest to that, because they had been on the receiving end of the twins fanatical cheering and adoration after a long day on the job. It was truly a wonderful experience to be so admired by young people.

“Micha,” his spouse hissed to him, Mr. Rhinehart having to crane his neck to look down at the love of his life, and immediately regretted his choice because his husband was looking up at him with those gorgeous Lillipup eyes that he could never deny. “Let them explore. They’re good kids, they’re going to be careful – right?”

The emphatic nods did not soothe Mr. Rhinehart.

“Mr. Emerson is right! Yup! I am Emmet, we promise to be verrrry careful.”

Micha Rhinehart wanted to believe them, but he could also imagine Drayden Gray’s meaty arms placing him in a triangle chokehold if a single thing happened to his nephews and he found out that he had allowed them to wander the yard unattended. Not that Eli would allow that to happen to him, but he couldn’t banish the image from his eyes.

Eli gestured for his husband to turn and lean down so he could whisper in his ear,

“They’re old enough. I trust them to be careful. You trust me, right?”

“But Drayden-”

“Drayden doesn’t put enough faith in them.” Micha’s spouse scoffs, rolling his eyes with exacerbation. “Remember when Dakota started taking the trains to Castelia for school? Remember how worried we were for them in that big city? We had to trust them, and they came out a more independent person for it.” The harsher tone softened at the mention of their child.

“Dakota is significantly older than them.”

Micha folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his dark eyes down at Eli. That earned a contemplative scratch of the purple-hued scruff that shaded Eli’s broad cheeks, he glanced over his shoulder at the trio.

“I have a compromise.” Eli did not even confer with his husband before turning on his heel. “You’ve all met our Dakota, right?” This earned more nods. “Dakota has class today, so they’ll be here soon to catch the train to Castelia. I’m going to ask them if they’ll escort you around the more er… Child-unfriendly part of the yard. By that time, it’ll be light out, so me and Mr. Rhinehart are going to trust you to move around the yard.”

The sparkle in the two boys’ eyes was so endearing, the girl tried to look just as enthusiastic, but Eli could tell she was tired. Micha was quick to interject his own two cents before the kids retreated.

“I want you all to promise that you’ll stick close together, and that you’ll be respectful of all the rail workers and that you’ll stay out of their way as they work.”

Emmet and Ingo looked horrified at the mere suggestion that they interrupt the important work going on in the yard. They looked at each other, then to Elesa (who just offered a yawn and a promise to Mr. Rhinehart), before returning their gray eyes to the conductor and engineer.

“We would not dream of it, Mr. Rhinehart. We promise to be on our very best behavior!”

“Yup! Verrrrrry best behavior!”

His twin reiterated with the bobbling nod that looked more like those novelty big-headed figurines you would get from the sports arenas in Nimbasa. Micha had to stifle a little laugh at the sight.

“Good.” He seemed satisfied with their responses. “Now, please, for the love of Kyurem, please go up to the concourse and wait there.”

The two boys offered a salute, something that felt very reminiscent of both their training in Gear Station, and they were about to drag their friend off, before Mr. Emerson called them back. The engineer not so surreptitiously stuffed a few crumpled dollars into their hands. He told them to get some breakfast before sending them off and smiling as they scampered away.

“You’re such a softie.”

Micha said behind him, shaking his head at Eli as he turned around to offer his husband a sheepish smile.

“I can be. Would you be a dear and call our offspring to tell them to get here a little earlier?”

“Oh no,” Micha said, reflexively averting his gaze from Eli before he got the Lillipup look full on, “This was your idea. You can call Dakota.”

“So cruel to me.”

The engineer whined but accepted his fate with a reedy cackle.

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

Dakota was half asleep taking the call from their dad, but they said they would be there early to take the kids around the yard. They tried not to grumble about it; Emmet and Ingo had been rather helpful to them recently when Dakota had caught quite the unruly Purrloin that had been following after them in Castelia The Pokémon kept singling them out to steal their possessions and Dakota had become fed up with it. Although they were not so adept with Pokémon, the twins had been invaluable resources to them as they trained Lin.

Why Lin?

Emmet had referred to the Purrloin as a “little delinquent” under his breath when she had pilfered a not so insignificant number of shiny coins from his bag that constituted the last of his allowance. The utterance had made Dakota snort with laughter, draped over the counter, and wheezing out an apology for the small menace they called their very own Pokémon.

The kids were in the concourse waiting for Dakota at a table in front of a 24-hour café that was mandatory for a place like this, if not for the occasional passengers, then for all the yard workers. Coffee was a ubiquitous need here in the yard, but Dakota could not say the same for eleven-year-old Ingo who was nursing a pale cup of joe that smelled more of hazelnut than coffee beans. Their poor friend Elesa looked just as tired as Dakota felt, a half-eaten bagel with lox and a small cup of green tea in front of her as she slowly tipped toward the table. Emmet was sneering at her sandwich across the table, probably because of the raw fish Dakota figured, and munched on his own torn-to-shreds bagel, dipping and swirling the chunk in a small container of butter before popping it into his mouth.

“Ah! Salutations, Dakota!”

Ingo leapt from his seat upon spotting them, lurching toward Dakota to interrogate them about their Pokémon, their schooling, their train commute, their job at the Poké Mart, and about the routes Dakota intended to take them on for their adventure through the yard. They tried to round out their shoulders as they were currently residing closer to Dakota’s ears than their natural resting position and they took a deep, clarifying breath. They had to remember that Ingo was just an excited child and not a judgy extended-family member.

Dakota offered him a smile, hands tucked into the pockets of their jacket while chatting. Lin was good, but still stealing – although that was in her nature. School was fine, CCA (Castelia College of the Arts) was a cramped campus, but the programs were amazing. The commute was okay, Dakota was always a little stressed about missing the connection in Gear Station running from the Brown to Pink line. The idea of crossing a desert to make it on time to pottery class if they missed their train did not sound too appealing to them. Work was the same. The route was already preplanned for them; their dads had given them a strict map and Dakota did not plan on deviating from the path.

They decided that it was worth waking up so early when they saw the twins’ eyes brimming with fascination and wonder. They were mere inches from the engines, studying every contour and detail with such intensity that Dakota had to gently pull them away and lead them to the turntable where a worker that they knew was waiting.

Parker and zer agile partner, Mienshao, were in the operating booth, pulling levers to usher each engine into the roundhouse after a long day of operation, just like a Wooloo herder. A pink-streaked engine was idling as the table was occupied by a similar engine that was streaked red. Dakota’s arm extended and the kids obediently stopped, waiting patiently alongside their tour guide so they could speak to Parker. Ze had definitely taken notice of the little group, peering at them curiously, zer Mienshao copying his trainer.

With the red line train slotted into its usual spot, Dakota watched zem pick up a radio, zer eyes flitting to the engine to let the engineer that ze needed a moment. A moment later, Parker was strolling out with Mienshao by zer side and zer hands tucked into the pockets of zer overalls.

“Dakota! Don’t usually see you out and about this early. Looking for your folks?” Whatever interest that Parker had for the gaggle of children in their wake, ze waited until Dakota explained rather than diving into an interrogation. Scratching the patchy facial hair that adorned zer face, ze listened to first Dakota’s then the kids’ stories. “Cool. We love trains, too… Say, we have to put a few more trains into the house, wanna watch from the booth with us?”

The eyes of the two boys, Emmet and Ingo as ze had come to find out, somehow grew larger and neither seemed able to verbalize, just offering emphatic nods that made Parker chuckle.

“Thanks, Parker.”

Dakota said in an undertone, offering a half-smile to zem as Emmet and Ingo bolted inside, mentally photographing every centimeter of the booth as if they were going to be tested on it later. Parker winked in reply, offering zer own smile as ze ushered the gaggle of young people inside. The two boys watched over the console, shifting their eyes between Parker and the smudgy outline of the engineer in the cab.

They seemed to know every call that Parker made over their radio and each motion performed by the engineer. Elesa seemed more interested in Parker’s eccentric jewelry and hair beads; she complimented zem quietly when the engine started rolling into the house. With a flick of zer head just to show off the colorful beads, Parker thanked Elesa, flashing her a warm smile before turning zer attention to Emmet and Ingo, who stood by anxiously, near bursting with questions.

Parker had only ever heard about the twins through the grapevine; ze found the brothers enthusiastic and answered all their questions with the kind of patience developed over the lifetime of someone who had dealt with many children who were chock full of questions. They reminded zem of zer kids, all six of whom were displayed in a photo worn by sun and dust that was taped to the bottom corner of the glass windowpane along with pictures of all the other operator’s families.

Ingo’s second question was actually about the row of photos, Parker swiveling in zer chair to point at each of zer kids in turn.

“Tasha, Stavon, Dominique – we call her NeNe for short – Dion, Jalin, and Kamer – Oh, wait, Kiara. We’re still getting used to Kiara’s name change.”

“Oh! She settled on ‘Kiara’, then. I knew she was trying out a bunch of different ones.”

Dakota slid their phone from their pocket, tapping on the contacts as Parker confirmed that indeed Kiara seemed quite happy with her name. They changed the contact and sent their friend a few Drifloon and streamer emojis in celebration. She must have made her decision last night, after agonizing about it for three weeks.

“We don’t think it was an easy decision, she wanted it to be right for her.” Parker replied sagely. Ze knew from experience that being certain was important for someone as they wrestled with identity. “Would you guys be okay with us taking a picture? We don’t get many visitors, especially none as enthusiastic as you two, and we want to commemorate it.”

“Oh, yes! It would be quite the honor!”

Ingo beamed, his hands flapping in front of him in his excitement just before he felt Emmet tap his shoulder. His twin was nervously tugging on his pant leg and fiddling with the hinge on Tynamo’s ball – Dakota had asked them to stow their Pokémon away in the busy yard, which all three kids complied with. Ingo leaned close to Emmet, his voice soft and restraining the hope of the request that he was too nervous to ask Parker himself.

“Um, Parker,” ze had asked the kids to forgo any particular title and to just call zem ‘Parker’. “May we… May Emmet-” Ingo felt an elbow connect with his ribs and he shot a disapproving look to his twin, who looked at him pointedly. He could tell Ingo wanted to sit up there too, but he also knew his brother didn’t want to press his luck by asking if they both could. “Ahem – may we sit in your chair?”

For Parker’s part, ze arose from the operator’s chair and crouched down before them, zer expression gentle as ze looked first to Ingo and then more directly at Emmet. Ze did not take offense when neither made direct eye contact, they reminded Parker of zer NeNe, and ze knew to take it slowly and carefully with them.

“You may, but may we hear it from both of you? We know it can be hard to talk to new people, but we promise to patient, so there’s no need to be nervous, okay?”

Emmet shifted on his feet, toeing the stained laminate they stood on, and plucking his pant leg uneasily. He offered Parker a stiff nod. Swallowing hard and raising his eyes to a point just over zer head, the commitment of actually locking gaze was a little too overwhelming to consider at the moment.

“Ca-Can we…” He trailed off before taking a deep breath and saying far too fast, “Canwesitupthere?” Another breath. “Can we sit?”

He indicated where with a jerk of his head and he breathed a sigh of relief when Parker nodded. The boys clambered up onto the chair, their eyes reflecting all the glowing lights on the panel before them. Emmet’s fingers delicately caressed a worn handle of a switch, exhibiting excessive care to make sure the machine remained undamaged by his novice hands. Beside him, Ingo looked just as reverent, tracing the bumps and ridges that were each flashing diode like it was intricate braille that only he could understand by mere touch.

“Thank you,” Emmet murmured, the burn of tears stinging his eyes as all his emotions began to consume him.

He was so happy, but so overwhelmed. He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve, sniffling to prevent the trickle of snot from getting on the panel.

Dakota was glad they snapped a picture of the duo at the panel before Emmet started crying.

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

When Emmet had calmed down, his brother taking him to the side and murmuring in his ear with Emmet taking in gasping breaths, Parker offered them the opportunity to board a train that would be heading out within the hour.

“Finn should be starting her checklist, but we’re sure she wouldn’t mind showing you the inside.”

“F-Finn?” Dakota squeaked, their calm and collected demeanor vaporizing at the mention of the name, but only Elesa seemed to notice. “I, uh, didn’t realize that she was promoted.”

Parker nodded, shooting a squirming Dakota a knowing smile.

“Ms. O’Finnegan got promoted a few weeks ago.”

“That’s… C-Cool!”

Dakota, unable to take Parker’s look, quickly ushered the three kids out and towards the parked trains in the house. Finn was not hard to find, her shock of curly, red hair stood out in the dingy interior of the roundhouse, and she had a smile as bright as the sun that was directed at a flustered Dakota.

“Kota!” She bound toward them and scooped them up into a tight Bewear hug, this earned a squeak from them. “It’s been an age!”

“I-I’ve been busy with school.”

The kids temporarily forgotten about, Dakota tried to avoid her eyes, a mossy, amused hazel color that Dakota frequently found themself sketching in the margins of notebooks. Finn’s expressions were just so big and exaggerated that she made the perfect subject to use as reference – or at least, Dakota tried to tell themself that.

With a brief catch-up out of the way, Dakota introduced Emmet, Ingo, and Elesa to Finn, who beamed at them and was quick to assist them into the cab of the train. She asked them not to touch anything as she was still going over her checklist. If Emmet and Ingo were excited before, they looked moments away from exploding as they watched Finn’s every move with laser focus. Their intensity was almost visible in the very air around them – that’s how focused they were.

“This is spectacular,” Ingo was forcing his voice to be lower in the small interior of the cab. Although the dashboard wasn’t nearly as complex as that of a steam engine, Ingo had to admire the sleek, minimalist look of the glossy screens and polished buttons. Ms. O’Finnegan took very good care of her cab. “Elesa, observe!”

Although she tried to do as Ingo asked, she found she just couldn’t keep up with the in-depth explanation that he launched into. She registered the words ‘throttle’ and ‘brakes,’ but admittedly not much else.

 Emmet nodding along and extending his hands in a fashion that reminded Elesa of those infomercials that she saw on the nights she found she couldn’t sleep. The ones where the jewelry always looked so sparkly and the women had even, unremarkable voices.

“What’s your route?”

Elesa asked, mildly impressed with the engine, but not nearly much as her friends.

“I’m taking her out toward Driftveil. Nice and easy for a newbie like me.”

Finn self-consciously scratched the back of her head and sheepishly laughed, sparing the young girl from the two boys who were looking at her dashboard bug-eyed. Dakota watched on with a fond smile, tucking a lock of their purple hair behind their ear while the engineer patiently listened to the lecture on her own equipment.

“She’s pretty.”

Elesa said, almost completely unprompted. Dakota’s face flushed a deep red and quickly turned away, but they couldn’t help but agree with her. They’ve had a crush on Finn for ages, and they were pretty sure the feelings were mutual, but they were too nervous to ask outright.

“Mmm,” was Dakota’s noncommittal hum as they felt a buzzing in their pocket.

Shit. Was it already that time?

“Well, this has been fun, but I’ve got a train to catch. Let’s go everyone. Say goodbye to Finn.”

“Thank you very much for letting us into the cab. This experience has been a dream of ours. Not only that, but it’s been a rather enlightening one!”

“Yep! Thank you verrrrrry much!”

“My pleasure. Oh, uh, Kota?

Dakota was already on the ground and helping Elesa down, trying not to look at their phone for the time.

“Yeah? Ow!”

For their part, they were too distracted to notice what Elesa clearly had – hence the sharp elbow to the side. Finn looked quite nervous as she stammered out her request. Lunch in Striaton. Clove’s restaurant and gym was delicious, or so she had heard, and she wanted Dakota to go with her to see if the rumors were true.

How could they say no?

They were glad they didn’t because Dakota wouldn’t have wanted to miss that expression for anything. The wrinkle of her freckle spattered nose, the glitter in her eyes like a brilliant diamond on a bed of moss, the small curve that shaped her lips in a clear indication of equal parts happiness and relief…

“I’ll see you on Saturday!”

Although they heard Elesa snickering, Emmet and Ingo were completely oblivious to their older companion’s stupefied expression, tottering back in the direction of the station with the three kids in tow. They appreciated Dakota’s patience and time this morning, they would not forget it when Lin was attempting to claw their eyes out when her trainer asked for help bathing her from whatever eventual trouble she would find herself in.

Last time she ended up in the roaming cart of the Casteliacone vendor, who was not too happy with the Purrloin trying to make off with his coin purse. The dried ice cream had ended up drying in clumps on her fur and Dakota had already been scored with their fair share of claw marks.

On the platform, they offered a wave before ducking into the train, the conductors on either end swiftly performed their final safety check before disappearing into the interior. The doors closed with a hiss, a bell rang out sharply, and the serpentine train jerked forward on its journey to the south.

Emmet and Ingo waved as it disappeared into the distance, both grinning in their own respective ways just as Elesa released a loud yawn that she had been attempting to hold back all morning. She loved to hang out with the twins, they were the only people in the whole region who seemed to understand her, but they woke her up at six in the morning. They woke her up even earlier than she had to be up for school.  Her full intention was to shut her blinds, clamber back into bed, and sleep until noon since there was no school today.

“I’m headed home, guys.”

Although disappointed, Emmet and Ingo seemed to understand, and even offered to escort her home, but Elesa declined. She loved her friends dearly, but she didn’t think she could absorb any more train facts. They went their separate ways, Emmet and Ingo absolutely unable to contain the excitement of being in different parts of the yard.

The twins had taken many train rides to and from Opelucid, but they had only ever been in the cab when the engine was silent and cold; to feel the rumble – no, the purr – of the engine was a dream come true. Watching the diesel come to life system by system, with the panel lighting up like a Christmas tree to indicate everything was ready and safe for travel… There was nothing like it.

“The turntable-”

“Yes, a little old-fashioned, as is the house, but I find that charming.”

“Yep! Charming!” Emmet said, smiling so much that his cheeks began to hurt while his hands flapped. “Ms. O’Finnegan’s cab was great. Verrrrry clean and well-maintained.”

“I would expect nothing less from an employee of UTrak.”

The standards for the major rail company in Unova were high, but that was because they wanted to offer top-notch services to their customers.

That was their dream – well, it was one of their dreams. Emmet and Ingo wanted to work as engineers with UTrak, but they also wanted to battle professionally. The professions didn’t exactly mesh, which the twins spent hours agonizing over whenever someone asked them what they wanted to be when they grew up.

The question usually ended up being so distressing because they were so torn that Emmet and Ingo became teary eyed with a frustration that they did not know how to verbalize, or at least how to verbalize it without adults minimizing their feelings.

Elesa understood. She had grandiose ideas for the future just like them, but Elesa still ended up being defensive about her hopes and dreams because adults didn’t seem to think they were practical.

It was then those questions arose that they fell back on to a familiar career that they had loved as long as they loved Pokémon battling. They would work for UTrak one day. That was a promise they made to themselves after mother asked them and, once they told her of their ambitions, she laughed. She was quick to stifle it and gently, or as gently as Kaita could manage, told them that she didn’t think her sons were cut out for it.

Well, Drayden had taken personal offense to this statement. Whether it was testament to his faith in his nephews’ abilities as Gray’s or because took it as slight from his sister and he wanted to prove her wrong, Emmet and Ingo were allowed to watch and read all sorts of supplemental information on Pokémon and battling.

It was thanks to Drayden and his pushing that they had their Pokémon so early. Sure, Emmet and Ingo really did want partners, but there were usually restrictions on that sort of thing. Drayden filled out all the necessary paperwork to permit early partners. Drayden always told them that if they put 100% of themselves into anything, he knew they could accomplish anything – just like him.

No matter how outlandish their ambitions – their uncle supported them.

“Ingo?”

“Yes, Emmet?”

“I am Emmet. I think to reach our dual goals, we must rethink our path.”

“You think?” Ingo asked with a tilt of his head, his frown deepening in thought. His brother nodded. Both knew Emmet was not suggesting abandonment of their goals, only a restructuring of how to reach them more efficiently. “I concur. I think its time we invest into research of the requirements to become engineers.”

“More school.”

Emmet said with a groan. Neither were particularly good in the classroom. They liked to learn, but both twins had a tendency to procrastinate on tasks that did not strike them as particularly interesting.

“Yes,” Ingo agreed. “However, I think we will find that schooling more enjoyable than what we are learning at the current moment.”

The older twin couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disdain, just at the thought of the teacher who got frustrated with him for using words that were “too advanced” for his age bracket. The other students were snickering when Ingo sank lower in his seat. Meanwhile, Emmet was called out for not being particularly vocal, while also told he was being too blunt when he expressed his opinions. He still flinched when someone brought up the art class incident where he made a girl, one of the popular ones, cry by telling her painting was “ugly” and that he preferred Elesa’s.

He didn’t just say that as her friend either, it was genuinely better, and he felt like he needed to point that out to everyone.

In higher education, they wouldn’t have to worry about all these issues. They could focus on their studies and excel because they weren’t being forced to do subjects that bored them to tears. They wouldn’t have to worry about upsetting anyone.

“Verrrrry enjoyable.”

Emmet agreed.

“Next time we encounter Dakota, we should ask them about their college.”

“Yep! Good idea!”

With that, Emmet and Ingo released Tynamo and Litwick respectively, Emmet lightly scratching the spot between the Electric type’s eyes and Ingo stooping down to scoop up the Fire type.

Took you long enough to take me back out.

Litwick harrumphed, suppressing a wiggle of delight she felt deep in her wax when Ingo drew her closer and gingerly modeled the wax out of her eye.

“Apologies, Litwick. Emmet and I were discussing the future.”

Sounds boring. What are we doing today?

She interrupted before he could get into the rhythm of conversation.

“Training.”

Emmet said, his focus was on the wriggling Pokémon butting into his hands, but his mind was elsewhere. In a future that had yet to be but seemed incredibly bright. 

[kifkay]

Winx Headcanons, part 2!

Riven is a genuine fan of Musa’s music.

Musa is an early riser and annoying about it. Flora is also an early riser but is chill about it. 

Stella can sleep for like twelve hours straight and not give a damn. 

Tecna and Bloom stay up late at night, Tecna more so than Bloom. She will maim whoever wakes her early. 

Aisha loves to take naps whenever she feels like it, and sleeps like a baby. She also kicks at night.

All the Specialists have to be early risers because paramilitary school. Sorry, boys :(

Bloom and Sky sometimes fantasise about owning a menagerie of pets, if they were ever to move in together. 

Riven is genuinely a fan of Musa’s music.

Specialists vis-a-vis combat: out of all the boys, Sky has the best technique. He is also intuitive, able to read his opponent’s body language and easily predict what step they might take next. Timmy’s a short shooter, their main pilot, strategist and handler. He’s a whole unit on an actual mission, but is pretty useless in hand-to-hand combat. Brandon is the strongest, yet the most reckless with himself. He relies on his raw power and stamina to carry him through fights; a DnD Barbarian through-and-through. Riven, like Sky, is an excellent marksman. He has a knack for improvised weaponry and utilising his surroundings.

Helia is on par with Brandon vis-a-vis strength. He is agile; capable of dodging attacks and outsmarting opponents. Usually prefers to detain enemies and knock them out, and rarely engages in actual combat. When he is angry, there’s less technique, and more of self-destructive, horrifying beating.

Nabu is a warlock. He makes duplicates of himself that are capable of fighting but are glass cannons. He can detain and blind enemies, become invisible, make a fog, etc. In hand-to-hand combat, he lacks experience and stamina, but has a couple of tricks up his sleeve.

Sky is surprisingly a very good cook. All of the Specialists are not half bad at cooking, except for Nabu (that nepo baby never cooked a meal for himself in his life). 

The Winx are mostly bad at cooking. Tecna is ok; she follows all recipes to a T and ends with middling results. Musa is the best among the girls and actually enjoys cooking. 

Aisha likes sleeping with the lights on.

Since Aisha and Stella room together, Stella commissioned a Solarian engineer to create quality, magic light spheres that last months. They float near the ceilings and Piff likes to try and catch them. 

One side effect of prolonged psychic intrusion on a mind is the nightmares that follow afterwards. Riven struggles with them after Darcy.

Nabu also struggles with nightmares, due to him being a warlock and having battled/spared with many other psychics. As well as Darcy. He’s more humorous and dismissive of them; he says that he cannot remember his nightmares aside from a vague feeling of emptiness and anxiety. After meeting Aisha and working against Valtor, his nightmares would become way more concrete and terrifying. 

All the Winx adore Miele, and she loves them in turn. Tecna is probably her favorite though; she just finds her “the coolest and the bravest”!

Miele definitely had a crush on Brandon and Helia, although it was short-lived. 

Helia and Saladin have a very close, very complicated relationship. 

In childhood, Helia was entranced by his “Company of Light, Brightest sorcerer of Magix” grandpa Saladin. His father Rames was a pacifist and had a strained relationship with Saladin, but didn’t want to deprive little Helia of his grandfather. When Helia’s father and mother were in the midst of divorce, Helia, under Saladin’s guidance, enrolled in the Red Fountain. Rames raised his voice on Helia for the very first time and they had a big argument, which resulted in them not talking for a few months. 

They made up, but their relationship remained strained until Helia dropped out of school and came home to his father. 

Saladin instilled perfectionism in Helia, always expecting excellency and above. Saladin, being a military man, didn’t believe in “expressing feelings” or “being pacifist”. 

Saladin truly only wanted the best for Helia, but he never understood him or his own son.

Rames absolutely adores Flora. He is the crunchy-muchy granola dad, Henry Oak style, and how could he not love an eco-terrorist icon, the gentle Flora? 

[darkdemeter]

Hi! Hope you're doing well! I have a request for Darksiders.

War finally introduces his animal loving girlfriend to Ruin.

Thank you! I absolutely adore Darksiders and War is most definitely my favorite.

A STEED OF LOYAL FIRE

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE War x Female Reader

NOTES ↳ Hello dear anon, I am doing very well thank you! I hope you enjoy my take on the request -- Ruin is such a good boy once you get to know him. WARNINGS❕ ↳ Some loving affection given to Ruin — just general fluffy content — War gets a little flustered... just a little bit — I think that's it

✎ 1.3k ────────────────────────

You’ve heard tales of the red rider’s horse. A beast of endless stamina, a raging war-engine that carries upon his saddle the swift justice of pain and chaos. He is a fearsome hoofed stallion of the fabled apocalypse. Any unfortunate soul would be unlucky to witness such a sight barrelling towards them. But not you.

War came to learn quickly that other than your overall genuine and compassionate nature, you have a particular fondness for animals. In the bounds of New Haven, tucked in its luscious and serene gardens and pastures where humans — under the careful watch of Makers and Horsemen — thrive to rebuild a society lost. 

And where War leads you far enough away from prying eyes to finally share with you that he considers the extension of himself, other than his giant blade Chaoseater that can cleave a demon’s torso in one fell sweep. 

Answering the telepathic call of his rider, a wave of heat scorches the rolling grass into deadened patches. You leap back from the way your skin almost burns under such a hot gust of pressure. 

Hooves resound with unbridled haste seemingly out of nowhere before a magnificent form sheds through the fabric of realms and time, summoned by War’s will to manifest him. Four limbs lead a galloping stomp of crackling, molten fire, marching forward with a haughty whine teetering gruffly in the steed’s gullet. Your eyes grow wide and your mouth falls open, stricken by an overwhelming sense of awe. Ruin’s large chest vibrates heavily as ashes bellow from two burning nostrils that glow dully with the internal, phantom fire that writhes within and hardens his body like rock. 

The horse is sternly excitable, almost unhinged you could guess, stirred with unrivalled wish to sprint a burning trail in his wake. War’s position moves forward as if he means to protect you. His hand raises to glide and pat the war horse’s neck.

“Ruin,” War says firmly with complete control in his voice, uttering something in a dialect you cannot understand nor place its earthly origin. “Calm. This is my love, be gentle with her.”

Ruin’s large nose flexes and he snorts a flaring breath of understanding that appears to rumble through him entirely. When he finds that his trusted companion won’t charge at you, he turns to you expectantly, fingers curling in indication for you to step forward.

Your awe is clear as day upon your face, widening your eyes beyond that which War has ever seen on your face — or perhaps he’s seen it once, the reminder blooming a crimson blush to dust his cheeks. 

You take a step forward, cautious and slow to not spook Ruin but he remains undisturbed by your presence. Much like War, he keeps a consistent line of eye contact, neighing lowly whenever your eyes fall to break it. 

“War, he’s—” Where to even begin, your voice stumbles slightly. “He’s beautiful.”

An ashen brow kinks up. It’s a compliment he wouldn’t expect from a human, not with the adorable fluffy animals Earth once had. But Ruin appears to enjoy the positive attention, his posture standing higher and he cocks a front leg forward like he were posing for you. 

You giggle and War’s ears ring delightfully at the sound. You come closer under your lover’s guidance and his hand finds yours to bring it against Ruin’s neck. 

You can feel the thrumming beat of breath, his strong heartbeat that ripples through his ebony hide, and your entire body is consumed whole by fire; what you imagine fire would feel like if it didn’t sear and burn and char your flesh.

Your other hand follows suit and your palms run along Ruin’s coat. His large head flicks back, the motion pushing his thick mane in waves that mimic the hungering reach of flames. More ash pushes from his nostrils, ears attentive and pricking in many directions, mostly when your voice softly coos adoring praises, nails applying a soothing scratch that almost makes Ruin purr with a deep rumble like thunder. 

“Who’s a good horse for War? You are, yes you’re such a good horse.”

Emboldened on both parts, Ruin curls his head around and pushes his snout into your stomach and you stumble for a moment under the sheer force of it. What would have been a feathery caress against War’s palm, you’re almost knocked flat on your arse. 

War placed his hand along Ruin’s mane but you quickly assure your dear nephilim with a charming smile.

“I’m okay, he’s okay.”

In seeing you persevere and continue lavishing Ruin with love and affection uniquely set to humans, War cannot help but admire you. How gentle you are and the way you pay very close attention to Ruin’s body language, understanding what he likes and doesn’t and respecting his boundaries. 

When War had found you, you were a closed off and skittish thing that often flinched whenever he so much as spared a concerned, furrowed glare your way. But as time passed and trust was earned, you flourished into this amazing and wonderful personality, your soul shimmering as a bright beacon amidst the dark and gloomy storm that he alone was fighting. He fondly remembers every step you took together from thereon in. How much you looked out for him, cared about him when he got hurt. Your destinies intertwined for the better. He could not see it for the worst. 

Ruin whickers, lips loosely rubbing and pouting together as his head towers over you and he presses his snout into your hairline, blowing heavy gusts of heat over you in showering waves. You laugh loudly and lovingly while you move your hands to pat along his long nose. Again he rumbles a deep-noted sound that calms your fears and worries. Being around animals all your life often made you feel at home, no matter where you found yourself. Before the apocalypse, you would volunteer for animal rescues, you would walk packs of dogs on your free days for less money than you should have earnt from the task; but being in their company was enough for you. You’d look after pets for family, friends and the kind, elderly neighbours across the way. 

With each stroke down the powerful steed’s side, touch hindered by the blackened leather and metal carvings of the saddle, you sigh with a heave of contentment. Everything that could possibly be wrong in your life vanishes when your eyes meet the blazing flare of Ruin’s.

“He’s taken a liking to you, my love,” War says fondly, the shyest of smiles tugging at the corner of his scarred lips. 

“I’m glad for it.” Your grin as you take your eyes off of Ruin to look at War. His eyes remain on you, studying you and you just know he’s in his head. 

“Does this mean we can go for rides together?” You had meant it to be cheeky for the most part. However, War is enchanted by the way your face morphs into a pure state of surprise and gladness when he offers a leaned bow of his head.

“Ruin isn’t opposed to… the idea.” Ruin huffs loudly, head moving back and forth with a wild buck, stirred into a state of unrest. Your teeth peek through the stretch of your smile and eagerly, you accept War’s aid in helping you into the saddle. With some assistance on Ruin’s part as he stoops his front half lower, your leg kicks over and dangle at his sides. Once you’re seated, War takes up the remainder of the saddle behind you and grasps at the reins, you doing much the same. 

Between your legs, each breath that Ruin takes is powerful. War’s grip tightens and his chest physically firms against your back and with a heavy boot kicking into his side, Ruin is sent into a gallop. A roar of a neigh drowns all sound out as wind suddenly sweeps through your hair and you’re off on an adventure across New Haven with your beloved red rider and the best steed there ever was in these lands.

[eryanlainfa]

Airigo older designs!!!! Feat my headcanons for them :3

So many thoughts inside my head. They're in their late 20s here. I'll be rambling a lot under the cut :

Let's start with Hugo. I am still debating whether he bleaches his hair or not (he'd be dark blond-), so either his hair got darker over time or he bleaches it less often. He loses his arm after the 7k (it kickstarts that one sequel that only exists in my mind).

He is an engineer sponsored by the crown, and specialises in complexe and small mechanisms. His favorite prosthesis was built with that in mind which is why the fingers are thinner. He has other hands he can switch as it pleases.

Talking about prosthesis, he built it himself but the magic stones were Aiden's idea, the whole thing was an experiment to get the prosthetic to move more precisely and in sync with Hugo's mind. And it worked! The stone on the arm responds to the one on his collar.

He definetly "collected" various belongings from the others during 7k and Nuru's necklace was one of those objects and he still wears it often. Same for.. what remains- of the bandana tying his hair.

Also it's not too visible but he got some more meat now (he was practically a walking skeleton before)

Time for Varian!! His hair got curlier over the years and I headcanon he has vitiligo which is how he got his haistripe, he simply used to dye it blue with the help of his mom and kept on doing it after her death, until recently.

Appearance wise he just stopped caring- he is often too engrossed in his work and forget to be presentable all together. He puts more attention into wearing practical things.

He still is an engineer sponsored by the crown. But contrary to Hugo he is more into heavy machinery and does alchemy often enough. (The two engineers still do work together though)

I don't have much to add about him tbh, he's just overly cautious now until he forgets about it-

Aiden tiiiiiime! My dearest royal physician. As the head physician they get to go out less often and almost does more paperwork than actual practice.

They cut their hair because taking care of them was too much of a bother. Their new uniform doesn't bind their chest anymore. And they're finally comfortable using their mobility aids and showing off their prosthetic without restraints.

Refusing to end up as overworked as their old mentor, they are planning classes to educate more people in first aids and basic medicinal stuff, with the help of Laurel. They now get plenty of assistance and get to simply supervise rather than doing everything themself. (They still do care for the royal family as they take priority.)

FINALLY.

They are very cringe and overly in love people so of course they wear it with pride- Each of them got a pair of earings custom made from stones they chose themselves. Each representing one of their partner's eyes.

The braids are remains of their wedding look and they aren't planning on taking them out. Ever.

And the wedding bands were a last minute idea of Varian who was convinced he could make them himself, so he did. They just look horrendous. But the concept is so cute Hugo and Aiden loves them anyway.

[daenysthedreamer101]

Youngest Original ~ TVDU

Mikaelson!OC

Masterlist

Ch1

Being a teenage girl isn't easy. Especially if you've been 18 for over a thousand years.

Follow the immortal life of Kassandra Mikaelson, a member of the Mikaelson family and one of the Originals.

She has been navigating the complicated world of the supernatural for centuries.

How will she hold up against a certain doppelganger and her group of friends?

How will she adjust to the 21st century after being in a casket for almost two decades?

Will she forgive Klaus for his betrayal or will she turn her back on him?

Is blood really thicker than water?

Prologue

April 7th, 1996 - Easter Day

The sun was just coming out and Kassandra paced around the hall, excitingly waiting for her chauffeur to arrive and drive her to her lake house. She busied herself with checking if all of her luggage was ready - it was.

After another 10 minutes of waiting, she could see and hear a black car pulling up her driveway. "There he is!" she muttered as she picked up her suitcase, her bag, and her keys. She opened the door and a gentle breeze rustled her dark hair.

She locked her house and walked toward the trunk of the car. To her surprise, Antonio, her chauffeur, didn't come out of the car. Usually, he would help her with the luggage. After putting her suitcase inside, she closed the trunk and walked to the passenger seat.

Settling into her car, Kassandra expected to find her private driver awaiting her, ready to whisk her away to the sanctuary of her lakeside retreat. But as she entered the vehicle, she was met instead with a face she hadn't seen in decades.

"Hello, love. Long time no see." Klaus greeted, his words dripping with false warmth. Kassandra's heart sank at the sight of him, her instincts warning her of the trouble that lay ahead.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice betraying her unease as Klaus started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

"Visiting my little sister, of course," Klaus replied, his tone laced with mock concern. "I wouldn't want you spending the holidays all alone, would I?"

The words sent a chill down Kassandra's spine, a sense of foreboding settling over her like a dark cloud. Despite her best efforts to evade him, it seemed that Klaus had other plans for her Easter holiday, plans that she knew would not end well for her.

"I want you to come back to the US with me," Klaus said in a demanding voice as they exited the city of Geneva.

"And why would I do that?" she challenged, her voice laced with defiance as she met Klaus's gaze head-on, refusing to back down in the face of his manipulative tactics.

But Klaus, ever the master of manipulation, remained unfazed by her resistance, his expression shifting to one of faux vulnerability as he sought to twist the situation to his advantage.

"I've been feeling quite lonely if I'm being honest," he confessed, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. "I haven't seen any of my siblings in decades. Who better to keep me company than my favorite little sister?"

The words struck a nerve with Kassandra, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within her. On one hand, she longed for the connection and companionship that only her siblings could provide. But on the other, she knew all too well the price that would come with reuniting with Klaus.

"You can easily undagger any one of our siblings. But you won't do that," she shot back, her voice tinged with bitterness as she laid bare the truth that Klaus had been so desperate to conceal.

"Because you're scared to face them. And you came to me thinking that I would welcome you back with open arms. That's where you're wrong."

Her words hung in the air, a damning indictment of Klaus's cowardice and manipulation, a testament to the strength and resilience that had sustained her in the face of his tyranny.

"Now, now little dove. I can see you're upset. Calm down," Klaus admonished, his words dripping with false concern as he attempted to assert his dominance over her with the same tone that parents used on misbehaving children.

Kassandra's anger simmered beneath the surface as Klaus attempted to placate her with patronizing words and a tone that grated against her nerves like sandpaper. The condescension in his voice only served to fuel the flames of her indignation, her frustration mounting with each passing moment.

As they continued to drive, Kassandra's unease only grew, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as she contemplated the ominous implications of Klaus's unexpected visit. With each passing mile, her sense of foreboding deepened, her instincts warning her of the danger that could strike at any moment.

They finally arrived at her little lake house. It was more of a cottage, really. It was situated on the shore of Lake Geneva. She got out of the car, her lungs begging for fresh air. The crisp morning air hit her skin, but she welcomed it.

"Please leave me alone." She begged, her voice filled with desperation. She started walking toward to dock, forgetting all about her luggage. All she wanted was to put some distance between herself and her wicked older brother. But he followed her like a shadow.

"Isn't that what I've been doing for the past 50 years?" Klaus's voice cut through the silence, his words dripping with contempt as he mocked her plea for peace. Kassandra clenched her fists at her sides, her frustration boiling over as she struggled to maintain her composure in the face of his relentless antagonism.

She turned away from him, her blue eyes fixed on the glowing water before her, its shimmering surface a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within her heart. Despite her best efforts to find solace in the tranquil beauty of her surroundings, she knew that Klaus's presence would forever taint the serenity of her sanctuary.

As they stood together on the dock, the silence between them stretched on, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. Kassandra felt a sense of resignation wash over her, a weary acceptance of the fact that she could never truly escape the bonds that tethered her to her tumultuous family.

Her long brown curls shined in the morning sun, her heeled boots clicking along the dock as she paced nervously. She looked up to see a beautiful, clear sky. The bright sunlight washed over her, and she could feel its warmth sinking into her skin.

"I think it is time you are reunited with the rest of our siblings, don't you think, sweet sister?" He whispered darkly in her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

Her brows furrowed, not at his words but at the tone of his voice. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that made her skin crawl. She turned around, only to see a smirk on his face that meant only one thing - trouble.

"Klaus, what are you-"

Before she could properly respond, before she could even comprehend the full extent of his treachery, Klaus's hand lashed out with lightning speed, plunging the silver dagger coated in the ash of the White Oak tree deep into her heart with a swift, merciless thrust.

Pain exploded within her, searing through her veins like fire as she gasped for breath, her world spinning out of control. She could feel her life force draining away, her limbs growing heavy and numb as darkness closed in around her.

With one final, desperate gasp, Kassandra looked up at Klaus, her eyes filled with a mixture of betrayal and disbelief. "Traitor!" she spat, her voice barely a whisper as the darkness consumed her, swallowing her whole.

For almost 15 years, Kassandra would languish in the depths of her dreamless slumber, her consciousness trapped in a realm of endless darkness, her existence suspended in a timeless void.

***

Keep in mind this is my first fic ever and I'm mostly writing for myself lol. Also English isn't my first language and I'm not a professional writer, I'm doing this for my own enjoyment but hopefully other people can find enjoyment in it.

Thanks for reading and if you have any thoughts feel free to comment. ☺💓

[scarletqueenx]

chapter three - once upon a time

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: Dean and you had dated for a few months before his father disappeared and his journey with Sam began. Now, having made a deal to save his brother's life and with only a year to live, Dean considers reconnecting with the only girl he's ever had feelings for. You.

Author’s Note: English is not my first language. This is my first time writing in the readers perspective, as i'm used to write oc´s.

series masterlist

After nearly two days on the road, with a few stops for sleep and food, you were beginning to regret your decision to go with the Winchester brothers. Dean hated airplanes and loved his car, so the trips had to be by road. Something you weren't used to.

That was precisely why you three had stopped at another gas station.

"I don't understand, Dean. Why not?"

"Because I said so." He answered, looking through the window, hoping you wouldn't take long to get back to the car so they could finish that conversation.

"We got the Colt now!" Sam insisted, frustrated by his brother's refusal.

"Sam..."

"We can summon the Crossroads Demon..."

"We're not summoning anything."

"...pull the gun on her, and force her to let you out of the deal!"

"We don't even know if that'll work!" Dean exclaimed, hoping his brother would drop the subject.

"Well then we'll just shoot her! If she dies then the deal goes away!"

"We don't know if that'll work either, Sam!" He said, looking back at him. "All you're pitching me right now is a bunch of "ifs" and "maybes" and that's not good enough, because if we screw with this deal, you die!"

"And if we don't screw with it, you die!"

As you approached the car, you could hear them both yelling at each other. You were glad that the parking lot of that gas station was completely empty, or people would think they were crazy by talking about demons and death.

"Sam, enough! I am not going to have this conversation."

"Why, because you said so?" Sam scoffed, not noticing you getting back inside the car.

"Yes, because I said so!"

"Well you're not Dad!"

You felt how the tension increased after Sam's answer. That conversation couldn't end well and you couldn't say anything either, since it wasn't your place.

"No, but I am the oldest." Dean answered him, trying to remain calm. But this didn't last very long as his voice raised back. "And I'm doing what's best. And you're going to let this go, you understand me?"

After looking at each other angrily, Sam turned his gaze away looking out the window. That's when you noticed Dean's eyes landing on you through the rearview mirror.

Just after a few seconds of silence, he cleared his throat.

"Feeling better?" He asked, concerned.

You frowned. The argument between the brothers had almost made you forget the real reason you had gotten out of the car. You had gotten dizzy once again after four hours of nonstop driving.

"Yeah. Much better." You nodded with a slight smile peeking through you lips.

"Did you bring the food?"

"Yeah, I brought fries, some burgers and pie." You answered, setting the food bag between both of them. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Everything is fine. Right, Sammy?" Dean answered quickly, pulling out one of the burgers. "Thanks for the food, sweetheart."

After that the car went completely silent again. Only the sound of the engine could be heard as the three of you ate and Dean continued driving.

Feeling somewhat nostalgic and uncomfortable with the tension between the two brothers, you decided to put on your walkman headphones to listen to one of your favorite music albums, Rumors by Fleetwood Mac. You could feel Dean's gaze falling on you from time to time through the rearview mirror, but you still decided to ignore it.

Truth was that, since you had started the drive, Dean had once again pulled away from you. You didn't blame him. Everything was so much different than the last time you had seen each other. Dean had seen his father die, he had seen his brother die, and he himself had made a deal with hell. You didn't seem to have changed much, but that wasn't the reality. Deep down you were a different person too. And Dean could feel that as he looked back at you.

As you listened to one of your favorite songs, a thought flashed into your mind. Maybe you two were just meant to be friends. And if you were honest, you were happy with that.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Investigating what appeared to be a werewolf attack, since it fit the lunar cycle, Sam, Dean and you headed to the town hospital where the only living victim of the attack was being treated.

"I'm Detective Plant, this is Detective Page, and Detective Jones. We're with the County Sheriff's Department." Dean said as the three of you showed your badges to Kyle.

"Yeah, uh, I've been expecting you."

"You have?" Dean asked in confusion.

"All morning." He nodded. "You are the sketch artists, right?"

"Uh..."

"That's exactly it." You exclaimed with a smile shining on your face.

"Yeah." Dean nodded, looking at you. "That's her specialty. The things she can do with a pen...." He chuckled nervously. "But, listen, before we get started on that, I wanted to ask you, uh, how'd you get away?"

"I– I have no idea. I was hiding, and he found me. He was coming right for me and then he just... stopped. He stared at me with this blank look. And after that, he just took off running." Kyle explained.

"Okay." You nodded slightly, opening the small notebook in your hands. "Um, I'm going to need as much physical detail as you can remember."

"Uh yeah. Uh, he's about six feet tall..." Kyle tried to remember. As you listened to him, you began to sketch under Dean's watchful eye. "Dark hair..."

"Uhm, what, what about his eyes, what color eyes did he have?" You asked, looking up at Kyle.

"Maybe... blue?"

"Blue?"

"It was dark." Kyle shrugged.

"Did they seem..." Dean began asking but stopped to clear his throat before finishing his question. "Uh, animal-ish?"

"Excuse me?" Kyle looked at him with confusion painted all over his face.

"What about his teeth? You notice anything... strange about 'em?" Sam asked.

"No, they were just teeth." He answered shaking his head as you continued drawing in your notebook.

"Teeth, okay." You mumbled.

"How about his fingernails?"

Dean's question seemed to annoy Kyle. "Okay, look, he-he's just a-a normal guy, with normal eyes a-a-a-and teeth and fingernails." He said.

"Look, sir, it's okay if-"

"No." Kyle cut him off, his voice breaking on the verge of tears. "No. Those were my brothers. This guy, he-he killed my brothers. How would you feel?"

You could feel a lump in your chest at such thought. To lose Peter would be like losing a part of your.

"Can't imagine anything worse." Sam admits, taking the words out of your mouth. Dean's eyes quickly fell on his brother as he nodded in agreement.

"I know this isn't easy but if you could remember any more details..."

"Th-there was one more thing. He had a-a tattoo on his arm of a cartoon character. Umm... it's, uh, it's the guy who's chasing the Road Runner."

"Wile E. Coyote." Dean exclaimed with a proud smile of his own as Kyle nodded.

"Yeah, that's it."

You continued with your drawing as a doctor entered the room.

"Kyle?"

"Dr. Garrison."

"How you holding up?"

"Okay, considering."

"You're, uh, Kyle's Doctor?" Pulling out his badge, Dean looked at the man dressed in a white coat.

"Yes." He nodded, looking at the three of you.

"Can I just ask you a few questions?" Dean asked.

"Sure." The doctor nodded, walking out of the room with him, leaving Sam and you alone with Kyle.

"Don't I get to see it?" Kyle pointed to your notebook as you were just finishing the last touches on your sketch.

"Uh, yeah. Well, it's a, you know, a work in progress." You apologized, handing him the little notebook under Sam's watchful eyes, who raised his eyebrows in surprise at how good the sketch looked.

"Hm. It-it's really... good." Kyle said.

"Thanks." You answered. "And thank you for your time. I'm sorry about your brothers." Kyle appreciated your sympathetic glance, giving you a small smile in return.

You and Sam left the room seconds later, joining Dean in the hallway. As you reached his side, Dean was quick to grab the notebook from your hands to look at the drawing.

"Art student, no doubt." He nodded, handing the notebook back to you. "It's pretty good, sweetheart."

"I told you that wasn't a lie." You noted, tucking it back into your jacket.

"You studied art?" Sam looked at you in surprise.

"Yeah, at a very prestigious school in California. I got a scholarship." You smiled, looking up at him. Sam nodded, sharing an amazed look with his brother.

"Impressive."

"So what did the Doc have to say about Kyle's brothers?" You asked, changing the subject as they left the hospital.

"Not much, they were D.O.A. at the scene. He did give me the lowdown on the coroner's report."

"Lemme guess, their hearts were missing?" Sam asked.

"Nope." Dean answered, which make you look at him in surprise. "But chunks of their kidneys, lungs and intestines."

"That's just gross." You said with a grimace.

"Yeah, also definitely not werewolf behavior." He noted.

"So, what?" Sam asked. "Demon? Attacker could've been possessed."

"Why would a demon stop halfway through an attack?"

"I think that, uh.. Could've... Yeah, I got nothing."

"Me neither." You signed. "Guess we'll have to figure out before someone else gets hurt or killed."

"You really got nothing?" Dean asked you as you three approached Baby. "I thought you would have some idea having studied supernatural creatures all your life."

"Okay, first of all, that's my father's thing." You noted, opening the door to the backseats. "And Peter, because he's obsessed with horror movies. I never paid attention. When I started hunting, all the creatures I came across were ghosts, vampires, witches or werewolves. You know, the usual stuff."

"So you have never hunted a wendigo or a shapeshifter for example?" Sam asked.

"No. Why? You two have?"

"You'd be surprised, sweetheart." Dean smirked. You rolled your eyes at him as you got inside the car. Being quickly followed by the two brothers.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

It didn't take long for you and the Winchester brothers to return to the hospital. You had barely begun to search for information about supernatural beings that might fit the case when you were informed about another victim.

"Detectives." Dr. Garrison greeted you in the patient's room.

"Dr. Garrison."

"What the hell is going on here?" He asked with concern. "My whole town is going insane."

"We'll let you know as soon as we do." Sam assured him as the three of you enter the room. The doctor nodded, leaving the room to let you talk to the victim.

"Miss Watson?" You approached her as you flashed your detective badge. "Hi. We just need to ask you a few questions."

"Do we have to go over this again? Now?" She asked, tired and affected by the situation she had experienced.

"We'll try to be brief." You assured with a small, sympathetic smile. Giving you a little nod, Julie invited you to speak.

"Miss Watson, can you tell us how you got away?" Sam asked.

"I didn't eat as much as Ken did, so I wasn't as out of it. And, when the old woman was... carving up Ken, I shoved her, and she fell. Cracked her head on the stove." She paused, looking down to her hands and taking a few breaths before looking back at you. "She's dead, right? I-I killed her?"

"Do you have any idea why she'd do this to you?" Dean asked this time.

"No! One minute she was a sweet old lady and the next she was, like, a monster."

The case was getting more and more complicated, but it also seemed more familiar. At least to Sam. The young Winchester couldn't help but notice the similarities of what Julie had experienced to a story he had read.

"Can you remember anything else?"

"Um, yeah. Did you find a little girl there, by any chance?"

"A... little girl? At the house?" You looked at her in confusion. Julie nodded.

"I thought I saw her outside the window. She, she just disappeared. Just vanished, into thin air." She explained. Sam and Dean looked at each other. "It m-must've been the drugs."

"This disappearing girl, what did she look like?" You asked then.

"Does it matter?" She frowned.

"Yes. Every detail matters."

"She had this dark, dark hair and really pale skin. She was around eight. She was a beautiful child. It was... odd to see her in the middle of something so horrible." Julie explained with a sigh.

"That's really helpful, thank you." You gave her a soft smile. "We're sorry for the loss of your husband."

"Thank you." Julie mumbled before you left the room.

"Okay. Any ideas? Because I got nothing." You said as the three of you walked back to the car.

"I think we should check the house." Sam answered. "Maybe we could find something there."

Dean nodded in agreement, climbing into the driver's seat. You settled back into the back seats, pulling you hunting journal from inside your backpack.

"Do you keep a record of everything?" Sam asked as he looked back at you.

"It's a habit." You shrugged. "Besides, this way I don't forget the details for when I tell Peter. It's also good for future hunts. You never know."

At you response, Dean and Sam couldn't help but share a look. It was impossible for both of them not to see how that was something you had in common with their father.

"So, what do you think? A demon? A ghost?" You asked after a few minutes.

"I literally have no idea." Dean admitted. "All of this seems so odd. We might need to call your dad or Bobby."

You nodded, getting lost in your own thoughts and in the words written in your diary.

The drive to the old lady's house where Julie and her husband had been attacked didn't last long. You and Dean separated into difference rooms in search of any demonic signs while Sam check the EMF for any ghost.

"Well, there's no sulfur anywhere." You said after some minutes. "How about the EMF?"

"Yeah, it's going nuts. When I went over here by the window... There's definitely a spirit here."

"Who stood outside the crime scene and watched." Dean pointed out.

"Looks like."

"What the hell do you make of that?" You asked, confused.

"Actually, I do have a theory. Uh, sort of." Sam said, gaining your and Dean's attention.

"Hit us."

"Well, thinkin' about fairy tales."

"Oh that's—that's nice. You think about fairy tales often?" Dean teased him. You smiled with amusement.

"No, Dean, I'm talking about the murders." Sam insisted. "A guy and a girl? Hiking through the woods, an old lady tries to eat 'em? That's Hansel and Gretel. And then we got three brothers, arguing over how to build houses, attacked by the Big Bad Wolf."

"Three Little Pigs."

"I'm sorry, those are supposed to be fairy tales for kids?" You frowned, looking completely lost in the conversation.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "You've never read them?"

You shook your head.

"I thought you had the white picket fence and apple pie kinda life." Dean commented, looking back at you.

"Okay. Yeah. I did. But... I was never interested in fairy tales. Sorry."

"Can we go back to my theory?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, sorry." Dean nodded. "I thought those things ended with, uh, everybody living happily ever after?"

"No, no. Not the originals. See the Grimm Brothers' stuff was kinda the folklore of its day, full of sex, violence, cannibalism. Now, it got sanitized over the years, turned into Disney flicks and bedtime stories."

"So you think the murders are uh, what? A re-enactment? That's a little crazy." You said.

"Crazy as what? Every day of our lives?" Sam looked at you.

"Touché." You sighed.

"How's the creepy ghost girl involved?" Dean asked.

"Uhm... Well, she must've been here for a reason. I'm willing to bet you top dollar she was at the construction site too." His brother answered him.

"We gotta do research now, don't we?" Dean groaned.

"I'm afraid so." You sighed.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

You had lost track of how much time you and Dean had spent inside the town's public library. He was sitting across from you, looking through the computer as you went through the police reports filed the last few years.

Exhaustion was beginning to get the best of you, but still you did your best to stay awake. Dean's hand touching yours was what snapped you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. Your eyes quickly met his. His green gaze watching you with a gleam of concern and fondness.

"Did you find anything?" He asked.

"What do you think?" You sighed, straightening up in your seat.

"Yeah, I thought so." He sighed, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "Come on, let's go. We'll go get some coffee and meet up with Sammy."

"Yeah. I do need a coffee." You admitted, picking up the files.

"I know you do." Dean softly smiled at you.

You didn't seem to notice how his eyes followed you as you put the files back in place.

"You think it's weird that I've never read any of those fairy tale books?" You asked as you grabbed your jacket before both of you headed for the library exit.

"Why would you think that?" Dean frowned.

"I don't know. Kids are cruel sometimes, you know, and I never really fit in at school. I didn't have the same interests as the rest. Princesses weren't my thing, but neither was playing sports. I used to spend recess reading ghost stories, obsessing about monsters and unsolved crimes. My teachers thought I was crazy, that one day I'd snap and commit some crime or something." You explained.

"Is that why you started acting like other girls?"

"I guess." You shrugged. "No one besides Peter seemed to understand me. Until I met you." Your eyes looked up at him, finding he was already looking at you. Silence settled between you two, but it wasn't an uncomfortable or awkward silence. It was a pleasant one, familiar even.

"Listen..."

"Hey, guys. Find anything?" Sam interrupted as he approached you.

Dean sighed and he shook his head as he looked at him.

"We checked every record they had. Found the usual amount of violent childhood deaths for a town this size." He answered as the three of you started to walk across the road toward a park.

"Okay."

"Wanna know how many were little girls with black hair and pale skin?" You asked.

Sam narrowed his eyes, resting his gaze on you.

"Zero."

"Zero! You wanna know how many little girls with black hair and pale skin that have gone missing? Right again. Zip. zilch, nada." You answered with frustration. "Tell me you've got something good 'cause we've totally wasted the last six hours."

Sam sighed.

"Well, you ever hear of Lillian Bailey?" He asked. Dean and you shook your heads in response. "She was a British medium from the 1930s."

"She got a thing for fairy tales?" Dean asked, confused.

"Nah, trances. See she'd go into these unconscious states where, uhm, get this, her thoughts and actions were completely controlled by spirits."

"A ghost puppet master."

"Yeah."

"Think that's what this kid is doing? Sending wolfboy and grandma into trances, making them go kill-crazy?" You questioned.

"Could be." Sam shrugged. "You know, kinda like uh, uh, spirit hypnosis or somethin'."

"Trances I get, but fairy tale trances? That's bizarre even for us." Dean commented as you continued walking through the park. But when your eyes met a frog on the ground in front of you, you stopped in your steps, causing them to imitate you.

"Yeah, you're right. That's completely normal."

"All right, maybe it is fairy tales." Dean admitted. "Totally messed-up fairy tales. I tell you one thing, there's no way I'm kissing a damn frog."

"Me neither." You mumbled.

"Hey. Check that out." Sam caught your attention, pointing to a house across the street. Pumpkins on each side of the porch, decorating it.

"Yeah? It's close to Halloween." Dean pointed out.

Sam shook his head.

"You remember Cinderella?" He asked. "With the pumpkin that turns into a coach, and the mice that become horses?"

"Wow. You do know a lot about fairytales, don't you, Sammy?" You looked at him with amusement, causing him to roll his eyes. "At least I do know that one. Come on." You said, walking toward the house.

Without missing a beat, Sam and Dean followed close behind, letting you lead the way. Arriving at the door, you didn't hesitate to ring the bell, hoping someone would open it. But seeing that no one did, you grabbed the handle, finding that it was already open. After sharing a look with the two brothers, the three of you walked into the house.

"Well who knows, maybe you'll find your fairy godmother?" Dean looked at his brother in amusement, causing you to chuckle. Sam on the other hand gave him an annoyed look.

As you began to spread out through the house, a noise caused you to draw your guns. Sharing a glance between with them, you signaled them to head silently to the source of the sound.

"Help. I'm in here!" A female voice called out from the kitchen.

Sam was the first to reach her, finding her handcuffed to the oven.

"Hey! Hey. It's okay. We're here, we're here. We got you." He said as he opened his lock pick kit.

"You have to help me. She's a lunatic." The young woman spoke in an alarmed voice

"What happened?" Dean looked at her in confusion.

"My step mom, she just freaked out, screamed at me, beat me. Chained me up."

"Where is she now?" You asked, looking around the house with her gun still in your hands.

"I don't know." She sobbed, relieved to be released from those chains.

Peering through both kitchen doors, you spotted a dark-haired girl on the other side of the hallway. She was just as Julie had described her.

"Guys."

Looking in the same direction, the Winchester brothers spotted her as well. But as their eyes found her, the girl turned around, walking away. You rushed in her direction, past the entryway and into the living room. But the girl had already disappeared. After looking around for a few seconds, you turned around to go back to the kitchen seeing then how the girl reappeared in front of you.

"Who are you?" You asked her.

The girl remained silent, flickering several times like spirits do before disappearing. Your eyes then travel to the rug, where you found a red apple. Dean reached your side once you took it in your hands, looking at it in frustration.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Leaning on the hood of the Impala, you reviewed one of your diaries while fiddling with the red apple in your other hand. Sam and Dean talked to the paramedics that had helped the teenage girl before meeting with you.

"So... Little girl, shiny red apple. I'm guessing that means something to you, fairy tale boy?" You asked, tossing the apple to Sam.

"Yeah, actually. I think it's Snow White." He answered, looking down at the apple.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. My mother actually read that one to me as a child." You said, closing your diary.

"Snow White?" Dean frowned. "Ah I saw that movie. Or the porn version anyway, 'cause there was this wicked Stepmother? Woo, she was wicked." He said with a grin, causing you to roll your eyes.

"There is a wicked Stepmother. And she tries to kill Snow White with a poison apple." You said, catching the apple when Sam threw it back to you.

"But the apple doesn't actually kill the girl, right?" Dean asked, looking at you.

"No. It puts her into a deep sleep, so deep it's almost like she's dead." Sam answered.

"Almost." You repeated thoughtfully. "So maybe this girl isn't actually dead and that's why there are any records. Maybe she's... I don't know, in a coma?"

"That would make sense."

"So back to the hospital, right?" Dean sighed.

"Looks like it." You nodded, getting inside the car.

Just like that, for the third time that day Sam, Dean and you were at the town hospital, asking a nurse about your latest lead in the case.

"No, sorry. We don't have any comatose little girls." She answered.

"You sure?" Sam frowned.

"Totally." She nodded as she put some papers in a file cabinet. "It's mostly old guys. And, well... Callie. She's been around since before I started here."

"Callie?"

"Yeah, it's so sad. And poor Dr. Garrison, he just... won't give up on her."

"Is Callie one of his patients?" You asked.

"No. His daughter." She explained.

"Do you know Callie's room number?"

"Of course." She nodded, before pointing. "It's the second door to the left, down that hall."

"Thanks." You smiled slightly toward the kind nurse before following the brothers to the room.

Leaning against the doorway you and both Winchester could see how Dr. Garrison was sitting in a chair reading stories to an unconscious young girl. She was a few years older than the ghost girl they had seen, but her hair was just as dark and her skin just as pale .

"The Huntsman stepped inside, and in the bed lay the Wolf. So the Huntsman took a pair of scissors and cut open the Wolf's belly."

As the three of you shared a glance Dr. Garrison couldn't help but notice your presence. Closing the book in his hands to approached you.

"Detectives." He cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

"We just... heard that Callie is your daughter." Dean answered.

"And we wanted to say how very sorry we are." Sam added.

Looking down for a few moments, Dr. Garrison nodded before answering.

"Well, uh. Thank you. If you'll excuse me." He said walking past you to leave the room.

"Oh, heading this way? We'll walk with you." Dean said following his steps. "How long's Callie been like that?"

"We don't mean to intrude." You were quick to speak up, annoyed by Dean's lack of tact. "We can't possibly understand how hard it must be for you seeing her like this."

"It's not easy." He admitted, looking back at you. "She's, uh, been here since she was eight years old."

"That's when she was poisoned?" Sam asked as you continued walking down the hallway.

"Yes, swallowed bleach. Never figured out how she got her hands on the bottle. My wife found her, brought her to the ER. Here, and I was on call."

"You're wife was uh—? Was that Callie's stepmother?" Dean asked.

His question causes the doctor to stop walking, his eyes locked on Dean with confusion.

"Actually, yes. How'd you know that?" He frowned.

"Lucky guess." Dean shrugged.

"Well, Julie was the only mother that, uh, Callie ever knew. My wife passed away last year and, uh... it's just my daughter and me now." Dr. Garrison explained. "She's all I've got left." Sensing how his emotions were getting the best of him, the doctor turned his gaze away. "Uhm, excuse me. I've gotta get back to work."

"Yeah. Right."

"Well you're right. It's Snow White in spades." You commented as you three started walking towards the exit.

"Yep. Step-mom poisons the girl, puts her into a deep sleep." Sam nodded. "What's the motive, you think?"

"Could be like Mischa Barton." Dean answered, gaining a confuse look from both of you. "Sixth Sense, not The O.C."

"What?" Sam frowned.

"Hey, you know fairy tales, I know movies."

"Oh, wait. Yeah, I remember now. She played the pasty ghost." You commented.

"Yeah. You know the, uh, remember the mom had that thing, you know, where you keep the kid sick so you get all the attention?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Munchausen Syndrome by proxy." Sam pointed out. "Huh, could be."

"So say all these years, Callie's been suffering silently because nobody knows the truth about what mommy dearest did." Dean said as you walked into the reception area of the hospital.

"And after all this time, her spirit just gets angrier and angrier, until it finally just starts lashing out." You added.

"Right." He nodded, looking back at you. "Meanwhile, she has to listen to Dad tell her these deranged stories about a rabid wolf or a cannibalistic old lady. It's enough to drive anybody nuts."

"Okay, but how are we gonna stop her?" Sam asked. "I mean Callie's stuck here. Her father's keeping her body alive."

"It does make it a bit hard to burn the bones."

"You think?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

Before you could say anything, the ER door opened, welcoming paramedics dragging a stretcher.

"Coming in!"

Stepping back to make room for them, Sam, Dean and you looked at the patient on the stretcher, an elderly woman with scars all over her body and face.

"What's her status?" A doctor approached the paramedics, ready to treat the patient.

"Seventy-two year old female. Sustained multiple lacerations and puncture wounds. BP is 80/40 and falling. Sinus tachycardia."

"Is that a bite?" He asked, looking at the woman as they enter the ER room.

"Looks like she was mauled by a mad dog or maybe a wolf?"

The Winchester brothers and you listen to them from the reception.

"What was the last story Dr. Garrison was reading Callie?" Dean asked his brother in a hushed whisper.

"Little Red Riding Hood."

"Yes, that will do it." You sighed. "I'll go talk to the paramedics."

"I'll go with you." Dean said as he followed your steps to the reception desk, where the paramedicts had headed after leaving the victim with the doctors.

"Excuse me." You were the first to speak, showing your badge to the EMT. "Was she the only victim?"

"She was found by the side of the road, barely alive. Alone." The man answered.

"We need to find her next of kin." Dean explained then.

Letting out a sigh the EMT looked down at the paperwork on his hands.

"She has a granddaughter." He informed.

"Do you have an address?"

He nodded, handing a sheet of paper to you.

"Thank you." You said, walking away from him to reunite with Sam.

"The woman is dead." The young Winchester informed as you aproached him.

"Okay. You go find a way to stop Callie, all right?" Dean stated, looking at you.

"Wait, What? What about you guys?" You looked at him in confusion.

"We're gonna go stop the Big Bad Wolf." Dean answered, taking the sheet of paper of your hands. "Which is the weirdest thing I've ever said."

Sam let out a sigh, sharing one last look with you before following his brother.

Not quite sure where to start looking for Dr. Garrison, you began to feel the nerves invade your body. You had done many hunts on your own before this one, but now Sam and Dean's lives depended on you managing to stop Callie.

You knew what the girl had been trying to do all this time by recreating the stories her father read to her. She wanted to get his attention, to make him listen to her. Children were like that, you were very good at understanding them thanks to the fact that you had practically raised your little brother.

Going back over your steps, you searched for the doctor. Minutes had passed and you still couldn't find him. Your nerves were growing on you at the thought of Dean and Sam being in danger.

"Dr. Garrison! I need to speak with you." You exclaimed when you found him in one of the hallways.

"Detective. What can I do for you?" He asked when you came in front of him.

"Well, uhm... it's about Callie." You said, trying to catch your breath and remain calm.

"My daughter? What about her?" He asked with confusion written all over his face.

"You know maybe, maybe could we sit down for a minute?"

"No. What about her?" He insisted, annoyed.

"Okay, well, this isn't gonna be easy. What happened to Callie was not an accident."

"Excuse me?" Dr. Garrison scoffed.

"I'm sorry, but it's true."

"You have no idea what happened to my daughter." He declared, turning angrily to walk away from you, but you quickly followed him.

"There are things you don't know, Doctor, about your wife."

"My wife?" He frowned, looking back at you for a quick second.

"Doctor, your wife poisoned Callie." You finally said.

Stopping his steps, the doctor turned back to you, clearly upset.

"Why would you say something so horrible to me?" He looked at you with pain in his eyes.

"Because I need your help."

"You stay away from me and from my daughter, you understand?" He declared, walking into his daughter's room and closing the door in your face. Rolling your eyes at that you grabbed the handle and opened the door, walking into the room after him. "I'm calling Security." He threatened you, reaching for the internal phone on the wall. But you moved swiftly, closing the door behind you, and placing your hand over his.

"No, listen. I don't have time to do this gently. If you don't listen to me more, people are going to get hurt. Because Callie is going to hurt them." You tried to make him understand.

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"You're gonna think I'm crazy, but just understand me. Your daughter, Callie, is still here. She's a spirit."

Dr. Garrison's response to your words was not what your expected. His eyes travelled to his daughter lying in the hospital bed, his gaze becoming sadder before he asked. "So you've seen her too?" You opened your mouth to respond, but you were so surprised that no sound came out of it. "I sensed her... Callie. Her presence, her scent. I even saw her standing at the foot of my bed but I never... believed it, I thought I was dreaming, I..."

"It wasn't a dream." You assured him. "She looks like she did when she was eight. White dress. Red ribbon in her hair. She's been trying to talk to you."

"You're not a cop are you?" Dr. Garrison asked with a sigh.

"No, I'm not."

"Then who are you?"

"That's a very long story. But all you need to know is that I'm someone who knows a little bit about this kind of thing."

"But what you said about my wife poisoning Callie, that's..."

"Callie told us." You explained.

"What?!"

"Not with many words, but in her own way. She told us."

"My wife loved Callie." He said, shaking his head in disbelief. "So how is – how is that possible?"

"I don't know. But it is."

"No. No I – I don't believe you."

"I don't care if you don't believe me, you need to." You said, shifting with desperation. "Look, Callie is killing people. She's angry. She's desperate, because nobody will listen to her. So you have to listen to her. Please, listen to your daughter."

It was the look in your eyes what made Dr. Garrison to finally believe you. The tone of your voice sounded as if you were asking to be heard. His heart ached at the thought of his daughter possibly feeling so helpless for him to listen.

"Callie? Callie, it's Daddy." He said, looking back at Callie. Suddenly, her spirit appeared in the room, standing behind her father. "It's me, Daddy. Is it true? Mommy did that to you? I–I know I wasn't listening before, but I'm listening now. Daddy's here. Please honey, is–is there anyway that you can tell me?"

"Doctor..." You called him, gaining his attention and pointing behind him. Just like that, he turned around, his eyes finally meeting his daughter.

"Is it true?" He asked and she nodded in silence. "Oh, I'm so sorry, baby. But listen to me. You gotta stop what you're doing, okay? You're hurting people. I know everything now. I know the truth. It's time for you to let go. It's time for me to let you go."

Turning to look at his daughter's body, Dr. Garrison placed a kiss on her forehead. The machines monitoring her vitals began to beep, a straight line appearing on them and announcing her death. Your eyes filled with tears, but your heart felt at peace knowing that Callie could now rest.

You stayed with him while Dean and Sam returned to the hospital after confirming by message that everything was over.

"And the girl's okay?" Dr. Garrison asked after hearing Dean and Sam's explanation of the recent events. Dean nodded. "So. It's really over?"

"Yeah. All thanks to you." You said, giving him a small smile.

"Callie was the most important thing in my life. But I should've let her go a long time ago." He admitted with a sigh. "Thank you." He looked at you with fondness and then patted Sam and Dean on the shoulder before walking away.

"You know what he said? Some good advice." Dean commented as the three of you were left alone.

"Is that what you want me to do Dean? Just let you go?" Sam looked at him angrily. But when he didn't get a response from his older brother, he simply walked away.

"I don't know if you really thought I wouldn't do anything to help you when I promised you so you would let me tag along. But, Dean, I've lost too many important people in my life. I lost you once. I won't let it happen again." You stated before following Sam's steps.

Dean followed you with his eyes, surprised and frustrated by your stubbornness. If Sam was already difficult to convince to let him go, you would be a real pain in the ass. And as much as he knew you, Dean didn't know how far you were willing to go to save the people you loved and cared about.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

While Dean and Sam slept in their respective beds in the motel room they had booked, you were sitting on the edge of yours. In your hands the gift your father had left in the backpack Peter had gave you, a cross necklace that had previously belonged to your mother. Tears welled in your eyes at the memory of the night Laurel Holloway had lost her life and you had found her dead body, surrounded by a pool of blood in the kitchen of their family house. The necklace still around her neck, reflecting the moonlight coming through the window.

The memory of your mother's death was enough to wake your anger once again. A demon had taken her away from you and now they wanted to take Dean too. But you couldn't let it happen. You couldn't let Sam lose his older brother the same way you had lost yours all those years ago.

So, grabbing the Colt and car keys from Dean's bag, you left the motel room making as little noise as you possibly could and headed toward a crossroads.

You were well aware of the ritual necessary to make a crossroads demon appear. You had grabbed a prepared box from inside your closet before starting your trip with the Winchester brothers. At first you didn't think you would need it al all, but now you were glad you had it with you. You just needed to put your ID in it and bury it in the center of the crossroads.

It wasn't long before a woman in a black dress and red eyes appeared by your side.

"Well. If it isn't the little Holloway girl. I'm touched. I mean... I've met your parents and older brother before, but you? I never had the pleasure." She said, looking you up and down.

You did your best not to look surprised at her words. But you were surprised. You never thought any of your relatives had ever tried to make a deal with a demon. Least of all your father, who was very insistent that you never do so. No matter what.

"What can I do for you?" The demon asked, taking you out of your thoughts.

Without a word, you extended your hand toward her, pointing the Colt at her.

"You can beg for your life." You then answered.

"We were having such a nice conversation. Then you had to go and ruin the mood." She said, without flinching. A smile still shining on her lips.

"If I were you, I'd drop the wisecracks and start acting scared."

"It's not my style." She replied, admiring the weapon in your hand. "That's not the original Colt. Where did you get that?" Before you could react to her question, the demon herself answered. "Ruby. Had to be. She is such a pain in my ass. She'll get what's coming to her... you can count on it."

You didn't know this Ruby, but it didn't matter in that moment either.

"That's enough. I came here to make you an offer." You finally said, gaining her full attention.

"You're gonna make me an offer?" She questioned in disbelief. "That's adorable."

"You can let Dean out of his deal right now. He lives, Sam lives. You live. Everyone goes home happy. Or..." You cocked the Colt. "You stop breathing. Permanently."

"Oh." She laughed. "All this tough talk. I have to tell you, it's not very convincing. I mean, come on. Do you even want to break the deal?"

"What do you think?" You frowned.

"I don't know. I mean he left you." The demon said. "This is your perfect opportunity. Take his beloved car and the Colt, and go after the demon that killed your mother. Dean will go to hell in a few months, you'll just have to deal with Sam. And, come on, we both know you're a better hunter than him."

You clenched your fists and jaw in frustration. You knew the demon was right. This was your perfect opportunity to carry out your revenge and in turn repay Dean for the pain he'd put you through years before. But you weren't like that. Loyalty was one of your greatest qualities.

"You know, I've had enough of your crap. You let Dean out of his deal right now." You commanded.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but your boyfriend's an adult. He made that deal of his own free will, fair and square. It's iron clad."

"Every deal can be broken."

"Not this one."

"Fine." You accepted. "Then I'll kill you. If you're gone, so's the deal."

"Guess again." The demon laughed.

"What?" You frowned.

"I'm just a saleswoman. I got a boss like everybody. He holds the contract, not me. He wants Dean's soul, bad. And believe me. He's not going to let it go."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I? Shoot me, if it'll get you off. But the deal still holds, and when Dean's time is up, he's getting dragged into the pit." She assured.

"Then who's your boss? Who holds the contract?"

"He's not as cuddly as me, I can tell you that."

"Who is it?" You insisted, tired of the lack of an answer to your question.

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry. But there's no way outta this one. Not this time." She stated. "Unless, of course..."

"Unless, what?" A glimmer of hope flashed in your eyes.

"Unless you give him your brother."

"I'm not gonna give you Peter." You scoffed.

"I'm not talking about Peter."

"You want Carter? Don't you think you've done enough to him already?"

"Why do you care so much? He killed your mother."

"No. He was possessed. A demon killed my mother." You stated. "Besides, I don't even know where Carter is."

"That's a shame." The demon said with a sigh. "You should really talk to your father, sweetie. I'm sure he knows exactly where he is."

You were getting tired of the sound of her voice. And knowing that now the conversation and your plan were going nowhere, you finally pulled the trigger. A bullet slipped between the demon's eyes, killing her in an instant.

Keep Reading: Chapter 4

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @lmhf1 @mochminnie @helo1281917 @barnes70stark @slyregg

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[those70scomics]

Fictober Day 9: "don't listen to me, listen to them"

That '70s Show Fanfiction

Hyde paced W.B.'s office at Grooves's headquarters. Angie was present, as was Jackie. She'd taken time off from her busy-as-hell schedule for this meeting.

"It's a dumb idea," he said. "I shouldn't have even brought it up."

"It's not dumb, and I'm happy that you told us about it." W.B. grasped Hyde's arm, stopping him near W.B.'s desk. "You're turning twenty-nine in less than two months. You're engaged. You should want more."

Angie's facial expression showed that she'd been waiting for this day. "I dreamt of running a record store since I was a kid. Then of running all of Grooves someday, and now I'm the company's senior VP of operations. You're allowed to pursue your dreams, too."

"I've already got more than I ever freakin' dreamed." Hyde glanced back at Jackie, who'd remained silent so far. "It ain't fair to to risk it all."

"You don't think creating Grooves was a risk?" W.B. said. I was married to Angie's mother, who was pregnant with Angie. We needed the security of a regular paycheck, but her mom wanted me to be happy. And my risk eventually paid off more than anybody could've imagined."

Hyde gestured in defeat. "I can't imagine this workin'."

Jackie stepped toward him and touched his hand. "Neither can I."

"Exactly."

"But don't listen to me. Listen to them."

Hyde stared at her. "Who the hell are you, and what've you done with my chick."

"Steven." She jostled his hand. "I'm redesigning my whole spring collection. I can't imagine that working either, but I'm doing it anyway. This time next year on October ninth, 1990, you'll have put out your first record on your own label."

"A sub label of Grooves Records, of course," Angie said with a smirk.

Hyde bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. "That's nepotism."

"That's expanding the family business." W.B. patted Hyde's back. "I'm not taking an opportunity away from anyone else. You've earned this. The demos you've played me, you have the ear, son."

Hyde sat in the closest chair. His legs were shaking from what was being said, being offered.

"You've been apprenticing under Frankie Branch to learn audio engineering, music production, for how long?" W.B. continued. "Picked up the guitar expertly in three years of lessons and learned as much by listening to songs. Taught yourself bass guitar. Became Cam's favorite drum student, and that's saying a lot."

Angie gazed at the high ceiling and shook her head. "Edna and Bud gave you no chance to realize you have perfect pitch. You didn't understand what you were capable of. You've had to play catch-up in your mid-twenties."

Jackie stood in front of Hyde and rubbed his arms over his long sleeves. "Your childhood was stolen from you. You once told me all the doors were locked for you but one. Your family, your true family, has unlocked so many. You've walked through a lot. Don't shut this door and walk away."

Hyde covered his face in his hands. His emotions were getting to him, breaking through his defenses. As a kid, Formans' folks signed Forman up for jazz guitar lessons, which he abandoned. Only the acoustic guitar remained, and Hyde played that thing every second he could at the Formans' house.

He used Forman's beginners' workbook to learn tabs that were printed alongside sheet music. Hyde couldn't read music for shit, but tabs he got. Songs on the radio, on records, stuck in his skull like recordings. He figured out how to play the guitar parts himself and, back then, had no clue why could do that.

He understood now.

"Son, are you all right?" W.B. said.

Hyde raised his head and wiped his eyes. "Yeah. Just ... when ya don't believe something's possible for you for so damn long -- and then it happens? Kind of a mind fuck."

"So you'll start your label?" Jackie smiled at him with such hope, such support, he would've fallen in love with her if he hadn't already fallen twelve years ago.

"Yup."

Jackie cheered, and W.B. congratulated him in a proud, fatherly way Hyde was still growing used to.

"What are you going to call it?" Angie said.

Hyde grinned. "Burn-Out Records."