#black sheep just like his uncle/godfather was
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Hadrian/Orion (I just can't let go of them, I love them so much) with an added Soulmate AU to everything else, please ?
Lmao Hadrian/Orion, what a surprise~ Let’s go with a classic ‘the one where you have your soulmate’s name written on your body’ AU.
1. In all 22 years of his first life, Hadrian never finds his soulmate. Plenty of people try of course (tattoos are a thing even in the magical world and people can be seriously weird), and even more of them want, to be the Boy-Who-Lived’s destined soulmate, but none of them were born with Hadrian’s name on their wrist, and Hadrian promised himself a long time ago when he was still a little boy in a cupboard under the stairs with no family and no real home, when he’d seen the name appear at seven years old and then learned that the person whose name was on his wrist belonged to him and no one else, he’d sworn he would never love another, not the way one should love a soulmate. It didn’t matter when Aunt Petunia muttered about freakish names, didn’t matter when Uncle Vernon told him his soulmate would be better off without him - Orion Black was Hadrian’s soulmate, and nobody in the world could ever take this one thing away from him.
It’s considered even worse manners to ask to see someone’s soulmate than it is to ask to see Hadrian’s scar, so nobody asks, not even Ron. There are shops that sell wristbands in all colours and designs, and in the magical world, those designs even move. Hadrian gets a solid black band with the constellation Orion stitched into it, and for years and years to come, when he was scared or hurt or alone, even just seeing the tiny silver stars winking back at him in the dark of night would make him feel safer.
The first time he shows someone the name on his wrist is… well, he doesn’t actually show anyone. But Sirius hugs him, tight and fierce, at the top of a Hogwarts tower after he and Hermione rescue him from Dementors, and when he pulls back, for a moment, his gaze catches on the band around Hadrian’s wrist. His face goes a little funny, recognition coiled with bafflement, but there’s no time for anything else, and sooner rather than later, Sirius is gone with Buckbeak.
(Sirius lives another two years before he dies. Hadrian is fifteen and angry at a world that would rather be led like sheep to a slaughter than face their fears, and his godfather pulls him aside and shows him the Black family tapestry and the only Orion Black on it.
“I recognized the constellation so I thought I’d check, just in case,” Sirius explains, and in this first life, he is the first and only person Hadrian bares his wrist to. The script is still there, solid blue and visible, so they’re definitely still alive, but there are no other Orions on the tapestry aside from Sirius’ dad. Sirius grins anyway, optimistic and encouraging in a way that momentarily wipes Azkaban from his face. “Who knows, maybe there’s a bastard out there who escaped my family’s attention. Or maybe it’s a muggleborn. I hear Black isn’t that uncommon a name in the muggle world.”)
The war begins again when Hadrian is fourteen. It ends when he’s twenty-one. The name on his wrist never fades, and he spends every day hoping his soulmate lives, that they don’t attend Hogwarts, that they’re not even on the Merlin-damned continent.
And then Fate comes calling, and Hadrian thinks maybe his soulmate had been much farther away from him than even he ever guessed.
2. Orion is born with Harry Potter on his wrist. He’d been dumped at a muggle orphanage shortly after his birth, and then that orphanage had been ravaged by a werewolf pack when he was two. Maybe that’s why nobody ever wondered exactly when his name came in. Nobody who might’ve known stuck around long enough to tell the orphanage, and with green script the colour of Harry’s eyes, everyone just made the most logical assumption after Sirius and Remus adopted him. But the truth of it is this - he was born five months earlier than Harry, with a name already etched into his wrist. Harry Potter - this Harry Potter - could not possibly be his soulmate.
But nobody knows that. Instead, their families see the name on Orion’s wrist, and then they see a completely different name on Harry’s wrist, and Orion becomes one of the very few destined for an incomplete soul. It’s just a figure of speech of course, his soul is as whole as anybody’s, but it sets him apart from the very beginning, garners pity as much as being a werewolf garners contempt, and his only saving grace is the fact that not even Harry would stoop to blabbing about Orion’s soul-name in public, even if it does make for very easy ammunition against him. Besides, it’s easy enough to sneer “no one will ever want to be your soulmate” and pretend it’s only because Orion is a werewolf.
So Orion spends the next ten years and change following Harry around like a dog begging for any small scrap of affection. It had been fine at first, for a few years, before Harry found out about the werewolf secret and changed. Even though he didn’t have Orion’s name, Harry had told him it was fine, they were still family no matter what. It was fine, until it wasn’t, and by the age of fourteen, Orion had almost convinced himself that he didn’t care. Didn’t care that his soulmate hated him. Didn’t care that Harry had turned most of their school against him. Didn’t care that most of the world would rather his kind didn’t exist.
But then Hadrian Evans had swept into his life like a natural disaster, changing everything he touched without even trying, pulling everyone into his orbit whether they liked it or not, and refusing to live in a world where Orion was treated as lesser, so he demanded the world change for Orion instead.
And for the first time in his life, Orion looks at his own wrist and wishes it was someone else’s name, because however much Harry had hurt him, broken him, left him feeling something very close to hatred, he’d never quite managed to stop wanting Harry to accept him, to like him, to finally see Orion’s loyalty and bring him back into the fold, not until he’d met Hadrian and realized that yes, he did deserve better.
3. The first time Hadrian lays eyes on Orion and Neville tells him his name, he knows, absolutely knows, straight down to his bones - yes, this is the one, this is my soulmate, this person was who I was waiting for.
He doesn’t march right up and reveal all, obviously. For one, it takes weeks to get past Orion’s icy exterior, with good reason. For another, the whole dimension travel thing is hardly something Hadrian can just go around telling people about. And for a third… well. Orion has given no indication that Hadrian Evans is what’s written on his wrist. He could be hiding it, like Hadrian, but Hadrian likes to think he would’ve noticed. Orion’s not actually that hard to read once you get past his walls. On the other hand, if he has Harry Potter written on his wrist, that’s a bit of a problem too. Which Harry Potter does it mean? Is that why Orion was so loyal to Harry even though the other boy had done nothing to deserve it?
But Fate gave Hadrian Orion Black, printed out in vivid blue the colour of Orion’s eyes, and surely Hadrian wouldn’t have been plucked out of his own world and dropped into this specific universe if the only Orion he’s ever met isn’t his soulmate.
Fate of course is no help at all.
In the end, he decides it doesn’t matter. Orion is fourteen - Hadrian isn’t putting a finger on him until he’s legal, and even then, it has to be Orion’s choice. Just because the universe has matched two people together doesn’t mean it always works out, and Hadrian isn’t going to be one of those arseholes who tries to force their soulmate into a relationship just because of what’s written on their skin. And soulbonds aren’t always romantic. There are plenty of platonic ones in the world as well.
Besides, he knows Orion feels a measure of gratitude to him for befriending him in the first place, which is just wrong, but the point is, Hadrian doesn’t want him latching onto the soulbond out of any kind of obligation. He wants Orion to like him - and possibly even fall in love with him one day - for him. Just because it’s him.
(Just Harry. A sham of a childhood, too much blood on his hands, and a whole war down the road, and in the end, just Harry is still all he can really be.)
As for Hadrian himself, it’s not as if it’s hard to like Orion. He’s standoffish and cold to those who’ve bullied him in the past or those he’s wary of because he doesn’t know them, and that’s his right, borne from years of bearing the weight of Harry’s verbal abuse. But he’s also overwhelmingly, heartbreakingly devoted to Hadrian once Hadrian proves that his kindness is genuine, and isn’t that sad? A little bit of kindness - eating meals together, studying together, decent manners and a smile - and that was all it took because underneath the frigid exterior, there was just a boy desperate for somewhere to belong.
So Hadrian is fine with simply befriending him. Even if Orion never figures out they’re soulmates, even if they aren’t soulmates, Hadrian can be content with what he already has. It’s not like he’s in love with Orion at this point anyway, he’s never been in love with anyone so maybe theirs will be a platonic bond in the end. Orion deserves the world, and that may or may not include Hadrian in the long run, but in the meantime, Hadrian will be damned if he lets anyone continue treating Orion with one iota less of the respect he deserves.
4. Of course, life rarely works out the way anyone plans it, and Hadrian has always, always been Fate’s bitch. In the end, it’s his wristband that gives him away, which Hadrian should’ve predicted, because Orion is Sirius’ son, and just like Hadrian’s Sirius, he recognizes his namesake instantly the moment he spots it one day, when the two of them and the rest of their friends are out by the Lake, enjoying a summer afternoon after their last exams of the year. Even Hermione probably can’t identify constellations at a glance the way the Black house can.
Orion goes preternaturally still, half bent over to spread a towel on the grass. Hadrian is sprawled out on a towel of his own, bisected by the shade of some nearby trees, and he’s down to shorts and a shirt, for once foregoing his robes. The wristband stands out starkly, and nobody else is around, all of them splashing around in the water instead. Orion had just come back up for a break, and it takes even Hadrian - relaxed as he is - a few seconds to realize the air has grown tense around them.
“Orion, what-” He half sits up, ready to hex someone into oblivion, and then he follows Orion’s line of sight, only to freeze as well when he sees his own wristband.
A strained minute of silence follows, like a breath caught and held, waiting for the drop.
Orion is in his sixth year, seventeen already as of February. It’s not like he hasn’t already realized - probably as far back as fourth year if he’s honest - that there’s something really off about Hadrian. Prodigy he might be, but there are some things you can’t learn just by being smart or good with magic. Hadrian duels like he was born for war, as terrible as that sounds, but he’s been tutoring them in Defense for almost two years now, and he has the reflexes and muscle memory of a veteran Auror. Orion would know - he’s seen his dad and Uncle James duel before. And the things he knows - he can brew everything from Anti-Paralysis Potions to Blood-Replenishing Potions to Veritaserum and make it look easy, but he doesn’t know even the most basic of household charms that a magical child would’ve grown up around, had to be assured that faerie lights at Yule didn’t actually hurt the faeries, and just last year when he’d moved into Orion’s house for the summer, he’d spent whole afternoons sitting in the children’s section of their library, looking at Orion’s old picture books - with miniature characters that reenacted the story live like a play when you opened the book - like he’d never seen anything more amazing.
(Remus had just looked sad when Orion had quietly mentioned it out of Hadrian’s earshot. Sirius had disappeared into the duelling chamber and blown things up for a few hours.)
Of course, those were things Orion had observed over time, the details you only knew if you were Hadrian’s friend and took the time to get to know him. But even a stranger on the street could probably tell you something was up if they saw Hadrian and Harry standing side by side and you told them they weren’t related.
Black hair, green eyes, the same nose and jaw and knobbly knees. The only difference between them, physically speaking, were superficial - Harry was a little taller, Hadrian didn’t wear glasses, Harry had messier hair, Hadrian had scars that Orion hadn’t quite plucked up the courage yet to ask about.
Even Hadrian’s surname was suspicious. Evans? What are the odds that his family name would just so happen to be Aunt Lily’s maiden name?
But it was such a far-fetched idea, that they could be related at all, when - personality-wise - they were so wildly different. They were even the same age, so unless the Potters had secretly given away Harry’s twin at birth, there was just no way.
And yet.
Orion slowly sinks to the ground. He drags his eyes away from the wristband to check Hadrian’s expression, only to be met with guarded stone features and eerie Avada Kedavra eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just watches Orion in return, but saying nothing is an answer in itself, isn’t it?
Orion releases a long, careful breath, feeling like a single wrong word now might actually get him obliviated. He knows Hadrian has it in him, has a lot worse than a memory charm in him, but Orion has never worried that it might turn on him one day. That he thinks it now, that he can look at Hadrian and see the warrior staring back - it just means this is important, and Orion cannot mess this up.
It’s not like he’s never thought it before. Common sense and logic usually buried the clues and dismissed his what-ifs, but when he’s alone and awake at night and can’t sleep, and there’s really nothing better to do than think of Hadrian, sometimes, he does wonder.
And it’s starting to look a lot like he might’ve actually been right.
He inhales and exhales again, looks once more at the wristband - silver stars on a black night sky, for Merlin’s sake, it might as well be his name wrapped around Hadrian’s wrist - and then he meets Hadrian’s eyes again without flinching. “I’ve wanted you to be my soulmate since before fourth-year Yule, when we both said we’d go the Ball without a date, so it pretty much felt like we were going together.”
His ears burn red, but he keeps his chin up and his gaze steady, and he gets the pleasure of watching some of the ice recede from Hadrian’s face as his eyes go wide and his lips part with genuine surprise.
And then he blushes, and Orion stares, brain stalling, and all he can think is, oh, he’s pretty, which Sirius must never know.
“Bloody hell-” Hadrian mutters, slapping a hand to his forehead, and then a twitch of his fingers and a mumbled Muffliato fizzles up around them to give them some privacy. And then he drops his hand, looks around, and promptly rolls his eyes before dismissing it again with another wave.
“Come on,” Hadrian says as he rises to his feet, looking simultaneously fatalistically grim and recklessly determined. “I’m not talking about this here. We’re going to the Room of Requirement.”
He pauses though, teetering from the balls of his feet to his heels and back. And then he sticks out a hand towards Orion, and Orion feels almost clumsy as he lurches forward to take it, letting Hadrian haul him to his feet, easy as anything.
“Wait, are you really-” Orion stammers out, because holy fuck is he actually right, and he knows he shouldn’t talk about it here, and he sounds like some half-wit, but-
Hadrian heaves a sigh, and then he lifts their joined hands and uses his free one to peel back the wristband.
Orion stares. Orion Black, stamped out in the looping cursive of his handwriting, as blue as his eyes will ever be, stares boldly back at him.
“Come on,” Hadrian repeats, hiding the name - Orion’s name - away again and tugging at his hand. “I have some things to tell you, about- about who I am, and where I come from, and I’m not doing it here.”
Orion nods faintly, feeling dazed, but he follows when Hadrian moves, close enough to crowd him.
When Hadrian - Hadrian Evans, Harry Potter from another bloody universe - glances at him, as scared as Orion’s ever seen him, like this isn’t literally everything Orion has ever wished for, miraculously come true, and all Orion can do is press closer and clutch tighter at the hand in his.
He doesn’t know if he’ll ever let go.
5. It’s a while later before everyone knows. Literally everyone - there’s a dimension-traveller in their midst, blessed by Fate and Magic, and nobody wants to mess with that, although there has been more than a few letters from the Unspeakables since they found out.
But before everyone, their friends and families find out first. Harry looks like he’s swallowed a lemon, but at least he keeps his mouth shut, for the time being, and for weeks, James and Lily go around looking equal parts shocked and awed and a little like they’re not quite sure how to treat Hadrian anymore.
Sirius and Remus don’t give a damn beyond listening closely to everything Hadrian decides to tell them. Orion’s father looks achingly relieved every time he sees Orion and Hadrian together, and his dad beams ecstatically every time he spots them holding hands. Sirius isn’t quite petty enough to flaunt it in front of James, and not quite mean enough to say it in front of Harry, but in the privacy of their home, Sirius calls Hadrian “my godson” a lot, and every single time, Hadrian protests, but his face also scrunches up a bit like he wants to cry. He also melts and pretends he doesn’t whenever Sirius ruffles his hair or pulls him into a hug. That’s probably half the reason why Sirius keeps doing it.
On his part, Orion doesn’t care if only he and Hadrian knows or if the whole world knows. He has Hadrian’s name on his wrist, even if it’s not the name he uses now, the name he’s embraced along with the life he’s made for himself here, and Hadrian has his, jumping an entire universe to meet Orion, but more than that, so much more, Orion has Hadrian, and it wouldn’t have mattered even if their names hadn’t matched, he would’ve loved him regardless.
Because here and now, he has the way Hadrian looks at him in the morning when they wake up, soft and lazily content. He has the way Hadrian trusts him to have his back in battle, and the way Hadrian turns to him first, always, finding him in a crowd or asking for his opinion or just to know he’s there. He has the way Hadrian calms when Orion wraps him in his arms after waking from nightmares, and even when he can’t fall back asleep, he learns he can depend on Orion to stay up with him.
He has the sight of Hadrian wearing the Black family engagement ring, offered the morning after Orion turns eighteen, pressed firmly into Hadrian’s hands because Orion’s feelings won’t ever change no matter how many years Hadrian gives him to reconsider.
“What if you’re not ready though?” Hadrian half-pleas, because this is somehow still something he worries about, that he’s taking advantage, that Orion will want someone less broken, less sad, carrying less baggage.
“I am,” Orion says steadily, because he has never been more sure of anything. “I’m ready. But maybe you aren’t yet, and that’s okay. I’m just making my intentions clear. But however long you need, I can wait. I will wait. I promise.”
Hadrian looks at him after that like he can’t believe Orion is real, and Orion will treasure it forever.
Two years later, he has his own engagement ring on his finger, secretly crafted and given to him when Hadrian - clear-eyed and confident - proposes at their favourite diner in the magical district of Rome. Orion can’t stop grinning all night.
#headcanon meme: answered#hp series#c'est la vie#soulmates au#hadrian evans#orion black#hadrian/orion#headcanon
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For Love Nae Obligation Chapter 20 Lallybroch and a Surprise
She held tight to his hand as the wagon bumped along the rutted path that lead to Lallybroch. He winces with every jolt. His every grimace is echoed by her. “How much farther?” She calls up to Murtagh,
“A mile or so. How is he doing?”
“Better than riding but..”
“Aye. He will soon be stretched out on a bed.” He flicks the reigns and the horses move a bit faster.
The stone arch raises before them. Claire looks up at it in wonder, it and the small castle-like structure behind it. Jamie, laying flat, can’t see but the familiar sounds of the barking dogs and baa's from the sheep and goats, tell him where they are. “Home.” He whispers.
“Yes Jamie. We've made it to Lallybroch.” A relieved Claire says.
They ride under the arch and stop by the front door. Murtagh is just getting down when the wooden door opens. The tiny woman that exits has an air of no nonsense about her. Her dark hair up in a matronly bun, her blue eyes, so like Jamie’s, light up when they land on Murtagh.
“Murtagh! Ye are quite a surprise. Have ye brought my bráther then?”
“Aye, and his wife.” Claire pokes her head up from the back of the wagon and waves.
“A wife?”
“A long story. Jamie needs a bed. His leg be broken.” The no nonsense lass gets right to work. Calling out for Mrs. Crook and Mary, she soon has The Laird’s room arranged and extra hands to get Jamie laid out on it’s bed, all before Claire even had a chance to introduce herself.
“Be quite careful with his leg.” She instructs the men lifting him out.
“A Sassanach!” her startled sister-in-law exclaims, using the same tone Claire would use to say A Nazi. Not an auspicious start to their relationship.
“Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Fraser, your servant.” Claire curtsies low before her. The woman just stares before hurrying into the house before them. “Well that went well.” Murtagh makes a Scottish noise of either agreement or sarcasm. It is hard to tell the difference. They precedent to carry Jamie into the old house. They carry him upstairs and lay him out on the huge bed. They then bow low to her and slip out.
Murtagh stands by as she quickly climbs in the bed and does a quick exam. His pulse is up, caused by the pain, no doubt. No fever. She loosens the bounds on his leg and makes sure his pulses are still good. They are to her relief. He just needs rest and pain meds.
“How can I assist you?” Murtagh asks.
“Start a fire. Need to make him up some tea. Also need my bag.”
“That is already here. Jenny is quite efficient.” He nods to where it lays.
“Grand. She seems a tad displeased with Jamie and I”s marriage.”
He lays out the firewood before answering. “There was an incident with a certain English officer. She doesn’t trust the Sassanachs.”
Right, the child. She wonders if that rumor is true. A nod as she sees up the willow bark and whisky. “I will just have to prove I am trust worthy.”
“Aye.”
She is carefully having a very tired Jamie drink the tea, when Jenny comes in. At her side is a wee lad who favors Frank. Claire feels a tad faint at the sight.
“What are you giving him!” She demands, hands on her hips.
“Willow bark tea cut with whisky. It has to help with the pain.” Murtagh looks at the child and then away. Jamie rouses some at his sister’s voice.
“Dinna fash Jenny. Claire takes good care of me.”
“A Sassanach! For a bride!”
“I love her.” He sees the child and sees Black Jack. His face loses more color. “Christ Janet! It is true!”
“Jamie, Murtagh, meet Ian and I's son, Ian James Fraser Murray. Ian meet your Uncle Jamie and our Godfather Murtagh.”
“And your Auntie Claire.” He says through numb lips. “Ian’s child?” He meets his sister’s eyes.
“Ian, mo ghoal, go fetch your da. Tell him Uncle Jamie is awake.”
“Aye mam.” He hurries off. The room gets silent with his departure. Claire sits beside her husband and takes his ice cold hand. A few minutes later, a tall man with a wooden leg walks in.
“Jamie lad, you always could make an entrance. I am Ian Murray. Jenny’s husband.” He introduces himself to Claire.
“It is very nice to meet you.” She is relieved. At least someone here is nice to her.
“Ian, the lad?” Jamie asks.
“Is my son. As Hamish is Colum's.” Their eyes meet in perfect understanding.
“You are a good man Ian but I need to know.”
A deep sigh from Jenny. “I will tell you. But just once then we never speak of it again.” Jamie nods and she begins.
#my writing#outlander fanfic#for love nae obligation#lallybroch and a surprise#jamie and claire#cannon divergence#outlander fandom
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I have a head cannon that Bumi is very close with Sokka and Y/N. Since both are non-benders. It must be hard to be Aangs first son and a non bender. LOK time, he probably has a huge connection with them just like Katara. Not that I blame Aang as nomads seem not to raise their own, but I defiantly think once he shows no signs of bending sokka is that boys father. So Y/N and Sokka have 3 kids
YES i love this!!! imagine Bumi and Y/N’s relationship though!! of course he finds out he’s an airbender much later in life, but basically his WHOLE life he was the black sheep, just. like. Y/N!!! she knows exactly how it feels to be the only non-bender growing up in a family full of amazing benders. (Sokka’s experiences are much more different as Katara technically was the “different one” -- but doesn’t mean he doesn’t recognize the feeling of being inadequate for being a non-bender)
Now in no way am I comparing Y/N’s horrible experiences [that we learn more about in a few parts ;) ] to Bumi’s because Katara and Aang wouldn’t ever intentionally harm or ostracize their kid for being a non-bender, but lets be honest, he probably still was. He spends as much time as he can as an adolescent (those extremely formative, hormonal, emotional years) with his favorite aunt and uncle, who just get. it.
Katara probably gets a little mad at this, probably tells both Sokka and Y/N that he needs to spend more time at home and with his real parents and they have a little tiff over it because Bumi wants to be with Sokka and Y/N more often than not. They have to explain that he’s not trying to hurt her feelings or Aang’s but he needs to be around the people he thinks are there for him, you know?? It hurts Katara so much to think that her son loves Y/N more as a mother figure, but eventually she stops being so mad when he tells her that he’s going to their house because she realizes he needs that normalcy, he needs that support that she can’t always give him.
this made me so sad/happy to think about. thank you anon!!! headcanon accepted. Also, Bumi is both of Sokka and Y/N’s daughters godfather :))
#traitor lore#sokka and y/n are the best fucking parents/aunt/uncle in the fucking world#sokka#traitor asks#anon#y/n#bumi ii
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A SHEEP AS BLACK AS MIDNIGHT IN SPACE
It is a dark time for the Galaxy. General Enric Pryde and Supreme Leader Snoke have unleashed a reign of terror, dealing the New Republic a terrible blow with the Hosnian Cataclysm. But all is not lost. General Organa has discovered a New Hope from the desert of Jakku, who will become the Last Jedi. After Rey, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Poe Dameron and Finn, the former FN2187 undertook a daring raid that led to the destruction of Starkiller Base, Rey has gone to Ahch-To, to study under the reclusive Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. And he will tell her a secret. There is another.
I: THERE IS ANOTHER.
Luke Skywalker sighed, heavily.
“Master Luke, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I destroyed my own family, Rey. And the Galaxy is paying the price. Did you ever wonder why Han and Leia don’t live together? Why I’m in exile, here? There is another. Or at least, there was. My nephew. My paduan. The best and worst student at the Jedi Temple. Ben Solo.”
“Ben Solo! Didn’t he die at the Jedi Temple?”
“In a way, he did. He doesn’t use that name, anymore.”
“Then he’s alive? Do you know what happened to him?”
“A great many things. First? There were his mother's expectations. She had his whole life planned out. His Royal Highness, Prince Benjamin Skywalker Organa-Solo. He was going to be the perfect Jedi, the perfect young leader, the perfect fair-haired son of the New Republic. He wasn’t supposed to be a giant behemoth of a man, who was too much like his father and his grandfather to fit in any mold. Han and I pretty much figured that Big Ben was going his own way by the time he was six. His hair was down to his waist, and he’d scream and break the scissors with the Force if you came near him to cut his hair. He wouldn’t wear clothes. Just a pair of underwear, if you took him out. He wanted to be a Wookiee. He wouldn’t speak Basic. Just Shriiyywook. We worked it out. But Ben never really changed.”
Luke sighed.
“As he grew to manhood, I started seeing my nephew as a monster. His obsession with his own duality, and that of his grandfather. His heretical leanings toward the Grey Path. And his vows? Forget vows. Not my nephew, the king of taboo. Jedi are supposed to take vows of chastity, and honesty. To have control over their emotions. Ben sold cigarillos, wine, and rubbers from his father’s smuggling operation out of my father’s TIE Fighter, his personal vehicle. He lost his virginity when he was 14 to his best friend, Talia who was 13. As usual? Han was the best worst father, ever. He took her to get an implant, and kept Ben supplied with rubbers. Which he needed, because any of my female students who were curious about their resident Rebel Angel? Let’s just say, Ben never failed to satisfy their curiosity. He didn’t listen to me when I tried to stop him. He really thought he meant something to these girls. After all, they meant something to him. It took Talia telling him she was going to rent him by the hour out of her Wookiee foster father’s garage in Mos Eisley, because he laid more pipe to more satisfied customers than any spaceport gigolo. I mean, how do you teach a six and a half foot tall Force of nature who has been using the Force since he was a toddler in a crib to open the cupboard and get the cookies?”
“He likes cookies?”
“Ben? He eats like a Wookiee. Literally. Chewie taught him to cook.”
“But he likes cookies?”
“Eats them by the box."
Master Luke laughed.
“Now I see that all of it was so very minor. I used to get so angry with him about the TIE Fighter, and the smuggling, and Talia, and the other girls. He didn’t trust me to tell me how the Dark Side, how Snoke was stalking him. It had been a terrible day, for Ben. I disciplined his little group of girls, and all four of them blamed everything on him. Not Talia, though. She spoke up for Ben. But the other three girls? They didn’t take his side. They gave him up. He sat in his hut and cried, all day. He really cared. He did. The poor kid cried himself to sleep. I went to check on him, that night and I felt the Dark Side all around him. While he was sleeping. I thought he had given himself over to it. I attacked. I almost cut off his head, but Ben defended himself. He blocked my lightsaber with his and punched me in the face as hard as he could. If I wasn’t a Jedi Master who can anticipate my opponent's movements. It would have broken my neck. But he didn't mean to kill me. Ben was just scared. As it was, I was unconscious until the morning. By then? It was all over."
Rey couldn’t believe the enormity of the act that he had just admitted to.
Trying to murder his own paduan, his own nephew!
“What happened to your nephew after he brought the building down on you? Did he join the Dark Side.”
“No. He packed up his gear and walked ten miles to the spaceport, and made it there by morning. He left Yavin 4 on a Mandalorian freighter with a business associate of his father’s, Din Saxon, under an assumed name that he had identity papers for. Now he’s partners with Rotta the Hutt, Jabba’s son, Din Saxon, the Mandalorian, and Han Solo. They revived the old Galactic Black Market, and now there’s a war on, not only are they making a fortune? They’re the only game in town for a lot of little things that people find it hard to live without. They do sell arms and coaxium to both sides, but they only sell the low-grade junk to the First Order and at three times the price they sell to the Resistance. I hear that Ben’s doing well. He hasn’t realized his ambition to meet the girl the Force has bound him to, but he still has his friend, Talia. I trained her as a Jedi Healer, and she's since gone to the Republic Medical School. She's Ben's personal doctor. As reckless as he is? He needs to travel with a farkling doctor. Pardon my language. The point is, my nephew renounced the Jedi and the Sith, the Dark and the Light, that day. He wants no part of it. He follows the Grey Path. As it was laid out by Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He also wants no part of this war. His name is Ben Solo, but the name he does business under, the name you’ll have heard of is his alias. Kylo Skywalker. The Arkanian.”
“Ben Solo is Kylo Skywalker, the Arkanian?”
“Yes. And he and Han are looking to add a good scavenger to their operation, because Kylo just bought the salvage rights to the site of the Battle of Yavin-4. And he’s the new owner of the ruins of the Second Death Star. You were the best scavenger at Niima Outpost. I’m sure you're the woman for the job.”
***
Kylo Skywalker was truly a man larger than life.
He wore a black oilskin duster, caped and hooded, festooned with grommets, pockets, and epaulets over a black pair of pilot’s coveralls, tucked into tall black jackboots.
He also wore a huge pair of brown leather and Beskar chrome goggles, with shatterproof mirrored lenses.
And he was the tallest, burliest man that Rey had ever seen.
He sat down across from her at the table she had picked out at the Niima Cantina.
The man had a quiet air of undeniable menace about him.
It put Rey on edge.
“You should try to hide that you have that much strength in the Force. The Sith are real, and the First Order take who they want.”
“Not if I work for you, Jedi Temple dropout, right?"
“I picked a good time to leave. I hear you're the best scavenger at Niima Outpost.”
“I am. Can you take those goggles off? I feel like I’m talking to a man with no eyes.”
He lowered his hood, and took off the goggles.
Time stopped.
And it wasn’t just because Kylo Skywalker the man had grown up to be a black swan with dark, saturnine good looks out of the ugly duckling of a boy that Master Luke had described to her.
It was because Rey was fairly sure it was him.
The man with whom she had shared a bond in the Force, for as long as she could remember.
She never knew his face, or his name, but now that she saw him, she somehow recognized him.
“It’s OK. I feel it, too. The Force brings people together for all kinds of reasons. Look at it this way? Now you’re sure to get the job. You’re hired, Rey…”
Rey shrugged.
“Just Rey. My parents left me when I was a little girl. I never got a last name. I don’t have identity papers, either.”
“That’s OK. I can get you some, if you need them.”
The doors opened.
Rey was excited to see Han and Chewie, again.
Kylo laughed.
He had a beautiful smile.
“My father. And my godfather. But you knew that, because my Uncle sent you here to recruit me. But I get the feeling you might decide to stick with me and the Old Man, instead. Keep that quiet, though.”
Han and Chewbacca sat down.
“She really is a scavenger. A friend of Poe’s. He got her into this mess. I got her out of it. So, you hired her, right, junior?”
“I hired her.”
“How you been, princess? You don’t look so good.” Han asked.
“You can tell us. I used to be you, after all. The Galaxy’s only hope.” Kylo joked.
“It was awful, mostly. Really awful. Master Luke was nothing like I thought he would be. Sometimes, he was very kind. But sad. As if he forgot that he was supposed to be terrible. But some of the things he taught me just confused me. Or scared me. I’m afraid of myself, now. What I might do.” Rey admitted.
“Forget it. Forget everything he taught you. It’s meaningless. The Force has no Dark Side, and no light. That dualistic nerfshit thinking? People made that up. As an excuse to control each other. And make war. You shouldn’t be afraid of what you’ll do, like it’s not up to you. You make your own destiny, Rey. Look at me. I made mine. I’m no Jedi. And I’m no Sith. There is another way. The Grey Path. I can teach it to you, if you want. Think it over. But as for all that poison Uncle Luke poured into your ears? Look what it did to him. Forget it.” Kylo advised her.
“Sounds like Luke is in bad shape, junior.” Han mentioned.
Casually.
“When Rey reports back to him? We’ll send him some supplies.” Kylo said.
“Rey, do you really want to be a Jedi?” Han asked her.
Nobody had asked her that, yet.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, try working with us for awhile. If you don’t want to go back? I won’t send you. I learned my lesson on that. With junior, here. Even after that Snoke bastard burned the Temple, Luke tried to get me to send my kid back to him, one more time. I said no. Since then, I get to visit my wife, but we don’t live together. And the kid and her aren’t on good terms. But Ben’s alive, and doing good, and the Sith and the First Order didn’t get him. It’s worth it. Don’t go back if you don’t want to. Let ‘em have their farkling war, without you. Fuck ‘m.” Han told her.
Kylo raised his pitcher.
“Dark side? Light side? Fuck it. My side.” He said.
He motioned to the Rodian barman.
“Rey works for me and Solo, now. If there’s trouble with her? You’ve got trouble with all of us.”
“I never had trouble with Rey. You made a good choice, Rey. These guys are the real deal. Order what you want, kiddo. The Arkanian has deep pockets. The deepest in the Galaxy.”
Rey was very hungry.
She ordered a lot of food, and a cheap half bottle of red wine.
“Don’t bring her the cheap stuff.” Kylo told the Rodian.
“Why are you so rich, Kylo?” Rey asked.
“He gets dressed up like another Darth Vader. Red lightsaber and all. And we raid First Order ships with full cargo holds. Or Crimson Dawn freighters. Sometimes First Order warehouses and depots. All he has to do is show up and…say it, Vader junior. Say your thing.”
Han suggested.
“I am Kylo Skywalker, Lord Vader. All of this belongs to me. Surrender to me all that I ask for. Or you will die. Quickly! I find your lack of haste disturbing.”
Rey shivered.
But, much to her shame, not entirely in fear.
“That’s why I call him junior. Because I ain’t calling him Kylo. I didn’t name him Kylo. You should see these assholes give up. They usually just kneel and grovel. Sometimes, we have to get tough? But most of the time? It’s all money, it’s all for the taking, and it’s all ours.” Han explained.
“I also liberate Stormtroopers. Snoke takes them from their families, when they are children. And he brainwashed, humiliates, tortures, and enslaves them. The First Order takes their faces and their names, and makes them kill. For Snoke. It’s what he did to me. It’s what he meant for me. I didn’t deserve to live that way. No one does.” Kylo added.
“What happens to them?”
“If they have a home to go to? I help them return to it. Or find a job. Some of them work for me. They are my people, I am their Chieftain. No one else cares about them. Not my mother. Not the Resistance. Not the New Republic. I care.” Kylo told her.
Rey nodded.
The idea that Darth Vader’s grandson, the Galaxy’s only Grey Jedi Master, a ruthless pirate with unlimited money, was the self-styled Arkanian-style Clan Chieftain of a small army of loyalists with military training was a little unsettling.
And that’s why the General wants him. She wants not just her son, but his people, and the influence he has over not just them, but potentially the First Order.
When Rey thought that, Kylo turned to her.
“The Old Man and I are dangerous, ruthless men. But compared to my mother? We’re baby Ewoks.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Han agreed.
And just like that, Rey was working for the Outer Rim Cartel.
Her food and wine showed up.
“So, junior, I talked to the guy? The guy about identity papers for Rey. You object to her being a Solo?”
Kylo smiled at Rey in a way that let her know she wasn’t the only one thinking what she was thinking.
“As long as she isn’t supposed to be my sister? It’s fine by me.” Kylo replied.
"Nah. It says I'm her legal guardian until she's 21. So, that way, nobody can steal you, from me, Rey. I also put you down as Junior's common law wife. Then, after you're 21? Nobody can steal you from him. Considering the way you two keep looking at each other? I figure you don't mind."
"So, this is my wedding night?" Kylo asked
"Watch it, kid. They're just papers. It's not like I bought her from Unkar Plutt and I'm giving her to you."
"Yes, Kylo. This is our wedding night." Rey told him.
Chewbacca made a comment.
"It was not fast, Chewie. Rey is her. The girl of Ben's dreams. It's the Thunderbolt. Didn't you know, when you first met Mala, that she was the one for you?"
Chewie said something about how he wasn't talking about that kind of knowing.
"Yeah, well, it's none of our business. They're probably just kidding around. Come on, old pal. Let's not be the extra dicks at the wedding."
Han got up.
Chewie said something, sternly, to Ben that Rey didn't understand, and Ben replied earnestly.
Rey decided she was going to have to learn better Shriyyywook.
After Han and Chewie left, Ben opened the bottle of wine.
"Since we've suddenly found ourselves married? I should make you some kind of vow. Think about the loneliness you felt on this desert, Rey. The longing for someone, something to come for you. Think about it, and let it go. Because you'll never be that alone, again." He told her.
"You have nothing to worry about, Ben. You're every bit as strong as Darth Vader. And just as much a man as Han Solo. You may think you're the ugly duckling. But you've transformed into a beautiful black swan. What happens, now?"
"We'll eat our dinner, and drink this bottle of vintage Corellian red. And then? We'll start doing whatever the fuck we want. And we'll keep doing whatever the fuck we want, until death comes for us. And the son of a bitch is going to have to sneak up on me."
Kylo poured two glasses of wine.
Rey began to think this might really be where she was meant to be, after all.
Happy fanfiction day!
#reylo#ben solo lives#ben solo smuggler#reylo au#reylo romance#tros fix it#han solo lives#rey x kylo ren#reylo fanfic
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Jazz
This story has been a work in progress since....shit I wanna say August 28th or so (no idea why I remeber the date that exactly) It started as something I thought I’d just bang out real fast cause my brain refused to work on anything else and now here we are 6mos (only 4 pages) later and I am posting it.
This story references and retcons certain events from some seriously old works of mine
Meet the Family and Grandfather Fuu
I’ve never really done a story directly from Jazz’s perspective despite creating him in 2008-9ish and revamping his design in 2016.
Enjoy
Jazz could have been the best spy.
He had no family to answer to with a growing career as a singer and dancer in touring stage productions. According to his recruiter he had the potential to be a classic honeypot, however his natural charm and friendly nature resulted in many secrets being spilled as though he were a lifelong friend without the need for sexual seduction.
He might never have been one of the fabled Purples but he had the potential to be White. Jazz was on the rise even as he remained unknown behind clandestine meetings and worldwide tours.
Then there had been The Benefit.
It would be years before he would be able to put his finger on what exactly it was that made him notice the man lingering on the edges of the party.
There was nothing particularly noteworthy about him at a glance; average height, blonde, blue eyes behind wire frames, he was even appropriately dressed in a proper tuxedo, he fit right in. And he was cute to boot.
There was just something, more to him.
Which was precisely why he had sidled up to the other with a smile he had been told was charming,
"James Coltrain, but behind the curtain they call me Jazz, cause my hands are dazzling."
The man’s attempts to muffle his laughter turned it to a snort, "Does that ever work?"
"Dunno did it?"
It in fact did.
His name was Bastian.
Their romance was a whirlwind in all but time.
There was the usual dinners and dances with kisses on the doorstep, dates that warmed him and had a taste of normalcy to them.
Then there were the more avante-guard outings; bungee jumping, rock climbing, and other adrenaline pumping activities
Jazz had been shocked and a little turned on at how effectively the blonde had dispatched the opposing team when they had gone to laser tag.
He had considered it an unexpected blessing that his boyfriend was so understanding about his hectic touring schedule and the rare times he had to cancel a date for a mission, though he never gave that reason of course.
In retrospect perhaps he should have seen a red flag in the fact Bastian never invited him to meet his family before. Jumping out of the plane he had known his lover had two younger brothers and an equal number of sisters, that his parents were still alive and he had an extended family that could take ages to explain. He had known that Bastian was something of the black sheep having opted against joining the family business wanting to start his own instead.
It wasn’t until their feet were back on the ground, engagement ring on the blonde’s finger, and he found himself looking down into the annoyed face of Agent Magenta, that his brain scrambled to re-evaluate everything he thought he knew about his lover.
"Hello Albine or is it Jazz now?"
Shamefully his shock gave Magenta the time needed to punch him in the nose.
He had been honestly relieved to see Bastian charge angrily into the room holding a cake. If this had been some kind of long op Bastian would have been pleased with his shock, instead he looked ready to punch him himself.
"Yer Bom ‘s Magenta?!"
“You work for White?!”
Before he could come up with any sort of response to that he found himself covered in cake to go with the blood from his nose as his fiancee shouted at him. Then the tears had come and that was what spurned him back into movement kneeling to put a hand on his shoulder not daring a hug just now.
“You lied to me.”
“You never really told me about your family.”
"Children," Jazz looked up to face the battle scarred mountain that was Bastian’s father, "Yer both kept mum 'cause it's need ter know infermashun, anna ovver one dinnet need ter know. Now yer know. So let's kiss, make up, an enjoy dis lass, lazagg-"
"Lasagna, dear," Magenta corrected out of habit still glaring at him.
"What she said. An' now dat yer each know a bit more, yer c'n safely put yer cards onna table."
"And I’ll start,” the gun-loving woman announced meeting Jazz’s eyes, “You break my son’s heart any further and I beak your neck."
Jazz nearly dismissed the threat having expected it as he finally placed the man in the frilly purple apron with the countless veterans he had been warned about, “Your Dad’s Cassius?!”
“Do you know anyone else that could handle my mother?”
Meeting the parents had been an enlightening disaster but an easily survived one,
Meeting Bastian’s Godfathers on the other hand had been a crucible of sorts.
Puce, or Uncle Fuu as he fiancee insisted on introducing the older agent, did not seem to like him at all. For all that Bastian insisted nothing was wrong Jazz could not help but feel like he was being mentally filleted every time the attention was on him. It wasn’t anything he had done or said as far as he knew, he was simply not family.
Deep green eyes smoldered with the fires of anger, the flames of indignation. Every time Puce looked in his direction, Jazz felt the temperature of his face rise.
He had heard of Spectre of course though in never the same mythical tones as the other Agents, it was still near impossible to resolve the stories he’s heard of Uncle Silas with the tired assassin that has greeted him simply with, “So you’re the boyfriend.”
He was weighed, measured, and, he was sure, found wanting, but he had held his ground. Terrifying as this family was proving to be he loved Bastian and they would have to actually put him six feet under before he’d give the other man up.
It was actually Silas that gave him hope through that particular meal. Here was an agent who had somehow made it into the family while still wearing his own colors. More than that he was an older agent completely at ease with the human tiger he called his lover.
He wanted his own version of that.
With everything out and on the table he and Bastian had finally been able to really talk about the future.
They were both stubborn mules so talking had turned to yelling, then to crying, before coming back to talking. They discussed their jobs, their expectations, whether or not they wanted kids some day, everything they had discussed before and surprisingly little had changed. The anger for each had been about the ability to keep secrets and lie to the other, something they could both agree to never do again.
Really the only thing they had needed to properly discuss was their upcoming nuptials
The Wedding took place in New Orleans during Mardi Gras for the safety of all. Though Jazz was certain they wouldn’t have changed a thing even if their guests had been all civilians.
The only official thing about the whole affair was the officiant themselves. The ceremony was held in front of a bar in the French quarter, their cake was a king’s cake from the first place to have one in stock, it was no real surprise that Uncle Adrian had found the trinket therein. Things had gotten a bit hazy after some hours, he was fairly convinced their Ojen had been switched for something far stronger and less legal. He really wasn’t sure when the picture of himself and his handsome new husband wearing their Mardi Gra themed wedding vests kissing in a fountain was taken but he had it framed and hung in their new home when they returned.
That had been years ago.
He hadn’t regretted a day since.
It was something to think about as he walked the house with his teething son, trying every trick he could think of in hopes they might both get some sleep before he left for an early morning flight on a new mission.
Or when Uncle Fuu had shown up, taken the fussing infant and told him in that same unshakable tone to get some sleep, that he would see to Silas.
Jazz was still a spy and still a damn good one.
But he would never be the best now.
He had people that mattered now, he mattered now.
It was a thought that made him smile as his head hit the pillow.
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Charles the Hammer
724
I
When dinnertime came, Duke Grimwald sat waiting for his niece. Swanhild arrived fresh from the garden, knees and forearms besmirched with soil. Wiping her hands on the tablecloth, she left it smeared with grime. Grimwald’s thick brows furrowed as he muttered into his plate.
“You’re nothing like a lady… How will I find you a husband? I’ve half a mind to send you to a convent. But you are sixteen this year and we require an alliance with Alemannia. I’ll arrange a meeting with the earl.”
“God-father,” Swanhild spat the word, “I don’t suppose I have any say?”
“I don’t suppose you do,” he sipped ale.
“I’ve not much of an appetite. May I be excused?”
“You’ve barely touched your sausage.”
“I see only the men you killed in the square today.”
“Leave me then. You’re not the best dinner companion. Rolf, bring in the dancers.”
He kept one bushy brow raised as Swanhild carried the tray away, before remembering their serving staff was executed that day. She had been close with some of them, and that is why they died. Now that she was sixteen he kept her locked up like a prized jewel. Once she was through the kitchen doors, she shushed the remaining cooks, and left out the back. Making her way down the servants’ hall, she took turned down a dank corridor that led to the dungeons.
Two guardsmen stood before an iron door. They allowed Swanhild to pass, after a round of questions, and tousling her golden curls. Growling, she pushed past, marching down the stairs. Moving to a dark cell, farthest from any window, she found the man she sought. He tumbled forward, newly alert eyes glinting in firelight. Scarred hands gripped the bars, pulling his red-bearded face closer. Setting down her tray of sausage, bread and beer, he dove forward. A moment later it was gone, as he gasped for breath.
“Swanhild…” he belched. “Yer blessed by the gods, milady.”
“God,” she corrected. “There is only one, Jorg. I’ll make you a Christian yet.”
“Perhaps yer father had a chance,” Jorg grumbled. “Ye’ve got none, milady.” She smiled, smoothing embroidered skirts before sitting on the grimy stone floor. “Have ye come with news, or just me dinner?”
“Much news, godfather Jorg.”
“That title’s not for me. Not since yer father fell... A caged man does ye no use.”
“Both wrongs will be righted. And now I know how. Charles Martel has risen to unify the Franks and defeat the Saxons to our north.”
“Ah, I know the man… Charles, the Hammer, that’s what they call him. A good man, bastard born, but so am I. Fights like a demon. I served him once, six years ago.”
“You served the Franks?”
“Briefly, we fought Saxons then too. Pushed them back to the Weser, Lippe, and Ruhr. Then they caught us marching back in Teutoberg Forest. Fearing no man, Charles took the vanguard with me in it. I hurling my Francesca into a Saxon bigger than a tree. They came on, raging… Again and again they broke on our shield wall. Seeing them bloodied, we followed Charles in his charge, and chased them to their holes… Good days under a strong leader. If Bavaria’s dukes were half as brave, they’d keep their heads for more than a fortnight.”
Swanhild’s face shriveled up, eyes watering.
“I do not mean yer father... He was a stout warrior. His death was my failing. Once I’m freed, yer uncle will pay fer what he’s done. You’ll be the duchess, milady, I swear it. Forgive me, an old brute loves to reminisce… Why do ye tell me of Charles now?”
“His wife has just died. Tell me, is he kind?”
“I saw little of him in Paris, great man that he was even then. Never saw behind closed doors, or in private with his wife. On the battlefield, he was honorable. Those who surrendered were given food and quarter. Chiefs who bowed to him kept their heads. I may not have been so merciful as Charles, but I know yer father would have. In that way they were alike.”
“That is good to hear… I thank you, Jorg, for years of service and your remembrance of my father. Now to right these wrongs, I wish to make Charles a proposition.”
“Ye’d be so bold? I feel I know what ye plan. Perhaps yer the brave man Bavaria needs.” Swanhild smiled back, bright as a summer day. “Well, if yer made up... Its in Charles we trust.”
Swanhild returned to her chambers that night, taking to quill and parchment. She wrote to Charles Martel, giving condolences to his late wife. In the same letter she offered her hand in marriage, if one day he would give Bavaria freedom from Frankish rule. She knew it was only a matter of time before the Franks conquered all Germania, and this may save her people suffering.
Six months later, a letter came back.
II
Several letters followed between Swanhild and Charles Martel, ruler of the Franks. At first, he asked much of her and her claim to the dukedom of Bavaria, wondering if it was legitimate. She professed that her father was the late Duke Theodo, deposed by his brother Grimwald. Now she and her father’s greatest warrior Jorg lived in shame. She asked that Charles march east to set those wrongs right. Seemingly satisfied, Charles asked much of Bavaria, the number of troops they could raise, the size of Salzburg’s army, and the castle’s layout. Knowing the danger if she was deceived, Swanhild told him everything. In return he told her his day of arrival.
Rousing early, she waited in the early morning light. From her window, salt barges sailed the river below.
Warhorns broke the quiet still.
Men shouted in the castle, and soon a thousand torches appeared in the valley. Moving into the village, hoofbeats thundered like a wave over Salzburg castle’s bridge. Finally, they swarmed the keep, arriving in silver mail, crested helmets and gold arm rings. German guardsmen cried as arrows lanced down at the Franks. It was not long before a battering ram smashed against Salzburg’s gates. Again and again it crashed on oak, men screaming on both sides. Swanhild covered her ears, sliding to the floor. Instantly, she regretted bringing such wrath on her people. How many would die for her foolish pride?
Then she recalled Jorg’s words. Charles was kind and just, sparing the defeated and standing with his men in the shield wall. Swanhild donned a green dress that would still allow her to run if need be. Passing out into the hallway, she determined to face her suitor. Nobles filled the halls, chattering like chickens before the slaughter. Charles promised Swanhild there would be no undo bloodshed, but some of these men deserved it for they had betrayed her father. Descending the main stairway, she reached the entrance hall where men gathered before the keep’s doors.
“Milady, return to your chambers!” they pleaded, but she stood her ground.
When the doors slipped open and Germans rushed out to defend Salzburg, Swanhild swan the outer wall. Its oaken doors were shattered by the Frankish ram. Horses trotted, blades flashed in dawn’s light and men died in the streets. Dread welled up inside once more, as cabbage and cheese rose from her stomach, onto the floor.
Grimwald and his men burst through the door as they shut behind. “Cowards! Retreating from one Frankish charge… You’re not men, you’re sheep!”
Grimwald wore the battle-glory of Bavaria, a winged helmet and mail with a bastard sword at his hip. A pine shield painted with the black bear of Freising was strapped to his arm. In his haste to join battle, a silver circlet that offered no protection made its way onto his bald, sweaty head. Swanhild pitied her uncle, beaten already by a foreign invader and soon to be at his mercy, all for her doing.
“My Duke!” cried a soldier. “Charles Martel demands we free the traitors loyal to Theodo. He wants to speak with one prisoner, Jorg of the Baia. Will you have us free them?”
“Jorg?” Grimwald roared. “I thought he died years ago. Bring up what’s left of him... How a man can live in darkness fed on gruel I’ll never know.”
“Soon you will,” Swanhild whispered to herself.
With a violent crash, an axeblade appeared in the door by Grimwald’s head. He jumped three feet, nearly losing his circlet. Wild eyes turned as more brutal blows tore the door to pieces. An invader peered through, gnashing teeth. “Surrender, Grimwald, and you may yet live,” boomed an imperious command from beyond.
Grimwald drew his sword, crouching low. Dark eyes flew to his men who slowly drew their steel. A thousand men beat their shields and cried, “Martel!” from the streets beyond. As soon as the spark lit in Grimwald’s eyes, it was snuffed out. The tip of his sword wilted to the ground and was sheathed. He signaled to his guards.
Oaken doors burst wide as Frankia’s ruler stepped forward. Charles stood between six and seven feet, a gilded axe in hand, the same that rent the door. He wore a neat beard, brown locks fell to his shoulders, and his crown was adorned with the Fleur de Lys. Mailed arms and chest rippled as he strode forward. Blue eyes bore into Grimwald, giving an unspoken order. The duke growled, falling to his knees and tearing off his circlet.
Shouts sounded down the hall as bootsteps rang in their ears. Swanhild gasped as Jorg ran ahead of guardsmen, a battleaxe in his hand.
“Draw yer blade,” Jorg spat, approaching Grimwald. The duke’s eyes went to Charles who nodded, backing away.
Grimwald leapt to his feet, drawing his sword in a flash. Jorg’s axe struck his sword like an anvil. The red-bearded warrior howled, hacking at Grimwald’s defenses. Shocked at the man’s strength after five years of darkness and gruel, Grimwald lost ground. He could barely block his foe’s vicious axe before one cut made it past. Jorg’s blade sank into Grimwald’s shoulder, crippling the Duke’s sword arm. He fell to his knees once more.
“Finish it,” Grimwald snarled, clutching the arm.
“Jorg, please!” Swanhild called from the stairs. “If you have any love for me, spare my uncle. He is selfish but deep down there is good.”
Jorg’s axe lowered to his side as rage subsided. “Death is too kind fer ye, traitor.”
“Jorg,” said Charles Martel. “Though I’ve come for Swanhild’s hand and the loyalty of her people, I see your mettle has not dulled.”
“Ye remember me, king?” Jorg asked, eyes gaining light.
“I’m no king… But serve me once more and I vow that before my death Bavaria will be free.”
Jorg knelt, bowing his head.
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mod bonnie you're a monster with that cllif hanger. please oh please can we get the escape and the sex SOON!!
Hail Mary : Part IX
Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate in those early days, and 2) not *had* to get married?
Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII
Jamie’s arm around my middle held me securely against his chest as he reigned up. His grip on me was strong, considerately preventing my lurching forward from inertia, but the added contact with his heaving chest showed he was just as exhausted as me.
“So, wh—” Lord, this might be Scotland, and the night air cool and moist, but my mouth was dry as the Sahara. I laughed a little and leaned my head back against Jamie’s shoulder as I tried to get enough moisture to rasp out, “Where are we, exactly?”
“‘Exactly’ where, I dinna ken, but w—” He was a bit short of breath himself, apparently. He gave me a squeeze and a sweaty kiss on the cheek before relinquishing me to Murtagh, who was reaching to help me down from the horse. “—We crossed out of MacKenzie lands as of the last glen, so for the moment, we’re—Whoa, lass—!”
My knees locked as I slipped off the horse, my feet juddering so hard onto the packed earth that I nearly toppled before Murtagh’s strong grip saved me. “Are ye alright, a nighean?”
I just stared at him.
Jamie shifted sharply in the saddle to check that I was alright. “Mo chridhe?”
“Fine,” I panted. I was fine; but the shock of hearing an endearment coming from the ever-dour Murtagh’s lips, his eyes warm with concern, even, had taken me considerably aback. A softy, underneath it all, eh? “Perfectly fine,” I said again, waving my hand in reassurance, “just tired.”
Jamie jumped down beside me and took the satchel from my hands. “Go have a bit of a rest, Sassenach, while we tend to the horses.”
I didn’t need telling twice. I found a grassy spot and stretched full length on my back, groaning in relief and draping my arm over my face against harsh moonlight.
We’d ridden for nearly twenty-four hours since our escape from Leoch, which had been no small feat in and of itself.
A guard had begun stalking Jamie scarce twenty minutes after the confrontation with Colum. The brute—hulking, even compared to Jamie, if it could be believed—had been a faithful, menacing shadow for the entire afternoon and evening, escorting Jamie firmly to his chamber when night fell, and neatly preventing any contact between Jamie and me.
Thankfully for all of us, Colum had not deemed it necessary to post a guard at MY door. All Jamie had had to do was wait for the dark of midnight, clamber out his fourth-floor window, and climb CAREFULLY up the stone wall of the keep. He’d had one near-fall, sending a shower of stone dust and mortar chips downward; but thankfully, attracted no attention as he clambered up to the roof, and entered the castle again through a garret window to make his way to my chamber.
Murtagh—with whom Jamie had had several vital minutes as he was leaving Colum’s tower—had not been assigned an obvious tail, and thus had been able to gather food and weapons for our flight. Jamie hadn’t dared risk having Murtagh speak to or otherwise get word to me, in case Colum had hidden eyes watching after all. They had, however, arranged for the torches between my chamber and the window to the east-wing roof to be prematurely extinguished, giving Jamie and me the cover of near-pitch-blackness in which to make our way to the roof. We’d had to dart hastily into an alcove as a pair of Grant retainers came down the hall, speaking of the next day’s ceremony and making bets on whether or not Edina Grant would faint (as, we were given to understand, she had a rather sickly constitution). But finally we made it to our escape hatch. Out the window we went, down a ten-foot drop to the roof of the wing below, a painstaking walk across the shadowed gable, and another drop to the yard below.
It all would have gone off without a hitch, if the ostensibly-convenient stack of crates we were climbing down hadn’t toppled, causing a ruckus that attracted first the guard dogs and then the guards themselves. Jamie had managed to knock the three men out, but we could hear the alarm being raised and the thundering of many booted feet as we sprinted for the outer door, where Murtagh was waiting just outside. He’d managed only two horses, but beggars and choosers, and all that; and we were galloping south with all due haste, leaving the walls of Leoch behind, and praying we could stay ahead of any of Colum’s men that would be dispatched to follow us….which, thank heaven, we had.
Jamie thudded onto the ground next to me and groaned as he stretched out onto his back, his boots a few inches from my elbow.
I rolled onto my stomach to give my aching rear end a break, laying my cheek on my crossed arms and feeling the night breeze ruffling through my hair. My head was spinning with the delirium of exhaustion, and I prayed this would be a LONG rest. The three or four respites we’d taken so far had been agonizingly short, time enough only to spare the horses keeling over. And if I was weary and aching, Jamie must be near to keeling over himself, having had the task of controlling the horse one-handed AND keeping a hold on me to keep me falling when I inevitably dozed off against his shoulder.
Sure enough, he groaned again, with an urgency and a Gaelic curse that spoke to a great deal of discomfort.
“Love?” I reached out a leaden hand to touch his foot, cursing that my medicine box had been (wisely) deemed too heavy to bring along, “Have you pulled something?”
“D’ye have any notion,” he said between gritted teeth, “of how your arse looks in those breeks?”
Fatigue be damned, this was WORTH IT. I came up on my arms and craned my neck around to grin at him. He was propped up on one arm, staring in definite distress at the item in question.
Jamie being Jamie, I had been rather startled that he had suggested trousers in the first place; but practicality, it seemed, had won out over propriety. It would have been a liability to all of us, to have me slowed by heavy skirts on our escape.
Apparently, the breeks were their own sort of liability, though. I spy, with my little eye, a not-so-little kilt tent.
“Good, is it?” I asked, trying my very hardest not to laugh….or ogle…and failing at both. Definitely not little.
“Jesus,” he said again, in what might have been considered a whimper.
You know, you *have* undressed me completely, before, lad,I thought about saying; but I couldn’t help feeling gratified at his apparent awe. It was a father fine arse, by all accounts. And,might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. I gave my rear end a rather lewd undulation and he swore so violently it scared the horses.
“Cuir stad, lad, you’ll wake the dead!” Murtagh scolded, emerging from the underbrush with our refilled canteens and turning his gimlet eye on me. “What in God’s name did ye DO to him?”
Jamie laughed and sat up. “All the right things, a charaid.”
I sat up too, gratefully accepting my replenished canteen, changing the subject as well as my posture to spare Jamie from squirming himself into an early grave. “So, we’re safe, now? The MacKenzies can’t pursue us outside their own lands?”
“Not wi’out exposing themselves to a great deal of risk,” Murtagh said, plunking down next to us. “Colum’s enraged, to be sure, but he’ll have enough on his hands wi’ the Grants to consider doing anythin’ to vex another clan in the process.”
“Lord, the poor Grants,” I laughed, groaning a bit. “They’ve gotten the short end of the stick, haven’t they?”
Jamie’s mouth tightened, an expression I’d come to know meant he was supremely uncomfortable. “I did leave a letter in my chamber, ken?”
“A letter?” Murtagh and I both said together.
“To Miss Grant,” he said, with a tight shrug. “Explaining that my flight had naught to do wi’ her, but only that my heart belonged to another.”
I smiled. “That was very considerate of you, darling.”
“Aye, and also hopefully t’will appease Malcolm Grant that Colum didna willfully seek to ensnare him and shame his daughter.”
“Do you think your uncles will ever let you come back to Leoch?”
“No.” It was Murtagh that answered, his voice grim. “Not if his mother’s case is to be our guide.”
Jamie nodded in agreement and dropped his eyes.
Ellen MacKenzie had never once received even a word from her enraged brothers after her scandalous elopement with Black Brian Fraser. Dougal had apparently visited Lallybroch a time or two after her death, and had eventually taken Jamie for his foster, but from the moment she left that castle, Ellen’s fate had been sealed: exiled and infamous.
It had been love for Ellen and Brian, Jamie said, real and deep and strong, and so she never had cause to regret her decision; and yet…
I scooted closer to her son and leaned in to kiss his shoulder. “I am sorry, you know—to be the cause of your entire life upending.”
Jamie raised his eyebrows, dubious.
“Well, it’s not as if I want you to cast me to the roadside, do I? But they are your family. I know they don’t mean nothing to you.”
“True…and thank you, Sassenach. But to the MacKenzies, family is obligation as much as affection. Heart, but with claws.” He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “Dinna fash: I dinna regret a thing.”
“Well, I know you don’t now, but—”
“They’re my blood, but my true family is Jenny. Murtagh.” He squeezed my hand hard. “You.”
The lump formed so suddenly in my throat, I could only whisper it back to him. “You.”
My only family.
He gently cupped my chin and kissed me, then drew back with purpose, catching his godfather’s eye. “I ken you’re as tired as we, a gostadh, but surely ye must be getting on your way if you’re to catch the post rider?”
The dour clansman nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll be off in ten minutes, as soon as the handfasting is done.”
Jamie was like a loosed arrow as he leapt to his feet, barking something at Murtagh in rapid Gaelic. Murtagh threw up his face and said something scornful back in the same language, and even my brief time amongst eighteenth-century highlanders had taught me the early warning signs of an all-out brawl.
“Jesus H. Christ, honestly!” I stepped neatly between them—getting a prodigious spray of spittle from both sides for my efforts—and held up my hands. “Will you both calm down and PLEASE explain to me what handfasting is?”
“Handfasting is—” Murtagh began.
“—nothing you need trouble yourself over, because it’s NOT HAPPENING,” Jamie finished, eyes flashing at Murtagh across my shoulder.
“—A CEREMONY OF MARRIAGE,” Murtagh persisted, “for when there’s no priest handy. Ye join hands, say the words, and you’re man and wife for a year and a day, until the union can be formally blessed.”
“And it’s real? A legitimate union, I mean, according to the church?”
“Aye,” he said, seeming surprised by my doubt. “Valid only for the year, but valid nonetheless. Common enough in the Highlands so as no’ to looked down upon.”
“We are not going to be handfasted,” Jamie growled, “and that’s all there—”
“But of course we should!” I said. “Jamie, you said it yourself at Leoch: being married as soon as possible is the next most important thing for our safety, yes?”
“Aye, but—” He shuffled uncomfortably. “It’s so—crude! Ye deserve a ring—a proper dress for—”
“I don’t bloody need all that!“ I said with such laughing scorn that he looked startled. “Jamie… I’ve been married before,” I said, far more gently. “The ring, the clothes—? Those things can be lovely, but they aren’t important to me. But if…” I searched his face, not wanting to be flippant. “Are they important to you?”
“Well, aye, in a way but—They’re only important insomuch as—” He was flustered, almost sheepish in his unease as he ran a hand backward through his hair. “I should never wish to give ye anything less than is due to ye. I want to honor ye, Sassenach.”
“You do honor me, Jamie, just by wanting to marry me. That’s all I need.”
He looked torn. “I ken you’re a practical woman, Claire, and ye wish to put a good face on things, but—”
“But I do mean it, my love. No, listen,” I pushed, as he began to interrupt. “If I had been Edina Grant, say, a stranger you were OBLIGED to marry…just think of how different the wedding would need to be. The ring, our clothing, the place—that all would be significant, because–”
“Because we wouldna be knowing each other?” Jamie said, his features relaxing.
I exhaled in relief at the understanding in his voice. “Exactly.”
“I’d be a stranger you were meeting at the altar,” he continued, nodding slowly.
“And so the protocol, the finery and beauty of it all,” I took up, “That would be what we’d remember about our wedding. We’d need that to hold on to, to make it a pleasant memory.”
“....Until we might come to love or respect one another, one day,” he finished.
“But you do know me, Jamie: you know me. And you know I want to marry you.” I touched his face, sweeping down the stubble of his jaw. “And so the love we share is what we’ll remember about tonight. Nothing else matters.”
“Nothing else,” he repeated, his eyes twinkling and his mouth turned up in a tender smile, “mo nighean donn.”
And so it truly didn’t matter that we were both sweaty and reeking of horse as I came into his arms; didn’t matter that I was dressed like a little boy, or that my hair had reached the size and texture of the average haystack. All that mattered was that he meant it when he whispered, hoarse with feeling, “I do love you, Claire.”
And that there was no reservation in my heart when I looked up into his eyes and said back to him, “And I love you.”
“And if ye’re both quite finished breathing into each other’s faces,” Murtagh said, belching, “we’ll get on wi’ it?”
It was fast; it was simple—with not a scrap of either pomp or circumstance. We simply knelt, clasped hands, and said the words with Murtagh as witness.
And yet, even so, a deep, silent peace descended around us, wrapping each syllable in a sweet solemnity that would mark this place, this night in our memories, always:
“I, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp do take thee, James Alexander M—” He grinned, but I managed it, and the spell fell around us again. “—Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, to be my lawful wedded husband. With my goods I thee endow, with my body I thee worship, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, so long as we both shall live.”
His eyes blazed as he swore his life to me in return. “I, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, do take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my lawful wedded wife. With my goods I thee endow, with my body I thee worship, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, so long as we both shall live.”
And I kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, and felt the world slide, then click into place.
A pair.
A home.
Jamie didn’t let go of my hand for a moment during our toast (for not even a fugitive Scotsman travels without whisky), nor did either of us stop grinning like fools in love. Husband. Wife.
Not even Murtagh was unaffected. For all he tried to hide behind his gruff and scruff, I’d seen his eyes sparkling as he looked down at Jamie and me saying our vows; I’d felt the feeling behind the rough hug he’d given me; and I’d been floored by the hoarseness of his voice as he’d said in my ear, “You’re right for him, a nighean.” And that made me feel an absolute empress over my happiness. Right for him; right for me; right.
“We’ll stay the night here,” Jamie said with decision, reaching up for his saddlebag.
But Murtagh said something in rapid Gaelic as he swung up into his saddle, gesturing to the east. Jamie grinned, asked something back, and got an answer that seemed to both surprise and please him greatly before Murtagh was galloping off into the distance.
“What was that about?”
“Murtagh knows of a better place for us to spend the night.” He held out his hand. “Can ye bear to ride a bit longer, my wife?”
I accepted the boost up into the saddle. “If it’s worth it, darling husband.”
“Sounds as if it will be,” he said as he clambered up behind us and turned us east. “And it’s good it isna far.“
“Tired?”
“Aye. And…” He ran his fingers down my rib cage and my blood went hot as he breathed into my shoulder, “…I’d like to get started wi’ worshiping your body.”
[more to come]
#Anonymous#;mod bonnie#Hail Mary AU#next week i promise#the do gets done#had to get them hitched first#and give them a bit of a chance to rest up#I kind of liked doing a Fraser wedding without blood of my blood#just to change things up a bit#these are the vows Roger and Bree used
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My Kingdom for a Horse -Eden Marie Series Part 7
Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6
Characters: Eden Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester (mentioned), Castiel (Mentioned)
Warnings: Language, Mention of Death
Word Count: 3241
Summary: Eden is working on a case during her spring break together with Sam and Dean
Author’s Note: I’m bad at titles. Sorry.
The case was easy: Two dead horses, their hearts ripped out, found in their boxes in the stables of Benaiah Van den Berg’s ranch around 2 a.m. Their death was similar to those of Mr. Burton’s sheep, who had his farm only a mile away from Eden’s godfather’s ranch.
Eden’s spring break had been rather boring until last night. All she did was going horseback riding in the Davy Crockett National Forest during daytime and binge watching series on Netflix at night. Only once her godfather’s new wife Polina took her to Houston for a shopping trip. Of course, that didn’t sound so bad, but now Eden that knew there was a werewolf to hunt everything appeared less exciting. Since the alarm system went off in the middle of the night, she couldn’t think of anything else but finding the monster that slaughtered two of Benaiah’s best stallions. Eden collected all the fact in a file including a map of the ranch and surrounding where she marked every house, farm or cabin in a radius of two miles, which she presented Sam and Dean after they arrived at the ranch to help Ben with his issue.
“I gotta admit I’m impressed, Eden,” Dean told his daughter.
“Yeah, you did a quite good job, Baby.” Sam agreed with him.
Eden smiled proudly. Maybe the research paid off and her dad would tag her along when they went out to hunt the werewolf. She just didn’t know when and especially how to break the news to them.
“So what are we-” she started her question, but then she saw how her dad and her uncle raised their eyebrows, “I mean you, what are you gonna do next?”
Dean looked at his brother before he answered her, “Sam and I might check out the boxes where the horses were killed.”
“I already did, there’s nothing. No footprints, no leaf of a special tree that only grows in a certain place in the woods,” Eden said dramatically “no weird smells apart from the smell of straw, horse droppings and… blood” Her voice started to shake at the end of the sentence.
“Well, maybe you should let us take a look at it because, we-” her dad pointed with his finger at Sam, then at himself and then back to Sam, “are professionals.”
Eden groaned and shot a helpless glance at Sam, who only smirked back. “Fine, I’ll show you the boxes!”
The stables were empty, the other horses were in the paddock, only Jordan the stable boy was mucking out the boxes. Eden led the boys to the place where the two stallions got slaughtered. It took them a while to inspect every corner of the two boxes.
“You were right. Nothing.” Sam said after a few minutes.
Dean groaned. “Awesome, now we have to check out every cabin on the map to find that thing. It’s gonna take us hours!”
“Not if you two split up.” Eden suggested, “Or maybe…”
“Sam and I won’t split up, Eden. So maybe what?” her dad asked her.
“Or maybe I could go with you.” The teenager said, but it sounded more like a question than an offer. The two men snorted amusedly. “What? Didn’t I just prove that really can help you?”
“No Eden. You wanted to help and that’s great and we’ll give you all the credit you want for that, but you’re not gonna go out there and risk your life for a bunch of horses.” Dean meant, lowering his voice in case Jordan could hear them.
She gave him a pleading look. “Please Daddy, please.”
“Quit begging, Eden. I said No!” he tried to explain. “And don’t Daddy me!”
“Sammy?” Eden tried the same thing with her uncle.
“No Baby, I’m with Dean on this.”
She crossed her arms and stared away. Dean rolled his eyes before he and Sam left her alone in the stables. Of course, they’d say no. To be honest she’d never expected them to say anything other than that. Now Eden was extremely mad at herself because she spent the night researching instead of sleeping.
After storming out of the stables angrily, Eden joined her father who was checking his guns in the trunk of his car. “You’re so unfair!” she yelled, “You and Sam were already hunting before you turned thirteen! I’m almost sixteen, Dad. You can’t keep me from hunting forever, it’s in my blood. I’d be a damn good hunter if you’d just let me, you know that!”
Dean closed the trunk so quickly that he almost bruised Sam’s fingers. At the sound of the slam, Eden flinched.
“Fine!” was all he said with his usually deep voice.
“Dude…What?” Sam protested and watched his brother getting in the Impala.
Eden looked confused at her uncle. “Does that mean I can come?”
“No!” he answered her, “Dean, you can’t be serious.”
“I am being serious. If Missy thinks she can hunt I say we take her on a hunt. I don’t have the nerves for another fight with her.”
The teenager took her usual seat in the back of the car with a smugly smile on her face.
“Oh and you better watch your tone when you’re talking to me!” Dean reminded her, which shut down her smile quickly.
After hours of breaking into cabins and abandoned houses, the Winchesters decided to go deeper into the forest. It was already getting dark and Eden was already getting tired, but she didn’t complain, she wouldn’t give her father and uncle that kind of satisfaction. After a while, she was so tired that she doze off for a second and stumbled which caused her to fall down.
“I’m okay!” She said, feeling a little dizzy when Sam and Dean helped her up. “I’m fine."
Dean seemed to have lost his strict father attitude because he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. "I’m sure we’re close. We j-”
He got interrupted by a gunshot echoing through the trees.
“Was that a gun?” Sam asked looking around.
“Of course, these are hunting grounds. The wildlife service has its cabin like ten minutes back that way.” Eden said pointing at the road the just walked up.
“And you couldn’t think about telling us ten minutes ago?” Dean stared at his daughter, who seemed a little over-challenged with the whole situation.
She took a deep breath. “Well… Didn’t we already checked it out?”
Sam gave her a worried look before he turned around to his brother, “We should go.”
The boys started running and Eden had to follow them. She arrived at the cabin about two minutes later than the others. There was a conversation coming from inside between her father and some other man that Eden didn’t know. Completely out of breath she loaded her gun and walked inside. Sam and Dean, both with their backs turned to her, were pointing their guns at two other men, who also had their guns pointing at them. On the floor behind them lied a dead body. Eden stepped closer to her uncle so she could have a better look at the strangers. The smaller one turned out to be Jordan, the stable boy, so Eden figured the older and taller one, who kind of looked like him, was his father. In the very few talks, Eden and he had before he mentioned to her that he was living with his father since his parents’ divorce.
“What is going on here?” Eden asked while she lowered her gun, staring at Jordan.
“Stay back Eden,” Sam said trying to guard her.
She gave Jordan’s father a quizzing look, pointing at the corpse behind him. “Is that the werewolf?”
“Hush Eden!” Dean ordered his daughter.
“Are you guys hunters too?” Jordan’s father asked them whilst lowering his gun too.
Sam glanced at his older brother, then at Eden before he put his gun away. “Yeah, we are. I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean and my niece, Eden.” He extended his hand to the other hunter.
“My name is Ray and that’s my son Jordan,” Ray said and shook Sam’s hand.
“We’ve been looking for that werewolf for some time now. We hunted his pack down in Arkansas but he managed to escape.” Jordan explained to the Winchesters.
After they buried the dead werewolf in the woods, Ray drove them to the place where Dean had parked his Baby. The men had decided to have a drink together and trade some stories before they’d go separate ways.
“Does your dad always takes you hunting with him?” Dean asked his arms crossed. His question got Eden to pay attention to their conversation.
The teenage boy looked at him confused. “Like most of the time he does. Why are you asking?”
“What about school? You still go there, right? I mean you can’t be older than sixteen.” Sam said, not responding to his last question.
“I’m seventeen and yeah, I still go to school.”
Before Sam and Dean could continue their cross-examination Ray came back from his van with a bottle of whiskey in his hands. “I don’t have any glasses but…”
“We’ll be fine.” Dean smiled.
Eden sighed. That was going to be a long night. After a couple of bad jokes and half a bottle whiskey later Dean was telling them the story of the Winchester Family Business with Sam commenting after every second sentence he said.
Bored to death Eden sat on the hood of her dad’s car, going through her classmates snapchat story for the third time, trying to find out if Matt had a new girlfriend. Not that she cared, but when she came back from spring break she needed something to gossip about with Florence Atackley.
“So you’re a Winchester.” Jordan interrupted her lurking. “I always thought Benaiah was your father.”
She put her phone in the pocket of her sweatshirt and looked at him. Boy, was he hot! The muscles under his shirt, his almost black eyes, his dark skin. Eden wished boys at her school would look like that. She bit her lower lip. “Huh? No No No. See, Ben’s my godfather… and my mother’s cousin, that explains why we have the same last name.”
“And you’ve been hunting with your dad and uncle since she died?” he asked and sat down next to her. Eden noticed how her dad turned around to them for a second before he got back to his conversation.
“Well, actually I was on my first hunt today and that wasn’t really a hunt thanks to you,” Eden told him while she raised her eyebrows a little annoyed because of that.
“I’m sorry for that,” he gave a charming smile, “Maybe I can make it up to you some time.”
She smiled back, “I’m sure you can.”
Dean, who had heard every word, turned around again and knocked on his Impalas hood twice. “And I’m sure you cannot. Get in the car, Edie. We’re going home.”
Eden rolled her eyes and said goodbye to Jordan and his father before she got on the back seat. Sam, who sat down in the shotgun, looked at her and shook his head to show her his disapproval.
Even more annoyed Eden leaned out of the open car window and glanced over to her father who was talking to Ray alone. He spoke with lowered voice but Eden could hear what they were talking about.
“…Maybe you are too far down that road, but you have to keep your son away from it. My father, he raised Sam and me to become hunters, but we never actually had the chance to live a normal life. That’s why I’ve been trying to keep Eden from hunting. You can’t imagine the things I went through and I don’t want this to happen to her too. So, as a hunter and as a father I’m telling you to make sure Jordan doesn’t go down that path, ever.”
What Dean just said was nothing new to his daughter. She knew he had always felt that way. Eden leaned back in her seat. It may have been a stupid idea of begging him to tag her along, but she just wanted to be close to him and Sam since she only got to see them so infrequently. And now that her grandmother was back from death Eden didn’t even need to try to become their center of attention again.
“So? Do you think there is still food left from dinner?” Dean asked when he got in the car.
By asking that he made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to talk about what Eden just heard, so she just played along. “Maybe but you wouldn’t want to eat that. Since Polina moved in we always have some weird stuff for lunch and dinner. Something with celery and leek. She even made me eat a beet casserole.”
“What a cruel woman,” Sam said amused.
Suddenly Eden rubbed her eyes sleepily then looked at the rearview mirror just to realize the both men were watching her.
“Aw, Baby is tired!” her uncle teased her and Dean laughed.
She punched his shoulder. “Yes, I am. Can’t we just go?”
Her father nodded and started the engine. For a while, they drove in silence back to Benaiah’s ranch. Eden leaned over the back of the front seat, her head between Sam’s and Dean’s shoulders. She knew how much it annoyed them but she did it anyways.
“Are you guys already heading home tomorrow?” Eden asked them. Her dad and uncle never really liked her godfather, that’s why they never really stayed longer that they had to.
“No” Dean answered. “We’re leaving on Saturday and our coming with us, you have school on Monday, forgot?”
She shook her head, “No, I did not. But Saturday is in two days. Are you sure you want to leave Mary alone at home so long? Not that I want you to leave but… does she even know how to use the coffee maker or the microwave?”
The corner of Deans mouth twitched. “It’s very kind of you that you worry about your grandmother but it’s the other way around, actually.” He said in a sad tone. “See Eden, Mom left us.”
“Uh?” Eden arched her eyebrow but then she noticed their sad looks. “Well, I’m sorry for that.”
“No need to, Champ.”
She wrapped an arm around each of them to cheer them up a little. “You have to look at the bright side of it: You still got me and I sure as hell won’t leave you!”
It didn’t really cheer them up, she knew it didn’t, but they smiled anyway.
“I know you won’t,” Dean said and he sounded only half as sad as before.
Later that night, Eden was already in bed, Dean walked into her bedroom and sat down next to her.
“I think we should talk about today, Champ,” He told her and Eden moaned.
Sam already did that for about twenty minutes, without coming to a conclusion. “Like I already said before, you did a good job investigating the case-”
“But at the end, it wasn’t really worth anything” she interrupted him, pulling her blanket up to her chin.
“No, listen to me. You did great, Champ. Sam and I could really need your help sometimes.”
Eden glanced away from the TV to her father, half surprised half worried. “I thought I was the only one who bumped her head today.”
Dean smirked and shook his head. “The thing is, if we let you investigate for us, you’ll start to hunt soon and you know I don’t like the idea of you being a hunter. But like you said, you’re a Winchester, I mean you’re also a fancy ass Van den Berg, but you’re still a Winchester and, as hard as it might be for me to admit that, it means you’re also a hunter. Believe me, I wish it was different. You don’t have the slightest idea of what’s going on in our world, you think you do but you don’t. Which is why I’m gonna show you…”
The whole speech Eden stared at her father, wondering if he was possessed or something. The Dean she knew had sent her to a fancy ass boarding school, with her godfather’s money, because he didn’t want her to be involved in the hunting life.
“… until you wish I would’ve beaten you ass after you yelled at me this afternoon instead of tagging you along!”
She sighed in relief, which confused her dad. “Look, Daddy, I’m not that into hunting and, to be honest with you, I’m not that into spankings either.” Eden joked. Her dad never laid hand on her even if he said he would a hundred times already, so that wouldn’t scare her unless it was coming out of Sam’s mouth. “I just don’t want to be alone at home the whole time. Even with Cass home, it doesn’t change, all he does is nothing except driving me to school and picking me up afterward. You guys could just take me with you more often.” She saw how Dean opened his mouth to interrupt her, but she knew what he wanted to say. “I know I have to go to school, but I’m in sophomore year and I’m fifteen. I can go to school for the next four years tops!”
Dean gasped shockingly. “That means two years extra you are going to spent with Sam and me.”
“Would you bother?”
“Of course I wouldn’t,” he said stroking her hair, “You…You are my Baby Girl.”
“I know that Daddy” Eden smiled at him. He hadn’t called her Baby Girl in years, not since John gave him his car. “You wanna join Sammy and me for a movie night?”
“A movie night? It’s after midnight, I can’t believe Sam said agreed to that.” Dean didn’t sound angry or anything, he sounded rather calm.
Right in that moment, Sam walked in holding the complete Hobbit trilogy in his hand. He made a surprised face after he saw the two of them staring at him. “What?”
“C’mon Dad. Join us!” Eden offered again, while Sam put The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey in the DVD player.
“Fine!” Dean gave in, “But as soon as you two start geeking around and comparing the book to the movies I’m out.”
“We won’t!” she promised him, shooting cheeky smirk at Sam who winked back at her. Both of them knew that Dean would be asleep in fifteen minutes.
So Eden laid in bed between her dad and her uncle, humming the soundtrack to the movie, feeling extremely happy at the moment.
I don’t own these GIFs.
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@straightasdeanwinchester @daughters-and-winsisters
#dean winchester#Sam Winchester#Uncle!Sam#Daddy!Dean#winchester!daughter#deanxdaughter#supernatural#supernatural one shot#supernatural imagine#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic#spn one shot#spn imagine#SPN#castiel#eden winchester#writingwinchesterscontest
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My dad,
My dad was the second of five children. He has three brothers and a sister, who is twenty years younger than him. Let’s just say she wasn’t very planned…
Growing up for my dad was kind of hard. He, like me, always felt different. He was indeed the black sheep in his family.
My grandfather wasn’t around a lot when dad was a kid, and when he was, he wasn’t the most pleasent person to be around of. He liked to drink, smoke and party. And I’m not even going to talk about how agressive and violent he was.
On the other hand, my grandmother had a really tough life. She got married when she was only eighteen years old. Mostly to get away from her father, who was an abusive alcoholic. It’s sort of ironic she chose to marry my grandfather out of all people. Her third baby died after birth because of a doctor’s ineptitud. And then, she had a brain tumor, which she had surgery for. But although the surgery removed the tumor successfully, she was left with half of her face paralized for the rest of her life.
And those are just some of the things that happened to her. I admire her profoundly because she gets up everymorning and still smiles. She’s one of the strongest people I know.
Each member of the family is crazy different from each other.
The oldest takes a lot after his father. Though it’s like the agressiveness and the violence got multiplied by ten with him. He had his first child at nineteen.
Yeah, my family is great at protected sex.
He had two other kids afterwards. He owns the most well known night clubs in the city, and even though he’s fourty eight, he still goes out to party to every single one. Cheats on his wife every single time too, of course.
My grandparents third child is also my godfather. He has a really nice family, and lived right next to us when I grew up. He’s an architect, but finds it really hard to be constantly employed. His wife though, is a very successfull notary and does really well at her job. He likes partying and drinking, but doesn’t do it too often, thankfully. He has two lovely kids.
After my grandparents lost the baby, my grandmother got pregnant again. And another one of my uncles was born. There’s like a twelve year gap between the third and fourth kid. He was born just before my grandmother found out she had the brain tumor. So the first year of his life, he was basically taken care by his grandparents.
He never did very well at school, but was really interested in money since he was super young. So as soon as he could, he started working. He used to organize parties and then began to work with his oldest brother in a much more serious way.
Night life brings a lot of things though. Alcohol, drugs, and sex were just a few of the words that you hear really often. He’s been in a relationship for years with an amazing girl. Though, he doesn’t settle down completely and probably cheats on her a lot. Which makes me super sad, cause I think she’s great.
Even if he works with his brother, who’s a pain in the butt for literally everyone around him, he is nothing like him. Apart from the drinking and partying, he is a great person. He has an amazing sense of humor.
The youngest sister was my dad’s goddaughter, and my brother’s godmother. She’s closer to me on age than my dad. So I’m very close to her. She’s smart, talented and an awesome businesswoman. She had the guts to make a living out of what she likes doing, and proved that when you’re really passionate about something, and work hard, even the hardest things are possible. At twenty five she has her own brand of clothes and accessories, her own car and apartment, and travels around the world at least two times a year.
She didn’t have it easy though. When she was fourteen, she found out her dad was cheating on her mom with a really young girl. He kept it to herself for years until she exploded. My dad and his brothers had to kick him out of the house.
Then, there’s dad. He was shy and reserved during middle school, and found it hard to make friends at first. He started playing rugby and that’s where he found his place in the world. Made friends that stuck by him for the rest of his life, and found a passion that he would also carry around forever.
Unlike many of his siblings, dad hated going out clubbing. He never smoke, and alcohol tasted utterly disgusting to him. He met my mom when he was seventeen years old, and married her at twenty four. According to what they’ve both told me during the years, they had an amazing relationship, full of laughter, respect, and love.
After two years of marriage, I was born!
They started building the house we lived for fourteen years when I was two years old, and while doing that, my dad started working on the radio. He was a sports journalist, and loved his job. A few years later he got a job on a well known newspaper in the city, and after that, he made it on tv.
Even though he loved his job, he wasn’t a workaholic at all. His first priority was always his family and children.
Dad and I had a special bond. We spent a lot of time together. We enjoyed the little things, like a quiet afternoon watching movies or just sitting outside playing cards during summer. We have a very similar sense of humor, and he could make me laugh like no one else.
Dad gave me the most precious thing I have in my life, music.
Cheesy, I know. But it’s true.
We used to play the guitar and sing our favorite songs, and he made sure I always knew he was my number one fan.
After sixteen years of marriage, my parents broke up. And it was a surprise for everyone, specially for me.
I was not expecting a separation at all. And that’s because they never fought, and it wasn’t really about that either. They just grew apart, and fell out of love. It’s not great, but it happens. I was sad for a while, but was grateful that even separated, they still held respect and affection for each other.
My mom, my brother and I moved to an apartment in a much more city-like place, and dad stayed in the house. That was hard, because we were a really united family. And even if I spent half of the week with my dad, I hated the apartment, I hated not being in my house, and not being with my dad.
My dad started dating someone else, and that hit me hard. I was fourteen at the time and I didn’t understad a lot of things I do now, which made my relationship with my dad, for the first time, be a little rocky. I fought a lot with him during those first months. But then I got over it, and we were great again.
Once we all were finally adapting to our new life. The separation. Half the time in the apartment, and half the time in the house. Dad’s new girlfriend… things got an unexpected and awful twist.
Mom and I were alone at the apartment when mom got a call that changed our life forever.
“Your dad was in a car crash, they told me it’s really bad. I don’t know anything else”
We held each other for dear life and cried.
My life was never the same after that day.
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