#canon typical peril
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Don't Blink
Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader
Summary: Going home was meant to be a vacation from all the aliens and monsters.
Part 2: Don't Turn Your Back
Part 3: Don't Look Away
Part 4: Dreams See Us Through
Requests: Open!
Tag List: @nyxiethesimp
Warnings: Weeping Angels, babes.
You hadn't slept in days.
It started innocuous enough -- some nerves as you crawled into your bed, for once. You'd assumed it was because you were so used to the TARDIS that home didn't feel as much like home anymore. You thought that maybe, after a day or two, it'd get better.
It got worse.
Waking up the next morning, you were confronted with the feeling of being watched. No matter where you went -- your mum's, the shops, the cellar, even the restroom. Everywhere. All day. By the time you dropped into your bed that night, you were exhausted from being on high alert the whole day.
You didn't sleep well that night.
Nightmares plagued you -- they were nebulous, slipping just out of focus every time you thought you could make out even just a single detail. But despite that -- or maybe because of it -- you were terrified.
You awoke drenched in a cold sweat, covered in goosebumps and with a stomach churning with unease. You felt feverish, but when you took your temperature the thermometer flashed with a perfectly normal number.
Going about your day felt like a monumental task. While your limbs felt weighed down with lead, the rest of you felt light, jittery... panicky. Any attempts to focus for more than thirty seconds at a time failed miserably.
Maybe it was just your heightened state, but you could've sworn that everyone could see that you were starting to lose it.
That was the first night you didn't sleep.
The second night, you finally caught sight of the predator in the underbrush -- the thing that had been stalking you since you arrived back home. Only for a brief, blink-and-you-miss-it moment, but it was still long enough for you to know that it was the cause of your sleepless nights and worsening mental state.
You weren't sure how a perfectly ordinary angel statue could cause so much distress.
The third night, you noticed the statue had moved -- just a couple inches -- but it was enough for you to see the difference. Finally, you called the Doctor. Not five minutes later, you heard the TARDIS materialize outside.
You turned away for all of one second, but when you looked back, the angel had gone.
Well, "gone" was relative. It was out of line of sight, you could say that much for sure. But you knew it was still lurking nearby -- you could still feel it watching you.
The Doctor didn't bother announcing himself as he barged into your flat -- the TARDIS brakes were announcement enough. The sonic screwdriver was held aloft, its light moving in erratic circles in the darkened flat as the Doctor gradually made his way to you.
"Where is it?" he asked once he finally reached you. "Did you blink -- did it move!?"
You weren't sure how to answer. He had told you not to take your eyes off it, you recalled that now that he was here, yelling at you about it -- but you didn't even remember looking away just moments ago you were so exhausted.
In the back of your mind some little part of the normal you knew that the Doctor was just worried, but that little piece was dwindling with every moment you continued to lose sleep.
You'd moved right past delirium at this point -- and, hell, you weren't even sure how much of this was real. What if you were hallucinating? Angel statues that could only move if they weren't being looked at? That was a little crazy, even for the Doctor.
He turned to look at you when you remained silent, and when his eyes met yours they melted into pure, unadulterated concern and some dam inside you broke.
Sobs wracked your body and you collapsed. The only reason you didn't hit the ground was the Doctor surging forward, arms wrapping around you and holding you steady.
"Oh, dear," he cooed, holding you close. You buried your head into his chest, your cries still rocking through you, though the Doctor's arms kept you pretty snugly in place, and his clothes did an excellent job of muffling your blubbering.
You could feel one of his hands running comfortingly through your hair, while the other rubbed soothing circles into your back.
Miraculously, you calmed. For the first time in days, you felt like you could relax. Breathe. Hell, maybe even sleep.
It was with that thought that you felt yourself being effortlessly lifted. The Doctor carried you, bridal style, back to the TARDIS, through the doors and the console room and the halls, until he reached your bedroom and settled you carefully onto the bed.
"What about the angel?"
"You're completely safe in the TARDIS. I promise."
You knew that he knew that you had meant something different, but you were too tired to argue. Now that you were safe, sleep was coming to claim you rather quickly.
Once you fell asleep, you were haunted by nightmares again, but you were just so glad to be getting any sleep at all that you didn't care.
You found the Doctor in the console room the next morning, looking over something on one of the monitors. Without even so much as sparing you a glance, he dived right into it.
"That's no ordinary Weeping Angel."
"What do you mean?" you asked with a yawn and a bleary blink in his direction.
"See, normally a Weeping Angel wouldn't waste any time -- you blink, you're dead. Well. Teleported to another time so that they can feed off the energy that the displacement causes. But this... this is..."
"It's torturing me."
It wasn't a question -- how could it have been? You and the Doctor both could see what it was doing to you.
"Yes," he confirmed sadly.
"Reminds me of something," you said with a shrug.
"Oh?"
"Oh, do I get to be the brainiac for once?" you teased with a smirk, leaning back against the console beside him.
"I guess we'll find out," he teased back, mirroring your expression and bumping your shoulder lightly with his own.
You blushed, suddenly self-conscious, but you forged ahead anyway. "So, usually when a predator becomes a maneater it's because it's sick or injured and almost always starving, and humans are really easy prey compared to deer and antelope and stuff."
He was watching you with such rapt, adoring attention. You could barely stand it.
"But," you continued, "sometimes there are outliers. Predators that kill humans for unknown reasons, reasons that don't align with what we know about typical maneaters. The maneaters of Tsavo -- they were these two perfectly healthy, normal lions by all appearances, that killed anywhere from -- realistically speaking -- twenty-eight to thirty-two people, but reportedly they killed over a hundred. And no one really knows why they did it. There are theories, of course, but because they were healthy, and it happened over a century ago, there's no way to really confirm one way or another why they killed all those people."
You paused, thinking.
"Well, no way for the average person."
The Doctor beamed at you. "Oh, you are clever, aren't you?"
"I try."
"So you think maybe this Angel is an outlier?"
"Yeah, it's possible."
"No indicators of illness or injury, no signs of weakness or starvation. Just..."
"Sadistic tendencies?"
"But why?" he asked no one in particular, leaning back to stare at the monitor again.
"And..." you started thoughtfully. The Doctor turned to look at you again. "Why me?"
"Why you?" he repeated cluelessly.
"I wasn't here when it arrived, and it couldn't have known I was gonna be coming back anytime soon. It's possible it's been waiting for days, weeks for me to come back -- and it could've been waiting even longer if I hadn't decided I needed a break. That's a lot of waiting for a random person you don't know is coming back."
Realization dawned on the Doctor's face. "It's targeted."
"But why?"
"Why indeed?" he asked in that tone that was meant to sound casual but only served to let you know that he was deeply worried. "Let's find out, shall we?"
#tenth doctor x reader#tenth doctor x you#doctor who x reader#the doctor x reader#the doctor x you#reader insert#doctor who fic#doctor who fanfiction#doctor who#the doctor#david tennant#canon typical peril#weeping angels
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Nothing At All (Doctor Who One-Shot)
Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open and encouraged!
Summary: Your feelings for the Doctor are outed, and you're pretty sure he doesn't feel the same way. Thank God you're wrong, eh?
CW: angst, pining, canon typical peril, small amount of fluff, fluffy-ish
Doctor Who tag list: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)
___ ___ ___ ___ ___
“The mortal is exhibiting signals of elation and relief in the presence of our enemy,” the alien cyborg said robotically. You let out a frustrated puff of air. Of course, you felt relieved to see him. He was here to (presumably and hopefully) save you from their disturbing clutches. “Subject exhibiting pupillary dilation and increased blood flow to the chest, ears and face.”
You groaned, eyes widening slightly at the implications of just what this cyborg was stumbling into finding out.
These particular cyborgs had taken you hostage to study. They’d never seen a human before and supposedly this meant that they just had to have you. They needed to know everything under the sun, apparently.
The Doctor grinned and you pressed your hand up towards the glass as if to reach him through it. It was thick and sterile and there was a cool mist spraying down onto you from above- no doubt with some sterilising agent in it as well. Liked their shit clean, these cyborgs did.
“Right then,” the Doctor said, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, sonic clutched behind his back. “I think you’d better let my friend go, don’t you?”
The cyborg’s metallic head stared vacantly at the Doctor before it whirred and clicked to focus on you.
“The subject displays a rise in heart rate upon making visual contact with the enemy.”
Your eyes flit to the Doctor, who is doing his best not to make eye contact with you. You’re starting to piece together just what the cyborg is currently monitoring.
The Doctor clicks his tongue, whipping the Sonic from behind his back and scanning the lock on your glass door. The door opens with a ‘shhhhhk,’ as the gas leaks out around the framing.
You spring into action, darting past the canister-like tube that you’d been held in and running for the Doctor’s hand. You took it with a squeeze and the Doctor shot a beam at the cyborg, who’d started towards you.
“Emotion identified,” the cyborg said, robotic voice slowing as the Sonic did its thing. “Human emotion… named… love…”
You groaned, flushing deep red as the Doctor grabbed you by the shoulder and pushed you forward, urging you towards wherever it was he’d parked the TARDIS. You didn’t even want to look at him. This was it. This was how you died. You almost wished the cyborg had killed you right then and there to save yourself from the misery of it all.
You’d not wanted the Doctor to find out about your little crush this way. In fact, there were about a million other ways you would have preferred he found out.
You ran in whichever direction the Doctor told you, not daring to look behind you for fear of his expression, yes, but also for fear of seeing several angry cyborgs charging up their face lasers or something to smite you down with.
Then, at the end of the corridor, you saw the TARDIS. She was parked half in the shadows and a cyborg was scanning it. The Doctor grunted as you both pelted it towards the blue box. You heard the telltale sound of the Sonic as he aimed it over your shoulder and fired it at the cyborg, most likely disabling the laser. It wasn’t as though the cyborg would have been able to garner much information from scanning it anyway, of course. The TARDIS had natural defences against that sort of thing, but it was the principle of the thing.
The cyborg shut down as you narrowly escaped running face-first into its arm. With a shriek, you bolted inside the TARDIS doors, trying to avoid toppling up the stairs and breaking a bone in the process.
The Doctor was hot on your heels, skidding to a stop to close the doors behind you both and lean back against it, skin flush with sweat and adrenaline. He panted, hands on his knees.
It was only a minute before he was back on his feet, trying desperately to catch his breath but so rejuvenated by the narrow escape that he was bursting with energy. You were not in a similar boat. You were doing your best to just not collapse onto the floor from fear and exhaustion.
Your cheeks were ruddy red, and sweat was beading in your hairline. You groaned irritably, desperately needing some water or a very, very long shower. And as you slowly started to bring yourself back down and your breathing started to even out, you remembered what the cyborg had said.
“Oh, wasn’t that exciting?!” The Doctor practically yelled, energy bouncing off him in spades. “Cyborgs- brand new cyborgs sent to catalogue anything and everything! Bit of a job, but I s’pose that’s why they sent cyborgs. Not going to degenerate too fast. Oh, and their inter-cranial wiring- I mean, did you see that? Gorgeous!”
You were vaguely listening, in the very back of your brain. Hearing the words? Yes, but actually listening to what he was saying? Not so much, no. You wanted to curl up into a ball and just… roll away out of sight so you could avoid the Doctor forever. The TARDIS was basically never-ending. You could hide out there for the rest of your life, right? It would take him forever to find you if you kept moving from room to room.
“-Hello? Are you hearing me?”
“What?”
The Doctor pouted, eyebrows drawn down in concern.
“Are you alright?”
Were you alright? Were you alright? No, you were not alright. You were in love with the Doctor, and he’d avoided eye contact upon hearing that particular little factoid, which made you feel just so amazing about the whole thing.
“Me? Never better,” you replied with a tight smile, swallowing thickly, throat dry.
“Oh,” the Doctor said, nodding like he was trying to make himself believe it but knowing better. “Are you sure? I mean, that wasn’t all that convincing, really.” The Doctor scratched at the back of his head. You rubbed a hand down your face irritably and sighed.
“Not really,” you finally admitted. “No.”
The Doctor stepped forward, putting the Sonic away in his pocket. He put both his hands on your shoulders and gave you a very sincere look of genuine concern.
“What’s wrong?”
“Besides the fact that you can’t even stand to look at me?”
The Doctor flounders for a moment, dropping his hands from you. You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The Doctor, your poor un-offendable Doctor, looks hurt. You’ve hurt him.
“Shit- I-”
“Is that really what you think?” His voice sounds small and tinny in a way that unnerves you. You step forward, a small shuffle of a step, only for him to take one back. Ow, it feels like a fist has been rammed right through your gut and out the other side. Only that’s not what’s happened, and you’re not going to drop dead from having a hole torn right through you to avoid having to replay that memory in your head for the next thirty years.
That flash of hurt on his face is gone the next, and it’s replaced by something that- if you’re not mistaken- almost looks angry.
“No, is that really what you think?”
It’s your turn to flounder now, hand hovering in the air toward him like a phantom. You’re not even convinced it’s your hand anymore. What was happening, and why was it happening?
“I- n-no,” your voice wavered, unsure. “It’s just- when the cyborg- and you- I-” Your hands went to your head, and you forced yourself to breathe. The Doctor was fighting with himself on whether to rush forward to comfort you or remain in his protective defensive bubble.
In and out. Once more. Okay, you were a little calmer now, your breathing evening out. With great care, you said, “You couldn’t look at me. When the cyborg told you… how I feel. I thought-” you broke off, tears springing up at the thought. “You might be done with me now that you know. That you might take be back home.”
“Take you home?!”
You jump at the volume of his response, eyes managing to meet his in defiance of all odds.
“No, I’m not going to take you home. I- I didn’t want to let on I felt the same, because, well- they were calling me the enemy, and I didn’t need them thinking I had a weak spot for you. I mean, what would I do if you were gone? Cease to exist, cease to function.” The Doctor barely stopped for a breath. “Who else is going to call me out on my mismatched shoes, or- make sure I eat all the broccoli on my plate? Yuck, hate broccoli. Really, there’s no one else for me, I-” he breaks off so suddenly it’s almost jarring.
“What?”
“You feel the same?”
The Doctor blinks, clearly jolted out of his train of thought.
“Course I do! You’re- well, you’re you! Look at you, how could I not?”
In those three seconds all of your fear, anxiety, embarrassment, anger, it all fades away, and you know everything is going to be alright. You’ll be alright, and so will he. You’ll be alright together, and what else did you need if you had each other?
Nothing at all.
#A/N: everyone say thank you to Denali for the tag “canon typical peril” lmao#david tennant#doctor who x reader#tenth doctor#tenth doctor x reader#doctor who#doctorwho#doctor who fic#doctor who fanfiction#david tennant x reader#10th doctor#10th doctor x y/n#10th doctor x you#10th doctor x reader#tenth doctor x y/n#tenth doctor x you#doctor who x y/n#doctor who x you#ten x reader#ten x y/n#ten x you#the doctor#the doctor x y/n#the doctor x you#the doctor x reader#david tennant doctor#dt doctor#allons-y
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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] || Also on AO3
Chapter 11: July 2016
[CLICK]
ARCHIVIST
Right. There we go. Martin, what do you see?
MARTIN
W-what?
ARCHIVIST
I can’t really stand up yet. I need you to describe what’s going on. For the record.
MARTIN
Oh. Right. Yeah. Um, Sasha tackled Tim and there was a bit of a struggle, but she made it out of the Archives. That was about five minutes ago, and…she’s probably gone to get help. I don’t know for sure, but, well, it’s Sasha. She wouldn’t just abandon us.
ARCHIVIST
Did it look like any of the worms…got her before she left?
MARTIN
No, I don’t think so. Tim neither, I think. It’s a bit hard to tell, what with—it was a lot out there, but I think they both got out without a mark on them. [mumbling] Or a new one, anyway.
ARCHIVIST
Tim. What happened to Tim?
MARTIN
They got split up and he ran to your office. That was where they came in, you said you’d made a hole, so…Christ, I hope he’s careful in there. Jane Prentiss didn’t follow him, and, and the worms should be coming towards her, so as long as he doesn’t…maybe he found the spare CO2.
ARCHIVIST
Spare? What? Where? I never saw any.
MARTIN
I hid a couple in the old casefile boxes.
ARCHIVIST
What, why?
MARTIN
So they’d be handy? I’ve been stashing them pretty much everywhere I can think of. There’s only the one in here, though, since the room is sealed, so…
ARCHIVIST
No, I mean, why hide them?
MARTIN
So the worms wouldn’t find them.
Look, I know it sounds stupid.
ARCHIVIST
Yes. Yes, it is. They’re just…they’re just unclassified parasites. They don’t have consciousness, they can’t plan, they’re just an unthinking infection.
MARTIN
[Sounding tired] Whatever helps you sleep at night, Jon.
ARCHIVIST
[Audibly bristling] And just what is that supposed to mean?
MARTIN
You can’t possibly actually be this big of a skeptic. Nobody can work for the Magnus Institute and not have some idea of what’s going on—and I know you’ve never doubted when it comes to Prentiss, or to Leitners, you always treat those statements with a lot more…I dunno, respect. But when it comes to anything else, I’ve listened to you recording and you just dismiss them. You tear them to pieces like they’re wasting your time, but half of your “rational” explanations are more far-fetched than just admitting that there’s a ghost or something. It’s one thing to want evidence before you confirm something is legitimate, but there comes a point when you’ve got to just…accept that you believe. For crying out loud, you thought I was a ghost, and your only evidence for that was Tim.
ARCHIVIST
Of course I believe. Of course I do. Have you ever taken a look at the stuff we have in Artifact Storage? That’s enough to convince anyone. But, but even before that…why do you think I started working here? It’s not exactly glamorous. I have…I’ve always believed in the supernatural. Within reason, I mean. I still think most of the statements down here aren’t real. Of the hundreds I’ve recorded, we’ve had maybe…thirty, forty that are…that go on tape. Those I believe, at least for the most part.
MARTIN
Then why don’t you—
ARCHIVIST
Because I’m scared, Martin! Because when I record those statements, it feels…it feels like I’m being watched. I…I lose myself a bit. And then when I come back, it’s like…if I admit that there’s any truth to them, whatever’s watching will…know somehow. The skepticism, feigning ignorance. It just felt safer somehow.
MARTIN
…
It’s a good strategy, I’ll grant you that. Worked for Joshua Gillespie, I guess. For a little while, anyway. Don’t think he’s the only one, either.
But it won’t work forever. Ignorance only keeps you safe for so long, but the minute you start accepting that any of it’s true, the only safe way is to accept that all of it is true. Pretending not to believe is just going to get you killed, because it means you’ll miss something until it’s staring you in the face, and by then it’s too late.
ARCHIVIST
…I suppose you’re right.
Still, it’s not my fault we’re about to get eaten by worms. Speaking of, can you see anything?
MARTIN
Not much. They’re just…there.
ARCHIVIST
How many?
MARTIN
Too many. And they’re coming up through the floorboards still. I didn’t think they could fit through.
ARCHIVIST
Prentiss?
MARTIN
No, I can’t…[frustrated noises] Hold on. This glass…
[DEEP BREATH, FOLLOWED BY A FAINT HISS OF STATIC]
She’s over by the shelves. Or at least there’s a lot of…there’s something person-sized over there.
ARCHIVIST
[Dry but slightly shaky] You might be able to see better with your glasses on.
MARTIN
Yeah, you’d think, but it’s easier to pinpoint without them. Christ, that’s a lot.
ARCHIVIST
A lot of what? Worms?
MARTIN
Yeah, basically.
Yeah, it’s Prentiss all right.
ARCHIVIST
What’s she doing?
MARTIN
Not sure. She’s messing with the boxes. She’s just picked one up and—aah!
ARCHIVIST
What?
MARTIN
She’s…she’s destroying them. Sort of.
ARCHIVIST
Sort of?
MARTIN
N-no, more like…Corrupting them. I’m not sure what that stuff is coming out of her mouth, but I think we should probably burn them.
ARCHIVIST
Right.
Right.
MARTIN
…
I’ll teach you the way we used to burn Leitners.
If you want.
ARCHIVIST
We?
MARTIN
Me and Gerry and Neens. The three of us.
[FAINT CREAKING NOISE AS MARTIN SITS ON THE COT NEXT TO JON]
I lied, Jon. Or, well…not lied, not about most things, but I haven’t told you everything. The only thing I really lied about was my CV. I don’t have a master’s in parapsychology. I don’t even have a degree. I was seventeen, my mum was having…problems, and my stepfather was starting to get forgetful. It wasn’t too bad then, not so bad he couldn’t function or take care of Mum, but it caused issues for him at work and he lost his job. I had to drop out of school to support us all, but nobody was hiring without qualifications and when I offered to take over Mum’s job at Pinhole Books Aunt Mary said I wouldn’t be needed, thank you very much. I started making things up. My lie about parapsychology got me in the door here at the Institute, and I know why Elias hired me after that, but…honestly, most of my employment details are made up. I won’t even be twenty-nine until next month.
The reason I know so much about Leitners isn’t because of a degree or a thesis or anything. It’s…that was literally most of my childhood. Mum and Mary Keay were—I don’t know if you’d call them friends, but they worked together, and not just at the bookshop. If they’d actually been witches, they’d probably have been a coven. A lot of what they did was tracking down Leitners. Books of power, you know? And the three of us got recruited to help.
ARCHIVIST
That’s why you’re here? In the Archives, I mean. I—truth be told, it’s been bothering me for a while. You’ve been living down here for four months, under the constant threat of…this. Sleeping with a corkscrew and a fire extinguisher. You must know that’s not normal for an archiving job. That’s why you stay?
MARTIN
Partly. Partly because I realized you didn’t know what was going on, not like I did, and I thought…I just thought if I stuck around, maybe I could keep you safe. You and Tim and Sasha. [bitter laugh] You can see how well that worked out.
ARCHIVIST
We’re alive, aren’t we?
MARTIN
For now.
Mostly, though, I haven’t left because…I don’t think I can. While I was still…you know, upstairs…I think I could have walked away, no harm done. Once I came down here…well, I think we’re all caught now.
ARCHIVIST
Yes.
Yes, I—I see what you mean. I think.
MARTIN
[Softly] I wish you did.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
SASHA
[Breathing heavily] Oh, God, that’s so much.
Okay, Jon. I know you’ll want to know what’s been happening. If you’re alive after this. There are worms on the upper floors. Not so many as down in the Archives, but enough.
I set off the fire alarm, so everyone’s evacuated but me and Elias. I haven’t seen any sign of the fire brigade, but I haven’t been near a window in a while. There was…a wave of worms, I guess, and I got separated from Elias. We were on our way to set off the fire suppressant system manually. I hope he made it, but who knows. Maybe everyone’s dead already.
I’ve had to retreat into Artifact Storage. That should tell you something about how bad it is out there.
God, I hate this place.
Did I ever tell you I joined the Institute as a practical researcher? I had to analyze and investigate all the stuff in here. Take notes after sleeping in the rusted chair, write in the memory book, that sort of thing. I transferred after three months. Would have quit, but I couldn’t afford to back then.
Never understood why we keep all this stuff secret. I mean, we’ve got enough here to send any skeptic packing, but it’s just locked away. I—I asked Elias about it once, but he just mumbled something about funding and mission statements. He’s good at changing the subject, isn’t he?
Sorry, I’m rambling. No worms, though, that’s—
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
Get back!
SASHA
What—who’s there? Who are you?
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
Just—shit. Get out of here!
SASHA
Look, you shouldn’t—
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
[Agonized and desperate] Listen to me. If you take one more step forward, if you look at that, you will die. Get out of here.
SASHA
Are you threatening me?
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
Damn it, I’m trying to save you! I don’t know who you are, but you don’t—[gasps in pain]
SASHA
Are you hurt? Shit, the worms—come on, let me—
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
[Panicked] No, no, don’t touch me! Not yet! Just—
SASHA
Wait, that’s—is there someone else in here?
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
Oh, fuck.
[SASHA SCREAMS, THE MYSTERIOUS FIGURE YELLS, A DOOR SLAMS]
SASHA
What was that?
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
Don’t know. That’s never been my—
[MYSTERIOUS FIGURE DROPS TO ONE KNEE, MAKING STRANGLED NOISES OF AGONY]
SASHA
Are you okay? Have you—have you been bitten?
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
[Strained] No—no, it’s—give me a second. It’ll pass.
[DELIBERATELY FORCED BREATHING THAT SLOWLY EVENS OUT]
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
Right, okay. Get out of here. If you know a way out that isn’t that way, I suggest you take it.
SASHA
Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’m not leaving you behind. Besides, I don’t know if my friends are okay. We’ve got to stop those worms.
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
[Dryly] I’m open to suggestions. I suppose setting the whole place on fire is out of the question.
SASHA
No! Not with—the CO2 is going to be bad enough, but they can survive that. Maybe.
We’ve just got to trigger the system. There should be a manual override. Elias was going to set it off, but we got separated, I don’t know if he managed it.
MYSTERIOUS FIGURE
Lead the way.
[CLICK]
#ollie writes fanfic#to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic#martin blackwood#jonathan sims#sasha james#canon-typical worms#panic#peril#death mention#fire mention#the formatting is better on AO3#at least it damn well better be because I spent the last half hour fixing it
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Ah, I recall the first Dracula Daily with such fond memories.
At the beginning of the book, there were the typical jokes about Jonathan being a clueless English man, which upon a second reading were actually nothing further from the truth since he realizes he's in mortal peril very quickly.
There were discussions about the themes of xenophobia, antisemitism, and ableism in the novel which I found very valuable. There are certainly parts that have aged poorly and they are important to acknowledge, especially when it comes to the treatment of Renfield.
Then there were the jokes about the characters being queer, but very quickly during Jonathan's stay at the castle people were going "seriously, was this written by a straight person, because that's not the vibe I'm getting."
And a trip to Bram Stoker's wikipedia page showed that, while we can't say for certain because we can't ask him, there's a very good chance that he was a gay man deep in the closet. Suddenly, a lot of the choices regarding Jonathan's relationship to femininity, his relationship with Mina, and the everything about what happened at the castle make a lot of sense when you're imagining it being written by a closeted gay man in reaction to the Oscar Wilde trials just 2 years before the book was published.
Then when Dracula arrives in England and starts preying on Lucy everyone goes "wait a minute, this part of the book... is not about sex. I was told this part was supposed to be about sex or sexual liberation or some shit. That is not true. It's about abuse or disease or the poor Victorian women dying of tuberculosis."
Then Lucy turns into a vampire and we realize that the connection with sex is probably because "voluptuous" is Bram's favorite word, and that's how he decided to describe the corrupting nature of a vampiric existence in women.
Then Mina and Jonathan finally join up with the suitor squad and everyone is happy,. Then Mina gets barred from operation Murder Dracula after doing so much work for the cause, and everyone is angry.
October 3rd happens and Mina is brought back into operation Murder Dracula, and if you weren't a Jonathan Harker and Mina Harker shipper before, you probably are now because Jonathan turns into an unhinged badass and his love for Mina is so incredibly powerful and incredibly queer.
By the end, the general consensus is that the book is very good. The movie adaptations do not do it justice. They don't do justice to Renfield, to Lucy, and they especially don't do justice to the number 1 canon ship Jonathan Harker x Mina Harker aka jonmina aka Holiest Love.
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Little Warrior
Pairing: Sigtryggr Ivarsson (The Last Kingdom) x F!Reader
Warnings: Canon typical violence and death, kidnapping, slight Stockholm syndrome, attempted sexual assault, sexual tension, coercion, corruption kink, talk of religious beliefs, female masturbation, loss of virginity, smut.
Word count: 4.6k
Summary: When Sigtryggr and his men seize Winchester he takes a special interest in one of their captives (I have essentially yeeted Stiorra from the story and adapted the storyline of how her and Sigtryggr become an item to suit my own). Based on this request.
Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
They come in the night. As Winchester sleeps, the Danes descend upon it.
She is woken by the blood curdling shouts and screams of the townspeople, accompanied by the acrid stench of smoke from nearby burning buildings.
Her heart lurches in her chest, panic causing bile to rise in her throat as she acts purely on instinct, scrambling from her bed and out of the house wearing just her nightdress. The only thought in her mind is that she doesn’t want to die trapped in her home as it’s burned to the ground.
Once she is outside, she watches wide eyed with horror at the destruction around her. Buildings are ablaze, people lay dead and dying upon the ground, the thick coppery scent of blood makes her want to vomit.
It’s only when the coolness of the night air begins to chill her skin that she realises just how perilous her situation is - a thin layer of cotton is all that separates her flesh from the horrors around her. She worries about what these Heathens will do to her if they see her in such a state of undress.
She trembles at the thought, dread gnawing at her insides. It’s too risky to go back inside, her only option is to hide. She takes her chances beneath an overturned farmer’s cart, crawling beneath the gap and cowering, waiting for the chaos around her to die down.
Clutching the cross around her neck, she sends up a silent prayer to God to keep her safe. Her destiny is in his hands now.
The aching in her joints for having been crouched for so long is beginning to become unbearable when the noise eventually quietens. She wonders if the Danes have left, if King Edward will return to rescue Winchester or if they have managed to capture it in his absence. Where are the Wessex guard?
She freezes when she hears the sound of approaching boots upon the ground, her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage when they come to a stop in front of the cart she’s hiding under.
“I can see your feet, Christian”, comes the voice of a man. He speaks softly and quietly, and it sends shivers down her spine.
Too paralyzed by fear to do anything, she remains as she is, her breaths coming quick and shallow, a rapidly dying hope in the back of her mind that he might give up and leave her alone. But there is no such luck.
“You will come out,” he commands, “or I will drag you out, the choice is yours.”
She clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle the frightened whimper that escapes her, attempting to force herself further back against the wooden confines of her misguided hiding place.
A large hand appears beneath the cart, reaching towards her before wrapping itself around her ankle.
She shrieks, thrashing against the hold it has on her as she’s dragged out. She lays wide eyed on the cold earth, her breathing erratic, as she looks with terror upon the Dane that towers above her prone form.
His long brown hair is wild and unkempt, half of it pulled back, and a ragged scar runs the length of the left side of his face. He regards her with mild amusement and she becomes aware again of her state of undress.
The thought that he might rape her sends her senses into overdrive, pure adrenaline driving her decision making. She knows she’s in no position to run, her only other option is to fight him, so as he crouches down towards her, she lunges upwards, slapping and scratching at his face and shoulders.
He is quick to overpower her, pulling her to her feet and twisting her arm behind her back.
“A fearsome little warrior, she is,” he chuckles, keeping her arm taut behind her as he gently urges her forward.
He guides her towards the front steps of the King’s estate, where several people are kneeling before a group of Danes. As they draw closer she recognises a few of them; King Edward’s sons and a few of the Wessex guard.
She is certain she’ll be killed. The man presses on her shoulder, urging her to kneel beside the other captives. She takes up her position, the stone step is hard against her knees, and she is all too aware that she is the least valuable of everyone gathered there.
“Send them to where they keep their dead King,” the man says, looking at Edward’s children and then nodding towards the chapel.
“We need to send a message to Edward,” a dark haired, heavily pregnant woman says, as two of the Danish men pick up the boys and carry them off. “We must force him to yield Winchester to us.”
It makes her shudder to think that this woman will be a mother, when she is capable of such atrocities.
“And what do you propose, Brida?” He responds.
Brida regards her with a look that makes her blood run cold. She has never seen anyone look at her as though she is worth less than nothing, her brown eyes are filled with utter contempt. “Send him her head,” she tells him, “it is more shocking to Christians when you are prepared to kill women and children alike.”
She gasps audibly, stricken by terror at the notion that they intend to behead her, until she feels his hand upon her shoulder.
“You will not touch her,” he says cooly, “slaughter the men, but she stays with me.”
“And what will you do with her?” Brida asks, raising an eyebrow.
“That is for me to decide,” he responds dismissively.
He makes a cut throat gesture at the Danes that flank Brida, then nods towards the kneeling guards, before pulling her back to her feet and directing her inside of the King’s estate.
She winces as she hears the sound of blades making thick, wet impact upon flesh, followed by dying screams of agony. Despite her shock and disgust, she cannot help the twinge of relief that lightens the feeling in her chest that that is not what destiny has in store for her, at least not yet.
The room that he brings her to is what she assumes is a study. It is filled with books, maps and writing materials, the space is occupied by a wooden writing desk, a chair and a settee.
As her eyes travel around the room, taking in her surroundings, she’s startled out of her reverie when her gaze settles back upon him. He is standing so close, silently observing her, his expression unreadable.
Once more she is reminded of how little she is wearing, and now that she is alone with him, fear of what he might do to her returns in earnest.
“S-stay back,” she stammers, backing away, eyes scanning the room for something, anything, that she can use as a weapon.
He smirks, unmoving, as he looks her over from head to toe. “Be calm, little warrior. Do you know who I am?”
Her face contorts in confusion. “No…”
He straightens, tilting his head slightly, clasping his arms behind his back. “I am Sigtryggr Ivarsson. I am a Dane. If I wish to hump a woman I do not need to do so by force.”
She softens slightly, fear does not grip her heart quite so icily as before. His name is meaningless to her, but she is relieved that he means her no harm.
Sigtryggr leans in, his breath tickling the shell of her ear. “But make no mistake, little warrior, I will have you, and you will beg me for it.”
She draws back quickly in disgust - not at his words, but at the reaction they elicit from her. The way warmth pools in her lower belly fills her with immense guilt. This man has invaded her home and killed people she knows, people she loves, she should despise him.
Swallowing thickly, unease prickling at her, she elects to change the subject. “What have you come here for?”
“To take what I am owed,” he says simply.
“And what is it you believe you’re owed?”
“Land. Your people drove me from mine,” he explains, anger lacing his tone, “your boy King will give back what he stole, or I shall keep Winchester and send him the heads of his children.”
She inhales shakily, feeling like she wants to cry. “A-and…how do I factor into all of that?”
He softens, shrugging slightly. “You don’t, but I can’t imagine your King will yield quickly, and it is always nice to have company. You are brave, for a Christian.”
“So I am your prisoner?”
“No, little warrior. You are free to leave any time you’d like, and take your chances with Brida.”
The implication is not lost on her. Her freedom is an illusion when the alternative is death. Sigtryggr is her only guarantee for safety.
“Shall we find something else for you to wear?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
She looks down at the thin material of her shift, seeing how dirty it is from having been crouched beneath the cart, dragged out and then forced to kneel on the steps of the estate. Her cheeks heat up with embarrassment.
“Yes, please,” she whispers.
He nods. “Wait here.”
Sigtryggr leaves her alone in the study, not bothering to lock the door behind him - a sign of his confidence that he knows she won’t try to escape.
He returns a few moments later with a white cotton shift that is similar to the one she is currently wearing, She assumes it belongs to Ælflæd, something he has found within a bedchamber.
“Where is the rest of it?” She asks.
“What do you mean? It’s the same as what you have on, and it’s clean,” he says simply.
“Yes, but this is meant to go under–” she sighs, “nevermind.”
She takes the shift from him and begins to change, noting the way that he turns from her, keeping his eyes fixed on the shelves of books that line the walls of the room. The small mark of respect makes her smile. She had not anticipated such manners from a Heathen.
He pulls a book from the shelf when she is finished, flipping through its pages. “Can you read?”
She nods and he hands the tome to her.
“Read to me.”
“Can you not read?” She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.
“I can,” he says with a smirk, “but where’s the fun in that?”
She sighs, settling into the chair in front of the writing desk, while Sigtryggr sits upon the settee a few feet away, and she reads to him.
Over the next few weeks their days are spent much like this. She reads aloud to him, though none of the books are particularly interesting, mostly religious texts and historical records of Wessex. She’s not convinced that he pays any particular attention to the words, but he seems to enjoy the sound of her voice.
They find a Hnefatafl board and Sigtryggr teaches her how to play. They while away hours strategising ways to remove each other's pieces from the board. He has a sharp mind, is calmer and more analytical than any other Dane she’s ever met. He bests her with his cunning multiple times, until she finally begins to get the hang of it and he begins to lose to her.
“Another game?” She asks. “How many have I won now?”
He shoots her a sideways glance, a faint smile upon his lips. “I am not keeping count.”
She giggles. She is beating him, but he does not seem to mind.
They sleep upon furs and blankets that Sigtryggr has brought down to the study and fashioned into a makeshift bed. Her stomach flutters at laying in such close proximity to him, but true to his word he never touches her. Shame blooms hotly in her chest as each of the days pass and she finds herself yearning for it.
He brings her food, and the hopelessness of the situation looms over her as with every meager meal the bread tastes more stale.
“Read to me, little warrior,” he requests, reclining on the settee, his forearm slung over his forehead.
She grouses, hunger pangs causing her stomach to rumble painfully. “I cannot concentrate,” she whispers.
“What is the matter?” He asks, sitting up to look at her.
“I am hungry. I’m always hungry.”
He nods, stepping towards her and offering her his share of the bread.
She looks from his outstretched hand to his face uncertainly. “What will you eat?”
“I will manage, and you will read to me,” he tells her, as she takes the offering and he settles back down.
She smiles to herself at the gesture, warmth spreading throughout her. So she eats, and she reads to him.
Sigtryggr disappears each day, leaving her alone in the study. She only leaves to bathe and to relieve herself, but she is perfectly happy to stay put and await his return, especially when she is all too aware of the alternative.
Each day when he returns he brings news of the continuing siege. King Edward and the Wessex guard surround the walls of Winchester, but will not attack as his sons are being kept captive in the chapel. They have yet to yield to Sigtryggr’s demands for land.
She fiddles with the cross around her neck, eyeing the Mjölnir that sits around his carefully. “Can there not be a peaceful resolution?”
"It is more difficult to live peacefully with enemies than to fight them,” he tells her.
“But we live peacefully,” she retorts.
“We are not enemies, little warrior.”
The sentiment makes her heart flutter, though there is the lingering question in the back of her mind; what are we?
He leaves her alone again as usual one morning and she busies herself poring over maps to pass the time.
She turns when she hears footsteps, expecting to see Sigtryggr but instead it is a man she does not recognise. He appears Saxon, so she cannot understand why the Danes have allowed him to move around the estate so freely.
The stench of ale upon him as he draws closer is nauseating. His eyes hold malicious intent as he advances towards her, and her blood runs cold at the sight.
She stands, backing away from him. “Whatever you are planning to do, please reconsider,” she pleads, “Sigtryggr will punish you if anything happens to me.”
“I have allied myself with the Danes,” he slurs, “but at what cost? They treat me like a dog, while Sigtryggr coddles you. Tell me, whore, is your cunt really that good? Perhaps I ought to find out for myself.”
She yelps as he lunges for her, grabbing her and pinning her against the desk. Fury flashes through her as she struggles against him, attempting to free herself from his hold.
“Whatever treatment they give you, you have brought upon yourself, traitor,” she spits.
Her head snaps to the side, a sharp sting spreads across her cheek as he strikes her.
She barely has time to adjust her focus before she feels him forcefully being pulled off of her.
“Eardwulf!” Sigtryggr snarls angrily. “Fucking coward!”
His fist makes impact with Eardwulf’s face knocking him to the ground, before he is dragged away.
She curls up on the furs, shaking as tears stream down her cheeks, waiting for her heart rate to calm. What could have happened to her if Sigtryggr had not returned when he did doesn’t bear thinking about.
She is unsure of how much time has passed when he returns.
“Are you alright?”
She turns towards the sound of his voice, gasping when she sees he’s covered in blood. Rushing towards him, she places her hands upon his face. “You are hurt…”
Softly he grasps her wrists, keeping her hands where they are. “This blood is not mine, and Eardwulf will not hurt you ever again.”
Her lips part in shock at the thought that he has killed for her, saved her life twice now. She studies his face, taking in the stormy blue of his eyes, the fullness of his lips.
She allows her gaze to linger there for just a moment too long, embarrassment making her hot, eager to distract herself. She traces a finger over the scar that runs the length of the left side of his face.
“How did this happen?”
“A man tried to take my eye during battle,” he explains softly, “so I took his life.”
“But you were hurt.”
“Injured, yes. Left with a scar, yes. But very much alive.”
“As am I, thanks to you.”
She drops her hands from his face and he steps away from her, pulling off his blood soaked light armour and clothing.
She feels her throat run dry at the sight of his bare torso, all lean, lithe battle hardened muscle, adorned with scars. She longs to trace her fingers over each of them.
Looking away, she feels ashamed for harbouring such thoughts and desperately tries to ignore the throbbing ache in her core.
As night falls and Sigtryggr lays asleep beside her, the feeling that lingers between her legs has yet to subside. It is maddening, robbing her of rest. Every time she closes her eyes the image of him stood bare chested before her enters her mind.
She has never touched herself before, it is impure to do so, yet she needs relief or she is sure she will go mad.
Sparing a glance in the darkness towards Sigtryggr, she makes sure his eyes are closed before reaching a tentative hand between her legs. She lets out a shaky sigh as her fingers make impact against the sensitive flesh.
She is not quite sure what she is supposed to do, but finds that a combination of rubbing the area and bucking softly against her hand feels most pleasurable, so continues to do that, holding her free hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she makes.
There is a feeling that builds within her, a zenith that she feels she must press towards, so she continues in earnest, until finally she feels something within her release and her entire body shudders, a soft moan stifled against her lips as white hot pleasure rolls through her body.
Laying there afterwards she does her best to calm her breaths, feeling guilty for having done something so depraved.
She is startled by Sigtryggr’s voice beside her. “If only you’d beg, little warrior, I could do that for you.”
Her breath hitches and she quickly turns away from him. Not knowing what to say, she feigns sleep, clutching her cross and praying silently that he’ll forget.
She is grateful when he speaks of it no further, and life goes back to normal, or at least what normal is for them.
That is until a couple of weeks later when Brida storms her way into the study, clearly having grown impatient with the lack of progress being made.
“It has been more than thirty days since we captured Winchester, and your negotiations with the Saxon King are not working, Sigtryggr,” she glowers at him, “the time for talking is over. We are killing more captives.”
She does not miss the way that Brida’s eyes linger upon her as she says this, a shiver of fear causes her skin to break out into gooseflesh.
“I will choose who we execute, not you,” Sigtryggr tells her.
“You cannot protect this Saxon forever,” Brida retorts.
“Oh, but I can,” he says, placing himself protectively between her and Brida. “She is mine, and I will decide what happens to her.”
Brida scoffs, turning and leaving. Sigtryggr follows, leaving her alone to ponder the fact that he has once more saved her life.
When he comes back several hours later, he looks so tired. The expression he wears is one of defeat and she feels her heart ache for him.
“Read to me,” he says softly, sitting heavily upon the settee.
She regards him quietly, she wants to comfort him. She wants to comfort herself. She has grown weary of denying him.
Before she has time to think about what she’s doing, she crosses the room, and places herself upon his lap, her thighs astride his.
“What are you do–”
His words are cut off as she presses her lips to his eagerly, before pulling away. “I’m begging, Sigtryggr, please. I–”
He surges forward, kissing her again, his mouth possessing hers hungrily as he grasps her hips, lifting her as he stands to deposit her onto the makeshift bed upon the floor, his body caging hers in against the furs.
“I knew you’d give in, little warrior,” he whispers against her neck, kissing his way down her throat to her collarbone.
His fingers toy with the hem of the shift she wears, a silent plea for consent in his eyes as he looks at.
She swallows thickly and nods, nervousness and excitement fluttering ceaselessly in her stomach.
He pulls the garment over her head, throwing it to the side before sitting back on his haunches to admire her.
“Gods…you were worth the wait. So beautiful,” he whispers reverently.
She squirms beneath his gaze, turning her head away at the intimacy of the gesture, feeling shy and uncomfortable.
“Look at me,” he tells her softly. His fingers grasp her jaw, turning her face back to him.
Slowly he undresses, until he is as naked as she is. She feels the familiar ache between her thighs as she drinks in the sight of him, chiseled and battle hardened.
“Now we are equal,” he reassures her.
He reaches for the cross around her neck, toying with it between his fingers, before giving a quick, hard tug, causing the cord to give way. “What we are about to do is no business of your nailed god,” he tells her, tossing it to one side.
He kisses her once more, slower this time, their mouths saving the feel of the other’s against it. Trailing featherlight kisses down her body until he reaches her breasts, he wraps his lips around one of their hardened peaks, sucking gently.
The sensation causes her to moan, a pleasurable sensation shooting through her body, pooling into wet warmth between her legs as she arches against him.
Sigtryggr repeats the motion on the opposite breast, before descending further down, leaving wet kisses in his wake.
She freezes up when he grips her thighs, placing them over his shoulders so that his face is level with her most intimate of parts.
“What…what are you doing?” She asks anxiously.
“I’m going to taste you,” he says matter of factly, making pointed eye contact.
“You cannot do that,” she protests weakly, “it is an unclean thing to do.”
He grins at her, shaking his head slightly. “Christian,” the word leaves his mouth as a half hearted insult, before he presses forward.
The first swipe of his tongue against her folds causes her to gasp, her hands burying themselves in his hair as he uses his grip on her thighs to pull her closer, his tongue moving against her firmer, deeper, faster.
A groan of satisfaction rumbles in his throat, the vibrations causing her insides to clench as she bucks against his face, chasing the edge of oblivion that his tongue is pressing her towards.
He sucks at her pearl, before laving his tongue over it and she cries out as she spasms against his mouth, ecstasy numbing all of her senses as he continues to lap at her.
Once she relaxes, he pulls away, sitting back between her legs, his chin slick with her juices. His fist runs over the length of his cock as he takes in her blissful state and her eyes widen as she sees the size of him.
He is thick, long and slightly curved. She has never looked upon anyone’s manhood before and she trembles as she wonders how it will possibly fit inside of her.
Sensing her trepidation, Sigtryggr caresses her cheek with his palm. “Relax, little warrior, I have prepared you well.”
He presses the head of himself against her entrance and she braces herself, but then he stops. Her eyes flit to his questioningly.
“Beg for it,” he whispers.
She whines, wanting to hide her face in furs that they lay upon.
“Beg,” he says again, more insistently.
“Please,” he pushes forward, aided by her arousal and release, “please,” he pushes forward again, more of her swallowing him up, accompanied by the sensation of stretching and the slightest of stings, “please,” he pushes forward once more, finally sheathed fully inside of her.
She realises as he settles on top of her, giving her a moment to get used to the feeling of him, that this was merely a means to distract her so that she wouldn’t focus on the possibility of it hurting and grow tense. She smiles, stroking the wild tresses of his dark hair. Always so cunning.
He withdraws his hips slowly, before carefully pushing forward again. He repeats the motion several times, watching her face carefully.
As her breathing quickens, her brow relaxing as her jaw begins to slacken, he increases his pace, hips snapping against hers faster and faster, their kisses frenzied as they pant into each other’s mouths.
She feels him throb inside of her, the sensation pushes her back towards the precipice she’d fallen over earlier, but before she reaches it he is pulling out, spilling pearlescent ropes of spend across her belly.
He wipes her clean with a blanket, discarding it before laying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. A satisfied ache settles within her, she feels she could fall asleep like this, but his voice lulls her back to full consciousness.
“I have released the King’s sons back to him,” he tells her quietly.
“What will happen now?”
“He is sending a warrior named Uhtred into Winchester to negotiate terms, if I accept those terms then my men and I will move on.”
Her heart sinks. She cannot bear the thought of him leaving, not now she knows what it’s like to be in his arms. “Oh,” is all she is able to muster, pressing tighter to him.
They fall into a quiet doze, until he gently squeezes her shoulder. “I must go and speak with Uhtred.”
She watches sadly, quietly, as he dresses. He leans down to kiss her before he leaves and she pushes her lips eagerly to his. If he is to abandon her then she will cling to every last moment until he does.
When Sigtryggr returns later, she is dressed in her shift again, though her cross remains discarded. She is seated by the window, staring listlessly out of it.
He carries a bundle of clothing in his arms and she looks at him curiously.
“To keep you warm,” he explains, deepening her confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“I have discussed terms with Uhtred and we have reached an agreement. I will leave Winchester, on the condition that you accompany me…not as my prisoner, but as my woman.”
She grins, running into his arms and wrapping her arms around his neck.
As they ride away from Winchester, side by side on horseback, she does not feel as though she is leaving her life behind. On the contrary, it has just begun.
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Right Where You Left Me
Title: Right Where You Left Me
Summary: The reader, a waitress at the local diner, has become good friends with Dean. What happens when he disappears without a trace?
Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel
Word Count: 7,309
Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril
Author's Note: This story takes place through the events of the second half of season 12, starting with episode 9 "First Blood". It's also the first story I've actually written and published in nearly 6 years, so grant me a little grace please. Enjoy!!
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” A voice says. You snap from your thoughts and look at the people sitting at the table in front of you. You’d gotten distracted by the bell at the door, a new customer coming in. Not the one you were looking for though. Putting on your best smile, you shake your head slightly.
“I’m so sorry. Where were we?” You ask, glancing at the notepad in your hand.
“We were trying to ask you about the pie of the day,” the woman says. You nod and try not to sigh.
“Cherry,” you tell her. Dean’s favorite. They order two slices which you deliver to them quickly before going into the kitchen. “Stew, I’m taking a 10,” you announce to the cook. He waves a hand at you and glances at the clock.
“Make it 5,” he shouts as you slip out the back door. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, you slip the brace off of your wrist and roll the sore joint slowly, wincing.
“This job,” you mumble before pulling your phone from your apron. Going into your recent calls, you hit the name at the top. Dean. He wasn’t going to answer. He hadn’t in weeks after all, calls or texts. It rings…and rings…and rings. Just as you’re about to give up, the final ring is cut off.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice asks, curiously. Confusion and a million unpleasant thoughts sweep over you in an instant.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Dean,” you say.
“This is his phone. At least, I think it is…who is this?” She asks. You sigh and run a hand over your face.
“My name’s Y/N. I…I work at a diner and Dean’s one of my regulars. I haven’t seen him in a while and…I was worried,” you tell her. You can hear the confusion in her voice when she responds.
“A waitress who has her customer’s numbers and calls to check up on them?” She asks.
“No. Well…yes, but…Dean’s more than just a customer,” you say.
“What exactly is Dean then?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. What is Dean? That was the very question you’d spent countless nights asking yourself.
When Dean had first wandered into the diner and sat in your section, he was just another tip. Sure, the two of you had flirted but, to be honest, you flirted with most of your customers. You had bills to pay after all. He came back the very next night, claiming the pie had just been too good. On his fifth visit to the diner, he wandered in just as you clocked out and invited you to join him. You sat in that booth across from him for hours, laughing and talking. At the end of his seventh trip, you slipped your phone number to him on the back of his bill. He’d called you before his car was even out of the parking lot.
That was nearly a year ago and the two of you talked and texted regularly ever since. Sure, he’d go silent for a little while but then he’d saunter into the diner, give you a crooked smile, and ask for the pie of the day. Throughout that year, the two of you flirted, laughed, and teased each other. There had been a few occasions when he’d catch you as you were leaving, place a to-go order, and then you’d ride in his car out to some deserted spot to talk and eat. You’d gotten to know each other intimately. In an emotional sense that is. Dean always kept you at arm’s length. He’d never asked you on a real date. Your coworkers insisted he was probably married and just stringing you along. And now some strange woman was answering his phone and…
“Y/N?” The woman on the line says.
“Sorry. A friend. Dean’s…a really good friend,” you tell her. “Can I ask who you are?”
“I’m Mary,” she starts and you immediately let out a heavy sigh.
“His mother. Of course,” you breathe with relief.
“Yes,” she says, slightly surprised.
“He’s talked about you a lot. Where is Dean?” You ask. Now, it was Mary’s turn to sigh.
“We don’t know,” she tells you.
“What?” You ask. “It’s his job, isn’t it?” You didn’t know exactly what Dean did but he’d come into the diner beaten and bruised on a few occasions.
“Well…yes,” she says.
“Have you called the police?”
“Y/N, break’s over,” Stew calls from the back door.
“Give me a minute!!” You yell to him. He grumbles and slams the door shut. “You have called the police, right, Mary?”
“That’s not exactly an option,” she says, slowly.
“Well…what about Sam? Or…or Cas?” You ask. There’s the briefest of pauses.
“I’m…I’m here with Mary,” a second voice says.
“And Sam was with Dean,” Mary adds. Cas was there as well, listening to your conversation. You frown and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think.
“I want to help,” you tell them.
“I’m sorry, Y/N but…we don’t even know you,” she says.
“Well, then, come meet me. I get off at 8:00,” you say before giving her the address for the diner. “If you don’t show up, I’ll call the police and report them missing myself.”
“We’ll be there,” Mary says before disconnecting the line. You slip the phone back into your apron pocket and run your hands over your face. Sliding the brace back onto your wrist, you head back into the diner.
The rest of your shift drags on slowly. You don’t make nearly as much as you could have on tips, your normal perky personality absent. At 8:15, you finally manage to clock out, throwing your apron into the dirty linens bag. You rush out the front door and look around, phone in hand. The front doors of an unfamiliar car open at the same time. Mary, you recognize her from the old pictures Dean had shown you, gets out of the driver’s side, and the man you assume to be Cas gets out as well.
“Y/N?” Mary asks, watching you. You nod and rush over to the two of them.
“While I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s nice to finally meet you both,” you tell them, holding a hand out. Mary gives you a quick once over before placing her hand in yours.
“I wish I could say the same but…”
“Dean never mentioned me,” you say. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. You’d often wondered and now you knew for sure. You were a secret.
“So, what exactly do you know about their work?” Mary asks. You frown and shrug.
“Not much. I figure…best case, CIA…worst case, I dunno…the mafia,” you say, more than a little embarrassed. Mary smiles a little and looks down at the ground.
“Not exactly. It’s a bit more freelance than that,” she says.
“Like a bounty hunter?” You ask. Mary shakes her head, looking around.
“I’d rather not discuss it here. Would you be willing to go back to the bun…where the boys live and talk there?” She asks.
“Of course,” you agree, immediately.
***
Never get in the car with strangers. The age old advice rang through your ears as you rode in the back seat to wherever Mary and Cas were taking you. Of course, these two weren’t exactly strangers. They were at least Dean’s mother and best friend. You truly felt like you actually knew them with how much he’d talked about them.
Mary continues to drive as you watch the cityscape disappear. It isn’t too long before she’s pulling onto a desolate looking road. The road leads into a dark tunnel, only lit by the headlights of Mary’s car. Your eyes have to readjust when she pulls into a much more brightly lit area. Looking around, you find a room that appears to be a garage holding several very old cars. This much at least screamed Dean, relaxing you a little.
“You said they live here?” You ask, trying to wrap your mind around that statement.
“Yes. It’s an old bunker. Used to be home to a secret society, the Men of Letters,” she tells you. You nod and try to keep your face in check. You can feel her watching you in the rearview mirror.
“Are they in this secret society then? You ask as she parks the car.
“No,” she answers. “It died out in America decades ago. There is still an active branch in London though.”
“Douchebags,” Cas mutters. You both look at him and he glances between the two of you. “That’s what Dean calls them.” You let out a small laugh as the three of you get out of the car. Mary leads the way through the bunker quietly. You follow, looking around and trying to take in as much as you can. She leads the two of you into what you assume is a library given the shelves of books all along the walls.
“You drink?” She asks, holding up a bottle of brown liquid. You nod as you take a seat at the table. Admittedly, you were more of a wine drinker but you felt the impending conversation would require something stronger. Mary pours two glasses and sets one in front of you before walking around to the other side of the table. She takes the seat opposite you and looks at the glass, swirling it slightly. “You sure about this, Y/N? Once you know the truth, leaving it behind can be pretty difficult.”
“Please,” is all you manage to say. She nods and throws her drink back quickly.
“Alright,” she starts. “I come from a long line of hunters. Not the kind you’re thinking of. My family hunted monsters. Ghosts, demons, witches, vampires.” You strive to keep your face in check as you take a slow drink. This was not what you were expecting at all. “When I was 19, dating John, the boys’ father, a demon killed him and my parents. He offered me a deal. He would bring John back and we could live a normal life, as long as I gave him permission to enter my home in 10 years. I was suddenly alone and holding the dead body of the love of my life. I agreed. Ten years later, he entered my home and killed me. John took the boys on the road and they became hunters as well.”
Mary stops as you stand slowly and make your way over to the bottle she had used earlier. With shaking hands, you refill your glass before downing it quickly. This was insane. Mary was insane. There was no way this was real.
“Mary…I…you really expect me to believe all this?” You ask, looking back at her now. She shrugs slightly and looks at Cas. You’d forgotten he was even there. He’d been leaning against a bookshelf behind her, watching you. You look at him as he starts to make his way around the table towards you.
Panic quickly rises in your throat and you have to remind yourself that these are Dean’s people. At least…you’re fairly certain they are. You’d never seen pictures of Cas and the only ones you had seen of Mary were from when Dean was just a child. Now, this strange woman was trying to convince you that monsters were real and your friend hunted them for a living. Cas stops next to you and looks down at your hand.
“Why are you wearing that brace?” He asks. You blink, surprised. You’d half expected him to knock you unconscious.
“I, ummm…” You hold it up and shake your head. “Carpal Tunnel from work.” Cas nods and briefly touches two fingers to your forehead before you can even register the movement.
“You won’t need it anymore,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief before taking the brace off. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel any pain as you roll your wrist in every direction. You look back up at Cas and then at Mary. She smiles and shrugs.
“Angel,” she says. You know the shock is clear all over your face as Cas helps you back to your seat. The three of you sit in silence for a little while as you process all of this information. You’re grateful for the time they give you.
“You, ummm…” You stop and look at Mary. “You said you died.” She runs a hand across her forehead and looks at you, debating on if you’re prepared for more information. You give her the best reassuring smile you can manage at the moment.
“God’s sister brought me back as a thank you gift to Dean and Sam for helping her reunite with her brother,” she says. You’re absolutely certain your jaw hits the table.
“Well…that was…nice,” you manage. “And they were on a…a hunt when they disappeared?”
“Lucifer had possessed the president of the United States,” Cas starts. “We were going to exorcise him and return him to his cage in hell.”
“Oh my god,” you mumble, immediately beginning to massage your temples. “This is…this is a lot.”
“Now you know why Dean never told you,” Mary says. You nod, still attempting to rub away the migraine threatening to explode behind your eyes.
“I, ummm…can I take a walk?” You ask. Mary nods, smiling a little. You hoped you were handling this better than she expected. You’re still shaking as you rise from your seat again and make your way down one of the hallways. Your mind thinks back over things Dean had mentioned about his work and, frankly, it lined up. He’d never given you a lot of details but now it was starting to make sense.
You stop in the middle of the hallway and glance around. Your curiosity gets the better of you causing you to push open the door in front of you. It was a bedroom, modestly decorated. You make your way into the room and find a familiar picture sitting on the bedside table. It was the photo Dean had shown you of him and his mother. Glancing around the room, you surmise that it must be his room.
You pull open the drawer of the bedside table and gasp. Inside you find several things, another gun, a handful of credit cards, and fake ID’s. But the most surprising thing was sitting right on top. You gingerly pick up the picture and can’t help but smile. It’s of you, sitting in the front seat of Dean’s car, laughing. You remembered when he’d taken it, one of the many nights you’d spent talking. You didn’t realize he’d had it printed and kept it so close. Maybe you were more than just a secret.
“Y/N?” Mary asks from the doorway. You look up at her and she smiles. “I was getting ready to head out when you called, a vampire thing in Missouri. Cas said he’d take you back.”
“Thank you for being honest with me,” you tell her. She nods once and leaves you alone.
The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You call Stew and make up a story about a death in the family out of state, telling him you’ll need a week or two off. He reluctantly agrees. You stay at the bunker with Cas after that. Your days are spent diving into the lore books in the old bunker, learning anything and everything you can. Cas teaches you how to do “research”, showing you how to tell the difference between normal weird and supernatural weird. He shows you one of the spare bedrooms but you end up sleeping in Dean’s room instead.
The two of you are making your way to the library when you hear Cas’s phone ringing. He rushes ahead to answer it and you go over to a new shelf to find something else to study.
“What?” He answers the phone. “Dean?” The book you’d picked out slips from your hand and you rush to his side. “What, what happened? Wh-where are you?” You stare at him, tears stinging your eyes. He grabs a pen and pad off the table and quickly jots down a note. Rocky Mountain National Park. State Route 34. “Yes. – Wait, where? – Wait, what does that…” Cas sighs and sets the phone down, frowning.
“What did he say?? Are they okay??” You ask. He glances at you and shrugs.
“He sounded rushed. Like they were being chased,” he says. You nod and pick up the notepad, trying to hide the rush of emotions you were feeling.
“We’ve got to call Mary. Meet up with her and get to Colorado,” you tell him. He looks at you quickly and frowns.
“No, Y/N. It’s too dangerous for you to come along,” he says, taking the notepad. You shake your head, tears falling freely as you look up at the angel.
“Cas, please,” you beg. His resolve breaks instantly and he sighs, picking his phone back up.
“Dean would not approve,” he mumbles before calling Mary.
The two of you pull into a parking lot several hours later. Mary’s car is already sitting, waiting. She gets out and clenches her jaw when she sees you rise from the passenger side of Cas’s car.
“You got here quickly,” Cas remarks. Mary nods, eyes fixed on you.
“Yep. What the hell is she doing here??” She asks. Cas sighs and looks over at you.
“Mary, please. I won’t get in the way, I swear,” you tell her. Frowning, she shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders.
“Y/N, it’s not about you being in the way. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m more worried about you getting hurt and what that would do to Dean,” she says. Swallowing hard, you set your jaw. Mary wasn’t going to see you cry too.
“Please. I have to be there. I need to see him with my own eyes,” you plead. She watches you for a moment, debating internally.
“Dean’s gonna kill us,” she says before turning to Cas. “We may want backup.”
“Crowley and Rowena?” He asks. She scoffs and you glance between them.
“The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?” She asks. You frown and shake your head.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” you comment. Mary smiles a little and looks at Cas.
“I hope we can do better than them.”
“I may have an idea,” he says. Mary nods and makes for the driver’s side of her own car.
“Good. Seat belts on. I drive fast,” she tells the two of you as you load into the car as well.
The British Men of Letters. That was Cas’s idea. Mary almost immediately pulls out, supposing “the demon and his mommy” don’t sound so bad anymore. You hang back, watching the situation unfold. The two Brits, Mick and Ketch from what you gather, offer their services seemingly free of charge. They make a few phone calls, getting access to a satellite of the area Dean had mentioned. Mary and Cas are able to deduce the direction they’re headed and a good spot to meet them.
The two cars move to the new location and you all unload once again. You look up at the night sky and think about the last night you’d spend with Dean. He’d picked you up from the diner at closing time and drove you out of town to a remote location. You’d both laid on the hood of the car, splitting the last of the pie of the day.
“Y/N,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn to face her and immediately launch into pleading again.
“Mary, please. I don’t want to wait here while you two go on…”
“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up. “That’s not what I was going to say. Dean’s already gonna be pissed we brought you. He’d kill us both if we left you with those two. Just stay close to us and if something goes wrong, run back here.” You manage a relieved smile and follow her and Cas further up into the woods.
The three of you come into a small clearing and it isn’t long before there’s a rustling in the brush. Cas and Mary both move into a defensive stance in front of you. You wring your hands as you wait. Cas takes a few steps closer to the noise just as Dean and Sam fall through the bushes. Your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of Dean and you almost break down crying right then.
“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, relieved. You can see the tension immediately leave Mary’s shoulders as she takes in the sight of her boys. Sam rises first and pulls Cas into a tight hug. His eyes land on Mary and he smiles.
“Mom,” he says, letting Cas go. He starts to make his way across the clearing towards her when you register the confusion on his face. Dean finally stands and hugs Cas as well. Sam pulls Mary into a tight embrace that she immediately returns. “Who’s this?” He asks.
“Y/N??” Dean’s voice rings across the clearing. You smile, swallowing back tears, and wave slightly. “The hell is she doing here??” His voice is thick with anger as he makes his way over to Mary. The venom in his words takes you by surprise. Mary raises her hands slightly.
“She was worried about you. Called your phone. I answered and she wanted to help,” she explains. You and Dean stand there, staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are full of a rage you can’t even begin to comprehend.
“How much do you know?” He asks.
“A lot more than I did a week ago,” you tell him. He shakes his head and looks to the sky before looking at his mother.
“Hey, Mom,” he mumbles, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a gasp of surprise and returns the embrace. Dean’s eyes never leave your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he says before walking straight past you.
You take a shaky breath and run your hands over your face. You had anticipated he’d be angry, of course. But you had hoped the joy of being together again would cancel that anger out at some point. Mary pats your shoulder before she starts to follow Dean. You debate on staying right there in the woods for a moment before falling in step behind them. Sam clears his throat slightly as you all walk.
“Mom, how did yall even find us?” He asks, attempting to break the tension.
“They helped,” she says, pointing to Mick and Ketch as they come into view.
“Dammit!! They know about her now too??” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, get in the car.” You stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “Car. Now,” he demands. You wipe at your eyes furiously as you storm back to Mary’s car. Sliding into the middle of the back seat, you realize for the first time that the Dean you knew and this Dean, the real Dean, may not be the same person.
The five of them talk for only a moment before coming to the car. Cas takes the passenger seat quickly and Dean doesn’t hide the dirty look he gives him. You shake your head, unable to believe that having to sit by you in the car was that unsettling. Had you misinterpreted your entire relationship? Sam gets in on your other side and smiles at you, awkwardly.
“Y/N, wasn’t it?” He asks. You look at him and smile bitterly.
“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you Sam. I’ve heard so much about you. And don’t worry. I know the feeling can’t be mutual. You’ve never heard of me before, have you?” You ask, letting your anger burst out for a moment. Dean’s hand tightens into a fist on his leg as he stares out the window. Sam’s awkward smile becomes apologetic before Mary changes the subject, filling them in on everything they’d missed.
Mary continues to drive on into the night. You catch Sam and Dean both nervously glancing at the clock at the front of the car. They seem to only be getting more anxious as the minutes tick by.
“So wait, you're hunting?” Dean asks his mother. She glances back at him in the mirror and shrugs.
“A little bit,” she says. Sam smiles and shakes his head.
“Yea, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teases.
The exact second the clock switches over to 12:00, midnight, the car dies. Mary eases it onto a bridge as she tries the key again.
“It’s time,” Sam says, getting out of the car. You look at him then over at Dean.
“Stay in the car,” Dean tells you. Rolling your eyes, you slide out right behind him, tired of being ordered around tonight. The others all get out as well and look around, taking in their surroundings.
“What’s happening?” Mary asks.
“Yea, Dean. Sup?” A new voice says. You all look over to find a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. You look around, trying to figure out where she could have possibly come from. Dean takes an immediate step in front of you, shielding your entire body. Instinctively, you step closer to him, your hand coming to rest on his back, assuring him you were there and okay.
“Billie?” Mary asks, recognition and confusion mixed on her face.
“The reaper?” Cas asks. You close your eyes, trying to think back over your studies. It wasn’t one of things you’d become familiar with but gauging everyone’s reactions, this wasn’t a good thing.
“I don’t understand,” Mary says, shaking her head. Dean sighs and hangs his head.
“Mom, that place…there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn’t breathing,” he starts to explain. You glance around at everyone and notice the horrified look on Cas’s face. “So I made a call.”
“Dean talked to her and then Billie came to talk to me,” Sam continues the story. “And we made a deal. We’d get to die and come back one more time, but in exchange…”
“Come midnight, a Winchester goes bye-bye. Like, permanently,” Billie says, smiling. “And that is something I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”
“No,” you whisper from behind Dean.
“Why would you –,” Mary starts.
“We were already dead,” Dean tells her. “Being locked in that cell with nothing…I’ve been to Hell. This was worse.”
“At least this way, one of us gets to keep fighting,” Sam finishes. You shake your head, taking a step away from Dean.
“No,” you say again. He looks over his shoulder at you and his anger has completely dissolved. “Dean, no.”
“Hi, Y/N,” Billie says, waving. You look at her in utter shock but Dean steps between the two of you again.
“Leave her out of this,” he growls.
“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, shaking his head.
“Yea, they do,” Billie says. “We made a pact bound in blood, You break that, there’s consequences on a cosmic scale. So, who’s it gonna be?” She asks, looking between the brothers. Sam looks at Dean, then at you, and back to Dean who shakes his head.
“Me,” Mary says before either of them can answer. She turns to face Billie, pulling her handgun from her waistband. Sam and Dean both immediately object, stepping forward to stop her. Billie flings both of them away with a wave of her hand. You rush to Dean’s side and fall next to him, immediately checking him for injuries. He shakes his head and fights to rise to his feet again.
“You said come midnight, a Winchester dies?” Mary asks. “I’m a Winchester.”
“Works for me,” Billie says with a smile. Mary cocks the gun and raises it toward her head. Sam and Dean both object loudly again, fighting to get to her.
“I love you,” Mary sniffs. Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, a sharp pointed blade pierces through Billie’s chest from behind and she immediately falls dead. You stare in shock at the dead body lying before you. Cas stands over her, the blade in his hand dripping blood. Mary lowers her gun as Dean and Sam are finally able to get to their feet. Dean takes your hand, pulling you up as well. You begin to pale as you stare at the body.
“Cas, what have you done?” Dean asks, looking at his best friend in shock.
“What had to be done,” he says. “You know this world – this sad, doomed little world – it needs you…” Your ears begin to ring and you take a shaky step closer to Dean. His arm comes around your waist, eyes never leaving Cas as he continues to talk. Something about keeping all the Winchesters alive.
“Dean,” Mary says, pointing to you. “First dead body.” Dean looks down at you just as you go completely limp in his arms.
**
Dean runs his hands over his face before taking a long swig off his beer. A lot had happened in the last day; dying, coming back again, running, fighting for their lives, getting back to their family, you, Billie, you, Cas killing a reaper…you. That was really the only thing on his mind…you. He had so carefully built a relationship with you. A relationship based on half truths and secrets but a relationship nevertheless. Now, you knew the whole nasty truth. It was going to be Lisa all over again…
“Dean?” Mary asks, sticking her head into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little. “Can I join you?” Nodding, he points to the empty seat across from him. She walks over, taking the seat quietly. He stares at the bottle in his hands. “Dean…”
“You shouldn’t have told her,” he tells her firmly. “It wasn’t your place. I didn’t want her to know. She was safer not knowing. Now…I’ll never see her again.”
“What? Why?” Mary asks, confused. Dean stands and throws his empty bottle into the trash.
“To keep her safe!!” He snaps, spinning on her angrily. “People around me don’t hang around too long. They either run or they die. It’s as simple as that. Especially the ones who mean the most to me. And she means…” He stops abruptly, emotion closing up his throat. Mary frowns as she stands and walks over to him.
“It only seems that way, Dean. Y/N, she’s…she’s strong. She took everything I told her in stride and she stayed. She stayed here with Cas and she’s been learning how to do the job,” she tells him.
“That’s even worse!! I don’t want her anywhere near this,” he says, fighting back tears. “If it was just normal hunter stuff then maybe but the stuff we deal with…Lucifer and Amara and God…I want her as far away from all of this as possible.”
“Don’t you think she should get a say in this?” Mary asks. He shakes his head, stubbornly.
“No. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her back home. I’ll never go back to that diner.. She’ll never see or hear from me again,” he says.
“What?” You whisper to yourself, standing just outside the kitchen door. You turn on your heels and rush down the hall towards the garage. Your car was there and you’d spent enough time at the bunker to know how to get out. You hadn’t heard much but you heard enough. Dean didn’t want to see you anymore, plain and simple.
***
Three months, five days.
That’s how long it had been since you last saw Dean. You’d left the bunker, rejected and heartbroken, and Dean had kept his word. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come in for any pie. Life was back to normal. Boring, regular, normal. You found yourself reading into everything you saw on the news, wondering if it was a case Dean could be working at that very moment.
You’d volunteered to close down the diner for yet another night. Floors were mopped. Counters and tables wiped down. All you had left to do was lock up. Flipping off the lights, you step outside into the cool night air. You turn to lock the door when you hear footsteps coming up behind you. Damn it. You’d been so lost in thoughts about what you had believed was a werewolf in Michigan you hadn’t checked the parking lot first.
“Hello, love,” a heavy British accent says. There’s nothing familiar and certainly nothing friendly about the greeting. You stand frozen for a moment, weighing your options. You didn’t have many.
“We’re closed,” you say, not turning to face him yet.
“Not here for the pie,” he jokes. He’s closer than he had been.
“Look. My manager has already taken the deposit to the bank. I’ve got a few bucks in my purse and that’s it. I haven’t seen your face yet. You can turn around and leave, no consequences,” you tell him.
“Afraid not. Got a job to do. A message for your little hunter boyfriend,” he says. You let out a short laugh.
“You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” you say. His reflection is in the glass of the door now, standing right behind you. You take a deep breath and turn to face him finally. “Dean Winchester doesn’t care about me. Hurting me, won’t hurt him in any way.”
“We’ll see about that,” he says, brandishing a knife. You bring your knee up, hitting him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over, giving you enough time to run towards your car. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t slow him down enough. Before you can make it to the car, he’s grabbed you by your waist, knife at your throat. “Any last words I can pass on to the Winchesters?” He breathes in your ear.
“Go to hell,” you spit at him. You feel the knife press harder against your skin as angry tears slide down your cheeks. What a way to go. Dying for a man who couldn’t care less.
Before the Brit can finish you off, a car whips into the dark parking lot, lights shining bright on the two of you. It takes your attacker by surprise and you feel his grip relax just enough. A sharp elbow to his abdomen has him letting you go. You fall to your knees as you attempt to run away. The car skids to a stop and you hear the voice you’d only dreamt of hearing again.
“Y/N!!” Dean yells as he runs at your attacker. He tackles him, knocking the knife from his hand as the two men hit the ground. Mary runs to your side as Sam runs to help Dean. You weren’t sure why. Dean had the upper hand, sitting atop the man, punching him in the face. Repeatedly. That’s when you realize, Sam wasn’t helping Dean. He was pulling him off.
“Dean, it’s over,” he tells his brother. “He’s dead.” Mary helps you to your feet, examining you as Dean makes his way over, wiping his bloodied hand off on his shirt.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dean asks, taking your face in his hands. He looks you over and frowns at the knick on your neck. Running his thumb over it gently, he wipes the blood away.
“I’m fine,” you mutter, taken aback by his gentleness and concern. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a crushing hug. You gasp and freeze before slowly returning the embrace. Mary touches Sam’s shoulder and nods back towards the dead body. They slip away to deal with that and give you two some privacy. “Dean…”
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I put you in so much danger,” he says, letting you go. “I didn’t know we were being watched. I didn’t know.”
“Dean, what’s going on?” You ask.
“The British Men of Letters. Turns out it was a join or die type of situation. They’ve been watching all of us for a while now. They knew about you before you ever knew anything,” he explains. “They had brainwashed Mom but we just got her back. Sam and Jody led a raid of the Brits’ headquarters. Saw the pictures of you, of us here. We got here as quick as we could.” He winces now and you finally register how badly beaten he looks.
“What happened to you?” You ask, knowing your attacker hadn’t even gotten one good swing in. He limps over to his car and leans back against the hood.
“Grenade launcher,” he says, pointing to his leg. “Bad fight with Ketch.” He points to the rest of himself.
“Gre...huh??”
“They locked us in the bunker. Shut off the air supply. It was our only way out. And it was freaking awesome,” he says, smirking now. You roll your eyes at him and try not to smile, fighting back that familiar feeling he always gave you.
“Well, thank you. I’ll be more careful. Try not to close up by myself anymore,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He nods slightly, watching you.
“Or you could come with me,” he says. You scoff a laugh and shake your head.
“You don’t have to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine,” you say.
“What?” He asks. You shrug, trying to give him a confident smile.
“I’m officially relieving you of the burden of my safety. Whatever happens to me, happens. Don’t let it get to your conscious,” you tell him, looking around for your purse.
“Y/N,” Dean says. He watches you walk over and pick up the discarded item. You throw it over your shoulder and look back at him. “Come here,” he says gently, holding a hand out.
“You don’t want me. I know that. Please stop this,” you say, looking down at the gravel under your feet. You hear him sigh and look up as he starts to limp towards you. “No. Stop. You’re hurt.” He rolls his eyes now before taking your face in his hands for the second time tonight. This time his eyes aren’t searching for injuries. They’re searching for answers.
“Why would you think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. You get lost in the green of his eyes for a moment before the memory of that night comes back.
“I heard you with Mary. You said I wouldn’t see or hear from you again. And I haven’t since I left the bunker that day,” you tell him, hating to relive those harsh words. He nods, his hands leaving your face. They don’t go far though, immediately coming to rest on your hips.
“Is that all you heard?” He asks. You nod, wishing he’d just let you go home instead of dragging this out. “I didn’t leave you alone because I didn’t want you. I left you alone because I needed to keep you safe, because I want you too much, because I care about you too much.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare up at him. You had to have died and gone to heaven for him to be saying these things, the things you wanted him to say so desperately.
“You were so mad when you saw me…”
“Because I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. Hunting, especially the things we end up hunting, it’s dangerous,” he pauses and closes his eyes. “I had just made a deal with a reaper to die. Again. I’d already resolved myself to the fact I wasn’t going to get to say a proper goodbye to you, tell you how I felt, how happy you’ve made me over the past year…and then you were there, right smack in the middle of everything. I was furious, yea, but not at you. I was mad at myself. I never shoulda came back here to begin with.”
“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. Nothing was making sense. Nothing but the feel of his hands on your waist. That was good. That was right.
“I fell for you so hard that first night I came in for dinner. I was just supposed to come in, pick up something for me and Sam, and head back to the bunker. But when I walked in and saw you…I had to know you,” he recalls. “I thought a couple of visits couldn’t hurt. I could just be a customer, see you, talk to you. Maybe you’d eventually learn my name. That third time I came in and saw you getting ready to leave I was devastated. So I asked you to join me, thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell. You’d just gotten off work. Surely you wanted to get out of there and get home. But you stayed and you sat with me and…I knew I was in trouble.” You’re crying now. You don’t know exactly when the tears started but they were falling quickly. Dean brings one hand up and wipes at each of your cheeks gently. “And then you gave me your number…man, I almost called you from the booth,” he laughs. You do as well, reaching up and taking his hand. You press a kiss into his palm.
“I never knew what we were. I was so confused,” you tell him.
“I’m sorry. I kept going back and forth. I told myself it was too dangerous, you were safer as my friend. But then I’d get you alone, in my car and…” His hand tightens slightly on your hip and he pulls you impossibly closer. “I wanted you so desperately.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes bore into your own.
“I wanted you too,” you just manage to whisper. His forehead is touching yours now. Your eyes flutter close as his breath washes over your face.
“No more secrets,” he says before finally bringing his lips in to meet yours. This isn’t a gentle, chaste first kiss. Your lips move desperately against his as your arms wrap around his neck. It was everything you’d imagined and nothing like you could have dreamed all at the same time. His lips were chapped but gentle. He tasted of mint and whiskey. The way his hands moved over your back, one sliding just beneath your shirt to caress the skin at the small of your back, was intoxicating. You force yourself to pull away, remembering that his family was in the near vicinity.
“I have one secret,” you admit. He looks down at you expectantly. “I freaking hate this job.” He laughs and shakes his head, kissing you once more quickly.
“Sweetheart, I got bad news. That ain’t a secret,” he teases. You laugh too as Dean looks over your shoulder at the diner. “This place is gonna go under without your pie. It’s the only reason anyone comes back.”
“Including you?” You ask. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks back down at you.
“Why do you think I’m keeping you at the bunker?” He asks. Laughing again, you try to step out of his arms but they only tighten around you. His face is suddenly serious again as he watches you. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this life is.” You smile as you take his face in your hands.
“Dean,” you start. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
With that, Dean kisses you once again.
You leave your diner key in the door and a note taped to the glass.
I quit. -Y/N
****
Tags: @roseblue373
#fanfic#fanfiction#supernatural#spn#dean winchester#reader insert#dean x y/n#dean x you#dean x reader#sam winchester#mary winchester#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fanfic#cas#castiel#right where you left me#dean x waitress
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Tristamp Wolfwood is a bit different than his counterparts, yeah? And I don’t mean that in a bad way, Orange is going somewhere with it, but it’s very different from what they’ve done with Vash and Meryl imo. With them, I feel like we got a glimpse of pre-canon. With Wolfwood... Orange is up to something, and it goddamn terrifies me. I love him dearly, he has some many moments that make me smile and go, “Yeah, that’s Wolfwood, my beloved asshole.” But it’s different. Oh so very different.
I’m just gonna point out a few examples of things I think are different enough to note here (drawing comparisons from Trimax since that was the source for Tristamp, but I’ll try not to spoil much--just don’t Google names you don’t recognize), and then go a little off the rails with a couple theories (spoilers there, click the read more at your own peril). This is DEFINITELY not everything, and maybe my takes are a bit off, idk. If there’s something you’ve picked up on, definitely feel free to add it!
Well, here goes:
My dude is a mess. Wolfwood is typically put together and some would call him smooth (he’s a mess inside always, though) in his other incarnations. Orange pointed out at Sakuracon that the characters are supposed to look younger and more immature in Tristamp, and Wolfwood specifically is supposed to look like he can’t dress himself (lmao). They said they have their reasons but just didn’t have time to explore them in canon. So, I can make assumptions, but I’ll wait to see what comes in the future.
Another one that staff talked about in a recent interview is that Wolfwood is technically a priest according to his contract, but he calls himself an undertaker. Yeah, yeah, edgelord Tristamp Wolfwood and all that, but I’ve seen people call back to how, in the manga, it’s Vash that always takes the time to bury the dead. Wolfwood even chews him out a bit for this. But it’s literally in our introduction to him in this version. He carries the weight of the dead with him enough to make it part of his title, and that’s different for him.
I could be misremembering with this one. But I distinctly remember being surprised when I read Trimax because Wolfwood going into the Eye of Michael seemed more of his own choice than it is in Tristamp (not that a literal child could consent to, you know, torture and abuse)? But either way Wolfwood loathes the Eye of Michael from the get-go here, he doesn’t stay by choice and actively tries to escape. Just like all these choices he makes in Tristamp (which is MASSIVELY different in general), he does it for someone else. He can’t try to escape again, because they have Livio.
Speaking of! Livio!!! This was another thing that caught me by surprise going from Tristamp to Trimax, their relationship is so much different here, so much softer and it hurts in a beautiful way. I feel like less is more here to avoid spoilers, but this introduction pre-Trimax-canon and any future conflict with this backstory... is very different.
Holy hell, a moment like this happening so early?! Vash and Wolfwood having ideological differences and not understanding each other takes up so much time in Trimax. But over the course of three episodes, we go from Wolfwood killing someone that Vash wanted to save (props to Tristamp for making that gutpunch even more personal, ouch--though points deducted for not having the, “Shoot,” moment there), to Vash seeing how very similar they are and getting a grasp of why Wolfwood is the way he is. Wolfwood is so much softer in Tristamp. He’s way more emotional, he cares so deeply for things outside of himself, and he doesn’t have that apathetic bitterness. Staff have said that our main characters will be a lot more recognizable post-timeskip, so some shit is gonna happen to this man, but this is a fundamental shift in the early days of their relationship.
AGAIN!!! Wolfwood is doing this whole mission, betraying Vash, to save the orphanage. He didn’t have to listen to Vash trying to save the sandsteamer. It doesn’t matter if Vash is pissy if Wolfwood blew up the ship to save the orphanage, because that’s his end goal. He has a giant laser that just blew through an entire giant worm, this ship is nothing. Wolfwood’s trying to cling to the monster that he sees himself as, trying to stay the Punisher, but he’s not. He already has enough faith in Vash to trust him with everything he cares about. This takes a lot of development time for Wolfwood to trust Vash like this in Trimax--and even in the very end, he still doesn’t trust Vash with this. (If you know, you know.)
AGAIN!!!!! Wolfwood cares!!! He does not need to question if Vash is sure, if he thinks he can make up with or convince Knives or whatever, in fact he shouldn’t. He should give Vash no reason to question getting to July. But Wolfwood, be careful, your feelings are showing. Wolfwood’s getting worried about Vash. Even though all he needs to do is keep his head down and get this dork to July.
This was never Trimax Wolfwood’s motivation. Whatever drove him left him hollow and empty, he did not care. Even when he saw things starting to go south and he wanted out, Vash ended up being right: he was too much of a coward to do anything about it. (If you know, you know.) I had wondered, after Legato tried to bulldoze everything he loved, why the hell didn’t Wolfwood just desert the mission and team up with the gang. He already has such a deep connection with them. But this would be why.
WOLFWOOD IS NO LONGER CONTRACTED BY THE EYE OF MICHAEL AT THE END OF THE SEASON??? Some people say that Wolfwood still works for them, but tbh for what reason? They’re about to end the world. And then what about this line? He wouldn’t exactly have a choice, would he? I do think we’re gonna meet Chapel (right before Livio shoots himself, you’ll hear a voice and see a silhouette (not Razlo, though he’s there too) that seems to be a “new” character), and Wolfwood might end up working under him for some fucked up reason... But if not, this changes everything. It already changes everything considering how big Wolfwood escorting Vash to Knives is. But that’s done now. And because Vash saw right through him the first time, if Wolfwood comes back to do the same thing again, it might feel cheap and a little silly.
MERYL!!! Trimax is basically the Vash and Wolfwood show, right? The girls are around, but mainly their interactions are with Vash. But he and Meryl interact so much just over the course of twelve episodes. They even have that adorable group shot. She matters enough that he came back to rescue her, and the two of them worry about Vash together in the finale. Who knows what happened post-finale, but Wolfwood’s self isolation is already shot to hell. He’s more big brother Nico than he’d had the chance to be in awhile, he has so many people to care for.
So the danger has passed, Vash’s roots are back inside of him, the orphanage should be fine. But Wolfwood comes back for them. Yeah, yeah, the stupid cigarette excuse, but this is Wolfwood, not Vash. He didn’t come back because of the cigarette debt and we all know it. (Also kinda hoping that him saying what he does about fighting Knives being crazy is foreshadowing for some ridiculous 1v1 fight between them, had to throw that in there)
Now, theories Trimax spoiler time bby (I’ll also post any corrections under the cut):
EDIT 1: I was bonkers wrong on the Tristamp timeline (it takes place from May 25th to July 21st, not including the epilogue), so I just deleted that bit from the og post. I cannot remember where I got that number in my brain.
They are doing something with this man and I hate it as much as I love it. Every other character can go off and follow similar paths but they just nuked the entirety of Wolfwood’s storyline by having him be finished getting Vash to Knives and him choosing to trust Vash so goddamn early. And in less than a week of canon time!!! ORANGE WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!
They’ve knocked everything out of the park so far, I had so many concerns about what they were doing while watching, and they squashed most of them. So I choose to have faith that Orange has a brilliant plan that will crush my emotions in mind. It will probably eviscerate us just like Trimax did. But I have two theories as to how this could go:
First: And by far the most likely: all roads lead to that goddamned couch. They changed a ton of things, but just to make it all hurt in a new and exciting way. Don’t get me wrong, this was the final straw in making Trimax one of my favorite manga ever--Wolfwood’s character arc is one of the most satisfying things I’ve ever read. I’m a bit nervous because we’ve already shifted that arc so much, but there’s a lot of room to fuck us all up in this one. I imagine the final confrontation will still be between the two brothers, but I imagine the context will be different.
Wolfwood’s already chosen to spare Livio, so that won’t be the clincher, but there are so many things that Wolfwood wants to fight for now to use against him. Something in the timeskip will probably firm up his ideals to be the opposite of Vash’s in a different way than before, but I imagine we’ll get at least a season of them being goofy and learning how to live and regain their humanity together before they’re couched. :’) And now the girls are going to be a bigger part of it to make the grief all that greater :’))) Thanks in advance, Orange :’))))))
Second: No couch??? I know, then what would be the point? He’s doomed in every universe, how will it be as powerful if they don’t do that here??? And I agree, I think this is way less likely. But Wolfwood has already accepted the power of anime Jesus friendship into his life, and that’s a huge part of what lead to his death. Not that I don’t think it’s still likely for Tristamp Wolfwood to think it’s too much to ask Vash to step away from the conflict with Knives for whatever his personal struggles are, but... man that sandsteamer incident is foreshadowing something and I’m afraid. It shifted so much in a way that is so significant, I feel like I’m not doing it justice with my words.
Speaking of possible foreshadowing: Wolfwood isn’t the product of random experimenting like he was in Trimax, he’s the product of plant experimentation. And Vash can heal plants. Again, that’s a big ol’ stretch, as I think that they made the Gung Ho Guns a product of plant experimentation to try and explain the magic powers they all have, and it’s a very smooth idea imo. But it haunts me. Also, given that Conrad has probably been kept alive through fucked up plant methods and how long Rollo remained the same, and Conrad said the only flaw in his experiments were that they had to eat and drink... does Wolfwood and Gung Ho Gun friends have an extended lifespan??? Okay, getting off topic, sorry :’D
Basically, Wolfwood has already made huge leaps and bounds in trusting Vash, even listening to Meryl, and growing a heart for humanity. To the point I was half-afraid this guy was going to die in the finale, because we’ve already seen so much of his character arc. (It would have been a poor choice and I’m happy it didn’t happen EVEN IF I’M STILL AFRAID). And he’s based off of Trimax Wolfwood quite heavily! You can see it in the core of his personality still!!! WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO WITH HIM???
I doubt either of these ideas are going to be quite right, watch as Orange works in a secret, third thing that I can’t even imagine lmao. But this has been driving me absolutely bonkers and I had to share. This is still Wolfwood, and I have a feeling he’s only going to be more and more of the lovable asshole from here on out. But I have no idea where we’re going with it.
Holy hell, this was a long post. If you made it to the end of my insane ramblings well, uh... congrats??? I hope it was somewhat worth the read???? I’m so sorry?????? Thank you??????????
#Trigun#Trigun Stampede#Tristamp#Trimax#Trigun Maximum#Trigun Meta#I'm so tired I'm sorry about any and all typos#And also if this is stupid#It's just been GNAWING AT ME#WOLFWOOD I LOVE YOU BUT YOU SCARE ME#Long Post#My Trigun Meta
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Icarus {Alastor x Reader} Part 1
Warnings: Blood, Gore, Death and canon-typical violence. Please be aware of these warnings going forward.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Sequel
Part 1: The Road Back to You
The town was cloaked in a dimly lit embrace as a young woman emerged from the confines of the jazz club alongside her coworkers. Their rising star, a vision of elegance and charm, illuminated the night with her radiant smile, her presence akin to that of a belle of the ball, her heart as vibrant as the melodies she sang.
As they stepped onto the cobblestone streets, the camaraderie among them blossomed into animated chatter, punctuated by laughter that danced upon the evening breeze.
Tonight was special, a rare occasion when the jazz club closed its doors early to commemorate the birthday of their esteemed boss. The air buzzed with anticipation, the promise of celebration lingering in every corner as they made their way through the labyrinthine streets.
Their songstress was quick as she pulled her purse to her side and started walking away while saying her goodbyes. She had some very important plans with her husband, perhaps she was too excited as she practically skipped her way down the street.
As she traversed the dimly lit street of New Orleans, she couldn't shake the nagging sense of caution that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. The presence of a serial killer, a phantom lurking in the shadows, cast a long shadow over the once-vibrant city.
Each night, as she tuned in to her husband's somber voice on the radio, recounting the grim details of yet another victim claimed by the darkness, she couldn't help but wonder if she, too, danced perilously close to the edge of danger.
The danger that would come and soon claim her own life to their ever-increasing number of victims. But, there would be nothing in the world to stop her from returning to her husband. Her husband said he had something planned for their anniversary and that she would need her best dress.
She was beyond excited.
"(Name)! Sugar, are you sure I can’t give you a lift home?" Rowan's voice called out from the doorway, his Southern drawl carrying the warmth of a bourbon-soaked evening. (Name) turned, her smile as dazzling as a string of pearls, her curls bouncing with the rhythm of a Charleston beat.
"Thank you kindly, Rowan! My husband will be meeting me halfway," She replied, her words dripping with honey. With a graceful wave, she turned on her heel, the click-clack of her heels blending with the syncopated melody of the night as she made her way toward the radio station.
The dim glow of the radio station beckoned in the distance, the building was a beacon of safety amidst the dark empty city streets. With each hurried step, (Name)'s heart quickened, the anticipation of her husband's waiting embrace urging her onwards.
As she rounded the corner, her gaze caught sight of the alleyway, a narrow passage veiled in darkness, where the plaintive cries of a woman pierced the stillness of the night. Without hesitation, without a second thought, she veered from her path, drawn by her concern for the unknown woman.
There, amidst the shadows, she found them – a young girl, trembling with fear, and her mother shielding her from a group of thugs that loomed over them.
She should have turned away, and retreated to the safety of the main street, where she could’ve asked for help. Her husband knew his way around self-defense and they would have a phone to call the police.
But (Name) had a terrible feeling in her gut. If she left them now, these women might not be alive when help arrives.
"What do you gents reckon you're up to?" That seemed to get their attention as they turned to face her. As she walked towards the two women, she couldn’t help feeling so small as the men dwarfed her in size.
"Turn back, doll," one of the men jeered, his tone dripping with menace. "We ain't lookin' for trouble."
(Name) positioned herself between the two trembling women and the menacing thugs, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. "Leave these poor dames be! If it's coin you're after, I can see you compensated," Her declaration must have seemed like a bluff. Her voice quivered as she placed one hand on her purse.
The thugs, their laughter echoing in the narrow alley, closed in on her, their intentions clear as the moonlight filtered through the darkness. "This ain't about the scratch, sweetheart," one of them sneered, the glint of malice dancing in his eyes. (Name)'s breath caught in her throat as she took a cautious step back, her resolve tested by the looming threat that surrounded her. "This is about settlin' scores."
"Please, just let them be," (Name) pleaded, but her words fell upon deaf ears, drowned out by their laughter. Their leader pulled out a blade as he approached the crying women.
Before she could react, one of the men seized her arm in a vice-like grip, wrenching her aside with a savage force. "Just watch, my dear," Another man sneered, his voice dripping with malice as (Name) struggled against his hold.
With a surge of adrenaline, (Name) pushed his hand toward her mouth, her teeth sinking into flesh with a ferocity that seemed downright foreign to her. As he howled in agony, she wrenched herself free from his grasp, her heart was beating loudly in her chest and she wasn’t thinking straight.
With trembling hands, she lunged toward their assailant, her fingers grappling for purchase upon the blade. The metal bit into her skin, drawing blood, but she was beyond desperate, driven to protect the helpless young women.
“Run!” (Name) shouted as they stared at her like deers in headlights.
Even as she fought with every fiber of her being, the odds stacked against her, (Name) refused to yield. She could feel the sharp sting of pain as the blade cut into her hands, but she pressed on, fueled by sheer determination and the fierce resolve to survive.
Meanwhile, the two women forced themselves to their feet and ran, their cries for help echoing through the alleyway. (Name) couldn’t help but feel a smirk on her lips, before another man pulled her hair back trying to claw her hands away from the blade.
With every ounce of strength she could muster, she battled against the relentless onslaught, her hands slick with sweat and blood as she grappled for control. But in the end, it was a futile struggle, a desperate fight that meant nothing. As the assailant's blade found its mark, plunging deep into her flesh.
As (Name)’s body fell to the ground, there was the sound of fleeing footsteps and gunfire. All she could do was close her eyes and pray the pain went away. All she could do was lay there and feel her blood pool around her as she choked on the blade as her blood suffocated her lungs.
She was so close to seeing her beloved radio host too.
The sound of footsteps running towards her and her name came after. The voice was too distant to hear as she drifted off and prayed she’d see her beloved radio host when she woke up.
💟
As (Name)'s eyes fluttered open, she found herself standing before majestic golden gates, their brilliance illuminating the ethereal surroundings with a celestial glow. A wave of disbelief washed over her as she pushed herself up, half-expecting to feel the sting of pain or the weight of wounds that should have marked her body. But there was nothing – no trace of blood, no lingering ache – only a sense of surreal tranquility that enveloped her being.
Clad in a flowing white dress reminiscent of the ones she wore during her performances at the jazz club, her hair cascading down her back like a river of silk, she realized at the start that this was no hospital. It wasn’t a place that could be built by man and that started to make her panic.
"Where am I?" Her voice trembled with uncertainty as she spoke aloud, her eyes searching the expanse before her. And then, as if in response to her query, an angelic figure with a thick book turned towards her, his presence confirmed her fears. This wasn’t New Orleans.
"You're in heaven! Congratulations, you're a winner!" His words, spoken with pride and joy, hung in the air like a gentle breeze, filling the space with a sense of awe and wonder. But for (Name), the revelation struck like someone poured ice water all over her.
"No. No. No, no, no, no." Her voice cracked as felt her legs turn to jelly. This was not a dream, not a figment of her imagination – she was dead. She died saving those two women on the eve of her anniversary. “I wasn’t supposed to die like this! I have to go back! My husband! Good heavens, I’m not ready to leave him yet…” Her begging seemed to have no effect as the angel got up out of his chair.
(Name)’s tears seemed to touch the man, but it didn’t faze him whatsoever. “This is the end of the road, miss. There’s only joy from here.”
"Please, let me go back!" Her plea, filled with anguish and longing, echoed through the hallowed halls of heaven, a desperate cry for a second chance, for a return to the life she had been torn away from. As she crumpled to the ground, her hands pressed against her tear-streaked face, she grappled with the cruel irony of her fate – a life snuffed out in the blink of an eye.
As (Name) crumpled before the gates of Heaven, her sobs seemed to never end. "Please, let me return to my old life," she implored, her voice choking on her despair of dying so easily.
"Shh, my dear," came the gentle reply, a soothing murmur amidst the tumult of her anguish.
"I'm begging you. Let me go back," she persisted, her voice trembling with a fervent plea for a reprieve, for a chance for a rewrite, for her to choose something different.
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible. This is the end of the road, the culmination of the life you were promised for all the good you've done in this world," the angel explained, his tone tinged with a solemn finality that brooked no argument.
"Let me see my husband! I haven't said goodbye!" (Name)'s words, tinged with desperation, hung in the air like a prayer unanswered, her heart aching for one last embrace, one final moment of solace in the arms of her beloved.
"Again, I'm sorry. But that isn't possible, "The angel replied, his voice tinged with sympathy. "But, may I ask your name?"
"(Name)," she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she pulled herself up off the floor.
"Full name, please," the angel persisted, his gaze unwavering, as he started flipping through the book and sighed at all the names on the page.
"(Name) Winters," she confessed, her last name was a reminder of happier days. The day she joined her husband's family and took on his last name.
With a gentle rustle of pages, the angel consulted the book before him, his expression softening as he found her name inscribed upon its hallowed pages. "There you are, on the list," he confirmed, his voice tinged with reassurance. "Dry your tears, my dear, and come on in."
"But, my husband-" (Name) was quickly interrupted by the angel.
"He might show up in heaven someday," the angel offered, “As long as he doesn’t end up in hell. There’s a chance he might come back.”
As (Name) gazed upon the gates of Heaven, her heart was heavy, wanted to be able to greet him with a smile. “Okay.”
💟
The celestial streets of heaven bustled with the vibrant energy of joyous winners, their laughter and song echoing through the golden expanse. Yet, amidst the revelry, (Name) found herself perched on her rooftop, a quiet observer of the lively scene below. Today, the usual melodies and dance numbers failed to lift her spirits.
As she leaned over the balcony, the celestial breeze playing with her hair, (Name) contemplated the passage of time, and how meaningless it truly was. There was no sense of actual time in this place. She would’ve been here for a week or twenty years.
How long had she been in this place of eternal bliss? The passing of time seemed to blur into an endless expanse of moments, each one blending seamlessly into the next. Her parents had found their way here, as had her little sister, their laughter and love echoing through the hallowed halls of heaven.
And yet, her brothers remained conspicuously absent, their absence a silent ache that gnawed her. Enough time must have gone by for them to show up. They couldn’t have ended up anywhere else other than in heaven! They were around the same age as her husband and would come up around the same time.
As she leaned over the balcony, the angels below danced and sang of pastries and delights, their voices like honeyed nectar amidst the gentle breeze. But for (Name), their songs felt hollow, their melodies unable to penetrate the veil of sorrow that pulled her under.
Even in her sorrow, there was a little flame of hope that flickered brightly. Perhaps, she thought, a song could indeed work wonders, lifting her from the depths of her melancholy.
As (Name)'s voice trembled with emotion, her words carried her pain along the wind. "I never needed anybody in my life, " As the notes danced upon the wind, images flickered in her mind.
Her husband's brown fluffy hair, tousled by the gentle breeze, his charismatic smile lighting up the streets as they walked arm in arm. How her days were bright and simple back then. With the minor inconveniences and the small pleasures it held.
"I learned the truth too late, " she continued, her voice wavered as the tears threatened to fall. With each verse, the distance between them felt like an impassable chasm, one that would pull her into its lonely depths.
As she pulled herself away from the edge of the balcony, her eyes remained fixed upon the golden gates. How she was starting to despise herself and her self-pity here.
Her words became a lament, a melody of longing and her pain as she wished for her old life back. " I close my eyes but he's still there, " Her voice trembling as the image of her beloved husband materialized before her.
He was bathed in a golden light making him appear as a gift from God himself. She craned her neck up to look at him and there was a surge of hope. (Name) reached out to hold him and cry into his arms. Only to watch him vanish in the wisp of glowing smoke at the smallest touch of her fingertips.
“Even as he fades from view,” Her voice quickly got louder with every passing syllable.
You’re never fully dressed without a smile, my dear. His voice echoed loud and clear in her mind as she forced a smile on her face as the tears forced themselves out. "He will still inspire me, and be a part of everything I do,"
As she pulled herself onto the balcony railing, her wings unfurled and she jumped off the edge. She watched the other winners sing and dance below her as they enjoyed their eternal life. However, (Name) had another plan in mind. She set out for the gates as she stumbled her landing as she arrived.
"Wasting in my lonely tower, awaiting by an open door," she sang, her voice rising like a prayer into the heavens above. And as she reached out towards the gates, her fingers brushed against the gilded bars, and her small flicker of hope died instantly.
There wasn’t anyone at the gates and she was just being delusional. He wasn’t coming up here anymore. That her dear, Al was still back on earth and it was a place (Name) wished he stayed.
"I'll fool myself and he'll walk right in," she whispered, her voice breaking as she tried to maintain some level of internal harmony. Her hands clung to the bars hoping the gates would open and let her out. Just five more minutes on earth and she would gladly join the rest of the winners. “Waiting here for evermore…”
But her solitude was shattered by the harsh voice of an angel, her words cutting through the silence like a blade. "You're pathetic," she sneered, her tone dripping with disdain. "If he isn't here by now, he's in hell."
"That was quite uncalled for.” (Name) spat as she walked past her. She could tell this woman had something up her sleeve and she wanted no part of it.
“I call it as I see it,” the woman retorted, her voice dripping with disdain. No, that wasn’t right. This woman was downright looking down at her like she was a piece of garbage.
(Name) scoffed as she tried to keep herself focused on just walking away. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”
“Better than singing her problems,” The woman shot back, her words stabbed daggers into her feet and rooted her in place.
(Name) crossed her arms, she was getting fed up and there wasn’t a point in picking a fight in heaven. “You're quite the piece of work, aren't you? Do you need something?”
The woman’s response was curt. “No.”
“Okay, I'll be on my way then,” (Name) replied, her steps quickening. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of the woman’s eyes boring into her back. “What do you want?”
But before she could receive an answer, the woman’s voice taunted her, sending a shiver down her spine. “With that obsession of yours, there’s only one place you’ll end up.”
(Name) wished that her voice didn’t shake and give her away. She didn’t want to kiss her place in heaven goodbye for her stupidity. “What are you saying?”
“You look like you need a purpose.”
“I don't need a purpose,”
The woman laughed as (Name) felt a chill going down her spine. "The rate you’re going, you won’t need one and burn with the rest of the sinners in hell."
"I earned my place here," (Name) countered, her voice trembling, as she tried to keep herself from shaking. She couldn’t ever go to hell and become a fallen angel.
"Keep telling yourself that,"
(Name)'s mind raced with questions, her unease growing with each passing moment. "What are you getting at?" she demanded, her voice betraying a hint of desperation. She wouldn’t ever end up there.
"I'm offering you a deal,"
"I don't want it,"
"Suit yourself, but you'll be back. Come and find me when you've run out of options," With her business done, the woman took to the skies and (Name) shouted for her to wait.
She didn’t mean to yell her question at her. “If that ever happens. What's your name? So, I can find you.”
“Lute.”
💟
Another decade passed in heaven and (Name)’s search for her husband and some clue of his whereabouts were fruitless. Every passing year that she searched a small part of her died, first few years it was her hope and later it was her love. (Name) having to come up empty-handed every single time took its toll.
In the quiet moments of solitude, (Name) grappled with the bitter truth that her love may never return to her side. The echoes of his laughter and the warmth of his embrace seemed like distant memories, fading into the recesses of her mind like whispers carried away by the wind.
In her solitude, came the truths she refused to face. That her soul was becoming consumed by her envy and prayers to see him again. She longed to feel his presence once more, to hear his voice echoing through the golden streets of paradise. There was something about being condemned to paradise without all your loved ones that was driving her insane. When did he become her world? When did she corrupt her pure unconditional love for him? Why was she so hung up on him even now?
Alastor, her dear husband.
Her beloved husband and her world. He would never come, and her prayers wouldn’t be answered. Alastor would forever be beyond her reach and never be someone she could hold again.
Alastor would never come, because he was in hell. As much as she refused to believe it or admit it. Deep down? She knew. Her husband was being tortured in hell for reasons that were foreign to her.
Alastor would never be here. He would never come. (Name) would never hear him play his piano as she sang or snuggle up to him when he read the morning paper. Or touch his hair and wear his glasses.
He was in the worst place now and that was final. The place that tortured those who lived vile lives. A pit with killers, cannibals, terrorists, and abusers.
She wanted nothing more than to forget.
Which lead her here, in front of the Exorcist’s main building with a meeting in place with Lute. She did her homework and quickly learned she was a fearsome fighter. But, more importantly, she was Adam’s right hand.
She did exactly what Lute said she would do. (Name) would come back for that deal. She would screw everything she had ever hoped to do here. As long as Lute would give her a purpose and a method to prevent her from falling to hell.
(Name) was going to take that damn deal.
And so, with a heavy heart and a steely resolve, (Name) made her decision. She would embrace the deal offered by Lute, no matter the cost. She would forsake everything she had ever known, everything she had ever hoped to become, in exchange for a chance at redemption.
Her heart ached as she pushed the doors open and saw Lute and Adam awaiting her. Adam looked bored as she ate his lunch and Lute seemed to have a wicked grin on her face.
"Took you long enough," Lute might have been grinning, but her tone was anything but one of joy. She seemed more annoyed than anything else.
(Name) straightened her posture as she held her hands tightly. “You said you had a deal for me.”
"The deal to prevent you from becoming a loser?" Lute sneered,
"No," (Name) retorted, her gaze narrowing. "Make a deal with me to forget him."
A wicked grin spread across Lute's face, sending shivers down (Name)'s spine. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you," she declared, her eyes glittering with malevolent intent as she extended her gloved hand toward (Name).
With a deep breath, (Name) reached out and grasped Lute's hand in a firm shake, sealing her fate. There was no turning back now, no retreat from the path she had chosen. She knew the road ahead would be fraught with peril and pain, but she was willing to endure it all if it meant escaping the clutches of damnation.
It was a price she’d pay willingly if she could avoid joining the ranks of the sinners.
"Deal," Her voice was one of determination as her heart wept at her decision.
"Welcome to the exorcists,"
(Name) offered a silent nod of gratitude as she clenched her hands into her dress for something to calm her nerves. She had picked her fate and would find herself in the care of these two sadistic angels. But, she wouldn’t let herself be down on the first step of her journey.
“It’s a pleasure to be here.”
There was no going back now,
No escape that she was willing to take.
The only escape was forsaking her place in heaven.
And she would rather have a permanent death.
This was cross posted on A03!
The song she sings is Evermore from Beauty and the Beast from the live action.
#alastor x reader#Warofheartsseries#radio demon#alastor#alastor the radio demon#hazbin#alastor hazbin hotel#the radio demon#fan fiction
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Anti-hero -.L.Kennedy 18+
Tw : Ada flirts with muse, no hate to Ada, I love her banter with Leon in this one . Leon just gets a bit jealous. Loved her separate ways <3 mentions of bar, Luis is alive!
A/N : hope you enjoy, feedback is appreciated! 🫶🏻Requests are open (for Leon and Wesker) also last call for Halloween themed requests!
You, Luis, Ashley, and your boyfriend Leon decided to explore a trendy new bar in town. The entire ambiance of the venue was a nostalgic nod to the early 2000s. Although bars were not typically your preferred hangout, this occasion merited a little celebration. Leon had triumphantly accomplished his daunting mission: rescuing Ashley from peril and even managing to secure Luis's safety as well. (It’s canon, I said so)
During a brief intermission from the dj, Luis ventured off to fetch some drinks, leaving you and Ashley to engage in a lively conversation. She emanated an effervescent demeanor, clearly elated to be back home, giving off the impression that she never met a stranger. Unwavering in his resolve, Leon sought to alter that perception; dedicating his weekends to coaching her in the art of self-defense. Which wasn’t going as smoothly as he thought it would.
Each of you had dressed impeccably to suit the special event, apart from Leon. He opted for a minimalist attire, as he occasionally did. You knew he was tired and wanted to relax, but you wanted to get him out of the house. So going out, to dinner was the originally plan. Until Luis and Ashley came trotting up your driveway, wanting to try out a new bar they found. You knew Leon wouldn’t be in the mood, but you pleaded and he finally agreed.
Moreover, he struggled to recover from his recent challenging mission. Therefore, you endeavored to support him in any way possible, a gesture he greatly cherished. You knew this mission had affected him differently. He ran into someone he used to know and it set in a terrible mood, you tried to pry. Hoping to ease his mind, but Leon wasn’t telling you anything yet.
“Hey sweetheart, I need to step into the bathroom for a moment," he expressed softly, planting a tender kiss upon your cheek. "Also, Ash, refrain from talking with strangers, please," Leon advised her firmly. She responded with a disapproving glare but ultimately acquiesced with a nod. She let out a huff and you giggled
“Who does he think he is?” She scoffed, then took a sip of her drink.
“The man who saved your life.” You butted in and she rolled her eyes.
“I guess he did, but still. I’m responsible.” She pouted and you nudged her arm.
“It’s alright ash, it happens to the best of us.” The both of you shared a look and saw Luis returning with drinks.
Luis triumphantly returned, carrying your beverages in hand. "Cheers ladies!" He bellowed, as the three of you raised your glasses for shots. Gently placing your glass back down, you couldn't help but release a light-hearted giggle. Engrossed in lively conversation with one another, you suddenly sensed an unrelenting gaze fixed upon you.
Your gaze swept across the colorful lit bar, landing on a captivating woman adorned with a chic ebony pixie cut, ensconced in a ravishing scarlet dress. As she caught your eye, she sent an enticing wave in your direction, to which you responded with a warm, reassuring grin. Anxiously, you yearned for Leon's swift return. You had a gut feeling, but tried to downplay your nerves, you were probably overthinking it.
Captivating your attention, Ashley humorously recounted a funny story. As your gaze returned to the mysterious woman, she had vanished without a trace. Confusion washed over you, yet you brushed aside the perplexing thoughts. That is, until her hand unexpectedly came to rest upon your shoulder.
As you shifted your gaze towards her, she beamed with the same radiant smile. Glancing subtly from the corner of your eye, you observed Luis wearing an expression of disdain on his visage. Even Ashley appeared less than enthusiastic.
“Hey sorry guys, there was a line at the bathr-“
Leon strode towards the table, briefly pausing before continuing. Relief washed over you upon his arrival; yet, his unenthusiastic demeanor dampened the mood.
“Why are you here? And get your hands off of her.” You could tell Leon was angry, you met the woman’s eye and they sparkled with mischief. “Oh leon calm down, I just wanted to get the pretty girls number.” She mocked him while faking a giggle.
"With a hint of pride, Leon shouted , "Well, that's MY GIRLFRIEND," as Luis gently placed a reassuring hand on Leon's shoulder to calm his rising temper. The provocative woman responded playfully, "Oh, really?Lucky boy.”With a flirtatious wink in your direction, she sensuously slid her phone number to you, adding enticingly, "In case you're ever in the mood to unwind for a bit." With that, she shifted her stance gracefully and sauntered toward the exit with an air of mystery lingering behind her.
Leon's fury had reached its peak. You swiftly slid off your stool and grasped his hand, gently pulling him along with you.
"Apologies, everyone, but it seems we must take our leave for the night."
Luis and Ashley had understood and you and Leon left. You walked to his motorcycle and were ready to hop on when he stopped.
“Listen… i made an ass of myself. Ada.. she’s know to do that. He began. “ I just wanted to tell you that I love and trust you.” You felt the blush rise and you caressed his cheek. “ I know hun. I love you too. Besides she’s not my type.” You replied with a playful wink. “
Leon smirked “well then who is your type?”
You thought for a moment before sliding your arms around his neck. “
You silly.”
#┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ allyse talks ┊ ˚➶ ｡˚#resident evil#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x you#id!leon kennedy#leon x you#leon kennedy x fem!reader#Ada Wong#luis serra#ashley graham#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x you#leon s kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x y/n#dbd leon s kennedy#re4 leon#leon kennedy fluff#leon kennedy imagine#leon re2#leon kennedy resident evil#re x reader#re x you
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We'll Make It Out
Summary: As the new Jedi Commander of the Bad Batch you aren’t exactly well liked by your new team, who view you as a babysitter. Except for Echo, who understands better then most what it’s like to be on the outside. When a mission goes sideways you start to lose faith in yourself, in your squad, in everyone but Echo, who won’t let you give up.
Character: Echo and F!Jedireader (no use of Y/N)
Word Count: 2,782
Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril, minor injury, mention of blood.... I think that's it.
A/N: This is my second entry for the incredible secret gift exchange hosted by @cloneficgiftexchange you are so incredible and thank you so much for doing these amazing events, and giving me a reason to finally write again! I have never gotten to write for any of the Bad Batch boys and I was super excited to do this prompt especially as I got to explore the Batch's earlier days and work in a little about the way they may have originally viewed Echo and a new leader of the squad. It definitely took me out of my comfort zone, but I took a risk and tried something new for the wonderful @orbital-mirror. I hope you enjoy this fun little piece as much as I enjoyed writing it!! As always, any comments or reblogs with your thoughts are appreciated.
“Echo, look out!” You shouted to be heard about the blaster fire as you raced towards the Arc trooper currently being surrounded and cornered by a legion of Droids.
He spun towards your voice and managed to blast the three shots needed to dismantle the droids that had snuck up behind him, while you ignited your lightsabers and flipped in front of him to slice through the remaining ones there.
“I’ll handle the rest of these you get that door open and try not to trip the alarm this time,” you ordered. Echo grumbled something but it was hard to hear through his helmet modulator as he jogged toward the metal door built against the mountainside you were currently cornered on. Inserting his scomp into the lock and beginning to twist as he typed hurriedly on the pad.
You took a stance in front of him and spun your two lightsabers back and forth as you guarded him and yourself from the relentless blaster fire. Your eyes scanned back and forth as you reached out and connected with the force around you. Feeling the reverberations in the ground and the change in the air pressure as you blocked each blast by near instinct alone.
“I don’t mean to rush you, but there’s more coming,” you said breathlessly. A sheen of sweat coated your forehead as you tossed one of your sabers up high in the air, reaching your hand out and using the force to shove the first few rows of the advancing battalion back into each other. The clink of metal and their high-pitched voices adding to the chaos as you spun and caught your saber again before it hit the ground.
“I’m doing the best I—got it! Go get inside I’ll cover you,” Echo said loudly. You didn’t even hesitate as you felt him stand and move towards you. You blocked one more shot before you took off into the dark maw of the now open tunnel, turning and calling out for Echo as he walked backwards into the tunnel after you.
One press of your fingers has your lightsabers disengaged and back on your belt before you flick your wrist to close the door and spin the lock. Echo blasts the control panel with two shots.
“How long will that buy us?” You ask. Shifting on your feet and doing a poor job of keeping the nerves from your voice. Regretting volunteering for an assignment you clearly weren’t ready for.
“Not long enough,” Echo replied dryly.
“That’s very helpful thank you,” you said with only a hint of sarcasm. Echo just shakes his head and gives you five more seconds to catch your breath before he starts moving deeper into the tunnels. Hugging the wall with his body as he taps the side of his helmet to turn on the light there.
You couldn’t see his face behind his gray and red helmet, the matching colors of the squad you’d been newly appointed, the same squad who were not at all happy to have a Jedi babysitting them. Especially one so young. A newly minted jedi knight. A product of a war that needed more commanders and generals then there were master’s and knights to fill. You hadn’t been ready for the trials, you’d tried to argue against them, but your master said you were ready, and you had passed them easily enough. Yet, the seed of doubt had remained. Growing and festering like a vine around your heart, all the way until you’d been sent to Kamino to work with a highly specialized squad. They’d been on assignments before without a Jedi, but a recent mission had gone sideways and resulted in half the team coming back in various casts and bandages, requiring month long stays in Bacta tanks before they could resume training. Plus, they’d gained a new member, an Arc Trooper and rescued POW. Since then, the Generals had decided the Bad Batch as they were called, could use a Jedi’s supervision. At least temporarily.
No one on the squad had been happy with your appearance. No one that is except for Echo. He always made sure you had a seat and were included in plans, even if the others looked at you suspiciously and had on more than one occasion tried to leave you. He stood up for you when the others got snippy or ignored you entirely. You knew realistically that he was simply doing it because he was used to following a Jedi’s command, but part of you couldn’t help the warm feeling that spread over your chest every time he did something kind for you. A feeling you did your best to mediate away every morning. To little effect.
“Come on, the coordinates Tech gave us show the control room should be down this hall and to the left,” Echo’s voice cut through your wondering thoughts and brought you back to him.
Nodding your head you searched up ahead through the force for any signatures of life but found nothing. You took that to mean the other members of your squad had done their part in causing a diversion leaving you and Echo free to get the stollen plans and leave behind a virus that would wipe out the Separatist’s systems here.
Easy.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to be here,” a droid called when you unlocked the door to the control room. His metal finger pointed at you while he reached for his blaster. Echo and you were swifter.
“Get the files to Tech and plant the virus I’ll watch the door,” you said. Stepping back into the hallway as Echo inserted his scomp link into the port and began to search for the files.
“On it commander,” he replied. His eyes shifting over the screen far faster then you could keep up with.
You really wished they’d drop it with the commander title and just call you your name but, that seemed a habit you couldn’t break any of them off. Though you got the impression only Echo actually did it out of respect for your authority. An authority you question daily. Especially now as you flicked your gaze to the hallway, a sense of dread building at the base of your spine as you could hear the banging of droids firing against the metal door. You tried to find the peace within yourself that always seemed easier for those around you to find. Imagining you were back at the Temple, sitting underneath the flowering tree in the courtyard as you watched the pink petals float down to the pebbled ground. The image only helped for a moment as you refocused your attention back to Echo. He seemed unfazed by any of it. Working quickly and silently aside from the faint whirring of his scomp every now and then. Somehow, he looked more at peace than you did.
“Are you almost—”
Bang! The sound of the door at the end of the hall being blown to bits made you wince and reignite your saber on instinct. Echo was already beside you when you turned back to get him. His hand on your bicep as if he intended to yank you somewhere. The sounds of droids shouting orders and marching down the hall in time with your rapid heartbeat made you ignore whatever Echo’s hand there had meant and instead trade your sabers out for your comm link as the pair of you raced down the hall.
“Tech please tell me you’re there?”
“Yes, commander we read you,” Tech’s voice was staticky. Probably due to being underground but you hoped he could hear you enough as you sprinted for your life. Opening and closing any doors you came across with the force.
“We’re going to need an immediate pick up!” You shouted a little more frantically then you meant to.
“Sorry commander that’ll have to wait,” Tech said again.
“Wait for what?!” you shouted back.
“It seems your earlier light show display set off a series of silent alarms that alerted the commander of the base that we are here. So, we’re—” There was a pause as the static grew worse and Hunter’s muffled voice could be heard shouting something about Fighter’s on their tail. “Yes, yes, I see them. We’re fine.”
“Tech!” Echo shouted now through his own comm.
“We will have to use the secondary agreed extraction point as the first one is now overrun.”
“We won’t make it to the second extraction point,” Echo says as you force open another door which had dead ended in a hanger bay. There’s no way out.
“See this is why we shouldn’t have agreed to work with a Jedi. Or a reg,” Crosshair’s voice drawled over the comms. You didn’t need the force to sense his aggravated disapproval that he and his brothers were being forced to reassess their plans for the two of you. That they were being thrown back into danger because of you.
“Stow it Crosshair,” Echo snapped. “Just be at the extraction point. We’ll make it there.”
You did not share his hope as you slammed the door on a droid’s face, ducking the incoming blaster shot he’d managed to get off. They were right. This was your fault. Your poor leadership instincts had led you and Echo to be trapped down here while the others were trapped in the sky.
“Copy that,” Tech’s voice said plainly and then the comm cut out.
The second extraction point was several miles away from the command tunnels you were in now, there was no way you were going to make it there. Not trapped like you were with a virus about to short circuit every piece of technology in here and a battalion of droids outside the only blast door you could see.
“Commander over here.”
You didn’t know when Echo had left your side, but you followed his voice until you found him halfway in a small gunship used to protect the supply ships that came in and out of here. It was just big enough for two people. A pilot and a gunner.
“Can you fly this ship?”
“I—” The droids were carving their way through the door. You couldn’t do this. Sure you could fly the ship but what then? The mission had gone wrong because of you. If someone else would have been here they wouldn’t have needed lightsabers, they wouldn’t have tripped the silent alarms. Echo would be safe. The men you were supposed to lead and protect would be safe.
“Commander,” Echo’s voice pulled your attention back to him as he pulled his helmet off and looked at you with a face that was always so stern, yet he had the softest pair of eyes you’d ever seen. “Our only way out of here is this ship. Now I can’t fly it, so I need you to do it. Okay? Can you do that? Please,” he added. His attention still solely dedicated to you despite the banging and shouting coming from behind the pair of you and the racing of your own heart. Right here there was only him. Only Echo.
“Yeah,” you breathe out. Clearing your throat and nodding your head. “Yes, I can fly it.”
“Then get in and get it started, I’ll open the bay doors and we can go.” He’s gone again before you can argue.
Hoping in the cockpit your hands move on their own. Using your memory and placing trust in the force that hums around you louder than before, you flip the engine switches and grip the controls steering it around into position as you wait for Echo to swing himself up onto the wing and then flip into the gunner’s seat behind you.
The canopy doesn’t close fast enough. You’re too focused on the controls. The force tugs and pulls your attention to the back but you ignore it in favor of making sure you don’t crash. It’s only after you hear a muffled scream of agony that’s quickly swallowed up by the sound of the roaring engine that you bother to look back. To see Echo’s shoulder smoking with a brand-new blaster wound through it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Echo, we have to stop,” you begged as you marched through the heavy underbrush in search of the clearing that was pinging on your outstretched data pad. “Please, I know I’m no doctor, but I can patch you up.”
“It’s fine commander I’m… fine,” Echo’s voice was weak and even though he’d turned off the sound on their walk so you couldn’t hear the pained breaths and heavy pants, you could feel them there. Feel them in the way his force signature wavered and spiked. Hotter and louder than it usually was, though now it was growing colder.
“No, you’re not fine you—”
“Commander please!” he panted loudly. Resting his scomp against a tree to get some weight off his legs as he looked over at you. You winced at his harsh tone and even if you couldn’t see his face, the way he lowered his voice showed he regretted it. “I’m fine. There are scouts looking for us and if we don’t make it to the extraction point, we could be stuck here.”
“And if you bleed out on the way there then were both dead anyway.”
“No, you’ll be fine. You keep going if I start to—”
“I’m not leaving you Echo! You’re stuck with me out here, so if you pass out from blood loss then I’m going to sit down right next to you and face whatever comes for us. Even if it kills the both of us. It’s my job to protect you, so stop arguing with me and sit down so I can patch you up!”
Echo stood frozen in front of you before finally slowly nodding his head. “Okay.”
“Okay,” you repeated. Walking over to him and helping him sit so you could take off his shoulder piece and helmet to assess the damage. It wasn’t as bad as you expected, but his blacks were quickly filling up with blood and the circular wound was blackened. You pulled a Bacta patch from your kit and carefully applied it to his shoulder. Apologizing at the slight hiss that left his lips as you did so.
“It’s fine Mesh'la,” he whispered. His eyes widening when we realized what he’d said. Apologizing and looking away as you went back to work.
“What does that mean?” you asked after a moment of silence. Your curiosity getting the better of you.
“What?”
“Mesh’la,” you repeated the word poorly.
He looked away again and flushed a faint pink along his pale cheeks. Pausing for a moment before looking back over at and giving you a gentle smile. One you’d never seen before.
“We make it out of this I’ll tell you,” He promised.
“That’s not fair,” you whined. Leaning down to kiss the bandage you’d put on his shoulder without thinking about it. “How will I know if we don’t make it out?”
“I…” he gaped at you for a moment, and it was only his bewildered expression that made you realize what you’d done. Now it was your turn to blush and duck your head. Handing him back his shoulder piece and helping him attach it without looking anywhere near his eyes.
You force lifted his helmet over to your hands as the pair of you stood. Running your fingers over the edge of it before offering it back to him. His gloved hand brushed yours for the briefest of moments when he took it back.
“Then I guess it will just have to be a mystery,” he said quietly again. His tone almost hinting that he was smiling again, and it was enough to make you meet his eyes. Rewarded for a fraction of second with a smile you could tell used to cross his face more often.
“We’ll make it out,” you said firmly. Wrapping your hands briefly around the hilts of your lightsabers and finding yourself calm again despite it all. Not because you’d imagined the tree at the Temple, or your master’s kind teachings, but because Echo was smiling at you.
“You know I meant if we survive the whole war, right?” he almost teased as he clicked his helmet back into place. Leaving you with only the memory of his smile to reply for the rest of your life.
“No, no, no you can’t change the rules like that,” you argued with no intentional malice. Letting yourself laugh quietly for the first time in…. too long. “You alright enough to walk again?”
He nodded his head. “Wherever you lead commander.”
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Goodnight, Moonlight
A/N: Y’know, I’m actually super proud of this fic. I was unsure of myself and the direction that I wanted to go, but I ended with something that I really like. Please let me know if you want another part, I’d love to continue the story and see where our lovebirds end up next. ;)
TW: Cannon-typical levels of violence and gore, aquatic fighting, mentions of drowning, reader is described to be physically strong and have typical traits and skills that a victor from District 4 would have (dw I can’t swim but I can be delulu), reader maintains their obliviousness, slightly OOC! Peeta and Katniss (I've never written for them before so please excuse any flaws), poison fogs, reader and Co. sustains multiple injuries, death (no main character death yet)
Pairing: Finnick x GN! Reader (”one-sided” romantic to shared romantic)
Summary: As you’re thrust into the arena, you’re forced to focus on keeping yourself alive, keeping your mentor and Katniss from harming one another, and keeping ahead of the endless perils that are thrown your way. Mixed signals from Finnick eventually even out, and a moment of clarity brings you two closer together than you’ve ever been before.
(<- Previous Part | Next Part -> | Series Masterlist)
Finnick can’t die or get captured by the Capitol. It has to be me.
That’s your first coherent thought as the pedestal stabilizes in the arena. You find yourself growing oddly… familiar with this environment, these few seconds where nothing yet everything matters.
You can’t see Finnick or Katniss, but you recognize Johanna’s fiery red hair. You also spot Wiress and Beetee close together, and you let yourself relax for a moment before the canon fires.
Water.
You dive into the water without a second thought. Swimming is as natural as breathing, given your home district, and you easily outrace your competitors to the rocks that lead to the Cornucopia. You climb on the rocks with ease, and you’re running towards the center of the arena until you spot blonde hair struggling to swim in the water.
Peeta.
You don’t hesitate to switch course and dive in after him. Helping Peeta would not only get you further into Katniss’s good graces, but it would be right on target with your image in the Capitol.
That’s exactly the kind of thinking that Finnick encouraged.
You push your mentor out of your mind as you quickly peek above water and spot another male heading towards Peeta. His eyes are dripping venom, but you’re not scared to shoot a murderous look back.
Sunny was a sweet mentor, a respectful celebrity, and a dangerous tribute. You could manage to be all three - as long as you did so with a smile on your face.
“Don’t be afraid to smile,” President Snow chides as you nervously stare at the carnations as his desk, “you know that’s what the people want to see, right?”
The image of Snow’s head on a large spike is enough to motivate you to swim faster than your competition.
You push Peeta out of the way before landing a punch to the face of the other man. From a quick assessment, you weren’t as strong as this man, but he couldn’t fight in water like you could.
You dodge an uncoordinated swing to your left side before landing another hit - this time you punch his chest. He takes a bigger breath as his eyes meet yours.
You offer a warm smile before he tries - and fails - to land another hit. You look over for just a second, just to make sure that Peeta’s still in your peripheral vision, before the other tribute tackles you under the surface of the water.
You immediately thrash around as he tries to keep you under - a lucky breath saves you from drowning as you manage to free yourself from his grasp.
He’ll drown if he tries to drown me.
You emerge from the water, and the warm air that enters your lungs causes you to cough violently. You grab onto a nearby pedestal as you try to locate Peeta in-between coughing fits.
You spot Peeta as he throws a punch at the man, and your head snaps to the Cornucopia as your breaths even out. From a distance, you see a man with a trident looking for someone, and you take a bet on who that might be as you wave a hand in the air.
Finnick immediately rushes around the Cornucopia after he spots you, and returns with a black-haired girl who you could recognize from a mile away.
You swim towards the rocks before finally making your way out of the water. The warm air on all of your skin feels like relief in its sweetest form - one that is most welcome as you realize how drained you are from one simple encounter.
It has to be the water because I cannot be a weakness right now.
You point out Peeta in the water once Finnick and Katniss get closer, and Finnick doesn’t hesitate to dive in as Peeta continues to struggle in the water.
For the first time in a long time, you fear for his safety. Peeta’s a teenager, just like you were, but he’s already back in the arena.
This isn’t fair.
Words die on the tip of your tongue - comforting people was your speciality, but Katniss didn’t appear to need comforting as she raises her bow and prepares to fire an arrow.
When Peeta and the other tribute are submerged underwater before Finnick gets to them, Katniss reluctantly puts down her bow as she stares expectantly into the water.
You jump when the canon fires, and the hope in her eyes turns to fear as a still body emerges from the water. You’re scared to look because if it’s Peeta-
Thankfully, Peeta emerges from the water as Finnick reaches him, and they both swim back safely as you and Katniss share a relieved expression.
Katniss watches the Cornucopia as the careers gather there and stare her down, and you grab Finnick’s trident from the rocks.
It doesn’t feel right in my hands - it’s like this weapon was meant to be with Finnick.
You hand Finnick his trident after he gathers himself, and you watch Katniss take Peeta’s hand and help him out of the water.
“You alright?” Finnick places a hand on your shoulder, and the weight of your earlier realization crashes down on you as you nod.
You can’t let Finnick get hurt, but you can’t let him know that you feel this way about him because you know how he feels about-
“I’m good, thanks,” You gently place your hand on his, “but you really couldn’t grab me a weapon?”
The serious expression melts off his face as he chuckles slightly, and you feel a bit self-conscious as Katniss and Peeta stare at you like wild deer.
“I didn’t have time, and I know you’re better with your fists, sweetheart.” Finnick replies to your teasing with a smile as he lets go of your shoulder.
You find yourself missing his touch - don’t think about Finnick like that - when Peeta steps towards you.
“Thank you fo-“
“You can thank me when we’re out of here, okay?” You interrupt him before another cannon sounds. “I don’t feel like becoming prey for the predators.”
Katniss glances back at the Cornucopia one last time as the four of you make your way towards the beach and into the thick forestry that awaits you.
~
Your quartet runs into the forest as Peeta leads with Katniss right behind him. Finnick allows you to go in front of him with a handsome smile and welcoming arm gesture (you’d have to tease him about that later).
Your mind wanders as your feet effortlessly navigate the forest floor - playing tag on rock beaches and having some experience in rock climbing did have its uses, after all.
Does Finnick mean what he says when he calls me sweetheart, or is it apart of the Capitol facade? I suppose I’m not much better - does Finnick know who I truly am behind the sunshine?
The distinction had become unclear for yourself - you were kind, but that wasn’t all that you were. You liked to tease your mentor and be a thorn in his side, but you also wanted to help the children in your district understand that there is life outside of the games. Couldn’t both sides of you coexist at the same time?
“Okay, hold up, hold up!”
Finnick’s voice causes you to pause as your breathing catches up with the rest of your body - you’d run a long distance without being phased in the slightest. You need to take breaks so you could be energized for a possible encounter, but a quick look back assures you that the Cornucopia is out of sight and, for now, out of mind.
Peeta’s the first to sit, and you’re quick to follow as you watch Katniss scan the environment for any possible danger. Finnick catches up and sits next to you. Katniss reluctantly kneels as you start to fan yourself - you’re in a jungle, not a forest, and it’s fucking hot.
“God, it’s hot,” You wipe the sweat from your forehead as Peeta speaks, “we got to find fresh water.”
You glance over at Finnick, who offers you a reassuring nod. You notice that Katniss is watching the two of you, but you choose not to say anything. She’s paranoid and overprotective, and who wouldn’t be?
A booming cannon pushes everyone’s attention to the sky, which is quickly followed by a second and third cannon.
With his bright smile and a small laugh, Finnick tries to lighten the mood with a simple joke.
“I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.”
You briefly smile and chuckle under your breath before Katniss chimes in.
“You think that’s funny?”
Your eyes widen as you glance over at Finnick to see how he handles her aggression.
“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.”
“Good to hear.” Katniss draws a machete from her back as you place a hand on Finnick’s arm.
You’d always be there for him, and you’d fight off Katniss if that’s what it took, but you needed her alive, along with Peeta. Although you had know her for such little time, you saw your younger spirit in her - the feisty, brash child that fought with her heart in her hand.
“Wanna face the career pack alone?” Finnick pauses for a beat before asking her another question. “What would Haymitch say?”
“Sunny, you have to know that Katniss doesn’t play nice with others.”
“But she was nice to me, Haymitch-“
“You’re odd, just like she is. Maybe you can find some common ground and convince her to not shoot Finnick the moment he opens his mouth.”
“…Thanks.”
He’d probably tell you, at this very moment, to grab a drink and enjoy the show, but you had to keep the peace.
For his sake, for Peeta’s sake, and for my sake.
“Haymitch isn’t here.” Katniss coldly answers while slightly lowering her machete.
“We should get going.” You glance over at Peeta, who nods in acknowledgment.
“Yeah, let’s keep moving.”
You pull yourself off the ground, and Peeta does the same while Katniss stares daggers into Finnick.
“Play nice,” You mumble under your breath to Finnick before walking over to Katniss, “and I’m sorry that his ego can get in the way sometimes. He’s a nice guy, I promise.”
You offer Katniss a hand up off the ground as a truce, and a small smile appears and then quickly disappears off her face as she takes your hand.
~
“For the record,” Finnick mumbles as you walk with him behind Katniss and Peeta, “I was playing nice. She’s just a bit… rough around the edges.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.” You roll your eyes as Finnick bumps your shoulder.
“First you say I have an ego, and now this,” He sighs before playfully pushing you ahead, “I’m starting to think you don’t like me, Sunny.”
You feel your face start to heat up as you begin to fidget with a part of your clothing.
If only he knew how much I really liked him-
“Of course I do, Finnick.” You bite your lip while hoping that he doesn’t notice the effect his words and lingering touches have on you.
Don’t think about this right now-
“I’m glad someone here does.”
His comment earns his a golden stare down from Katniss, and you lightly smack his shoulder before continuing on in silence.
Peeta cuts through the vines ahead as creatures of the jungles - ones that you hope aren’t here to eat you - make various noises that only set your nerves over the edge. Katniss falls behind you and Finnick, and you can only hope that you’ve set her mind off of killing Finnick, even if it’s just for a moment.
You continue to walk on, but you pause once you hear Katniss’ footsteps stop. Finnick doesn’t take notice of the situation, but you can tell that she’s seen something worthy of alarm.
Peeta continues to swing the machete when you see a small reflection of light on a bush in front of him. Your eyes widen in alarm as you take a small step back.
The forcefield-!
“Peeta, no!” Katniss screams at Peeta strikes the forcefield.
Sparks fly as you instinctually cover your eyes with one arm, and you use the other arm to shield Katniss as much as possible. Peeta is blown back by the impact, and you’re knocked to the ground along with Finnick and Katniss.
Katniss is quick to crawl to her knees as you follow suit.
“Peeta?”
Your heart aches as the weakness in her voice laces around every syllable of his name.
She cares for the boy, more than she lets on.
She gently caresses Peeta’s face as you watch from a small distance behind her - she needs to check over him herself, to make sure he’s okay-
“He’s not breathing! He’s not breathing!”
You push Finnick towards the two of them, and Finnick harshly pushes Katniss out of the way so he can attempt to save Peeta. It’s a standard medical procedure that all District 4 families know by heart, but you place a reassuring hand on Katniss’ shoulder after she tries to pull an arrow on Finnick.
You know that words won’t do anything to comfort Katniss, and she rushes to Peeta’s side as you’re forced to be an uncomfortable spectator.
“Peeta, Peeta-“
You place a hand over your mouth as tears start to form in your eyes.
Come on, Peeta…
“Come on, come on!”
Finnick matches your worries as he continues compressions on Peeta.
“Please wake up.”
Katniss’ voice cracks which cracks the dam in your eyes as you begin to cry.
Katniss loves Peeta like I love-
You do your best to wipe the tears from your eyes as you imagine how the Capitol is enjoying the show. They’re watching three fierce competitors do their best to bring back another victor - a first in the history of the Hunger Games, you’re sure. You’re not even doing much but displaying your heart on your sleeve, and that’s enough for you to do. People stay attached and are sympathetic, and you can only hope that it’ll continue after you commit the worst crime, betraying the Capitol, after you get Katniss and Peeta out of here.
Peeta takes a deep breath, and you deeply sigh in relief as Finnick backs off to let Katniss and Peeta have a moment.
Once Finnick stands up, you pull him into a comforting hug, but you’re not sure if the hug is more for you or for him.
“I can’t-“
“I know.” He places a gentle hand on your back as you watch Katniss and Peeta interact.
“Do you wanna stand up?”
“Yeah.”
Once Peeta stands up, Katniss pulls Peeta into a hug as you let go of Finnick. You notice that Finnick’s hand doesn’t move as your heart pounds - this isn’t the moment nor is it your moment - as his eyes never leave Katniss and Peeta.
He knows, and I know.
~
Katniss throws a rock at the forcefield as a small group of sparks come from the collision. Peeta follows behind Katniss, and you follow behind Peeta as Finnick brings up the rear.
The next rock she throws reproduces similar results, but you notice that Finnick places a protective hand on your shoulder. You make your way through the jungle floor as Katniss throws another rock at the forcefield.
“Hold on.” She says before moving further ahead of the group. She climbs the largest tree she can find, and the three of you wait in silence before she comes back down.
“The forcefield is a dome,” Katniss reports after coming back down, “so we’re at the edge of the arena. I couldn’t find any signs of fresh water.”
Your throat dries up further at the mention of water. None of you will last long in this heat without any sort of hydration.
“It’s gonna get dark soon, we’ll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp - take turns sleeping.” Finnick sits next to you while looking directly at Katniss. “I’ll take first watch.”
Katniss scoffs before replying.
“Not a chance.”
Finnick gives her a disapproving look before grabbing his trident and standing up.
“Honey, that thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called saving his life. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would’ve done it by now.”
Finnick sticks his trident in the ground as Katniss continues to have a glare-off with him. Eventually, Finnick takes his trident and offers you a hand up. You quietly take it before shooting Peeta and Katniss an apologetic look - not your first, but certainly not your last.
“Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll take first watch.” Katniss instructs Peeta mores then telling him, but he reluctantly stands up.
“Just for a little bit.”
She nods as he moves to sit farther away from you and Finnick, but closer to Katniss.
He doesn’t trust us because she doesn’t.
You squeeze Finnick’s hand as you sit a few feet from the forcefield.
“Let me talk to her tonight. I have a way of charming people.”
“She’s tough to crack-“
“I did it before, in the practice room,” You say with determination while looking at him, “and I know I can do it again.”
He doesn’t answer, but he squeezes your hand in reassurance.
That’s good enough for me.
~
Peeta lays peacefully asleep as you sit on a nearby rock by Katniss and Finnick.
“How’s Peeta?” He softly asks.
“Is he well?” You add on while trying to break the palpable tension between you three.
Not three, but if they’re going to argue, then all of us will suffer.
“He’s okay, I think, just…” She trails off for a moment, “dehydrated, like the rest of us.”
Familiar music draws your attention to the skies as today’s victors-turned-victims display on the forcefield. There’s familiar faces, ones that you had come to befriend and love… it’s enough to drive you to tears. As the display continues, Finnick places a hand on your shoulder for comfort.
It’s not enough, but it’ll do.
Peeta awakens too, and the four of you sit in contemplative silence as the display finally comes to a close.
“Eight.” Katniss says as you wave off tears.
“I’m fine, Finnick,” You gently brush his hand off your shoulder as you look up to the sky again, “but look at the sky!”
A small canister attached to a parachute floats down and lands a few feet from Katniss, and she’s quick to gather the canister. She opens the canister with easy, which contains a note plus something else you can’t quite see.
“Drink up?”
“What is it?” Finnick asks as you approach Katniss behind him.
“It’s from Haymitch,” Katniss picks the item out of the canister, “I think it’s a spiel.”
Katniss rushes past Finnick to pound the spiel into a nearby tree with a rock. Peeta rushes to Katniss’ side as the four of you watch and eventually see the spiel product water.
Haymitch did his part, which means that I have to do mine.
~
“I counted twelve.” Katniss notes as you look up to the sky.
“It’s midnight-” Finnick tries to add.
“-Or the number of districts.” Katniss challenges as you shake your head.
They can never agree on the simple things, huh?
A series of lightning strikes on a large tree in the distance draws your attention.
“Well, if you two aren’t going to sleep,” Finnick says as you nod in confirmation, “then I will.”
“Alright.” Katniss says as Finnick gets up from his post.
“Goodnight, Finnick.”
“Goodnight, Sunny,” Finnick looks back and offers you a warm smile, “make sure to get some rest.”
“I will.”
He silently walks away as you turn your attention to Katniss.
“I’m sorry about Finnick, he can be-“
“Why did you try to save Peeta earlier? You don’t know him.” Katniss bluntly asks.
“Peeta is important to you, and I wanted to spare you the pain that so many others face.” You truthfully answer as Katniss studies your face with scrutiny.
“You don’t know me either-“
“-Katniss, if I knew every person I’ve ever helped, I wouldn’t be Sunny,” You tell her, “and I don’t know who I would be if I wasn’t that person. I used to think Sunny was a persona, but it’s become who I truly am.”
“Were you someone different before the games?”
“I think we all were, if that’s not obvious enough,” You glance at Peeta before returning your attention to Katniss, “but I think the Hunger Games showed me who I truly was. Wouldn’t wish this shit on anyone else, though.”
“I-“
“I think you’ll discover that we’re not so different after all, Katniss,” You say before standing up, “but I wish you a good night. I hope the night is uneventful for you.”
You walk a small distance before turning back.
“Oh, and don’t be too hard on Finnick. He’s been through a lot more than he lets on.”
“Tell him to back off first.”
You chuckle as you lay down close to Finnick, but far enough that your beating heart doesn’t threaten to blow out your eardrums.
~
“Run, run! The fog is poison!”
Katniss’ words send you from slumber to alert as you’re the first on your feet. You move down the side of the hill as Finnick and Peeta catch up to you. You let Katniss pass you as Finnick pushes you in front so he takes up the rear.
You continue to run through the forestry without a second thought as the thick fog chases you. The fog suddenly approaches from the right, and Peeta is quickly to avoid it, along with the rest of you.
As you round a corner, the fog then approaches from the left. You dodge the fog like you dodged arrows in your original Hunger Games. It was too easy, but you were concerned for Finnick since the fog was nearly kissing you.
When the four of you make it to a clearing, the fog makes a semicircle around you, and Peeta’s forced to lead the group in another direction as you aimlessly follow in the hopes that you’ll survive this.
The fog seems to increase in speed, and you scream in agony once it touches your skin. You barely avoid Katniss, who tripped in front of you, and Peeta goes back to save her. He’s burned by the fog too, and Katniss pulls him up before they follow behind you.
You continue in front of the group this time, and you hear Finnick’s shrieks from a distance, but you can’t go back for him.
As long as he’s yelling, he’s alive.
It tears your heart into shreds to hear him, to hear those kids behind you, in so much pain. You immediately turn around when you hear a body fall to the ground.
“Peeta!” Katniss sticks next to him like a loyal dog as you watch from a safe distance. Finnick approaches the two of them, and he doesn’t hesitate to help Katniss by wrapping one of Peeta’s arms around his shoulder. As Katniss wraps the other arm around his shoulder, Finnick motions you to continue forward.
You run forward, safe from most harm, as the other members of your group continue to bear most of the brunt from the fog. A sharp hill awaits you, but you quickly navigate it as Katniss, Finnick, and Peeta fall, quite literally, behind you.
You cry in pain as you touch the back of your neck. You spot a nearby pool of water as the trio behind you makes a rough landing.
You watch in horror as the fog approaches, but it’s stopped by an invisible wall that barely prevents any injury to the rest of you. Your attention snaps back to the water - your neck really fucking hurts - as you approach the water. When you submerge yourself in the water, you sigh in relief as the stinging pain caused by the water rids you of your injury.
Once you’ve cleaned yourself up, you pull Katniss, the only person who seems to be awake, towards the water. With her determination and your strength, you get her to the edge of the water. You gently place one of her hands in the water, and she screams before the poison is released from her hand.
“The water- the water helped-“ Her strangled cry is heard by Peeta, who starts to pull himself towards the water as well.
You immediately move to Finnick’s side as you deliberately and slowly start to move him towards the water. Once Katniss and Peeta are mostly finished, they help you push Finnick fully into the water. He screams in agony as the three of you pour water over his body.
“Finnick-“
Emotions threaten to pour from your eyes and your mouth, but the sometimes-stoic Katniss composes herself before you can truly express how scared you are to lose Finnick.
“We need our weapons.”
Peeta and Katniss move to gather the weapons as you stay, dedicated, by Finnick’s side.
“C’mon, you need to get up. Who else is going to argue with Katniss over the simplest things?”
Finnick grumbles for a second before softly laughing.
At least I’ve made this shitty situation better for someone.
~
As Peeta gathers water from a nearby tree, you sit and pour water all over yourself in order to keep cool and clean any remaining toxins off of your skin. Finnick and Katniss do the same, but you give them space to talk things out with their words… instead of their fists.
They both mutter apologies to one another before Finnick pauses to stare blankly ahead. Your eyes catch sight of what he’s looking so intently at.
Mutts.
A gentle nod to Katniss alerts her of the situation as well, and she stands along with Finnick. You slowly try to back away before noticing that some are approaching from behind. You immediately backpedal next to Finnick and Katniss as they’re the only ones with proper weapons.
Where’s Peeta?
“Peeta.”
“Yeah?” Peeta looks up from the spiel towards Katniss.
“Back away from the tree, slowly.”
A growling mutt a few inches from his face causes Peeta to slowly back up towards the three of you. Once you’re all in the water, the mutts growl and slowly close in as your heart pounds.
What am I supposed to do with no weapon?
“Get to the beach.” Katniss tries to move towards the newly sighted Cornucopia, but two mutts block your last escape route.
Katniss pulls her bow back as the mutts continue to advance on you. A mutt makes the first leap towards you and Katniss, but Peeta quickly strikes it down with his machete. They all growl angrily before one lunges towards Katniss from the opposite side. She quickly shoots it down with an arrow before killing another when it’s barely tried to leap at her.
Peeta swipes at a mutt that approaches you before gently pushing you behind him.
“I owe you one for earlier.” Peeta recalls the fight at the Cornucopia, and you nod before centering yourself between Katniss, Peeta, and Finnick.
Finnick strikes a mutt down with his trident before smacking another back. Peeta continues to aimlessly swipe at a few mutts to keep them away, and you duck as Katniss shoots one over his shoulder. A mutt then jumps on Peeta and tries to sink its teeth into him, but he guts it with a blade through the stomach.
Katniss and Finnick work in harmony to push the mutts back before she successfully hits three mutts with her arrows and stabs the fourth with her bow. Peeta pulls his knife from the mutt before you help him up. The onslaught continues for a few moments which spreads seconds into eternal moments. You feel useless, but keeping yourself out of harm’s way is the best way you can help everyone.
A mutt tackles Katniss into the water, but Peeta quickly kills it and helps Katniss up.
“Come on, we got to get to the beach!”
Peeta leads the way as you follow behind Katniss. You turn back to assure that Finnick is still there - you’re worrying about him when he has a weapon, he’ll be fine, Sunny - as you try to navigate your way to the beach.
A mutt jumps on Katniss and Peeta which knocks them further away. A separate mutt eyes you before jumping, and you attempt to send a punch its way. It takes a bite on your outstretched arm as you cry out in pain. You manage to wrestle your arm out of its grasp before Finnick spears it with his trident.
“How bad is-“
A few small incisions line your dominant arm, and they sting like hell, but you can’t focus on that now.
“I’ll live.”
Finnick grabs your non-damaged hand as he spears another mutt that dares to approach him. He then lets go of your hand to kill a mutt that jumps on Katniss, but once she’s back on her feet, his hand finds yours again.
You gasp as you notice someone in camouflage with large bite marks covering their neck.
“Who is it?”
“It’s a Morphling,” Peeta explains to Katniss, “C’mon, help me get her.”
They grab the dying Morphling before dragging her to the beach. More mutts approach as Finnick lets go of your hand and pushes you ahead.
“I’ve got this - just watch them.”
You nod before turning to follow Katniss and Peeta. Despite your painful arm injury, you run through the forest just as you did before. Pain was an adrenaline booster for you, and it was a scratch compared to the injuries you got from messing around on rock cliffs and beaches back in District 4.
You make it to the beach as Katniss and Peeta bring the girl into the water. Finnick tumbles in behind you before quickly recovering and pushing the remaining mutts back. Once he realizes that the mutts aren’t going to follow him, his eyes meet yours.
“You arm-“
“Look,” You point at the sky as another canister falls from the sky towards you, “I told you I’d live. I might not be the capitol darling, but they can’t let go of their little sister that easily.”
Finnick reaches the canister before you do, and he opens it to quickly to dig out the gauze and skin-applicable pain medicine.
“I suppose they wouldn’t mind seeing the Capitol darling tend to their little sister, then?” Finnick’s lips quirk into a teasing smile as you sit on the beach and admire the sky.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Then that’s the only opinion that matters.” He sits next to you, and you present your arm to him. “You’re tougher than you act, honey.”
“I thought you knew that already,” You look away for a moment to hide your embarrassment, “after all, I did learn from an amazing mentor.”
The medicine feels cold once it touches your skin, and you sigh in relief as the pain starts to fade away.
“Did anyone leave a note?” You ask as Finnick looks away for a moment. “Oh, so I’m the one who has an admirer, and you get-“
You yelp when Finnick starts to harshly apply the medicine.
“-Jealous much?” You roll your eyes as Finnick laughs.
“Is it bad that I want your eyes on me and me alone?”
You’re left speechless as you bite your lip nervously. The invisible tension, the string that draws you two together, is finally pulled to its breaking point as you realize how close Finnick truly is.
“It-“ You pause for a moment as your sunshine threatens to slip and reveal some deeper emotion in your heart, the one that you named before this fresh hell started. “It depends on what you’re going to do about it.”
Finnick sets down the medicine to grab the gauze, and once Finnick returns close to you, you push yourself on top of him to give him a kiss to release the emotions buried deep in your heart.
The sunshine clouds over as a storm brews, but you’re not scared of the damage that this thunderstorm will cause your mind. You’d accept once the outcome that you weren’t the one for him, that the signs were wrong and all in your head, and that-
Finnick kisses you back.
Oh shit.
Finnick kisses you. In the 75th Hunger Games. On TV. In front of thousands of his admirers.
Oh shit!
You pull away and place a hand over your mouth as you contemplate the absolute shitstorm you’ve just released on the both of you.
“You’re not a bad kisser, if that’s what you’re embarrassed about-“
“Finnick!” You squeak before smacking his arm.
“There’s only room for two people who can’t admit that they love each,” He nods at Katniss and Peeta in the distance, “and that image doesn’t quite fit either of us.”
“What are we, then?”
“Whatever you want to be.”
~
tagging -> @yokolesbianism
#THG#thg finnick#The Hunger Games#the hunger games fanfic#the hunger games x reader#fanfic#finnick odair#finnick imagine#the hunger games fluff
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Dreams See Us Through
Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader
Part 1: Don't Blink
Part 2: Don't Turn Your Back
Part 3: Don't Look Away
Catch and Release Prompt: "Solo"
Summary: Without the Doctor by your side, it's up to you to save yourself.
Soundtrack: If We Hold On Together by Diana Ross
Requests: Open!
Tag List: @nyxiethesimp, @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce --
If I could tag literally everyone who asked for a part 4, I would.
Warnings: Canon-Typical Peril.
"Doctor," the tinny voice of Jack Harkness piped up from the TARDIS intercom, sounding winded, "I found something I think you're gonna want to see."
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
When you opened your eyes, the Doctor was gone. In his place, a seemingly infinite field of flowers sprawled before you, with the sun shining brightly overhead. At first, you thought maybe you'd died and gone to Heaven, but as you looked around you saw that, to your right, nestled among some rolling hills, sat a pretty average-looking castle. You would've thought that, were this Heaven, the castle would've been grand and made of gold or something.
And, as you made your way through the meadow, you realized you recognized the flowers you brushed past.
So the angel hadn't killed you. And not only had it instead displaced you in time, it had also displaced you in space.
You were back on Earth.
Your next step was to find out when and where you were. Based on the castle overhead, your guess for location was a very broad "somewhere in Europe." That didn't help you much -- you needed more exact details.
You needed coordinates and a date.
You paused to look around, realizing that you never bothered to look behind you. Unfortunately, it didn't help much -- the castle was still your best bet for civilization. And from this distance, you couldn't tell what state it was in. If it was brand new or hundreds of years old.
Only time -- and a very long trek -- would tell.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
"Doctor," Jack greeted as the Time Lord swept into the room. His arms were held open as if for a hug.
The Doctor ignored the gesture and opted to instead stare at Jack from a distance, arms crossed over his chest. "Why am I here, Jack?" he asked, already tired of the man's antics.
"To look at this," Jack answered with an easy grin as he whipped out something from his coat pocket.
The Doctor stared at it in confusion.
"You called me all the way here for an Agatha Christie novel?"
"Really, Doctor. You think I'd resort to making up excuses to get you to come see me? Look at the cover," Jack told him, throwing the book over.
The Doctor caught it easily and did as Jack had told him. Up close, he could see the details and read the finer print. And a realization struck him.
"What's a hundred-year-old Vipiteran edition of the Mysterious Affair at Styles doing in a dingy apartment in 2008 London?" Jack asked aloud the question that had been forming in the Doctor's mind.
He didn't have an answer, so he shrugged and began flipping through the pages.
He was near the end when he stopped short, staring at something wedged between the pages. The Doctor pulled it out, staring dumbfoundedly at the old photograph he held between his fingers.
"Doctor, look at the back."
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
The biggest problem was avoiding the creation of a paradox -- difficult, but not impossible.
Luckily, you'd found a town on the other side of the castle, and with it your date and location. May 16, 1922 in Tureborg, Sweden. That definitely made things easier, though there was still the challenge of getting the Doctor's attention without creating a paradox. Or... at least, not a world-ending one. Hopefully.
You unfortunately had very little on you -- really, only the book you'd bought on Vipitera that you'd kept on you in case you found time to read (so much for that), and a credits chip that was virtually useless now.
You also couldn't speak Swedish. That was a bit of a problem.
You were there only a few days when your problems seemed to resolve themselves. An English artist had stumbled upon the town on his way through the country and had stopped to take in the sights and paint a pretty picture.
More importantly, though, he had a camera with him, and that was enough to spark an idea in your mind.
Befriending the artist was easy -- he was desperate for the companionship of someone who could understand him and you were desperate to get back to the Doctor.
You used each other, as God intended.
Fast friends that you were, it wasn't long before the artist offered to take your picture, and it was an offer you couldn't refuse. In fact, it was an offer you'd been banking on.
And that was how you got a Vipiteran copy of the Mysterious Affair at Styles, with a picture of you tucked into the back and a date a few days into the future and current coordinates scrawled on the back, to London.
Now all you could do was wait, and hope.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
The Doctor decided, as he set the TARDIS on course for the day and location you'd written on the back of that photograph, that the moment he saw you, he was going to tell you he loved you.
He was lucky, ultimately, that you'd found a way to leave breadcrumbs that were too small to upset the delicate balance of reality -- yet noticeable enough for him to pick up the trail.
He was lucky that you were smart, and bold, and courageous, and determined as hell. He was lucky that you wouldn't take death lying down. That you'd find some way to make it back to him.
He was lucky, he realized as he threw the switch that'd send him back to you, that you loved him enough to fight to get back to him.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
Right on time, the sound of the TARDIS materializing filled the air. You moved to stand, waiting with bated breath and vibrating nerves as the blue box faded into view, and only a moment later the Doctor came bounding out, eyes scanning the scene for you.
He barely had a second to process the you-shaped missile heading his way before you were on him, arms thrown around his neck and holding on so tightly that he had to remind you that he needed to breathe.
"Shut up," you murmured into his neck, even as your arms loosened, "and fucking hug me back."
He obeyed without hesitation, his lips pressing to the top of your head as he pulled you tighter against him.
"I thought I lost you," he said into your hair. "I love you -- I promise I will never let anything happen to you again."
You believed him.
This experience had been enough to scare you both into being more careful. And even so, it wasn't over.
You pulled away from the Doctor, staring up at him with a determined gaze.
"Take me home. There's a Weeping Angel I need to take care of."
#tenth doctor x reader#tenth doctor x you#doctor who x reader#the doctor x reader#the doctor x you#reader insert#doctor who fic#doctor who fanfiction#doctor who#the doctor#david tennant#canon typical peril#catch and release prompt
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Your yandere zag hcs are so JFNEJJCKDJF I love them sm I can't stop reading that post 💔
Could we permahaps have an outline of what would happen if Zag DID manage to get an afab mortal partner pregnant? His reaction and how it goes, etc?
heheh! ur ask could not have come at a better time, I'm replaying Hades rn!! <33 sorry i kinda went off on a tangent ehe 👉👈
(cws: a mere twinge of yandere zagreus, f!mortal!reader, canon-typical death mentions, childbirth, violence, a plot twist!)
It's during one of those escape attempts, which have become pretty routine by now, that he gets word from one of his godly relatives about what's happening on the surface. It'll probably either be Hermes or Athena delivering the news, the former more blunt and the latter breaking it gently to her cousin for fear that his heart may break. Those on Olympus have little to no idea about his rendezvous with you save Aphrodite, who supposedly can see the glimmer in his eyes that betrays a post-coital love affair--so while they know that Zagreus is in love with a mortal girl, they're shocked to find out that he's delighted to hear the news, because he knows that the baby is his and you haven't moved on to some other, more easily accessible lover. You're simply too loyal, and you've waited too long to ever consider pursuing another after your beloved. Word will spread quickly on Olympus after that first encounter with him in Tartarus, and the deliverer of said news watches in shock and awe as Zagreus zips around them and barrels straight through the next door before they can even help him with a boon. Because now starts the sprint--he has to get up there to be there for you.
It seems as though every floor he hits, he feels the presence of one of the gods helping him, and it only grows stronger the higher up he goes. Every so often when a boon appears, one of his relatives will be clamouring to congratulate him; Dionysus, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Zeus, even Ares has the smallest of smiles as he offers a particularly wrathful power to help him cut through the lakes of Asphodel and burn into the fields of Elysium. Each one of them is so excited for a new arrival, a new member of the family--except, of course, for Hades.
His father is absolutely appalled when the news reaches him via overhearing Hypnos, and in that moment of swiftly oncoming fury, Zagreus' journey to you immediately becomes ten thousand times as dangerous. He can't stop, he can't turn back, and he cannot die before he gets to you, because based on the tremors and the ominously encroaching dread at his back, Zagreus will be in for an eternity of suffering if he allows his father to stop him from seeing you. Even if it's the last time, he has to see you and his baby just once--he doesn't want to pass on his own tumultuous upbringing to his precious, innocent child, nor the feeling that their father has abandoned them completely. Between his godly relatives helping him out and his father doing everything in his power to sabotage him, this journey is the most perilous he's ever faced by far. And time is so nebulous in the Underworld, so he doesn't want to waste any second he has because they mean much more to you mortals up there than it does to a demigod down below--what if he falters, or fails, and he misses not only the birth of his baby but their whole childhood? What if he finally gets to the surface only to find that you've waited your whole life for him, and wasted away without an ounce of comfort simply because he couldn't get to you in time? He can't have that happen. He won't.
So up he goes, and not once does he stop. Meg takes it easier on him at least (though she never admits it) the Hydra falls as hard as it always does, and Theseus barely gets through half of his spiel before Zagreus is lunging at him to start the battle. Even the Minotaur is impressed at his fervor, though the reason won't be clear until Zagreus comes back--but they weren't the real challenges. Up there, when his flaming feet hit the snow-covered surface, he finally feels some surge of insurmountable pressure as he faces off against Hades himself.
And to say he fights for his life in the name of that sliver of freedom he desires is an understatement to the highest degree. Zagreus can barely get a hit in, his father is so furious--if not for Athena's shields and Zeus's lightning he probably would have lost his head about a dozen times. Hades is determined to stop him from not only meeting his own child, but to bar him from ever associating with you again, and one of those underhanded ways is to send his own courier ahead as a failsafe of sorts--and when Zagreus finds out that Thanatos is headed your way, he loses it. While it was meant to break his spirits, it has the opposite effect--his son is thrown into a rage so violent that even he can't withstand it, and when Hades has been slain Zagreus is pounding dirt as he sprints for your home, the path engraved into his head so deeply that he's on his way before his father even hits the ground. He remembers these hurried marathons to your home, the jubilant excitement at getting to see you and touch you and hear his name on your lips....but this time, it's panic that drives him forward as your garden comes into view, and he leaps over your rickety little fence to pound his shoulder into the door and burst into your tiny, quaint little cottage.
The first thing he sees, rather than you, is Thanatos standing near the door--and although he's already raising his sword with nothing but fear for you in his mind, his childhood friend doesn't bother even flinching, and just turns his head to cast a knowing look at him that betrays the truth of what he was told.
"Oh, please, Zagreus. Ruler of the Underworld or no, you know I cannot reap a soul before it has withered, no matter whether Hades wills it." He mutters quietly, and tilts his head towards the other end of the room that he's facing. And when Zagreus hurries closer to his side, and moves to look towards the spot where he knows your bed always sits, his heart is sent soaring into his throat at the sight that awaits him.
There's one thought running through his mind: I missed it. He missed the birth, and just by a hair, as evident by your mussed clothes and sheets as you sit back against your pillows, your lap covered with a blanket while you're still heaving with breath. And in your arms, flushed and cradled gently, is a gurgling little bundle of tiny features and your beautiful skin tone that Zagreus could never believe he helped make.
Your eyes soften so much at the sight of him, the sweetest "My love!" croaked out of your throat that draws him to move closer to your bedside. Joining you in the room besides the two of them is another woman, a stranger that seems to be a midwife from the local temple, and quite surprisingly three of his relatives; Aphrodite, Dionysus, and Zeus. While he himself is preoccupied with kissing you and taking his baby into his arms for the first time, and his cousins are joyously encouraging a wine-soaked feast and a celebration of your eternal love respectively, his uncle stands still and uncharacteristically quiet at your side, though a smile breaches his lips as he watches the two of you share tears and a sweet embrace as you're reunited once again.
"Is this..?" He whispers, voice cool though his touch is so warm--and fading, ever so slightly, as he sits on the edge of your bed with your child wrapped up in his arms.
"Isn't she beautiful, my love?"
She. A daughter. He couldn't be happier, couldn't be more proud of the little life in his hands, even though she's barely taken her first breaths and nothing else. To see her alive is victory enough, but the high isn't lasting as long as he'd like, and he's forced to pass the baby back to you as he starts shuddering and falling into that terrible feeling of dread in the pit of his chest. He's barely been able to hold her, barely been able to get to know her, to bask in her sweet, gurgling whisper of a voice and the feel of her tiny fingers gripping around one of his. It isn't enough, and it dawns on him now that it will never be enough.
"I...I must leave you waiting, once again..." His cousins are at his side in a moment, Aphrodite holding him up by one arm while Dionysus grabs the other, the two unusually sobered by the moment as your newborn starts to cry, and so do you. "I won't be long this time, my love...I...swear, I won't abandon you...or my little Melea..."
It's such a long time to wait, and the days grow more agonizing as each one passes, even with the shocking amount of information his cousins offer--it's surprising even for a relative for a god to spend so much of their time visiting you in the mortal realm, which may also be the reason why he hasn't seen hide nor hair of Zeus since that fated day. Perhaps he's quite busy stepping in for him in his absence, which Zagreus can only hope is a good thing.
When the dark, ill feeling finally overtakes him, and the voice of Zeus bellows something he isn't able to catch, Zagreus burns the image of you and his daughter in his mind as you hold his hand before he feels the warmth of Styx surround him entirely. The world above falls away, and even before he reawakens in the House after being carried by Thanatos, he braces himself with the knowledge that it may very well be a long, long time until he fulfills that oath to you two. It's despairing, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that his father will make it nigh impossible for him to get out again, and surely enough Zagreus suffers a great many deaths very close to the surface, almost in reach of you two--but each time he's thwarted more aggravatingly than the last. The only comfort he's allowed is to hear news of you and his daughter from the gods that were present for your daughter's birth, the two that more or less insisted on being the literal godparents of your baby girl. They regale him with tales of her exploits, of how she's fussy with peas but she can't get enough of mush carrots, how she once nearly rolled out of her cradle in the night, and how she even said her first word. And it stings Zagreus right in his heart when he's told what it is. Papa. You must be working in a frenzy to care for her alone, and yet you haven't let her forget the presence of her father even when he can't seem to get up to the surface to see her. It makes his clashes with his own father more violent, even though the two of them are no longer on speaking terms.
That all changes on a day like any other, however. When he jumps down into the lowest level of Tartarus, eager and ready for another try despite how weary it makes him, the potential boon waiting for him is unlike any of the ones he's encountered before. The handful of gods he's never really interacted with might have news for him, he thinks, or maybe had their curiosity piqued at their counterparts investing so much time in the mortal wife of a bastard demigod. But when he touches it, and the distinct sound of ticking fades in and out of his mind, he's confused more than curious as the image of the god slowly comes into view, like water rippling back into stillness once a stone has been thrown into it. Something else stirs up in him as well--the sounds of laughter, but smaller, sweeter, as if the voice of that jubilant person hasn't fully formed yet. And it's familiar. It dawns on him just in time of how familiar it is, when he hears that darling voice soothing him with a reassurance he hasn't felt in ages.
"Hello again, my love. It seems as though our wait is finally over, isn't it?"
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to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic
[1] [2] [3] [4] || Also on AO3
Chapter 5: February 2016
Martin still had a chance to turn back. He wasn’t going to take it, though.
This never would have happened if he hadn’t given in. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t do that, promised he wouldn’t peek, but the look in Jon’s eyes and the slight tremble of his hand that he couldn’t quite hide when he sent Martin to look into this in the first place had been telling, and in a moment of weakness Martin had taken his glasses off and let his control relax, just for a second, and he’d Seen.
So of course he’d gone to check. Of course he was going to investigate as thoroughly as he could. And as part of that, he’d let himself Look at the apartment complex, something he didn’t normally do. It wasn’t like he didn’t know who—or what—was involved here—it was fairly obvious—but he’d wanted to be sure it was gone, that it wasn’t still lingering. And it wasn’t, thank God, but he’d seen…something else.
And since Jon was still playing the skeptic, here he was.
It wasn’t, Martin thought as he stepped off the train and headed to the station exit, as though Jon would come checking behind him. Ever since he’d snapped back, Jon was treating him like they were more on equal footing, not second-guessing or challenging or demeaning him at every turn. So it wasn’t like anyone else was going to check up on this. Honestly, if he hadn’t caught that glimpse of something that shouldn’t have been there when he was crawling through the basement window, he would have left it alone. Or so he told himself.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Blackwood,” he muttered, hands on his hips for a moment as he squinted up at the clouds beginning to obscure the moon and stars. “You’re in this too deep to walk away from a mystery anymore. Better brace up and hope It likes you.”
He sighed heavily, pulled out his phone, and sent a quick text: [About to do something incredibly stupid. If you don’t hear from me in an hour or so, go to the Archives and tell them everything.] Then he swapped out his phone for his torch and headed for the Boothby Road.
The window was still open the way he’d left it, which was…well, not much of a surprise. Even as cold as it was, the landlord hadn’t noticed it being ajar, why would he notice it being wide open? Clearly nobody went down in that basement if they didn’t have to. Martin took a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled off his glasses for a moment, letting his eyes unfocus.
Nothing. Well, a faint trace of…but that was where he’d wiped the slime off his shoe after popping that worm earlier, so it made sense. On the other hand, that meant he was right. It was here.
Or at least it had been.
Martin was tempted, again, to turn back, but the desire, the need, to know the truth was stronger. He slid his glasses back onto his face and headed for the open window.
It wasn’t any less of a tight squeeze than it had been that morning, but Martin had more skill than he should probably admit at wriggling himself into places he wasn’t supposed to be, and he managed it. Once his shoes hit the floor, he clicked on the torch and swept it around the room.
The air smelled musty and stale, and the basement was far too warm for as cold as it was. It had been in the single digits all day, and the sun didn’t get this deep into the basement for enough of the day for it to have warmed up this much. For a moment, Martin wondered if he’d got it wrong about who or what was down here, but…no, he had to be right, he had to be.
The spiderwebs, at least, were empty and loaded with dust, true cobwebs. No spider had been down here for some time. But there was something. A presence he could just sense, a creeping, crawling sense of dread. Slowly, carefully, he swept the torch around, trying to look without Looking. Dangerous to do that too often, and he’d done it too many times today already.
The torch’s beam caught on something, and Martin sucked in a breath as he saw a pair of legs, bare but covered in what he didn’t need any sort of special ability or training to know were holes. The torchlight swept up, taking in a grey overcoat, a stained green handkerchief, and long, matted black hair. The woman who owned all of these things was staring at the wall, unblinking.
Martin had just about decided to take a Look, just to confirm what he already knew, when the woman raised the handkerchief to her mouth and…to call it a cough would be generous. It was a spasm of the body accompanied by a wet, tearing sound, like flesh being ripped away. A silvery-white worm, identical to the one he’d stepped on before, fell from the handkerchief to the floor with a plop.
That was enough, more than enough. Martin was out of here. He backed up, never taking his eyes off the form—but in his haste, his elbow hit something that rattled backwards. He caught it before it fell, but it was too late. The woman’s head snapped around to look at him.
She grinned, obviously delighted, and Martin knew he’d been recognized in the seconds before she reached up and let the overcoat drop to the ground. If she had declared Grandmama, it’s me, Anastasia in a deep, throaty voice, he wouldn’t have been surprised at that point…except that her entire body, including her throat and probably her vocal chords, was riddled with holes, and out of each poked those black-tipped silver worms, emerging out of her as if from a honeycomb or a hive.
And every single worm dropped from her body to the floor and began squirming towards him.
Martin stumbled backwards, not wanting to take his eyes off the worms—that would be the fastest way to get into trouble—and fumbled in his pocket for something, anything. All he came up with was his phone, which he held in front of him like it was some kind of talisman to ward off evil. He didn’t know if he was going for his contacts to call someone or his camera app to take a picture for proof, but one of the worms got close to him and sprang straight at his face.
He yelped and fell backwards, backside hitting the stair. His phone fell from his hand, clattering to the ground, but the worm had missed him.
Martin knew he wouldn’t get so lucky a second time. Without even thinking about going for the dropped phone, he scrabbled up the stairs, hauled himself to his feet, and ran.
He wasn’t all that good at running, exactly, but this was far from the first time he’d got too close to something that wanted to kill him. First time in a while, but some habits never left you. He timed his breathing to his steps to keep from hyperventilating, kept his eyes on the ground far enough ahead of him that he wouldn’t run into anything unexpected, and kept out of the intermittent patches of moonlight, although he wasn’t sure if the worms hunted by sight or sound or scent or what. He skidded into the station, managed to leap onto the train just before it pulled out, and checked the seat over and over to make sure nothing had followed him before collapsing onto it, chest aching and tears pricking his eyes—whether from exertion or fear, he wasn’t sure.
Fuck, that had been close. Martin didn’t doubt for a minute that that had been Jane Prentiss back there. He didn’t know what she was doing there, but it had to be either her or one of her victims, and the description tallied with the one he remembered Jon giving the team. And she’d spotted him right away for what he was, he didn’t doubt that for a minute. He’d been Marked by It long ago, ever since he’d pulled his first book of power from a jumbled heap at a charity shop and his mother and Mary had realized he had a talent that could be exploited, and it had only got worse over the years between his almost pathetic desire to please and his need to help. The fact that he worked for the Magnus Institute had probably not helped; the library was bad enough, but now after closing in on a year in the Archives, he’d probably been steeped in it so thoroughly you wouldn’t need his vision to spot it.
Ordinarily, he’d have wondered why she cared, but…well. The Archives might be a world unto themselves, even amongst the Institute staff, but Martin’d kept an ear to the ground when he worked in the library and his friendly game of hide-the-biscuits with Rosie gave him another source to tap into. There were…rumors. Sideways comments about scorch marks and late-night visitors, whispered speculations on the fates of assistants, that sort of thing. And Martin’s little…side jobs put him into contact with a lot of people who knew Gertrude Robinson, by reputation if nothing else. She was somewhere between bogeyman and Caped Crusader, depending on who you asked, and there were stories of her raining vengeance on servitors and avatars alike. Probably a lot of the Community assumed it was the Archives and the Archivist’s job to do that rather than a personal vendetta held by a woman Martin had somehow never managed to actually meet despite working for the same place for ten years.
So yes. Jane Prentiss was probably after the Archives, or the Archivist. And he’d very nearly given her a neat little vessel to transport her worms back to the Archives in. God alone knew what she’d come up with to do now, but come up with something she surely would, assuming she had sufficient cognitive abilities left in the state she was in. Or else her…patron would.
Martin was weary down to the bone by the time he got to his stop. He wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for a week, or at the very least call out of work the next day, but he knew he couldn’t. In the first place, he didn’t have his phone to call, and while he could theoretically send Jon an email, he didn’t trust himself to write coherently in his present state. In the second place, he had to go in tomorrow because he had to warn the others. They had to know what Jane Prentiss was up to.
And whether they would believe him or not, he would have to tell them everything.
Not now, though. For right now Martin dragged himself into his flat, triple-checked his door was locked, and fell face-down into bed, fully clothed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
#ollie writes fanfic#to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#tma fanfic#tma#martin blackwood#jane prentiss#canon-typical worms#canon-typical corruption content#scenes of peril#slight misuse of Beholding powers#(maybe)#(as in maybe it's misuse not as in maybe they're Beholding powers)
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·:·.☽✧═══ 𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ═══✧☾.·:·.
|| ⦅ 𝚗𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ⦆ ||
·:·.☽✧═══ 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| CONTENT: AU//no outbreak, age gap (50/24), pining, slow burn, angst, protector!Joel, soft!Joel, POV switching, patriarchal abuse, maternal abandonment, physical/mental/financial abuse, internalized values of low self-worth, unlearning negative behaviors and mindsets, societal structures concerning abuse and recovery, dysfunctional family dynamics
| SYNOPSIS:
Well into the prime of your life with little to show for it, you begin to wonder if you will ever get out of the terrible home life your mom and brother already fled. Any attempt to gain independence is thwarted by your controlling, cruel father, and you fear you will be stuck forever. It's when your neighborhood acquaintance Joel Miller enters the picture that your remaining ray of hope shines a little brighter.
·:·.☽✧═══ ＥＮＤＬＥＳＳ ＮＩＧＨＴ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s):
Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader
Ellie Williams x platonic!fem!OC/reader
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| WORD COUNT: 62.1k (as of Chapter 12)
| WARNINGS: explicit sexual content (later chapters), PTSD, allusions to sewer slide and self-harm, grief, typical canon violence, 🔥SLOW. BURN. VERY SLOW BURN.🔥
| SYNOPSIS:
You are Jackson’s Community Coordinator amongst other things pertaining to getting newcomers settled into the community. Your work is cut out for you when Joel and Ellie return from their travels and are now under your wing. Will you manage to integrate them into Jackson and add to your growing list of success stories or will their arrival only stir up ghosts from the past and leave you lost? Spoiler: It’s the ghosts from the past option, but maybe Joel can help.
·:·.☽✧═══ ＦＥＲＡＬ ＷＯＭＡＮ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| WORD COUNT: 63.8k (as of Chapter 10)
| WARNINGS: material related to SA, physical violence, captivity, trauma, slave trader, typical canon violence, and explicit sexual content (later chapters)
| SYNOPSIS:
You are the ex-captive of a slaver group’s ringleader. Now that you are free, you have to navigate your newfound freedom and all the terrifying things that brings. Will you ever be able to feel safe enough again to let others in or will you always struggle with the walls you’ve built over the years to protect yourself? Spoiler: PTSD and trauma are complicated and difficult, but we like “and they lived happily ever after” vibes around these here parts.
·:·.☽✧═══ Ａ ＷＥＩＧＨＴ ＯＦＦ ＹＯＵＲ ＳＨＯＵＬＤＥＲＳ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x plus sized!fem!neighbor
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| CONTENT: age gap (Joel mid 40s, neighbor late 20s), cheating, negative body image, negative self-talk, discussions of body image struggles
| SYNOPSIS:
// AU no outbreak // a series of oneshots in chronological order that follow the story of Joel and his new neighbor who returns to Texas following a devastating breakup and called off engagement. With her life completely uprooted and her self-confidence shot, she works through moving on to bigger and better things. Enter DILF neighbor Joel Miller.
·:·.☽✧═══ Ａ ＳＡＶＡＧＥ ＰＬＡＣＥ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): sub!Joel Miller x dom!fem!OC
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| CONTENT: exploration of power dynamics, submissive and domination practices, dirty talk, rewards and punishments, kinky shit idk? this is legit an entire collection about Joel being a submissive lmao
| SYNOPSIS:
Set in Jackson // Joel Miller has been a tightly wound grump since the day you first met. His gruff, unfriendly demeanor is enough of a deterrent for most everyone, but you’re not fazed by it one bit, which only seems to aggravate him even more. When his surly disposition puts you in peril, you’ve had enough and are determined to change his attitude for good.
·:·.☽✧═══ ＪＩＺＺ ＦＩＮＧＥＲＳ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): shapeshifting alien (any and all P boys) x reader
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| CONTENT: CRACKFIC // A shapeshifting alien falls in love with you and morphs into whatever you want. He also comes out of his fingers sometimes.
·:·.☽✧═══ ＷＨＩＳＴＬＥ ＩＮ ＴＨＥ ＤＡＲＫ ═══✧☾.·:·.
🅲🅾🅼🅿🅻🅴🆃🅴🅳 - total WC 52.1k
| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x married!fem!OC
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| CONTENT: cuckolding, infidelity (husband cheating on wife), verbal/emotional/physical abuse, angst, fluff, pining, horny demon hours shit, Joel is mean and unhinged as fuck but it's not at us so it's totally fine and not at all dubious and possibly upsetting 👀
| SYNOPSIS:
Set in Jackson // Your husband Matthew is a serial cheater, but his recent bout of infidelity has crossed the line. You agree to not reveal his dark secret under one condition: you will bring one man of your choosing into your shared home and have sex with him while your husband watches. Enter Joel Miller. What was supposed to be a one time thing ends up changing the nature of your marriage forever.
·:·.☽✧═══ ＬＩＱＵＩＤ ＧＯＬＤ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!reader x Tommy Miller
| RATING: explicit material | 18+
| SYNOPSIS: A chance meeting leads to finding the love of two brothers.
·:·.☽✧═══ ＤＲＥＡＭ ＷＩＴＨＩＮ Ａ ＤＲＥＡＭ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): incubus!Ezra x virgin!fem!OC/reader
·:·.☽✧═══ ＣＩＮＮＡＭＯＮ ＡＮＤ ＳＵＧＡＲ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!reader
·:·.☽✧═══ ＧＡＬＬＥＴＩＴＡ ═══✧☾.·:·
| PAIRING(s): chubby Javi P x fem!reader
·:·.☽✧═══ ＴＨＥ ＧＩＦＴ ＯＦ ＹＯＵＲ ＧＲＡＶＥ ═══✧☾.·:·.
| PAIRING(s): dom!Max Phillips x sub!Frankie Morales
·:·.☽✧═══ Ａ ＴＡＢＬＥ ＦＯＲ ＴＷＯ ═══✧☾.·:·.
CRACKFIC // | PAIRING(s): Mrs. Claudia Flores x the Italian Water x the Lisa from Temecula skit shaky table
✨🎃 Kinktober 2023 🎃✨
⦅ Ezra ⦆
⦅ Frankie ⦆
⦅ Javi P ⦆
⦅ Joel ⦆
⦅ Max L ⦆
⦅ Max P ⦆
⦅ Other P-Boys ⦆
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Wangxian Fic Rec: Science Fiction Double Feature 🤖🚀
Mostly wangxian fics with sci fi elements - space, dream science, mindlink, androids, cyberpunk cities etc
Out of Nothing by Pip (Moirail) - zhanchengxian - 27k
Summary: You and me, Wei Ying had said. Jiang Cheng is going to take him at his word.
Command says that the first neural link is the one that stands out the most, the one that everyone has to be the most careful of, because a navigator’s thoughts can get tangled up with their pilot’s and become inextricably linked. Entangled.
My Notes: All time fave. If I ever shut up about this fic you should assume I've been body snatched. Transhumanism, nostalgia, space opera, mindlink.
In Imitation of Life by travelingneuritis - wangxian - 70k
Summary: Lan Zhan stops in front of one of the bespoke duplicates— a male figure, small, creamy-skinned and lithe. The name on the plinth reads Mo Xuanyu. Lan Zhan tested it on his first pass through the room. The doll was empty. No signals bouncing around its artificial brain, no operating programs queued to autostart. Not even a blinking dormancy light.
"Hey big guy," says Mo Xuanyu, chrome eyes sparkling with fun. "Who do I gotta fuck around here to get unplugged?"
Wei Ying is a rogue AI come to life. Lan Zhan is… handling it.
My Notes: This is my Neuromancer. Actually one of my favorite cyberpunk cities EVER. When I figured out what OP was doing with the city and plot structure I legitimately went insane. Android erotics, cyberpunk city.
More fics under the cut!!
via AMONG THE STARS BY PLONK
(a series of oneshots set in Firefly's CU, all really excellent but I want to draw attention a few all time faves)
A Monk and a Myth - wangxian
Summary: take_me_to_church.mp3
My Notes: This is THE and I mean THE final word on science fictional religiosity and devotion. Can not imagine trying to tackle those concepts without having read this. Man as myth, folk heroes, Lan Zhan's canon typical devotion.
a grease monkey, a companion, and some pals aboard the lil apple - wangxian My Notes: Lan Wangji is a very prim and classy companion (in universe style of sex worker) and Wei Wuxian is a ship repair guy and Lan Wangji teaches him the ways of the secular flesh. My fucking god do I think about this sex scene all the time. Like, weekly.
a chatty mechanic and a silent academy survivor aboard the lotus - wangxian genderswap
Summary: Just really excellent. Wei Wuxian is a ship mechanic and Lan Wangji has psychic abilities from medical experimentation from which she's been rescued. Solidly space western, the end of this one is just wonderful. Love the mindlink elements here.
escapees aboard the radish - wangxian
Summary: So absolutely crazy about this one. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are both ex academy students or have both been victims of psychic medical experiments. I love it as a story about trauma and living in aftermath. Mindlink.
promises of the future by spookykingdomstarlight - wei wuxian/wei wuxian - 3k
Summary: His ocular sensors spin themselves to life. In the mirror, he sees himself. And he sees himself, himself but different, reflected from the mirror he’s resting against into the mirror he’s facing. Himself but slighter, features sharper. Himself, with eyes brightened by the power of a star. Himself, crouched above himself, close enough to kiss.
My Notes: Yes you read that pairing right!! Give it up for robot eroticism!!!! Android erotics, cyberpunk sensibility.
some lovely, perilous think by varnes - wangxian - 24k
Summary: Jingyi makes a sympathetic sound. “I’ve got a buddy in one of the Hefei labs, and he says there’s some evidence to suggest that people stuck in limbo develop, like, whole new neural pathways. And you go in and out of it all the time, right, so who knows what your brain is up to.” His eyes light up. “Oh man, would you let me — ”
“Obviously no,” Wei Ying says, voice flat. “But you’re close enough to right. I can keep you all safely in the level, but it’s tiring. I can’t be both dreamer and extractor.”
“I’ll do it,” Lan Zhan cuts in, before Jingyi can protest or Wen Yuan can ask any further questions. “It’s not a problem.”
“Are you sure?” Wen Yuan asks, brow furrowing. “If your sub-security picks up that Xian-gege doesn’t belong — ”
“They won’t.”
Wei Ying frowns. “Not for nothing, ge,” he says slowly, “but the last time we were in your dream together, I fell off a cliff.”
Lan Zhan looks up and over at him. There is something in his eyes that Wei Ying can’t quite read: something fierce, and faraway. “I remember,” he says, voice quiet. “Do you?”
-
Wei Ying takes a dream heist job with an old friend.
My Notes: God this is wonderful. We've got a full cast and some case/heist fic flavoured science fictional elements. I think it plays very nicely with a lot of the other cool mindlink stuff on this list.
world.runExecution by pip (moirail) - zhanchengxian - 30k
IN PROGRESS
Summary: What does it mean to be human, anyway?
“Here we go,” Wei Ying mumbles, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t have the chance to ask what that means before Wei Ying’s squaring up his shoulders and moving in a way that cuts a swath through the crowd.
My Notes: my group chat commissioned this for FTH in 2022 and it remains the love of my life. Pip you beautiful genius. CYBERPUNK I LOVE YOU.
i will be chasing a starlight by feyburner, sundiscus - wangxian - 71k
Summary: “You know what?” Wei Ying said. “I think we should be friends.”
“Vulcans do not have friends,” said Lan Zhan. He was staring very determinedly at the screen in front of him.
Wei Ying frowned at him. “That can’t be right.”
My Notes: I am so insanely crazy town about this fic. God there has not been a filler entry on this list YET!
below the clouds, above the lakes by northofallmusic (tofsla) - wangxian - 22k
UNFINISHED
Summary: Wei Ying was not formally considered a Jiang until it became necessary for a Jiang to marry a Lan as a guarantee of alliance. Now, in the habitat dome which houses the palace known as the Cloud Recesses, he has to navigate a new role, a new marriage, and an unfamiliar tangle of political relationships and loyalties.
My Notes: I remember LOVING the worldbuilding on this and really enjoying the space OP was playing in, I thought it was worth a read.
Thank you so much to everyone who recommended fics!! It's coming to my attention that this list is going to get massive so I'll reblog as I read and update it 🚀
#absolutely loving how much mindlink this fandom produces#you guys are so smart ur brains are huge and i love you#put a BUNCH of stuff in my to - read so i'll update as i go :)#wangxian fic rec#fic rec
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