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hufflefluff-stuff · 1 year

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102 is quite a line 👀

Maybe an Ominis line 👀

tho I'm lost on a scenario, you got free reign on that!

Ooooo yes!! This reminds me of some angsty audio I heard on tiktok with Ominis saying "it's rotten work [about himself]" and MC replying "not to me" so that's the vibe we're going for.

MAJOR spoilers for endgame stuff ahead!

102) "I am damaged."

[Request more Angst/Horror prompts here!]

........

"I am damaged..."

That's the first thing you heard Ominis mutter to himself when he thought he was all alone in the Undercroft.

He hadn't realized you were there as well, quietly studying your books and trying to feel like a normal student for once.

Ever since you attended Hogwarts as a late bloomer, things were anything but normal from the get-go.

After saving the school (and more or less the entire wizarding world) from certain doom at the hands of Ranrok and Rookwood, you hoped to end this year on the best note possible. It was hard given all of the friends you've lost along the way, but a lot of good came out of it, too.

Ominis was one such example. Despite the rocky start you both had when he caught you sneaking out of the Undercroft that fateful day, you managed to make amends and grow closer together.

You never thought that same snobby blind boy who threatened to report you to the headmaster would be the one to confess his feelings for you.

It was in the days following you winning the house cup for [House], and when you finally had a moment alone to talk to him, he finally made his move. His way of courting you was so sweet and eloquent--fitting for the Slytherin from such a privileged class.

Of course other students had eyes for you, too, but Ominis loved you for who you are and not for your ancient magic and reputation as a "hero". Going on different adventures with you and Sebastian made him realize what kind of person you truly were:

An unreliable "acquaintance" of his best friend who reeked of distrust in the beginning, turned to a kind person who was always by his side through thick and thin in the end.

Now that you two have officially become a couple, you managed to coax him into accompanying you on more excursions both inside and outside of the castle.

Although he couldn't see the beauty of the world and all its magical creatures, you described it to him how ever you could--whether it's a Thestral resting underneath the ribcage of some enormous beast's skeleton, or the charred corpse of a spider you've just slain with Incendio. He loved how you spoke of them regardless of the scenario.

On top of that, you've taken up to helping more people in the local hamlets and villages, with Ominis reassuring them that he's not some cruel and mean Slytherin from the Gaunt family, and that he genuinely cared for their concerns.

However...your latest mission ultimately had taken a turn for the worst, and you had some serious regrets on taking your boyfriend along for the ride.

It seemed to be just like any other poacher camp you've shutdown. But the locals informed you that this one in particular was in charge of trafficking beast skins...or selling beasts to butchers.

You urged Ominis to discreetly free the creatures from their cages, taking out the nearby guards with Petrificus Totalus, while you ambushed the poachers on the other side of the camping grounds. But you both failed to realize that some of Rookwood's goons were among their midst, seeking to avenge him and make it very clear that you'll never be safe again.

He had every intention to murder you; you were just protecting yourself against his Killing Curse, though of course his gang wouldn't understand that. They just saw you and began throwing whatever spell they had at their disposal.

You took most of them down with ease, while Ominis finished freeing the last purple toad and rushed to assist you in the fight.

But then he stopped upon hearing three distinct things that would forever haunt him: A dark wizard shouting "Crucio", the sparks of electricity crackling in the air...

And your brief, yet painful, screams.

Despite his wand detecting only you and the one ashwinder casting the curse, he was frozen on the spot, unable to bring himself to move forward and save you. It was like somebody had casted Petrificus Totalus on him.

He could have taken them out right away, but...he was terrified.

Suddenly he felt like he was back in the Slytherin Scriptorium, where Sebastian had to cast the same curse on you in order to proceed forward--something Ominis had tried in vain to protest against.

He knew he wasn't there, it was all in his mind, yet all he could think about were your screams.

Then he thought about the screams of those innocent muggles he watched his family torture...before he remembered his own screams after they tortured him for refusing to use the curse, not giving up until he finally relented.

The rest of that moment was a blur, but at some point you managed to yank out a Mandrake from your bag and stun the ashwinder long enough to use Expelliarmus and lacerate their legs with Diffindo.

While that shrieking plant made Ominis briefly deaf, too, it snapped him out of his trance, bringing him back to reality as you rushed over to him. You fled the campsite together on Highwing's back, drinking some wiggenweld on your way back to the castle, not speaking until you were safely on schoolgrounds.

That all happened yesterday...and he was still quite distressed. He didn't seem comfortable talking about those events too much, and you couldn't blame him. So you left it be, apologizing for the stress you caused, and tried making it up to him with a trip into Hogsmede.

However, this morning you didn't find him in the Great Hall or anywhere in the Slytherin Section. Not even Sebastian knew of his whereabouts, assuming you "lost" him; fortunately there weren't many places that your boyfriend frequented.

The Undercroft was your next best guess.

Yet it was empty when you arrived, much to your annoyance.

You figured Ominis will eventually turn up here, so you transfigured a sofa out of some pile of armor and decided to catch up on your studies. But obviously it was hard to focus on the texts when all you could think about was him..

At some point he finally arrived, and you nearly jumped up to ask where the hell he's been...until he started mumbling rather concerning things to himself, apparently unaware of your presence.

Then you noticed he didn't have his wand in-hand, feeling the walls and eventually sitting down on the floor, leaning against one and curling up. He certainly knew the Undercroft's layout well enough to not need it constantly, but his behavior was still extremely concerning.

Especially his remark about being "damaged", which had you gravely worried about his physical well-being.

"Ominis, what do you mean by "damaged"? Are you hurt?"

"MC..?! Oh, Merlin..d-didn't realize you were here." Although startled at first, he quickly calmed down upon hearing your voice and approaching footsteps. "I'm alright. I was just...th-thinking up some poetry. You know, Thakkar has been giving me some really good advice-"

"Wow, you're a worse liar than I ever was," you chuckled lightly, kneeling down in front of him. "You know he's away on a family trip, right?"

"......."

"....Ominis?"

His silence worried you greatly, especially as he suddenly hid his face in his arms, now unwilling to look at you for some reason.

"If you wanna hide from me, love, Disillusionment is more-"

"D-Do...I even deserve to be called that anymore?" He mumbled in a trembling voice that made your stomach sink.

"....huh? Of course you do." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What's going on? You can be honest with me. If...I did something to upset you recently, I'm sorry-"

"No. You...d-don't have to be sorry about anything. It's me who should be the sorry one."

"Darling, what do you mean-?"

"Stop. Please. I-I think the proper term is "bloody stinking coward". I could have stopped that ashwinder f-from using the Cruciatus Curse...he was right there and I could have done something! But I didn't!" Ominis began to ramble, unable to stop his voice from shaking and rising in volume. "I-I stood there like a bumbling half-witted mooncalf wh-while he tortured you!"

You frowned slightly, gently setting your hands on his arms as you finally understood why he was so distraught. "Ominis, you were occupied in freeing all those beasts. You can't be in two places at once, and I'm not angry at you for that. And besides, the curse didn't hurt me badly this time. I know it scares you, but...."

However you trailed off as he lifted his head, and your heart cracked in two upon seeing the tears streaking down his face like rivers of salt water.

Only now did you realize what he meant by feeling "damaged"---and it wasn't in the physical sense. But the emotional.

"That's exactly my problem...I was too scared to do anything." He shuddered. "Wh-Who just stands by and...and lets their fears of the past consume them?! And nearly gets the love of their life killed because of it?!! That's something only a broken person does, MC...someone who's far too damaged t-to stand up for-"

"Don't say that. Nothing about you is "broken" or "damaged"." You pulled him into your arms, feeling him fall completely limp against you. "You are the furthest thing from either of those."

For a few moments, he was silent as he absorbed your words. But when he tried to respond, all that came from his lips was something between a gasp and a loud sob. He choked out an apology for losing his composure so quickly, though you just hushed him.

"Shhhh, it's okay." You held him tighter than ever, keeping one hand on the back of his head. ''Just let it all out. I'm not going anywhere, my love. And I mean that..I still love you."

With trembling hands, Ominis grasped onto your cloak, tears soaking into your shoulder as he allowed all of his emotions to spill. His sobs echoed freely in the Undercroft, not caring about anything anymore; not even if Sebastian were to walk in right now.

After all that's happened this year, it was just too much for him to keep locked inside: he lost his oldest friend to the Dark Arts, Anne was likely never going to reach out to him again....all that he really had left was you.

Yet he felt like none of his experiences made him any stronger, unlike you--who also lost so much and, at the same time, gained great powers that allowed you to protect those dearest to you.

But who would be there to protect you?

That's where Ominis came into the picture, wanting to fight for you after everything you've done to save Hogwarts. His worst fear was losing you forever anytime you went off on a dangerous mission. So he actually insisted on going out with you more often to put his mind at ease..plus he wanted to be sure you're not doing something too reckless.

But if he was only going to freeze up every time some dark wizard merely spoke the incantation of a certain Unforgivable....then how could he ever hope to save you when you needed him most?

He felt pathetic and useless, essentially forcing you to figure out how to escape that situation yourself while he stood there like some idiot.

What if you didn't conveniently have a Mandrake tucked in your bag? What if you had been in too much pain to grab it?

What then?

At that point, he felt like he was too broken to be with someone as strong as you. This relationship was done for, he believed, and sooner or later you'd grow tired of his cowardice and resent him for not stepping in.

He thought you were going to break it off for sure now that you see how "difficult" he was being.

But that was far from the truth. You didn't shun him or demand an explanation for why he acted the way he did. Instead you let him cry in your arms--something that no one in his life offered when he was at his lowest--staying here in this safe haven together and reaffirming your love for him.

He didn't know whether to feel grateful or selfish.

"I-I tried, MC..I..I really tried to help you." He wept, his face now buried in your neck. "But I guess I'm...just doomed to hurt everyone around me. That's all I'm good at."

"You're not doomed to live that way, Ominis. You haven't hurt me at all, and I know damn well you'd never hurt anybody on purpose."

"Really? T-Tell that to my family...we were monsters who tortured and killed muggles for fun-"

"They did that for fun, not you. You're not a monster like them. I know this because you refused to follow in their footsteps. And by Merlin, I'm glad you were a stubborn child..even after all they put you through." You softly spoke, kissing his head as you felt his arms tighten their hold around you. "All I see now is someone who's even stronger than them, with a good heart that would've won him a spot in Gryffindor for sure."

"....w-with Prewett, Weasley, and all those twits? I don't think so.." He chuckled lightly, sniffling as he rested his head on your shoulder and fell quiet. He felt a lot calmer than before, sighing tiredly. "..I'm sorry. I-It was never my intention to burden you with this, love. You already deal with so much. I just wish I...could've been just a bit stronger for you."

"Don't worry about me, okay?" You smiled. Even though he couldn't see it, you hoped he'd at least imagine it. "I saw how sneaky you were around those poachers. You petrified them before they even knew what hit 'em."

"Of course. I had to do something, right?" He huffed, although he smiled a little bit.

"You did great, darling. If the beasts could talk, I'd say they'd be thanking you over and over. You saved their lives. They probably think you as their hero."

"I thought it was that Hufflepuff girl's job to be the "hero of beasts"...but I don't mind that title, too."

A calming silence fell over you two, save for Ominis' light sniffles. But eventually he was the first to let go, his hands reaching for the sides of your face moments later, wanting to ensure you weren't injured at all.

You helped guide him there, your skin growing warm at his touch. He felt around for any recent scarring or bruising across your flesh, being grateful that he found nothing of the sort.

Meanwhile, you kept smiling as you observed his own face. Although he looked like a complete mess after all that crying, he still managed to appear quite handsome in your eyes.

You knew he desperately needed that outlet, and you were happy he finally confided in you.

At the end of the day, you'll love him no matter what.

#hogwarts legacy x reader #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #angst/horror prompt #hurt/comfort #hogwarts legacy spoilers

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separatist-apologist · 2 months

Text

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

Azriel couldn’t say what woke him. Something was wrong—Azriel could taste fear in the back of his throat. It was enough to sit him up in bed, one hand flung out for Gwyn. Her side of the bed was empty and cold, telling him she’d been gone long enough for her warmth to evaporate, too. The mating bond was still new to Azriel—and yet he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to ring like an alarm bell in his chest.

Dressing quickly, Azriel made his way into the living area to find it utterly wrecked. With a deep inhale, Azriel noted that Gwyn’s scent was stronger than the underlying vanilla one just beneath…and something spicy and hot lingered just at the door.

Eris.

A growl rumbled in his throat even as he tried to reassure himself that she’d likely just walked off with the Autumn Court heir. That seemed like the kind of thing she’d do given how unconcerned for her own personal safety she was. Azriel swallowed, hand hovering over the handle of the door. In his mind, he saw that flame licking over her fingers.

Had Eris recognized something in her? Some magic that belonged to his family, some claim he thought he might have? Azriel swore, right then and there, that he’d kill Eris if he so much as shot Gwyn a dirty look, Rhys’s politics be damned.

Just outside the door, Azriel found a scene far worse than anything he’d been imagining. Guards swarmed the body of the prince, still smoking and charred from whatever had touched him. It was Eris, he lied to himself. He knew it wasn’t. Standing there, the guards all turned to look at him and Azriel knew there would be no easy escape.

Which was why he allowed them to “escort” him to the dungeons before helpfully disarming him. He wasn’t alone—in the cell that was opened for him, a familiar blonde was curled up on the floor, knees touching her chin. It was the Day Court scholar, rumbled and streaked with dirt, but otherwise unharmed.

“Where is Helion?” Azriel asked, not bothering to introduce himself.

“Gone, if he’s smart,” she replied in a sad voice. “They all are.”

They all are.

“The female I came with—”

“Gone,” the blonde informed him in that despondent voice. “Eris took her.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Azriel demanded, turning the full force of the spymaster onto the female before him.

“Because I saw him, you overgrown bat,” she snapped in response. “He shattered the wards in the palace—letting them think I did it—and raced off to Prythian before he could be blamed for what he did to the prince.”

“I’ll kill him,” Azriel swore, running a hand through his hair.

“You can get in line,” she replied, words dripping with fury. Azriel didn’t bother responding to that. Where the fuck were his shadows? He wasn’t used to such silence, to not knowing everything happening around him. Had they all left with his mate? And would he be mad if they had?

Maybe a little.

Azriel wasted the morning pacing back and forth, planning his escape. He’d take the Day Court female with him, deposit her before Rhys, and then march himself into Autumn, consequences be damned. In his mind, the whole thing was a little glorious—not only did he avenge Mor by killing Eris, he killed Beron, too. Perhaps Lucien would be named the new High Lord which seemed acceptable enough, though still irksome.

He hated to see the people he disliked get something good, after all.

“They’re going to torture answers out of us,” the blonde whispered when the sounds of metal scraping against metal filled the otherwise gloomy darkness. “I’ve never been tortured before.”

Pity squeezed at him. “Whatever secrets matter to you, guard them—weave truth with lies and no matter what, don’t tell them anything to make the pain stop.”

“Why not?”

“Because the pain will only intensify,” he promised, thinking of his own methods. “If they’re going to kill us, nothing we say will convince them not to. Might as well take your secrets to your grave.”

That didn’t make her seem to feel any better. In truth, Azriel couldn’t focus on this female. Not when the door was wrenched open and the two were dragged out by guards wearing chain metal gloves. The female dug in her heels, kicking and thrashing which was, in Azriel’s opinion, a waste of time and energy. She’d wear herself out before the actual torturing even began.

Azriel was joined by all but one of his shadows just in time for his wrists to be shackled over his head.

Eris took Gwyn, they whispered frantically. Azriel needed to free himself to get to her—and in order to free himself, he needed to be alone. He met the blank, bored stares of the Fae males before him and he knew, without needing to ask, that he was going to be suspended like he was for hours.

Grit your teeth, he told himself, remember you have had worse.

Nothing King Gunnar subjected him to could be worse than what he’d endured at the hands of his fathers. And if it was, it certainly wasn’t worse than what he’d been subjected to at the hands of Rhysand’s father. Azriel could withstand immortal levels of pain without cracking and as the door swung shut behind his torturers, Azriel opened a long forgotten door in his mind.

It was where he’d once hidden as a boy, shielding his mind from the pain of his body. He could get through anything so long as he had that little retreat, along with the reminder the pain was merely temporary.

No questions were asked at the beginning. Azriel had been prepared for that. Better to merely hurt for pains sake and then, once the subject was desperate, begin asking casual questions. What Azriel hadn’t expected was the King himself to enter, drinking in the sight of his sweaty, bloody form. The only thing keeping Azriel on his feet was sheer will—the restraints holding his arms up were useless at that point.

Were he to slump, he’d break both his wrists and dislocate his shoulders. Azriels shadows, hidden in the dark, swarmed in that unseen space, whispering a warning only he could hear.

Don’t trust him, don’t trust him, don’t trust him—

Azriel didn’t need to be told as much.

“Your…friend…was she? Gwyneth? Killed my son.”

Azriel didn’t react at all, unwilling to betray Gwyn at all. If she had killed Kai—and he knew she hadn’t—Azriel assumed her reasoning made sense. And if her reasons had been nonsense, he still would have stared that ancient male down and dared him to do his worst.

Azriel would go to his grave before he betrayed his own mate.

“Tell me where she is, and I’ll release you to your lord.”

Azriel inclined his head to the side and then, as Gunnar approached, spat on his boots. Blood splattered against the crisp white of his trousers, filling Azriel with animal pleasure. Next time it would be Gunnar’s blood, and not Azriel’s, that decorated his clothes.

He merely needed a reprieve.

“Do you hear that?” Gunnar asked, ignoring the insult as the Day Court female’s screams echoed around them. “I don’t think she’ll hold up as well as you have. You can do this for days, can’t you?”

Again, Azriel refused to respond.

“You know, I heard a rumor about your kind,” Gunnar continued, sidestepping Azriel. He reached for one of his wings before Azriel could stop him, slicing with a knife held in his hands. The pain was white hot like a branding iron was taken to his flesh and his mind. He couldn’t help but jerk away, causing the metal rings to clank loudly overhead.

“I guess what I heard was true,” Gunnar said, watching red blood streak down the onyx wings. “Would they grow back if I cut them off?”

Azriel’s heart splattered at his feet. No, they wouldn’t. If Gunnar ordered his men to cut Azriel’s wings at the root, he’d spend the rest of his life without them, wishing he did. The thought of being an Illyrian without wings—of the disgrace—made bile pool in his stomach. Before that moment, Azriel hadn’t been afraid, only angry.

But now he was scared. Losing his wings was worse than death. For the first time in his life, Azriel was tempted to beg—to plead.

And still, he refused.

“I’ll need a bigger knife,” Gunnar mused, looking at the rather pathetic blade in his hand. “Maybe yours?”

Nothing. Azriel didn’t care if Gunnar had truthteller, didn’t care if he decided to hack at Azriel’s wings. He focused himself with the reminder that if Rhys knew what was happening, he’d be coming. And the moment Rhys and Cassian and Feyre and Nesta descended on this place, they’d leave it in ruin. They would come.

They would come.

Even for him. Even though he didn’t deserve it, even though he’d made a mess of everything. Azriel lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, willing his traitorous heart to slow.

“You could avoid all this, of course,” Gunnar continued, ever reasonable even with Azriel’s blood splattered against his clothes. “Tell me where your female companion has gone.”

Azriel nodded his head, beckoning for the king to come closer. Gunnar did—the utter fool. Azriel couldn’t help his laugh when he smashed his face against Gunnar’s, forehead colliding with the kings very fragile, very breakable nose. Gunnar swore, stumbling back with one hand covering the injury as Azriel threw his head back in a hoarse laugh.

He’d die before he told the Montessere royals anything about Gwyn.

“You’ll regret that, brute,” Gunnar snarled, beckoning for the heavy door to be opened. Azriel let his laugh trail after the king like one of his shadows, silenced only when the heavy, iron door slammed shut behind him. Mercifully, Azriel was alone.

He counted in his head, forcing himself to go slow even when he wanted to race through the numbers and free himself. He wasn’t going to show his hand only to end up shackled all over again. When he emerged, it would be like death itself.

And Azriel’s retribution would be vicious in its intensity.

No one came by the time he finished.

“Now,” he whispered to his shadows. They darted and swirled around him, slipping through the cracks of the locks holding him. He heard them whispering to each other before the locks clicked and he was freed, knees buckling beneath the full weight of his body. It was tempting to sink to the floor and regain himself and Azriel knew if he did, he might not get back up.

All he wanted was to sleep. His wing burned from the wound, still knitting itself together. He’d be able to fly on it, but it would be excruciating. Telling himself he’d suffered far worse, Azriel pushed his way into the dungeon to follow the sounds of pleadings and screams. Helion might have been content to leave this female behind, but Azriel was not.

“Cover me,” he murmured, fading into the darkness as his shadows obscured his form. All Azriel would allow himself to focus on was escape, forcing him to push all thoughts of Gwyn aside. She would be fine, he told himself. He’d trained her well. And still, fear tried to grip his heart, icy cold and unyielding. She’d suffered enough and he’d sworn no more harm would come to her.

He’d failed her already. No wonder she couldn’t feel the bond between them. Maybe she recognized she deserved better than a male that couldn’t even keep her safe. Shaking his head, Azriel banished the thought. There would be time enough for her to break their mating bond but for now, she was stuck with him whether she liked him or not. All he needed to do was get out and find her—and bring her home.

But first, a little bloody revenge. Peering into the other holding cell, Azriel found the blonde hanging from the chains by her wrists, blood pooled around the white of her dress. She was merely whispering, “please stop,” over and over through raw, chapped lips. Even Azriel would have quit by then, satisfied she knew nothing of use. Now they cut at her simply for the sake of hurting her—a lazy brutality Azriel couldn’t abide by.

He didn’t need his dagger to kill the three males inside. All Azriel needed was his own hands, darting from the shadows to rip open their throats in a violent display of fury. The Day Court female didn’t scream, lifting her head to watch with what he swore was approval. Perhaps this was revenge for her, too—though in truth, Azriel only thought of his own anger, his own retribution.

“We need to go,” Azriel told her once three headless bodies lay broken at his feet. He didn’t dare look at the heads, uninterested in seeing the bloody pulp that remained. There was enough tissue splattered against the wall, besides. No one would be getting up anytime soon.

“Arina,” she whispered, crumpling into his arms once she’d been freed. Azriel merely hauled her up against his chest, undeterred by her weakness. He merely strode out, snatching up his dagger from a nearby table as he did. It was almost laughable how easy it was to get outside, slipping through a servants door in the wall straight into a courtyard.

Of course, the sight of the pair of them sent everyone into a frenzy, but Azriel was as quick as he’d ever been. Groaning slightly, he kicked off the ground before anyone got within a hundred yards of him, airborne before they could scramble for arrows. He’d told himself he was prepared for the pain, for the strain his injured wing felt beneath their combined weights.

He needed only to get far enough away he could winnow.

“You’re falling!” Arina cried, arms around his neck.

“Stop talking,” Azriel ordered, aware his voice sounded disoriented. With his vision blurred at the edges, Azriel took them higher into the clouds, blinking against the blinding sun overhead. Wind pushed them along, helped by the female he carried. He wanted to thank her for blowing it against his dripping face but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

They weren’t going to make it.

Screwing up his face, Azriel thought of home. He thought of Rhys and Cassian drinking on the steps to the River House, laughing in a heap over some inappropriate joke. He saw Feyre holding Nyx who fisted at her hair, a smudge of blue paint on her cheek. Mor was there, grinning ear to ear while Amren scowled, telling Mor of all the ways he, Cass, and Rhys had been a disappointment in recent days. He saw Nesta sitting just inside, one leg crossed while the other bounced, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

And he saw Gwyn, perched on the edge of Nesta’s chair, talking a million miles a minute to Emerie, who was seemingly the only person in the world who could understand every word spilling from her lips.

Home. Azriel thought about home.

Take me home.

Shadow enveloped them both, sending them careening wildly before they collapsed against grass in a graceless heap. Blinking, Azriel recognized the hazy mountains half hidden in fog in the distance. And he recognized the female voice crying his name.

“Azriel,” Feyre cried, her soft hands touching his face. “Get Rhys—bring me the High Lord—!”

Her words blurred along with his vision and try as he might, Azriel couldn’t get any of the words out. He could feel her soft presence in his mind, could hear her speaking to him.

Show me what happened, Az, Feyre murmured lovingly, fingers still caressing his cheek. Let me in.

Rhys would have merely shattered Azriel’s defenses but Feyre, ever cognizant of what it felt like to have no choice at all. She’d let him take his secrets to the grave if he wanted and would have advocated for Rhys to leave him be, as she’d done so many times before. Azriel let her in gratefully, rolling onto his back while Feyre pressed something wet to his lips.

It was blood.

He tried to push her away but the High Lady ordered, “Drink,” and Azriel’s body complied before he could balk. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Azriel remembered her blood was the very same that ran through Thesan and Feyre was trying to heal him. He was too focused by her presence in his mind, flipping through the day's events frantically.

“It doesn’t make sense,” she whispered just as she stumbled into Azriel’s memories with Gwyn. He snarled without meaning to, elicting a louder, angrier roar from the descending High Lord.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Feyre breathed as Rhys dropped to his knees beside them. “I should have—oh, but Az that’s so wonderful—I should have asked first, I didn’t know, didn’t think…”

“I want her back,” Azriel whispered, his consciousness fading. Forcing himself to look Feyre in the eye, Azriel said, “I want her back.”

It was the last thing he remembered.

GWYN:

“You don’t have to do this, Eris,” Gwyn said for what must have been the millionth time that day. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“Liar,” Eris replied smoothly, fingers grazing the small of her back as he pushed her forward.

“You’ll regret this,” she warned, certain Azriel must be awake by then. Was he looking for her? Did he even care?

Yes, she thought firmly. Even if he didn’t know what she was to him, Gwyn was certain her disappearance would matter to him. Even if his only fear centered around Nesta’s fury, Gwyn believed Azriel would come for her.

“You’re not the only one with loved ones on the line. The easier you make this, the faster we can be done with the entire thing,” Eris warned, stopping her before two massive, wooden doors carved with an image of a terrifying dragon bellowing fire. The Vanserra crest? She couldn’t ask Eris, though she wouldn’t have even if she’d had the time. The only thing Gwyn wanted to ask Eris was where his heart—if he had one—was so she could rip it from his chest and shove it down his throat.

Eris was bringing her to Beron Vanserra. Seated atop a massive, hollowed out oak tree, the High Lord of Autumn was a terrifying sight. The rest of his sons stood just beside him, stairstepped in height leading up to the dais their father was perched atop. The Lady of Autumn sat beside him in a smaller, less ostentatious throne and crowned in burnished leaves wrapped around her pretty, auburn hair.

She leaned forward when Gwyn was pushed in, russet eyes shining. Gwyn searched her features for a moment, looking for anything of Catrin only to be left wholly empty. Their mother had always said Catrin came from Spring—moody and turbulent—and Gwyn from Autumn—firey and brash. She could see herself in the Lady of Autumn which did nothing to temper the fear running rampant through her.

Beron Vanserra didn’t move when Gwyn arrived at the foot of the dais. She wasn’t so rebellious she couldn’t bow, a show of self-preservation rather than deference. Eris’ knee hit the wood floor beneath them, eyes averted while Gwyn remained on her feet.

Rhysand was her High Lord—there was no law that said she was required to reside where her ancestors had, and no law that forced her to acknowledge a foreign High Lord as her own. Beron must have wondered, too, because he barked out, “Kneel.” The punch of magic made her chest ache though Gwyn was able to withstand the onslaught and remain as she was.

“Why am I here?” she asked, terrified to look up.

“My sister,” the Lady of Autumn breathed to the room of Vanserra’s, “had a son.”

Gwyn only sighed.

“He died in the war,” the Lady continued, her voice rich with her regret. “They all did. I thought they’d all been lost and then Eris said…”

Gwyn dared to look up at her, wishing this could be a happier reunion. All she could think about was Azriel—did he think she’d left him? That the night they’d spent together meant nothing to her and she was merely bored? The fear she might hurt him clawed at her chest, making her desperate to return to him. Maybe once things were settled on the continent and with her mate, she could return to Autumn and sort the entire mess of her lineage out.

“You’re certain she was Cyra’s?” Beron Vanserra asked his wife, his voice softening around the edges.

“I’m certain.”

“Then she stays,” Beron announced, not bothering to consult with Gwyn at all. A scream all but erupted in her throat, swallowed when Eris’s hand snaked beneath her dress to squeeze her ankle in warning. Shut up, he warned silently. Gwyn did as she was told, daring to look up at the High Lord. “At least until we can make a proper exchange for her. Give her comfortable accommodations and instruct her on how females conduct themselves within the walls of the Forest House.”

And that was that. Gwyn was swept out of the room by Eris, fingertips pressed into the small of her back. Neither of them spoke until they were back in the hall, and when Gwyn attempted to tell Eris where he could shove his hospitality, he said, “Watch your mouth.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” she replied, petulant and frustrated.

“I know that look on your face,” Eris replied smoothly, running a hand through his perfect hair. “You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you for what? Kidnapping me? Holding me captive while you try and hold your brother captive? Rhysand will never—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Eris hissed as they passed a group of silent courtiers, all staring at the pair. Fine, she thought, privately seething. Gwyn said nothing until Eris all but shoved her into a bed chamber she didn’t bother observing. All she saw was a glass door leading toward the woods and the escape route she’d take the moment Eris stopped talking.

“You can’t say whatever you want here. People are listening,” he told her, fingers curled around her upper arm as he led her deeper into the room. “You can do nothing but sit here and wait. If you do what I know you’re thinking about, twelve dogs will rip you to pieces before you ever get close to another Court's borders. There won’t be enough pieces to burn.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Gwyn threatened, rounding on him.

“You can get the fuck in line,” Eris retorted hotly, cheeks flushed red with anger. “I’ll be dead before you ever get your turn. I saved you from the wrath of Montessere.”

“Why?”

Eris merely stared her down. “My reasons are my own. There is no where to go—”

“When Azriel finds out—”

“He can get in line, too. Right behind you,” Eris all but snarled, turning his head angrily. “I left things behind, too. People I—” he took a breath rather than betray himself. “All in due time.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t care,” Eris replied in that irritating way of his. “If you make me chase you down tonight, you’ll live to regret it—”

“No, Eris Vanserra, you will live to regret bringing me here,” she retorted, rising to her full height. It didn’t intimidate him in the slightest but Gwyn meant every word she said. She had never bowed before the whims of more powerful men, even if it meant endangering her own life. She wasn’t about to start now, either. Eris had taken it upon himself to get her out, but Gwyn needed to go back. She needed to get Azriel and she needed answers.

What had that creature been? There had been no time to truly think about it given how quickly everything happened and yet Gwyn knew she was close. It had been that damn Day Court scholars fault, really—if she hadn’t stolen Gwyn’s cipher, Gwyn would have gotten back into bed with Azriel and everything would be fine.

Maybe even Kai would be alive.

“I already regret bringing you here,” Eris grumbled, turning his back on her. “Don’t try and leave, Gwyn. I swear to the Mother above, you will not make it out alive and I do not want problems with Night.”

Eris turned to leave, confident he’d gotten the last word. Gwyn wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Eris didn’t know to be afraid of her—yet. But she knew he was afraid.

“He’s my mate,” she whispered, delighted when Eris froze, his whole body going taut. “And when he finds you…”

Gwyn didn’t need to say. Eris merely glanced over his shoulder, strange look on his face. “Then he knows how I feel right now.” Eris still got the last word, cryptic as it was. Gwyn didn’t have it in her to care, either. Whatever inner turmoil he had wasn’t her problem. Maybe she would have cared had he come to her as a cousin interested in reconnecting rather than kidnapping her. Gwyn merely waited, deciding she’d do what Eris had warned her not to, and make a break for it.

Pacing, Gwyn waited for the sun to set. She ignored servants who slipped in and out, turning down her bed and fussing with her clothes and hair in an attempt to make her look nice. Gwyn was impatient with the whole affair—how did people like Eris stand it? She imagined this was the life Nesta had once been used to. Gwyn could picture imperious Nesta here, looking down her nose at everyone and making even the terrible Eris Vanserra shake in his expensive, polished boots.

No one had ever waited on her hand and foot—she’d always been responsible for herself. As nice as it would have been to be doted on, she didn’t think she could stand a lifetime of people bowing and scraping.

The moment the moon replaced the sun, Gwyn yanked open the door that led outside. Cool air curled around her face, the smell of it all wrong. Perhaps her grandfather had lived here, and some memory of this place lingered in her blood. It wasn’t strong enough to make her want to stay, or to feel like home. She felt like an intruder, an outsider trapped among the rot. She was a shadow among the leaves, ancient among new death.

And she wasn’t alone. Gwyn made it to the treeline with massive wings spread themselves out, blotting out the sliver of moonlight spilling among the grass.

Emerie grinned at her as Nesta appeared, sword casual over her shoulder. “Heard you needed a rescue.”

Gwyn’s relief was palpable. “You found me.”

“Did you doubt us?” Nesta asked, pulling Gwyn into a hug.

“Never,” Gwyn said, blinking rapidly against the hard leather covering Nesta’s shoulder. “But I was starting to worry.”

“Well, cast your worries aside because the cavalry has arrived,” Emerie said, resting her chin atop Gwyn’s head.

“Will you take me home?” Gwyn asked them.

Emerie and Nesta held out their hands and Gwyn took them like a lifeline.

“Let’s go.”

#gwynriel #now i get to nap

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jackiequick · 8 months

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Meet more of the family, Miss Stark & The Youngest Barnes | Marvel OC

———

Liv Stark ⌚️

Full name: Olivia Charlotte Stark-Vega

Nicknames: Liv, Vi, Lottie, Lola, Clary, Char, Charlie, Miss Vega, Snark Central

Age range: 5-18

Height: 5’1

Relationship status: Single

Background: American with Peruvian, Polish and Italian descent

Father: Anthony Stark

Godmother: Elizabeth Stark

Godfather: Jason Underwood

Brother & Sister: Rei and Morgan Stark

Step-mom: Pepper Potts

Uncles: James Rhodes, Happy Hogan & rest of The Avengers

Abilities: A bit of geek and hacker due to her love of technology, basic hand to hand combat since she enjoys boxing and her witty personality. She’s young so she hasn’t gotten plenty of skills yet.

Personality: Liv has a smart touch, gentle soul, sweet, charming and easy going. She is a bit of a bitchy girl and stubborn about everything she does. If she wants to do something, she will probably sneak out to get it done. She got a some of anxiety and a nervous twitch (which would grow over the years since Liv is afraid of being alone and in the dark about a lot of things), this creeping fear and sadness that will take over her if not careful.

- However Liv is very accident prone, she’s always getting hurt one way or another, giving everyone an heart attack since the age of 9 since she’s always been a active little girl. So in result she give Tony and something for Rei to roll his eyes about.

- From an young age, she has always been into tech, jewelry and over all. Wanting to build and grow a her own little things, she was a Stark it’s a given! She watched a lot of movies so she got creative with her ideas.

- Random fun fact, one of her favorite movies is 10 Things I Hate About You, just because she likes Kat Stratford’s aesthetic and attitude. But it’s many Action Movies and Rom-Coms that she will watch with Pepper, that she enjoyed. It’s where she gets her inspiration for things.

- She adored the idea staying in the lab, tinkering and cleaning up the inventions that were made. She practically lived in there, staying home to help and learn. It caused never want to leave that house in general, having a bit of mouth on her after hearing the adults always speak their minds (so don’t be surprised this girl start rambling and throws out whatever bullshit that appears in her thoughts), but it allowed her to be a safe within those four walls.

- It didn’t take long for her to start filling up a notebook with designs on how to incorporate technology into fine jewelry (aka The Stark Watch, necklaces to tracking and security measures, bracelets to be use for defense purposes and rings can be transformed into gauntlet).

- She’s always been bit of business women! Wanting to create products to help people, keeping an eye on things from behind the scenes, represent and model for Stark industries and such.

- But she was still so young, so her parents and siblings didn’t want her to grow up so soon in the spotlight of it. She’s a kid! And she understood that, it bothered her but she understood why. So she stays hoping her time could come where she can help out the group.

—> Because little did she know that theses little gadgets and gizmos that would be incorporated into the ideas her father and older brother would use as fashion purposes in the future with their own suits. Aka they’re Iron Man suits!

—> I know you may be wondering about her family life, well Liv raised well per say. She had to move around a lot as a child, especially since Tony never wanted the public attention to be on her just yet and her mother wasn’t sure that she would taken care of. It took convincing from Pepper and Jason to let her stay home with them, so everything was fine after that.

Her relationship with her father was an nice one. When it comes to parenting his kids, Tony was a rather dramatic, embarrassingly loud at times, a little cocky and stubborn parent per day, so it’s a bit difficult to get him to calm down and talk softly with him. Tony cares a lot about his children, having Rei and Liv to take care of but he was always busy with the company having to arrive home late, events he had to attend and ending up being tired.

Other than that, he tried to make time for his son and daughter, bringing them to the lab and everywhere he could. Even if he got in trouble afterwards. Tony always tries to inspire his daughter to do what she loves and experience things, be caring, make sure she was alright too and etc. But they make it work!

Ohh, did I forget to mention how annoying and protective Tony can be as a parent? He will take everything very seriously or not serious at all, acting out if something goes wrong and he tends to be questioning his motives. Even blaming himself if something bad were to happen to his family. Tell Tony Stark you have a crush? He sends JARVIS to keep an eye on you. Ask Tony for something like a new backpack for school? He buys you something else.

In his defense, he does everything with so much love (even if he doesn’t always portray it in the best way).

Her relationship with Rei however—you wouldn’t think it but rather wholesome, since she’s the little sister he never exactly wanted. They were completely opposite to one another, he’s grumpy and she’s easygoing, he rather work alone in silence and she rather work with music blasting and etc. But as much as Rei may be annoyed and want to throw his little sister out of the house, deep down he cares about her, even though he didn’t show it to her very often and he’s very protective of her ever since he was a child.

Rei and their father, always trying to keep Liv out of harms way and safe at home. Even if they tend to fail at times.

Since Tony was always busy, Rei tends to be one to look out for Liv and keep her in check, being her personal bodyguard for everything she does. If it was up to him, Rei would wrap his baby sister in bubble wrap and not let her leave the house!!

When they were kids (and even now) Liv would follow Rei wherever he went and wanting to copy him, be like her big brother because he always around the corner with something snarky to say to her and a huge potty mouth (it resulted in her having a huge attitude as well). She will always be the one to encourage Rei’s designs for suits and talk to dad about something.

He talks and she will absolutely love to listen to him (even if 85% of the time she has no idea what he’s talking, cause he’s smarter than her at a lot of things.)

Sometimes you will find Liv in a moody way shutting everyone out of her room and just curled up in a ball, similar to brother and to be honest, it concerns Rei a bit when it happens. But he would probably try to snap her out of it, even not he will let her be in her moody moments. He knows how it is

At the end of the day, no matter how different they were with one another and the paths they choose, they cared in their own way. Even if when they’re public, they act like they don’t know one another.

—> As for her relationship with the Avengers and Young Avengers! Ooof let’s stick to first impressions, shall we?

She met all of them when she just a child, joining Rei and Tony on a simple basis day with the group. She first started watching her father talking with Bruce Banner, and she took a liking to him very much seeing how nice, gentle and reserved he can be. But there an edge to him, that she found to be cool.

As for when she met Rick, it was when him and Rei were chatting. Her first impression of him, to her the young man is that he looked like a old school Disney Channel Star with a nice smile and warmth, with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

So when she saw Bruce, Rick, Rei and Tony all work together in their own separate labs blasting music so loudly..the only thing Vi said, “Oh no, there’s 4 of them!”

When she met Natasha, she just cool and rather chill per say acting like the nonsense agent with a soft side. Romanoff’s daughter on the other hand, she was just curious about her and Vi liked that.

Same thing goes for Clint and his daughter, they were just cool people. She was always amazed with the skills they had, and a part of her always knew that Clint Barton was a family man. And she was right, when they appeared at the Barton’s Barn years later.

Meira and Luna were just so relaxed, gentle and sweet girls. She adored how they acted with their teammates and siblings, especially Meira since she was a little sister just like her. Sweet and snarky.

Ethan was just super chill and suspicious of everything, Rei didn’t like him and carried Vi alway from from very quickly. Cole was just so mischievous, snarky smile and tossing jokes every day, making Vi laugh or snort. But a part of her respected him greatly, cause she heard he was VERY powerful.

Liane, well she didn’t like her right away. She annoyed Olivia very quickly and she sent painful glared toward the girl who tried to make friends with her. After a while she softened toward Ms Felton, but it took a long time cause she saw Rei didn’t like her either.

——

Daphnia Barnes-Wilson 🪫

Full name: Daphnia Ramona Wilson-Barnes

Nicknames: Daphne, Nia, Daph, DD, Sparky, Daffy, Fifi, Birdie,

Other name while on the run: Davina, Robin

Age range: 7–20

Height: 5’7

Relationship status: Single

Parents: Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson

Background: American with Mexican and Chilean Origin

Aunt: Sarah Wilson

Uncle: Steve Rogers

Sister: Laurie Wilson

Brother: Benjamin Barnes

Abilities: Marksmanship and Acrobatics, having took some gymnastics classes. She’s also a bit of a fast learner so she’s fluent in English, Spanish, Russian, Portuguese and some French.

Personality: Gentle, a little broken due to being let down a lot in life, warm-hearted, clumsy, a bit shy and humorous at times. But if she’s anything like her fathers, she’s stubborn enough, a little self-sacrificing, and willingly to help no matter what.

- Sam and Bucky have been together for a while now, since their chemistry was a challenging one it always hard to settle down and figure out what they want. However a house, family and future for their kids was always one of them.

- They already had Laurie and Benjamin, so they thought two kids was enough as it is. But things took a small turn when they stumble at a orphanage in Brazil for a mission and met this no named little girl who gave both of them the most honest smile.

- Sam has always been one to have a big heart, so wanting a big family was always part of that. So his heart spoke before his words ever could, wanting to adopt her. Bucky Barnes on the other hand was a little hesitant—well more like worried—about the whole thing, he always wanted a little piece of normalcy and he got it with Sam and their kids. But adding a 3rd? That was a lot of responsibility, but he caved as soon as he hung out with the girl.

- To be honest, they saw a bit of themselves in her. So she was adopted when she less than 10 years old and brought into a family of oddly comforting heroes. They named gave her a name and did everything they could to make her feel comfortable. Welcomed.

—> So Davina (or Daphne) as they called her grow up with her parents and siblings. As loved as she was, she always felt alone and feared that it will all be taken away from her. Especially with the fact that her parents were heroes themselves, there was always a chance that they can end up hurt or worse, if not careful.

- But Bucky always made sure to tell her and every single one of his children, “Don’t worry, I’ll always come back home to you guys, no matter how long it takes.” And Sam would tell them, “You’re our kids, we will always love you and be there to tuck you in bed whenever we can.”

- Sometimes they would be gone for 2-3 days, maybe a week or a whole month leaving the kids in care of family and friends. Laurie was the oldest of the siblings, so they could handle themselves very well and or sneak off to join the fight ending with them in trouble. Benjamin being the second oldest, so he rather stay behind during the fight and stay with his sisters and friends.

- Speaking of fights and travel, when if plenty say battle isn’t place for children. Sometimes Sam and Bucky had no choice but to bring there kids with them to places like Wakanda, Stark Tower, France and or let’s say Germany for instance. Even though it was a hassle to bring children along for the ride, it was an interesting learning experience and a way to test out their kids

- And to be honest, Daph and her siblings enjoy it a little too much. Cracking jokes, running around, exploring different places and meeting interesting people, and creating new ideas among one another. It was a field trip for them sometimes.

-> And if your wondering, yes Daphnia is team #HateJohnWalker! When she found out, she was ready to take her baseball bat and wack his head with it, demanding the Shield back with a glare. Bucky couldn’t be more prouder of her in that moment laughing, meanwhile Sam rolled his eyes unable to believe what he heard.

- Random fun fact, she played baseball before she was ever adopted and had really good aim, depending on where she was hitting. It was a trait her siblings carried on as well, especially Benjamin even if he was more reserved one, he had a great aim.

- She always loved any sport that involves movement and play, soccer being one of them (since she lived in Brazil for a while). She liked to think she was rather talented when it came to that, even if she was a problem when it came to being around other kids, having a small temper and glaring at other people. Mainly, it was her insecurity that she hid underneath her own glares.

- Matter a fact all the kids were talented in their own way ever since they were younger. Daphne when she was very little, believed at the time that she didn’t have any good talents and wasn’t as smart enough as it is. Until Sam took her out to the shopping and noticed that she stopped in front of small gymnastics building with wide eyes, softly grinning at the sight. She pleaded for him to let her walk in and see the girls, he nodded letting her watch. As she did, Daph realized she wanted to join in on the fun and dance as well. Sam couldn’t stop himself and called Bucky for his opinion on it.

- She started her classes soon enough and enjoyed it for the most part, her body was rather sore after some classes. So she wasn’t too happy about that part. When Bucky told Nat about it, the Russian spy came in shocked and said, “If she wanted to learn some acrobatics, why didn’t you come to me or Lydia? Barton would’ve showed her!”

- Bucky just rolled his eyes and replied, “Cause she wanted that to be her own thing. And it doesn’t hurt to have some normalcy around her, Romanoff. I think it’s a good thing..” And Bucky was right about that, since he loved seeing his husband and children happy, enjoying themselves and having a break from the hero world. Hell, he goes to every talent show, buys items needed and participates in whatever is needed. Even if he’s not too happy about it at first.

- Of course as much as acrobatics were her own thing and all she ever wanted to do, so she can have that skill set. That didn’t stop the idea of having good marksmanship in her left corner, she was already good with a baseball bat and Bucky was more than happy to show the basics of how to hold/use a gun to his kids. Sam wasn’t too pleased about that idea though saying, “They’re too young!”

- And to be honest, Daph was pretty good with a gun. Swinging it swiftly and tossing the gun in her hands, holding it up to her target (which was an old target board hanging outside nearby the trees). However that didn’t mean she didn’t play around with the gun at first, holding in her hands and pretending to be a spy. “Barnes, but you can call Agent Daphnia Wilson, at your service.” She said with a giggle, humoring herself.

- Daph was always a little silly, cocky and daring. Not thinking first and asking questions later kinda gal—oops! So it lead her to getting in trouble sometimes, breaking certain curfews if she out at the movies with a friend (like with one of the young avengers), being a little lazy about things and running away from her problems like a champ. But by the end of the day, she was good girl.

-> Speaking of Young Avengers and Older Avengers. You’re probably wondering who’s her favorites are and first impression were of the teams huh? Well, here are your answers.

Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff were a given to being liked by her, due to her parents being friends with them. I mean come on, they are basically Captain America, The Black Widow and the rest of Cap’s Quarter.

Moving down the list Thor was always a silly man to her, hearing stories how he speaks in old English and is very noble when it comes to the things that he does. According to the stories from Sam, he was a rather loud fella with a good heart.

Clint Barton, she took a liking too finding his simple ways of life and honest charm to be a nice thing to see. Plus Clint has a similar murder stare to Bucky, so it was funny to see their resting faces when they’re in the same room together.

The man, the myth, the legend himself (or that’s at least what people like to say) Tony Stark was always one of a kind. She was very nervous to meet all of The Avengers, one of them being Stark having seen how the persona he displayed on TV screens and the stories. But in reality, Tony was just a genius goof with snarky humor, so it lighten up her mood.

It was like Bruce Banner sensed her nervousness from a mile away since she appeared in The Tower. He noticed the child behind Sam Wilson holding her jacket, leaned down to her level to kindly introduce himself to the girl and watching parents reactions. Soon enough, with Bucky leaning against the wall with a nod of encouragement, Daph started talking to Bruce with such softness and gentleness.

As for the rest of them, she met them some time later. The Young Avengers. She met the Stark siblings, Rei wasn’t in the lightest mood having no like the idea of meeting Barnes or Wilson’s kids but Olivia gave her a warm welcome and waved at her before rushing off to meet her friends at the mall.

Natasha Romanoff’s daughter Rochelle was kind enough to show her and her siblings around, chatting with them knowing it felt to be the new kids. Daph liked her reddish hair and kind smile.

Liane was something else, having been on a rambling mess when she met Daph and trying to figure out what to do with her plans. Laurie laughed as her sister snicker at the blonde, meanwhile Benji just rolled his eyes confused wanting to get away from there.

Meira was and will always be a delight to meet, since Daphnia met her that same week in The Tower’s kitchen and taste testing her new batch of cookies. They were delicious.

Speaking of food, when Daphnia met Rick she got the same warmth and kindness she remembered from being Bruce. But this time it involved snacks and jokes around his week at The Tower, she was all ears listening to him as they entered the kitchen to find some chicken nuggets.

Cole and Luna, it was more magic and fun spells when she came to see them. The two were casting some spills, when she got caught in one of them being turned into a little mouse by accident. Cole laughed as Luna worried, but they turned her back to normal soon enough.

Ethan was the 3rd sibling she met, and she thanked all the Stars and Stripes that it was a simple meeting. He was watching a movie, being Monsters Inc. when she met him the guy joining The Young Avengers for a movie night.

———

I hope you liked it and thank you for taking your time to read this!

If you want to know anything about theses OCs, let me know in the comments below.

Please like, comment, share and reblog if you like.

Tags: @gcthvile @rickb-chaos @msrochelleromanofffelton @mallowbee4 @mandylove1000 @gaminggirlsstuff @whitewiccan @rooster-84 @parisparker269 @sherloquestea @starkleila @meiramel @blueboirick and etc

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humanpurposes · 8 months

Text

Karma is a God

Chapter 13: The Riverlands

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence

Words: 7700

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

The skies over Blackwater Bay and Crackclaw Point are clear. There are no clouds to hide in and Grey Ghost makes quick work of the distance from Dragonstone to Maidenpool.

The Queen had ordered that she fly straight back to King’s Landing after accompanying Baela and Rhaena to Dragonstone, but as much as she fears her mother’s wroth, she fears what might happen if she sits idly.

To the south, Borros Baratheon has summoned his banners to Storm’s End. To the west, the Lannisters clash with the Iron Fleet. The Tyrells have taken a neutral stance, but the Hightower army is rebuilding in the Reach, rallying behind Prince Daeron and Criston Cole.

As for the Riverlands… the reports they receive are harrowing.

For almost two moons, Aemond has terrorised the Riverlands, unleashing dragonfire and death upon all those he deems to be traitors. Everything in his path turns to ash; towns, cities, castles, crops, and too many lives to count.

They fly high enough that the world spreads out below them like a map. As they approach the southern shore of the Bay of Crabs, she can see where the green fields turn to black. Smoke rises from the ground, trees reach against a grey sky, charred and bare. No life remains where Vhagar flies.

Could he hear the screams as he did it? Was he blind to the suffering, or did he bathe himself in it?

She had heard the cries of dying men as she burnt the Tyroshi war ships by Driftmark, but they were distant, a noise lingering in the back of her mind. All she remembers of that night is the smell of smoke, flashes of golden flames blurred through her tears, emptiness and rage. Thousands of lives ended, for the sake of avenging two already lost.

It is not the same, she tells herself.

They were soldiers. Any one of them could have been the man who released the quarrel that killed Jace, or manned the ship that sunk the Gay Abandon and young Viserys with it.

Aemond kills because he is cruel.

And I…

Death could not save the people who died at Hightide and Spicetown, it could not bring back her brothers, or any other lives lost at The Gullet. That thought has lingered in her mind ever since, a parasite draining the warmth from her body, the life from her soul.

But this is war. Either she will die a martyr, like Jace, like Rhaenys, or survival will chip away at the person she once was.

Maidenpool is nothing compared to the grandeur of Dragonstone or the high walls and towers of The Red Keep. Its keep and battlements are grey and cobbled, covered in moss and ivy so it blends in seamlessly with the surrounding greenery and the backdrop of the sea.

The castle is not the first thing she spots though, rather the blood red dragon that lies before the outer walls. Caraxes is curled in on himself, in a rare moment of peace as he sleeps. But he stirs as they land, rearing his head and glaring at them through wide, golden eyes.

Grey Ghost is uneasy, and not without cause. The Bloodwyrm is monstrously large, bloodthirsty and chaotic.

She remembers the first time she saw Caraxes, as their families gathered on Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon. Jace had flown on Vermax, while she, too small to ride Arrax, rode in a carriage with her mother and father. They reached Hightide and suddenly she heard a thunderous roar and a whistling, rippling shriek. What a sight they were, Caraxes and Vhagar, soaring from the East with the sunrise. They terrified her in different ways. Vhagar was colossal, and though Caraxes was smaller, he was swift, with piercing eyes, sharp teeth and a serpentine neck that she couldn’t help but follow as it swayed and slithered.

The gates open before she has dismounted. Daemon leads an escort of guards to meet her, dressed in his riding leathers rather than his armour. He knows not to come too close to Grey Ghost.

Her dragon is steadfastly steady as she dismounts, his head fixed on the men who have dared to approach his rider.

Strangers, hisses the voice in her head. Danger.

“Princess Lucerra,” Daemon says, resting his hands on the hilt of Dark Sister which hangs from his hip. “What a pleasant surprise.” His voice is calm but in a way that makes her nervous.

“Your Grace,” she says, keeping a gloved hand against Grey Ghost’s hide, stroking along his scales to calm him.

Daemon observes this with a small smile, and a turn of his head towards the guards, who relax their stances. “You should know better than to announce on dragonback unannounced.”

“And yet you were able to determine I was not an enemy,” Luke says. “I came from Dragonstone.”

His amusement fades into something more concerned. “Baela and Rhaena?”

Rhaenyra needed a dragon to protect the island and patrol the sea, if necessary. It couldn’t be Tylesys, Sheepstealer was still weak from the encounter with Tessarion, and she wanted Seasmoke, Vermithor and Silverwing to stay in King’s Landing. By the slight frown in Daemon’s face, he has some trepidation about Baela being the one to take on such a burden. But she is brave enough for it, and besides, Dragonstone is defended by water and the Velaryon Fleet. So long as Daeron and Tessarion remain in the Reach, the girls will be safe.

“Your daughters are safely delivered,” she says.

Daemon looks between her and her dragon. “Does your mother approve of you being here?” he asks.

Her breath catches effortlessly in her throat. “She does not know.”

He smiles again. “I have to admit, I did anticipate you might find your way here.”

The small council met the very day they received the first letter from Riverrun.

Prince Aemond has declared a one man war on the Riverlands, intent on burning all those who align themselves to Queen Rhaenyra.

The sight before her eyes was dull and gloomy. She winced at flashes of lighting and rumbles of thunder that were not there to be seen or heard. She saw only him, the scar she had left him, the sapphire set within the socket. His voice drifted through her, just out of earshot but there nonetheless.

“I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine.”

“Do this, dōna ilībōños, and I will consider your debt fulfilled.”

“My nephew must not be left unchecked,” Daemon’s voice said.

Suddenly the other faces in the room materialised into view. Rhaenyra’s eyes were down, fixed on the golden ball placed before her. Lord Corlys’ brow was twisted in contemplation and concern. The other men of the Small Council were watching Daemon, who in turn had his eyes on her.

He watched her for the entirety of their gathering, and she knew what he was looking for. She gave him nothing, not the smallest movement in her face or a hint of an expression. She had become rather well practised at this.

But the moment she was back in her chambers, the moment she was alone, she gave into the fury and fear simmering inside of her. She only managed to seat herself on the edge of her bed before the tears began to stream down her face. She caught them in her palms as she wept.

Aemond was rarely cruel as a child, if he was it was because he had been pushed too far, by Aegon, by Jace, and by her own doing. She had expected him to hate her when she returned to the Red Keep, and she had been right in her assumption. A debt was owed, one he had wanted her to pay with her life.

Whose fault could it be but hers that Aemond had grown into he had become?

A weight hung heavy in her chest. She hadn’t been the one to mount Vhagar or utter the command that scorched the Riverlands, but she knew she had a part in this, in some twisting of fate, in the overlaps and knots in the threads of life.

Two moons passed and hardly anything came from Daemon’s hunt. News would come of a castle or town left in ashes, farms and fields obliterated, whole herds of livestock lost to the dragon’s jaws, but Daemon could not fly fast enough. By the time word reached him of an attack, there would no traceable signs of Aemond and Vhagar but the devastation they left behind.

The night before she left to escort Baela and Rhaena to Dragonstone, she took supper with Lord Corlys and her siblings, which included Alyn and Addam. Moments like this were the closest she came to feeling she had a home in the Red Keep, despite the notable absences. She forced herself to smile as Joffrey tried to imitate everything about Lord Corlys, the way he held his cutlery, the way he leaned back in his chair and kept his cup close to his lips. Her brother was to be the future Lord of the Tides afterall.

Rhaena kept her little pink dragon, Morning, on her shoulder. She and Addam fed her scraps of beef and praised her when she cooed.

Baela sat beside Alyn, with perfect posture and a tight smile on her lips at everything he said. But her resolve was slipping. With every joke Alyn whispered in her ear, she leaned a little further into him and laughed a little louder.

At first the sight made Luke’s stomach churn, as if she could still see the distant battle at The Gullet, like she could still smell the smoke as the Tyroshi ships were bathed in Grey Ghost’s fire. Until she wondered if Jace had ever told Baela of his time at Winterfell, why he had a scar on his palm and why, if she travelled north to see for herself, Cregan Stark would have one to match.

Alyn was charming, Luke supposed, gracious, with a smile that sparked excitement.

What did it matter where Baela chose to seek happiness? Surely it was better that she did not dwell on memories and live her life with the burden of the past. What would that bring but grief and regret?

After seeing young Aegon to bed and allowing Joffrey one game of Cyvasse, Luke visited her mother. Rhaenyra could be found where she usually was, in her father’s chambers sitting by a dying hearth and gazing over the model of Old Valyria, coated with dust and cobwebs after so many years of neglect. Luke sat by her side, tracing her fingertips over her hands and the cuts along her skin. Some were red and fresh, some were older and clotted, others had faded into thin scars.

“They are meaningless,” her mother whispered without turning her eyes to her daughter. “A consequence of our ancestor choosing to forge his throne from the swords of his enemies. My father suffered the same.”

Watching her mother was like watching a warm and golden autumn fade into a desolate winter. She could not endure it for long.

Her back fell against the door as she returned to her bedchamber, frozen in place by what she saw. Another envelope, sealed with a winged insect stamped into amber wax, left on the floor by her bed, exactly where she had found the last one.

She held her breath for a moment, waiting for any kind of sound, a footstep, a voice, a scuttling of a rodent, but whoever had delivered it must have been long gone.

Once again, she reached for the knife by her bedside, slicing through the envelope to save the seal.

There was just one line, and no signature.

Search for him and he will find you.

She knew what had to be done. She could not sit idly, not while her mother’s allies burned and she had a debt of her own to claim.

Daemon steps towards her. “You want to be the one to do it,” he says.

She often has this feeling, like she’s drowning in her own skin. Like the world around her is cold and dark and she cannot breathe. She sees only one way to save herself from it.

“I have to be.”

The castle is quiet, filled with servants who scurry through the halls with their heads down, and knights and Lords who offer no looks of warmth to their Prince and Princess. It is unusual that Daemon does not reprimand them for it.

He sees that she is brought to a chamber that overlooks the sea and is given supper. It is no great feast– many of the crops and livestock of the Riverlands have been lost to Vhagar’s fire, but she is given a plate of shucked oysters and another with white fish and potatoes. Daemon does not eat with her, or visit her once she is finished.

The sounds of the waves roar in her ears as she lies in the bed and pulls the sheets around her. Each time she starts to fall asleep she feels weightless, and suddenly she is slipping from Arrax’s saddle and hurtling through to storm into the waves of Shipbreaker Bay–

But she wakes before her body meets the water.

A maid comes to her early in the morning just after sunrise. She bathes and dresses in her riding leathers, firmly fixing her sword to her hip, letting her fingertips linger on the golden seahorse hilt.

“He should be taken as a prisoner,” was Lord Corlys’ counter to Daemon’s pledge to find Aemond. “If he is dead, the Greens will make a King of Daeron and rally behind him.”

Rhaenyra at last looked up when he said it. “My brother forsook any chance of mercy when he tried to claim the life of my daughter,” she said.

Grey Ghost and Caraxes wait for them beyond the castle walls, restless the way dragons always are before they take flight.

“I have word from Sabitha Frey,” Daemon says before they mount their dragons. “She has recaptured Harrenhal along with the Blackwoods.”

“I can’t imagine it was difficult,” Luke says. “It was left completely undefended.”

Daemon chuckles as he hauls himself into Caraxes’ saddle, a much steeper climb than it is for her to mount Grey Ghost. Aemond would have further to climb than either of them, a thought which she tries to dismiss.

“We have our hold in the Riverlands once more,” he calls to her as Caraxes starts to move. The dragon whistles like a dolphin and bellows a screeching roar as he lurches forward, bounding off the ground and swiftly ascending into the air with powerful beats of his wings that shake the trees. Daemon steers him west, over the burned landscape.

Danger, whispers the voice in her head.

She drives Grey Ghost forward nonetheless.

As they fly, the air around them is hazy and thick. Luke keeps her sleeve over her nose and mouth. She is used to wind and rain rushing against her face, but smoke is a different beast altogether. It stings in her eyes, burns in her throat, seeps into her lungs and her bloodstream.

Heat lingers even after the fires have died and eaten everything away to ash. She feels it through her leathers.

Harrenhal is not out of place among this scorched wasteland. She sees the lake first, as vast as an ocean, black water glimmering under the sun’s early rays, splashes of white foam with the waves. In the centre is an island, so thick with trees she cannot see the ground underneath.

She feels unsettled, as though she is being watched. This must be the famed God’s Eye.

Standing over the water, shrouded in smoke and mist, is Harrenhal. She can see the path of Balerion’s fire through the five towers, where the stone is melted, twisted, and crumbled to ruins.

Harwin Strong once told her of the curse of Harrenhal, that every family who dared to hold it was doomed to meet a terrible end, and now her mother’s banners hang over the front gates.

Caraxes lands on the lakeshore where Daemon waits for her to dismount. This is a place familiar to him. This is where he was when news came of Arrax’s demise above Shipbreaker Bay. This is where he gave the order to seek justice for the deaths of his daughters. He remained here while Rhaenys burned at Rook’s Rest, as the Triarchy sank the ship that carried his son, as the Velaryon Fleet held The Gullet, as Jace and Vermax were lost to quarrels and treacherous waters.

Now is not the time to unleash her anger, but Daemon has always had a way of seeing right through her.

He leads her up the slight slope to the gatehouse, into the castle itself. The soldiers they pass bear the sigils of the Freys and the Blackwoods, proud and powerful houses of the Riverlands. Unlike those they passed at Maidenpool, the men and women here look upon their Prince with reverence. Daemon, with Dark Sister by his side, his short, silver hair braided away from his face, looks nothing less than a force of nature, a warrior, a would-be-King, the kind of man to inspire fear from both his enemies and his allies.

And when the fearful eyes come to her, they become curious. It is a question that has haunted her all her life; what do they see when they look at her? A Velaryon, a Targaryen or a Strong? A Princess, an heir, or an outlier, an insult to custom and duty? Perhaps now they see what she has become.

She follows Daemon through quiet hallways, through archways and holes in the walls where there should be doors, until they come to a cavernous hall. The light hardly reaches through the glassless windows on the far side of the room, but she makes out arches and buttresses hundreds of feet high, hearths untouched for decades. On the walls there are carvings of the sigil of House Hoare, images of the sea, krakens and sea monsters, men bathing– or drowning, under the dim light of the braziers, the last remnants of the Iron Islanders who once made this their home.

In the centre of the hall, still quite a distance away, is a table, around which a man and two women are gathered. Candlelight flickers against their faces as she and Daemon approach.

A woman stands at the head of the table, studying a map of the Riverlands and the Crownlands. Her chestplate bears two sigils, one of a black toad, one of two, blue towers. Her hair is pulled tightly from her face. Despite the soft, round edges of her cheeks and jaw, there is a stern look about her, a sharpness in her eyes and the thin line of her mouth.

The man is young, dressed in armour, marked by the sigil of a weirwood surrounded by ravens. He has a head of curly black hair, to match the second woman, only hers reaches below her waist. She is breathtakingly beautiful, tall and broad, dressed in white and black with a red cloak hanging from her shoulders.

“Princess Lucerra,” Daemon says, ushering Luke to stand at the other end of the table, overlooking the Kingswood and the Rose Road past Tumbleton and Bitterbridge. “Lady Sabitha Frey, Lord Benjicot Blackwood of Raventree Hall, and Lady Alysanne Blackwood.”

Only now do they look at her, with the same curiosity that she is used to.

“What an honour it is to be acquainted with you, Princess,” Lady Sabitha says, stiffly.

The two Blackwoods bow their heads, and Lady Alysanne offers her a small smile.

“We are glad to have you join us, Prince Daemon,” says Lord Benjicot.

Daemon hums in acknowledgement as he sets Dark Sister down on the table. “It seems a far more convenient base than Maidenpool,” he says, darkly.

A gust of wind howls in the distance. It is quiet, but with the echo through the hall it sounds monstrous and unnatural.

Lady Sabitha seems to have command of this gathering. Luke has heard rumours of Lady Frey’s character, most of them from Daemon. He says she is merciless and efficient. She finds she agrees with this assessment, but rather admires her for it. She has lost her husband in this war, and now her seat. The Twins, along with her son, have been taken by the Lannisters, who now block the road south.

“The Riverlands are loyal to you, Your Grace,” she says to Daemon, “but we have little chance of mustering more men than we have here.”

“What of the Tullys?” Luke asks.

Lady Alysanne sighs. “They cannot be relied upon. Elmo Tully would pledge their banners to the true Queen, but he will not act against Lord Grover’s wishes.”

“The Lord of Riverrun is as decisive as he is young and spritely,” Daemon says. “We cannot afford to wait for the old man to die while the Hightowers recover their strength.”

“But with Jason Lannister at the Twins, the Starks will have to fight through an army to reach us,” Alysanne says.

They fall into quiet, studying the map and the figures upon it, the hightower in the Reach, the stag at the edge of the Stormlands, the lion and the wolf to the north.

“And then there is the more pressing issue,” Lord Benjicot says darkly.

Luke counts the dragons upon the map. Tessarion in the Reach; Moondancer at Dragonstone; Syrax, Vermithor, Silverwing, Seasmoke, Tyraxes and Dreamfyre at King’s Landing. Lady Sabitha moves Caraxes and Grey Ghost to Harrenhal. Two figures remain, a golden dragon for Sunfyre, kept at the edge of the map, and Vhagar, hovering over Pinkmaiden, seat of House Piper.

“He was last seen here?” Luke asks quietly, reaching out a finger, but stopping herself before she touches Vhagar’s figure.

“Not three days ago,” Benjicot says. He places the tip of his finger over Riverrun first. “He began his assaults here, after Harrenhal was abandoned. He won’t directly attack the Tullys, but he targeted the lands that surround them.” Then he traces east, over the towns along the River Road, marking Aemond’s warpath.

“I went to Darry,” Daemon says, “by the time I got there, Vhagar was feasting on whole farms of sheep at the border of the Vale.”

“We think he might be seeking shelter here–” Lord Benjicot points to the mountain range that marks the border of the Westerlands. “Out of Prince Daemon’s reach, close enough to continue his attacks.”

“And he was not seen after Pink Maiden?” Luke says.

“He attacked at nightfall. Even with Vhagar’s size, it was impossible to tell where they went.”

Her eyes follow as he moves Vhagar’s figure to the mountains, and a heavy hand lands on her shoulder. The weight strains her neck.

“Perhaps I could ride out on Grey Ghost and search the mountains?” she says.

Daemon does not give the others a moment to consider. “I will not allow you to use yourself as bait.”

What is the difference? He would be happy for her to meet him in open battle, but not to seek him out as she had done with Daeron?

She knows better than to test the patience of Daemon Targaryen, but her own has been wearing thin for far too long.

“And how else do you intend to find him?” she asks. “You have searched for Aemond for moons and to no avail. Do you expect him to come to us willingly?”

“He is proud enough to do so,” Daemon mutters.

“Then where is he? Why has he not sought you out?”

“Enough.” He does not need to shout. His anger is apparent enough for her to bow her head and listen in to the rest of the gathering in silence.

There is nothing for her in Harrenhal but death.

She takes an abandoned servant’s quarters as a bedchamber, by the kitchens in Widow’s Tower, until Daemon tells her of the horror found in the crypt underneath.

Their bodies were left in the cellar, slaughtered within a cell, some simply run through, others slashed to shreds. There was no sense to it, no reason for Aemond to kill his prisoners or bring such a bloody end to House Strong– well, almost.

She wonders why he did it and how he can live with himself in the aftermath. He had not even spared the children. She pictures them cowering, helpless to watch as their family were picked off, one by one, before Aemond at last set his one, violet eye to them.

But Aemond kills because he is cruel, and soon that cruelty will be ended.

She cannot stay in the tower knowing what lies underneath. So she takes her sword and climbs the staircases, past empty chambers and passageways. She doesn’t know what she is expecting. Whatever was left of Ser Harwin or his belongings would have been removed years ago, and while Harrenhal may belong to his family, he always said he never felt at home here. She sees why for herself.

Her legs burn as she climbs higher, where the tower becomes decrepit. The stairways are treacherous now, she wonders if they might crumble under her boots and yet she carries on, passing rubble never cleared and gaps in the tower where the walls were lost to the Black Dread’s fire.

She comes to a bridge, high above the courtyard leading into the castle’s tallest tower, the Kingspyre. There are at least some signs of life in this part of the castle, servants, lit torches and hearths.

She passes a chamber with a great oak door, adorned with carvings of sea creatures with grotesque faces, waves and ships, the three rivers of the Trident and, when she looks closely, pairs of eyes hidden amongst the images.

She expects it to be locked, but tries the handle, only for it to open, seamlessly and silently.

It is a grand chamber, to be sure, perhaps intended for the Lord of the castle. There are no belongings in the room, no sign of ownership, and yet it is well kept. The sheets are clean, the logs of the hearth set and ready to be set alight It smells stale and stagnant, but not like the lingering smell of smoke found in the rest of Harrenhal.

She hesitates, then smooths her palm over the bedsheets to find they are cold. This chamber must have been in use recently, but not recently enough to warrant immediate attention.

She wanders to the window, overlooking the courtyard, the gatehouse and the God’s Eye beyond the walls. The figures in the courtyard are distant but still distinct. Daemon’s silver hair is obvious as he stands with a woman. At first she mistakes her for Lady Alysanne; she is seemingly tall and slender with dark hair, but something about her posture is different, the way she tilts her head as she leans closer to Daemon.

The wind wails beyond the walls of the tower and for a moment it sounds soft, like a breath.

The woman turns her gaze up, to the very window Luke stands behind. She can make out the colour of her eyes– green, brighter and paler than Lady Alysanne’s. They must be truly striking at a ground level, because from here they are piercing.

A sick feeling floods Luke’s stomach. She should not be here, not in this room, perhaps not even at Harrenhal, but she cannot find the courage to leave.

When she makes her way down the stairs of the tower and into the courtyard, Daemon and the woman are gone. Instead she finds the castle’s Godwood, following the small stream that runs through it, to the heart tree.

The faces in the bark are nothing like those in King’s Landing. These faces are full of anguish, twisted, mouths open as if they are screaming, in pain or fury.

A chill slips down her spine and she knows she is being watched– not by the eyes in the tree. A footstep treads softly in the grass behind her. She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough for them to know she has heard them.

The footsteps are less careful now, unabashed in their approach.

She sees a flash of dark hair, at first believing it to be Lady Alysanne, only to find herself disappointed, and then a little on edge.

It is the woman from the courtyard, the woman with unnaturally bright eyes.

“Do you often find yourself seeking the comfort of a weirwood, Princess?” she asks. Her voice is surprisingly low, rich and seductive.

She never used to, but she seems to have noticed them more since they took King’s Landing. She passes the weirwood in the gardens of the keep, sees the image of one above her bed, finds her mind wandering to memories of afternoons she spent under the shelter of red leaves and her uncle’s arm as he read from a history book.

“What business of it is yours?” Luke says sharply.

The woman hums a low laugh and lets it fade to silence.

Night is beginning to creep in. Beyond the walls of the castle, the sight of the sunset over the lake will be beautiful, a red sky over the water. She hears the waves and the wind as if she is standing on the shore.

“It is a terrible thing to lose one’s family,” the woman says, bringing her hands before her. Her dress is made of simple black fabric, with no patterns or distinctive embroidery, but the sleeves are long, draped over her hands and lined with green satin.

Luke catches a piece of flesh between her teeth. “You have lost family in this war too?” she says, uncaring at her shortness.

The woman tilts her head. Luke watches her as she takes a step towards the tree, placing her palm against the white bark, beside one of the faces. “The family I have lost was never mine to begin with. In truth, I do not feel it,” she says.

A hollow feeling lodges itself in Luke’s chest and twists like a knife in an already fatal wound. She wishes she could say the same.

The woman drops her hand from the tree, and turns to her. “Do you feel your losses, Lucerra?”

The absence of her brothers becomes a little more subdued each day, but she still carries them with her, the memories, the pain of knowing that their deaths were anything but peaceful, and the burden Jace has left her with.

She was so fearless as a child, she realises. She was secure, the daughter of a Princess, the granddaughter of the King, with Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Jace to guide her, protect her. But all of that is gone now, the life she used to enjoy, and she fears the things she used to love.

Tears prickle in her eyes, heavy and close to falling.

How much can the woman read from a single look from her eyes?

She steps forward to take Luke’s hands in hers. Her skin is rough and dry. She opens Luke’s palms, running a slender finger along the lines in her skin. “A powerful combination of blood flows through your veins,” she utters. “The blood of the dragon, and of the First Men.”

Daemon has taken heads for such an insinuation.

Luke raises her brow. “Do you question my legitimacy?”

The woman scoffs. “ Laws are made by men, but we are made of flesh and blood alone. Legitimacy has no meaning in the natural order.”

“And yet without it, my position will never be secure,” Luke says.

The woman stares at her, amused or mocking, it is difficult to tell.

“It was not by right of birth that Aegon the Conqueror claimed rule of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She thinks of all the history lessons she used to sit through, never taking in a word. All the hours she would make Aemond read to her– did he hate her back then? Would he have refused her if he felt he had the choice? “No. But he won it, and had the strength to hold it.”

The woman hums. She runs her hand further up, to the thin, blue veins running along Luke’s wrist. She presses her thumb against her skin, letting the colour fade and run again.

Her harsh green eyes come to Luke’s. “Blood is unambiguous,” she whispers.

Why must it all come back to blood?

The woman seems to note some kind of change in Luke’s face, squinting her eyes and furrowing her brow just a little. What does she think she might find in the frightened and furious mind of hers?

“Helaena said something to me,” Luke utters before she can stop herself.

“She spoke of blood,” the woman says, assuredly.

There is a trail of blood. It flows to you. It ends with you.

Luke breathes slowly. She has tried to decipher Helaena’s words for weeks, moons even.

Her aunt used to mutter strange musings often, always to Aegon’s insistence that she was stupid and freakish. Jace’s stance was that he would not burden himself with things that did not make sense to him, and so she did the same.

Blood– blood she shares with her mother and the line of Kings that have come before them. Blood she shares with her brothers, with her father. Blood she shares with Helaena and her uncles. Blood spilled, lives ended or left in ruins. This war has seen too much of it already.

“What did she tell you, Princess?”

She whispers the words that have haunted her since she heard them, but where Helaena’s voice was gentle and wistful, she feels a tremble in her own throat. “There is a trail of blood. It flows to you. It ends with you.”

The woman frowns, keeping her gaze on Luke’s eyes as though the answer lies within her very soul. The longer she looks, the duller her eyes seem to become.

“What do you believe this means?” the woman asks.

Daemon says killing Aemond will end the war, or at least determine the outcome. Corlys says it will weaken their enemies, but give them cause to regather their strength. Her mother would say it is justice.

Kill Aemond and the threat of Vhagar will be removed. What remains of the Riverlands will be spared, Daeron and Tessarion will stand alone. Then they need only wait for Cregan Stark to march south to secure their victory.

It should all be so simple.

So why does she feel the wind running through her? Why does she feel so restless and furious that her body trembles and her nails press into her palms? Why does she hear the crashing of waves morphing into distance screams? Why does she feel so wrong?

The woman’s voice is perhaps the one thing that sounds true, clear and low. “Mercy is a weakness.”

She knows she has no reason to trust this woman, but the rage inside her tells her she is right. She may never know the number of men she has killed from atop her dragon, so what is one more? One more life lost, a fair exchange for what he has taken from her.

But it will be different to know the name of the man whose life she will claim, to know his face and his voice. To share his memories and his blood.

Mercy is a weakness– it sounds like something Daemon might say.

“What are you doing here?” The command in his voice as he approaches startles them both. Luke tears her eyes away from the woman, to the head of silver hair gleaming in twilight.

She begins to panic. Was she supposed to stay in the castle? The hour is getting late, perhaps he was concerned… but he doesn’t so much as look at Luke. His gaze is clearly on the woman.

“I was beginning to worry you might be dead,” he says.

The woman’s lips curl into a half smile. “I was spared by his Grace, the Prince Regent.”

Daemon scoffs, utterly unamused. Only then does he turn to Luke. “What poison are you inflicting on the poor girl?”

“Poison?” she echoes with a sly expression.

“That is your way, is it not, witch?”

This does not seem to phase the woman.

Daemon hums a short laugh, but his expression remains dark. “You were supposed to deliver my nephew to me…”

She hates this, not knowing the whole truth of what is happening around her, the secret devices and plots. The familiarity between Daemon and the woman is beginning to infuriate her, until her chest feels heavy with the weight of the breaths she takes to calm herself.

“...But by the sounds of it, it seems all you’ve succeeded in doing is keeping his cock wet.”

Suddenly her chest and stomach twist into a tight knot.

It is not an image she wants in her head, but it appears nonetheless. The woman standing before her is a beautiful one, and Aemond is a Prince, a warrior, hot-blooded and demanding when he wants to be.

Her imagination is vivid and visceral. She has felt his lips against hers, his breath on her skin, his hand tracing down the front of her gown and slipping beneath her skirts. She had almost expected him to take her fully that night, in the hidden corner of the Red Keep while their families failed to make amends. She often wonders if she should have let him.

Does he ever think about that night? What he did to her— what they did together, or was it all forgotten the moment he saw the pair of eyes bearing into her soul this very moment?

“He will come,” the woman says.

Daemon chuckles to himself. “For his paramour?”

Her piercing gaze falls once more to Luke. Her eyes are dark now and almost bloodthirsty. “He will come for what he believes he is owed.”

And so they wait.

Thirteen days pass. Daemon marks each one with a slash of Dark Sister in the trunk of the heart tree in the Godswood. Each strike bleeds red sap.

She tries to make use of each day, but there are only so many arrows she can shoot into targets and tree trunks, only so many times she can sharpen her sword before she will damage the blade.

All the while there is no word of Aemond and no sightings of Vhagar. Whenever she gathers in the great hall with Daemon, Sabitha Frey and the Blackwoods, she scours the map as if she will somehow know where to find him.

Daemon refuses to let her ride Grey Ghost, not even to circle the lake. He says the risk is too great, but since when did he ever burden himself with risks?

This castle was built on blood and is haunted by the Stranger. In another life Harrenhal might have been her home, but she fears she may not be able to stay here much longer. Her sanity cannot bear it.

She tries to find a new chamber to sleep in each night, but rest never comes easily. When she wakes she recalls dreams of the lake. In these dreams, she does not walk along the shore or try to find her way back to the castle. She lies against the pebbled beach, her head cradled in scaly limbs, a longing for blood in her belly and an ominous feeling that keeps her grounded.

Search for him and he will find you.

Luke rises with the sun. From the battlements, she can see Daemon in the godswood, carving his fourteenth strike into the weirwood tree. To the lakeshore she makes out the shape of her slumbering dragon. Grey Ghost blends in almost perfectly with the morning mist, until she spots one of his yellow eyes, wide and bright enough to spot from the castle.

She retreats to her little bedchamber in the Tower of Dread, tucks herself under the bedsheet, rough and scratchy with age, and shuts her eyes.

She stares back at the castle, and knows she will be safe within its walls— for now at least.

Her body is not her own, but she settles in it. This is not a brief moment of madness as with Tessarion. This feels like an extension of her dreams, something natural and familiar. Her movements are deliberate as she rises and spreads her wings.

She leaves Harrenhal behind, darting up towards the sky with all the speed she can gather, until the lake and the lands around Harrenhal are set out before her.

Aemond has not followed a particular path, so it stands to reason his hiding place may not be where she expects it to be. He could be in the mountains southwest of Pinkmaiden, or he could be somewhere else entirely.

If he has not been seen since then, perhaps he is somewhere more isolated.

By the time the sun has reached its peak in the sky, she has flown over most of the western Riverlands, over Raventree Hall, Acorn Hall, Pinkmaiden and Stone Mill. She can see she is approaching Riverrun, the seat of the Tullys. They do not fly any banners, and yet their men are gathered and preparing for war.

Where to then? Along the Red Fork to the Trident, to the mountains that border The Vale? Or over Whispering Wood, where the mountains meet the sea along Ironman’s Bay?

Intinstic drives her north with a swift beating of her wings.

A swirl of storm clouds looms over the Iron Islands, but the rain has yet to reach the mainland. A fearsome wind threatens to blow her off course and below her the waves beat against the base of the cliffs, crashing and roaring against the rock with flurries of white foam. Grey Ghost does not fear the sea and for now, neither does she.

She flies high, sweeping her eyes along the slivers of shoreline that have not been claimed by the tide, searching for any sign of another dragon, a nest, a charred carcass of an animal. That’s when she hears a growl, like a rumble of thunder, echoing through the air as if the very sky seeks to unleash its fury.

Vhagar rises from her hiding place, half-buried in damp sand and the rest of her hide blending in with the rock. She feels the heat coursing through her blood when the dragons meet each other’s eyes, the fire rising in her gut, the urge to sink her teeth and talons into flesh.

But she looks up to the clifface, to the figure standing on an overhang. His sapphire eye gleams through the dull daylight, the ends of his silver hair drift with the wind and the beating of her wings.

Aemond.

He knows what Grey Ghost’s presence means, she can see it in his face, the awe and the anger. She would be a fool to think he would feel anything else.

He will come for what he believes he is owed.

And what of the debt he owes her now?

When does it end?

When she opens her eyes her skin is drenched in sweat. She tosses the sheet off her body and hurries to dress herself in her riding leathers. Grey Ghost will fly swifter than Vhagar, but she needs every second she can claim. With her boots pulled over her feet and her sword on her hip, she yanks the door open, sprinting through the halls and the courtyard. She doesn’t stop when some of the soldiers stare at her in confusion, or when Lady Alysanne tries to stop her and ask what’s wrong. She couldn’t answer them if she tried.

She feels her heart beating at all her pulse points, the wind slicing over her skin, the howling of the wind coming off the lake.

Daemon is in the Godswood, under the heart tree, resting his hands on the hilt of Dark Sister. He turns to face her as she approaches.

She is breathless, but her voice has never sounded clearer. “He’s coming.”

“How?”

How did he know to come? How do you know?

“I saw it,” she says.

Daemon frowns. In fairness, she herself would not trust such a vague answer.

She follows him back to the courtyard. The castle is in a panic now; the men are restless. Daemon fetches something from the armoury, a bow and a quiver of arrows. They are slim, not enough to pierce the hide of the dragon, but enough to shoot through the flesh of a man.

“Remember everything he has taken from you,” he says before he hands them to her. “Aemond may share your blood, but he is not one of us.”

She nods, and fastens them over her back.

Grey Ghost flies over the castle as the sun begins to set.

Luke and Daemon both know what they must do. She joins her dragon, hiding amongst a line of trees on the eastern shore of the lake, while Daemon waits in the open, and calls for Caraxes.

From the shadows of the trees, she watches the sky turn from blue, to gold, to red.

A shape flies before the sun and for a moment the world goes black.

She has never forgotten the fear she felt when she heard Vhagar’s call at Storm’s End, as she saw her shape through the clouds and stared into her open jaws. That same fear ripples through her body and makes her blood run cold, but she does not shy from it.

A thousand voices cry out in her head. Screams of the men she condemned to burn. Cries of anguish and mourning. Raised voices, calls for justice and retribution.

Mercy is a weakness. She finds herself wishing the world had more mercy.

But one voice appears clearer than the rest.

Blood– her heart in her chest.

Blood– the sky through the branches, illuminating the lake.

Blood. Blood she shares with Kings, Princes and dragons.

She has seen Aemond’s blood before and felt it against her skin. She is sure she will see it and feel it again before the night has reached its end.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarsslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc #aemond x fem!lucerys #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond x original female character #aemond x reader #fem!lucerys #lucemond #my fics #karma is a god

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foreverwayward · 10 months

Text

Supernatural: The Series Rewrite

S.1 Ch.1 “It Runs in the Family”

Series summary: As Sam and Dean begin the search for their father, a chance encounter with another hunter will change the roads ahead. Riley Munroe is a hunter, raised by her father after her mother tragically died when she was an infant. Brought together by loss, grief, and the family business, Sam, Dean, and Riley join forces. They’ll find that their stories are intertwined and lean on each other as they search for answers and to avenge those they’ve lost. They’ll face evil, darkness, and Hell itself…as a family.

*NEW SERIES*

SERIES MASTERLIST

Word Count: 10k+

Content Warning: language and violence

**GIFS AND IMAGES ARE NOT MY OWN**

-----

The apartment door swung open as the dim hallway lights spilled into the pitch black room.

Stepping inside, Sam put his keys and bag down. He was exhausted and sore from the hunt, a fatigue and pain he was all too familiar with.

"Jess?" He called out as he closed the door behind him. "You home?"

As he walked further inside, waiting for a response, Sam noticed a plate of chocolate chip cookies on a nearby table. He lifted the note beside it that read: "Missed you! Love you!"

Sam smiled to himself as he picked up a cookie and took a bite. It was the perfect way to come home after his last hunt with Dean.

He walked into the bedroom still chewing on the sweet cookie. The room was completely dark except for a sliver of light coming out from under the bathroom door. Sam could hear the shower running and he figured Jessica was getting cleaned up for the night.

Sam plopped down on the bed onto his back. For the first time in days, he sighed and tried to let go of it all.

Of course, Dean was going to find John, he always did. Even still, it no longer felt like Sam’s problem. He decided then and there that he would never hunt again and that he would move on, hoping that one day Dean would understand.

Things were going to be okay. The Lady in White was put to rest, he had an interview with an incredible law firm in a few days, and soon he would be falling asleep in his own bed while holding the woman he loved. There was hope in Sam’s future and it filled him with contentment.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Although Sam knew he would always carry the weight of being a hunter, of being a Winchester, he believed he could leave the job behind and live his life. If he just held onto the future and let go of the past, Sam thought he could finally be happy.

A soft smile curled up on his lips as he slowly began to fall asleep.

Sam's face twitched at a sudden wet sensation dropping against his skin. As another drop fell onto his face, Sam opened his eyes.

With horror, Sam gasped as he saw Jess pinned to the ceiling, her body sprawled out as if lying on the floor. She was in her pajamas and her face was pale and vacant. A large gash poured blood from her belly as her empty dead eyes pleaded for help.

"No!" he screamed.

The ceiling instantly burst into flames, consuming Jess' mutilated body.

"Jess!" Sam's guttural cries strangled his throat. He froze on the bed, anguished and unable to process what was happening.

The flames grew quickly around him, the room becoming a blazing tinderbox.

The door abruptly whipped open, having been kicked in by Dean.

"Sam!"

Dean's eyes were wide with panic as he watched what was left of Jessica's charred body disappear into the fire. For a brief moment, he was lost in the thought that he was watching Jess meet the same horrific end his mother had.

Snapping back into the moment as the heat swirled around them, Dean's attention shifted to see Sam still lying on the bed, frozen. Dean rushed over to him, grabbed Sam, and began to yank him away.

"No!" Sam cried out. "No! Jess!"

"Sam! Sam! We have to go!" Dean shouted with urgency over the roaring fire.

Dean practically dragged Sam out of the burning apartment as his little brother cried out for the woman he loved.

-----

Outside the apartments, the streets were lit up by siren lights as firefighters tried to put out the blaze. Police set up a barrier to the scene to keep back the local gawkers. The smoke filled and thickened the air.

Dean stood quietly as he watched the chaos, his face glowing from the red and blue lights. He wondered if Sam's loss would send him spiraling out just as it had their father. He knew nothing would ever be the same for his brother, or the family.

Turning around, Dean walked over to the Impala as Sam stood behind the open trunk, loading a shotgun. His face was set in a mask of desperate anger.

"Hey..." Dean started. "How you doing?"

Sam sighed. "I'm fine."

He knew what monstrosity murdered Jessica; it was the same beast that stole his mother in the same nightmarish way. Sam was broken in unspeakable ways but knew that if he cried, he may never stop. He would have to grieve later because his sole focus had to be killing the demon, no matter the cost.

Sam knew he couldn’t keep hiding from the life of a hunter or from his family. His future no longer held ambitions of being a lawyer and building a family with Jessica. Everything had changed.

In that moment, Sam accepted that he was a hunter and always would be, that he could never get away. Now, all that mattered was destroying the one thing that stole everything from him.

He tossed the loaded gun into the trunk as he stared into a hunting weapons cache. Sam’s entire childhood flashed before his eyes; the childhood that brought him nothing but pain and misery.

Like it or not, Sam knew he would never have the life he wanted, that he would forever be a prisoner to the hunt.

----

A black 1965 Mustang hummed down the road as the sign ahead read: ‘Welcome to Lawrence, Kansas’. The driver's window was down and the song ‘Bad Company’ played on the stereo. It was less than two weeks after Halloween and the autumn air hung briskly in the wind.

As the breeze blew through her dark auburn hair, Riley had one hand on the wheel and the other in the golden hair of the canine co-pilot that laid peacefully in her lap. She knew she would never make it alone during the endless hours on the road if she didn’t have Finn by her side.

Riley smiled like a kid as she plowed through puddles still left from the recent rainfall.

At 22, Riley had been through more than anyone should have to endure in a lifetime. Though her face was young, her aged soul showed. She was mature beyond her years in both the best and worst ways. Riley always tried to appear a little rough around the edges even when she wasn’t. How jaded she was still showed, but she lived with her heart as her compass; that’s how her father raised her.

She wasn’t tall by any means. Being under 5′5″ didn’t give her much of an edge, but she never let her smaller stature stop her from anything.

“You don’t need to be a man to kick ass,” Dad used to say.

Riley smelled of her favorite black leather jacket that she always wore along with the only perfume she ever used. A simple, silver ring on her right hand, which she never took off, glistened in the light. It was the only thing she still had left of her mother.

It always felt so good to come home, she only wished it was under better circumstances. Riley tried to brush off the thought that evil had come to her hometown and focused on the quiet roads ahead. Every time she came to town, it felt as if she had never left. Nothing ever really changed in Lawrence and it was the only place she ever felt that she truly belonged. Small ‘mom and pop’ shops lined the street and the trees had begun to litter the ground with colored leaves.

She couldn’t wait to get to Debbie’s. It had been too long since her last visit with her aunt and the idea of home brought warmth to her chest. But first, Riley wanted to stop by the local florist to pick up Deb’s favorite flowers.

She knew lilies always made her aunt smile.

Riley slowly pulled into a parking spot before bringing the car to a stop and patted Finn on the head.

“Be right back, buddy.”

Once she closed the door, Finnick stuck his head out the window, enjoying the scents in the air.

Closing the door behind her, Riley began to walk towards the shop.

A husky voice to her left spoke up and caught her attention.

“That’s a great car.”

Riley turned to the stranger to see a tall man in a brown, worn leather jacket.

There stood Dean with his hands tucked into his pockets. He stared back at her as he leaned against a gorgeous, black, classic car.

A smirk curled up on his face and Riley smiled back.

“Thanks,” she replied. “I can say the same for yours. That’s a beautiful Impala--a ‘67 right?”

Dean smiled, clearly impressed, and a spark lit up in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. So, you know your cars, huh?”

Riley walked closer to him and crossed her arms as the cold breeze hit her. “Dad was a bit of a grease monkey. Cars were something he could never shut up about.”

At a closer glance, Riley saw his hypnotic hazel-green eyes and the small freckles that peppered his face. His hair was a shorter, sandy blonde and fit him perfectly. His full lips caught her eye and she had to force herself not to gawk at him. Riley’s eyes drifted for a brief moment as she noticed how his jeans hugged him just right.

Dean let out a throaty chuckle and said, “my dad too. Looks like we were raised right. I’m Dean by the way.”

He reached his hand out for hers and she took it in return.

“Riley.”

Her name struck something in Dean and he was instantly captivated. Her piercing blue eyes stared back at him and for a second he was lost in them. Something about her was intoxicating.

“So, you from around here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Lawrence is home, just came in for a visit. You?”

“Used to be home--been a long time though.”

Dean hadn’t been back to Lawrence since he was a kid. He had been avoiding it all those years knowing the reminders would be too painful. Being home again didn’t quite feel like home anymore, nowhere did.

Looking around at the downtown strip, he remembered his mom taking him for ice cream--one of the few memories he had left.

Riley instantly made Dean nervous, but in a way that made him want to ride out the high she gave him.

Dean couldn’t help but take in every part of her; from the way her stray hairs blew around her face to how she curved in all the right places. Her intoxicating smile already had Dean drunk by her presence alone.

“Well, I gotta run an errand and get going. It was nice to meet you, Dean.” Riley began to walk away, her boots softly crunching the leaves beneath her.

Dean didn’t want her to go, he had to get to know her. Somehow he knew she was something special.

“Hey, Riley!” Dean called out as he jogged to catch up to her.

She turned to him with a smile, trying to hide how glad she was that he didn’t just let her leave.

“I’m gonna be in town for a bit and have some time to kill. Would you maybe want to get together later? Dinner?”

Riley’s heart fluttered as she tried to conceal her excitement. “Sure. Do you know Debbie’s Diner?” she asked.

“Hell yeah. Best burgers in town. They make a mean apple pie.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Wanna meet me there around seven tonight?”

Dean flashed a smile that made her weak in the knees. It reached up his face and made the corner of his eyes crinkle.

“It’s a date,” Dean replied.

She smirked back at him, revealing dimples that he immediately fell for, “see you then”. Riley turned to walk away, making sure to saunter just a bit to keep his attention.

Dean couldn’t help himself as he watched her walk into the florist shop. She was a knockout.

Filled with anticipation for the night to come, he hopped into the Impala and backed out of his spot.

Dean wished he didn’t have to wait another minute to see Riley again. With a grin on his face and a fire in his eyes, he eagerly imagined the night to come.

-----

Grabbing her duffel bag and the new flowers from behind her seat, Riley got out of the car.

Finn jumped out right behind her. His tail wagged with excitement knowing exactly where they were.

She walked to the back of the diner and went through the employee entrance. A small break room, that looked more like a family room, was warm and simply decorated. A couch and loveseat, a TV, a coffee table, and a rug took up most of the room.

Riley pointed to the sofa and Finn hopped on. She briefly rubbed his ear before walking into the back entrance of the diner by the kitchen.

As she took a step onto the tile, the familiar smell of Debbie’s pies filled the air. The hiss of the fryer in the background making her famous fries made Riley’s mouth water. As soft music played overhead, she was reminded of all the time she had spent in that diner growing up.

She took a deep breath and let out a sigh as she whispered to herself, “home”.

Riley saw Debbie and quietly crept up behind her. “Surprise!”

Debbie let out a small yelp and turned around. Her eyes widened and her smile grew too big for her face.

“Riley!” She embraced her niece tightly and didn’t want to let her go.

Riley was the daughter she never had and Deb missed her so desperately when she was gone. She ached with worry every day.

After a moment, Debbie let go and gave a small tap to the side of Riley’s head. “You scared the crap outta me.”

Riley chuckled. “Sorry, Deb. But...I come bearing a peace offering.” She handed her the lilies knowing her aunt could never stay mad at her.

“Oh, honey, I missed you so much," Debbie said lovingly as she touched Riley's cheek. "I didn’t even know you were gonna be in town. Why didn’t you call?”

“Well, I came in for work and thought I’d surprise you.”

Debbie’s joy fell knowing exactly what ‘work’ meant. She hated what her niece did. The job had stolen her entire family from her and the idea of losing Riley made her lose sleep at night.

Suddenly, Riley could feel the pain swell in her aunt. It turned her stomach and she felt fear, concern, and sadness all at once. She was left dumbfounded, unsure of what was happening as she heard Debbie's voice.

“This isn’t the life I wanted for her. I’m never going to be able to convince her to stay.”

Riley froze realizing that Aunt Deb didn't speak a word. In fact, her lips never moved. She was rattled, uncertain of what had happened, before shaking it off and blaming it on exhaustion. Riley had been driving for a full day, of course, she was tired.

“Well, I gotta get these into a vase. Make yourself at home, but don’t think I won’t put you to work later.”

Riley chuckled, “yes, ma'am. Uh, Deb? Do I smell fresh--”

“You and your pie,” Deb cut in. “I’ll grab you a slice.”

Riley grinned from ear to ear and gave her another hug. She took a deep breath and inhaled the smell of fresh food and her aunt’s vanilla shampoo, one of her favorite scents.

“I’m so glad to be home, Deb.”

-----

Dean was nervous and it had him on edge. He wasn’t used to the knots in his stomach. Dean was good with women and he knew it, but Riley was somehow different. She did something to him and Dean was dying to find out what it was.

He let out a heavy exhale of nerves. Getting out of the car, he straightened his jacket and headed towards the diner.

“It’s just a date,” he muttered to himself. “It’s just another date.”

Dean’s phone vibrated and he answered the call. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean? Where are you?” Sam asked, sounding flustered with his brother. “We shouldn’t even be here. We know Dad’s not in Lawrence and we’re wasting time.”

“Dude, we talked about this.”

Sam scoffed. “No, you talked about this. This can’t be our priority, Dean. We need to be going after the demon--we need to find Dad.”

“Look,” Dean said, a little more gently. “I want that son of a bitch dead too, alright? And I want to find Dad as much as you do, but that call we got about this case was weird as hell and we gotta check it out.”

“Exactly. We don’t fucking know who that guy was--even if he did claim to know Dad. How do we know it’s not a trap?”

“We don’t. But it’s the best lead we’ve got right now, okay?”

Sam’s sigh sounded obviously irritated.

“I got a date tonight. We’ll get on the case first thing tomorrow and get back on the road as soon as we handle this shit, alright?” Dean hoped his words were enough to soothe Sam just for the night.

Trying not to be angry with his brother wanting to go on a date with everything that was going on, Sam bit his tongue. “Yeah…talk soon.”

Dean flipped his phone closed and took a deep breath to recenter himself before walking up to the diner. He opened the door and a soft bell jingled.

He didn’t see Riley and was happy that he had gotten there before her.

There was a sign that read: ‘Please seat yourself. We’ll be with you shortly.’

He found a booth in the corner and sat down on the red padded seat. Fiddling with his hands and looking out the window, he was hoping she wouldn’t blow him off. Dean had been looking forward to seeing Riley again since the moment she walked away.

As he mindlessly tapped a brief drum beat on the table, a familiar and appealing voice spoke out that brought him back into focus.

“Hey, glad you made it.” Riley looked at him with her arms crossed and a flirty smile.

Dean looked up to see the same big blue eyes that he hadn’t been able to get out of his head. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t made Riley up in a dream.

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Dean replied.

“Want a beer?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

Riley walked away and went behind the counter.

Dean watched her with his brow arched, confused as to why she was just helping herself. He saw Riley grab two bottles and pop them open, bringing one to her lips and taking a sip as she came back.

She put the bottles down and sat across from the smile that gave her butterflies.

Dean looked at Riley and chuckled, “ya know, they don’t like it when you serve yourself.”

Riley tried to stifle a laugh while taking another sip from her beer. “I probably should have mentioned, this is my Aunt’s diner--it's kind of like my home.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense. I was thinking you might just be a little wild,” he smirked.

“Oh, honey. You have no idea.”

Dean’s eyes widened at her response and he bit his lip. Her confident banter was beyond sexy and made her only that much more enticing.

Debbie walked to the table and pulled a pad and pen out from her white apron. “Hey, Riley. Want to introduce your friend?”

“Of course. Debbie, this is Dean.”

Dean shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, ma'am.”

“Ma'am? Damn. When did I get old?”

They all let out a small laugh before a look of recognition came over Debbie's face. Though she thought she might have known the boy at some point, she didn’t want to embarrass Riley and ask too much.

Debbie pushed aside the thought and asked, “you kids wanna order?”

Dean motioned to Riley for her to go first.

“Just the usual, Deb. Cheeseburger and fries.”

Dean loved that she didn’t order a salad or something ridiculous and tasteless. A woman who appreciated good food was a turn-on all on its own.

“And for the handsome one?” Debbie asked, looking at Dean.

Riley rolled her eyes and pulled her lips together. Of course, Deb would say something like that.

Dean looked down and let out a shy laugh. Turning back to Deb, he gave a soft smile and said, “I’ll have the same.”

“Coming right up.” Debbie shot the two a wink and quickly returned behind the counter as she tucked her pad away once more.

The two were finally alone. There was a moment of silence where they both smirked at each other, trying to hide their nervousness.

“So, tell me about yourself, Dean,” Riley said in a calm and flirty tone.

“Well, uh--like I said, I’m from here--originally. I have a little brother, I love cars, and I may have a slightly unhealthy obsession with classic rock.”

Riley laughed and replied, “I’m the same way. I’m a sucker for when music was actually good, ya know? Def Leppard, AC/DC, Guns 'n Roses, Led Zeppelin…I have too many favorites to name.”

Dean couldn’t believe his luck. She was the perfect woman.

“You know,” he said coolly, “Not a lot of girls are into all of that. I’m pleasantly surprised.” He took a sip from his beer with a flirty brow.

“Well, Dean. I’m definitely not like most girls.”

Her smirk was trouble and he loved it.

“My dad and I were always listening to music together," Riley continued. "It was something that we both loved. Some of my best memories are of us belting out our favorites during our long drives.”

“Sounds like you and your dad are pretty close, huh?” Dean asked.

Riley’s eyes cast down and her face changed. “Yeah...we were. Dad, uh--he passed away about a year ago now.”

Dean saw the pain on her face and felt guilty for even asking the question. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks--definitely miss him,” she said, choking on a lump in her throat. Riley downed a large swig of the beer, put it on the table, and spun it around in her hands.

Riley needed to change the subject. “What about you? You close with your parents?”

Dean sighed and wasn’t sure how to explain his relationship with his dad. God only knew how complicated that was.

“Uh--Dad and I are kinda close, I guess. He raised me and my brother--mom died when we were kids.”

“I lost my mom as a kid too. It was just me and Dad. Now, Deb is all the family I got. Well, her and Finn.”

“Finn?” Dean asked.

“Finnick--my golden retriever…kinda my partner in crime. He’s in the back. Can’t have dogs in the diner," she added playfully as if somewhat mocking Debbie's rules.

Dean let out a soft chuckle.

They soon were lost in conversation, talking about anything and everything.

He made her laugh, and she needed that. Riley loved that he thought she was funny and his laugh was genuine; it ran up her skin like a warm hug.

Time stopped and the two let go of the world for just a little while.

After the burgers and fries were demolished and multiple beers were downed, Debbie stopped by the table with two pieces of fresh pie.

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Oh God, yes,” he mumbled with anticipation as the smell wafted his way.

The two ate their dessert and Dean finally gathered the courage to ask what had been on his mind. “So, Riley, how the hell is it that a girl like you isn’t already spoken for?” He didn’t notice that his mouth was still somewhat full as he spoke.

Riley giggled. “And what makes you think I’m not ‘spoken for’?” she teased.

Catching the game she was playing, Dean retorted, “well, I mean--you did take up an offer to go to dinner with a total stranger.”

Dean was a well-trained flirt, that much was clear.

Riley smirked, finding him and his sense of humor endearing as she took a bite of the warm pie. Swallowing her food, Riley added, “well, I guess I just don’t stay in one place long enough. Kind of hard to build a relationship when you’re always on the road.”

Dean felt like she was singing his song. Somehow, she understood him. “I know that feeling all too well. Work keeps me traveling a lot.”

“What do you do?” she asked.

Careful not to reveal too much he answered, “uh--it’s a family business. We do a little bit of everything.”

Riley scoffed with a smile. “Well, that was vague.”

He laughed. “What can I say? I like to be a little mysterious. What about you?”

It was her turn to omit her full truth. “We’re kind of a family business too. Odd jobs here and there--just all over the place.”

He looked at her and felt she was hiding something, just like he was, but Dean decided not to press it further.

After their plates were finished, they both stood up to leave.

Riley hugged Debbie and told her she’d be back soon.

“Be safe, sweetheart,” Deb told her niece. “It was nice to meet you, Dean.”

“Likewise, ma'am.”

“Oh, for the love of God, please call me Debbie.”

Dean smiled and put his hand out to give her some cash. “The food was delicious by the way.”

“Oh no, honey. It’s on the house. Here, I packed you a pie to-go. Seems like you enjoyed it.”

Dean was all too happy with his gift. “Thank you, Debbie. I’ll definitely be back for more.”

With a final wave, Riley and Dean walked out of the diner and slowly meandered toward his Impala.

Walking side by side, they took their time with every step, not wanting to say goodnight. Normally, Dean would have already offered to take her back to his room, but not with Riley, she was different from the rest. She wasn’t just some ‘chick he wanted to have a one-night stand with’. Dean wanted to see if there was something more and that thought alone was enough to terrify him. He just didn’t want to admit it.

The parking lot behind the diner was poorly lit and next to a quiet alleyway. The moon gave more light than the street lamps, but it was still somehow the perfect setting.

Dean leaned against the car and looked up at the stars. One of his favorite things about Kansas was you could always see the night sky.

Riley gazed up as well and they both sighed feeling the comfort of home.

“Dinner was great. Your aunt sure knows how to cook,” Dean said as his take-out bag crinkled in his hand.

“Yeah. She’s amazing. She seemed to really like you.”

“Good. ‘Cause I, uh--I don’t always do great with first impressions.”

“Well, you did just fine with me.” Riley bit her bottom lip, a smile showing through.

Dean let out a breathy laugh and their eyes locked. He was lost in hers and her in his.

There was an electricity between them and it was as if an invisible force was pulling them together.

Riley took a step closer to him and Dean’s free hand brushed her hair behind her ear. She was so beautiful and Dean felt his stomach flip as he glanced down at her lips.

“I had a really good time tonight, Dean.”

“Me too.”

It was then that they realized the gap between them had closed. They quietly looked at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

Dean put a hand gently on the side of Riley’s face and her breath hitched. Her hands found his chest and felt his cool leather jacket against them. The two inched closer, both feeling lightheaded as their lips ghosted over each other, barely touching.

A sudden, loud crash came from the alley, causing both of them to instantly pull away and look in the direction of the sound.

It then went quiet, eerily quiet.

The silence was abruptly broken as a horrific, snarling creature with long fangs shot out from the darkness, ready to attack. The vampire was practically foaming at the mouth.

Charging at Dean first, the vampire went straight for his neck.

Dean absently dropped his bag and punched the creature in the face, causing him to stumble. He then shoved the monster away with full force.

Both Riley and Dean shouted to each other in unison, “get behind me!”

They shared a look of confusion but knew any questions would have to wait.

Just as the monster got to his feet to lunge back at them, two more vampires came out from the shadows behind Riley and Dean. They were outnumbered.

As Dean went for the two to his right, Riley went for his original attacker.

Dean pulled out his gun, but before he could shoot, he was grabbed and thrown onto the hard asphalt, the gun falling out of his hand.

Riley unsheathed a knife from her boot and brought it up ready to fight. The creature then pinned her to the wall as they both fought for power over the blade.

A deep and concerned voice rang out from somewhere nearby, “Dean!”

Sam came sprinting into the fray with a machete ready to aid Dean. He quickly came up behind the third creature and sliced its head clean off.

Dean grabbed his gun again and fired several rounds into one of the vampires; it fell to the floor in agony.

Dean yelled out with worry, “Riley!” and ran in her direction.

Riley finally overpowered the creature and stabbed him in the gut, which only slowed it down. She pushed him against the wall and immediately grabbed the lid from the metal trash can next to her. With all her might and a forceful grunt, Riley plunged it into the vampire’s throat, decapitating the monster.

Dean stopped in his tracks with a look of utter disbelief.

As she wiped off the blood that had splattered onto her face, Riley turned to Dean.

All three were out of breath, not sure what to make of what had just happened.

The remaining vampire laid on the ground, groaning in agony.

Dean and Sam sauntered over to it and hovered above.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” the monster snarled.

“Those are dead man’s bullets, you son of a bitch.”

Without a word, Riley strode in between the two boys, and with that same lid, she slammed it down and separated the creature’s body from its head.

Riley stood up as everyone looked at each other, panting from the fight.

Dean turned to Riley. “You’re a hunter?!”

“You’re a hunter?!” she replied in shock.

“Yeah. We came into town hearing about a vamp nest nearby.”

“Me too.” Intrigued, her curiosity unable to resist, Riley questioned, “dead man’s blood?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s uh--something Dad figured out. Bullets dipped in the blood of a dead man. Doesn’t kill ‘em, but it’ll hurt like hell.”

“Huh,” she replied in a thoughtful tone. “Thought only Dad and I knew that little trick.”

Still catching their breath, no one knew what to say until Dean finally motioned to his partner. “Oh, this is my brother Sam. Sam, this is Riley.”

She looked up at his brother. He looked so young, handsome like Dean, but in his own way. He had soft hazel eyes and his brown hair swept over his forehead.

Though Dean was much taller than Riley, Sam practically towered over her smaller stature. It was strange though, somehow, it felt as though she knew him.

It was then that Riley had a realization that struck her like a bus. “Wait--Sam and Dean? As in Sam and Dean Winchester? John’s kids?”

The brothers stared at each other and Sam finally spoke up with an incredulous look.

“Uh--yeah. Do we know you?”

“Your dad was my dad’s hunting buddy.”

“Who’s your dad?” Dean asked.

“Jackson Munroe.”

Dean’s eyes grew. “Jack Munroe? He and Dad hunted together for years. Damn, he was a hell of a hunter.” He let out a heavy exhale of disbelief. “Man, I can’t believe you’re Jack’s daughter.”

“Dad didn’t do too well hearing about Jack last year. I’m so sorry, Riley,” Sam added.

Riley nodded in gratitude as she pulled her knife from the vampire’s corpse. She cleaned it on the creature’s shirt and sheathed it again.

“How’s your dad by the way? I haven’t seen John in a while.”

Sam scoffed, “yeah, join the club.”

Dean scowled at Sam and then turned back to Riley. “We’re actually looking for him right now. He went on a hunting trip and we haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“It’s John Winchester. I wouldn’t be too worried,” she said.

They found themselves in that familiar silence again.

“Well,” Riley went on. “I don’t know about you two, but I could use a drink. My aunt has an apartment above the diner and I happen to know that she has some whiskey hidden away upstairs, if you’re interested.”

“I'm not gonna turn that offer down,” Dean answered with a tired smirk.

While Riley dragged one of the corpses off to the dumpster, Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder and turned him towards him.

“Guess it’s a good thing I decided to go for a walk tonight.” Sam paused and looked in Riley’s direction. “That’s the girl you went out with tonight?”

“Yeah. Did you see her? Dude, she’s a total badass.” Dean smiled like an excited kid as he tapped his brother’s chest.

Sam let out a breathy chuckle in agreement as they both went to help Riley remove the evidence of their violent supernatural encounter.

-----

The three hunters stepped into a small apartment, it felt cozy and welcoming. Pictures of the Munroe family made it feel like a real home, one that neither Sam nor Dean had ever experienced.

Riley closed the door behind them and a happy dog came running to her. He jumped up to hug her and she rubbed his back. “Hey, Finn. You been a good boy?”

Finnick got down, stood next to her, and observed the strangers.

Sam crouched down and Finn went to smell him. As he pet him, the dog wagged his tail in appreciation.

“What a beautiful dog,” Sam told her. “I always wanted one. But, uh--Dean’s not exactly a huge fan of dogs.”

Dean gave Sam a nasty look and then shot back at Riley with a big cheesy smile. “I like dogs--I do. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

As Riley turned with a questioning expression on her face, Dean slugged Sam in the arm.

“Dude, not cool.”

Riley went to the kitchen, grabbed glasses from the shelves, and found the bottle of whiskey stashed under the sink. Finn settled next to her chair and laid his head on her feet.

Sam and Dean joined her at the table, letting out small huffs of tired air as they sat down.

As Riley poured the glasses, Dean let out a scoff. “Man, what are the odds? I mean, it’s Lawrence--small town…but still.”

Taking a drink, Riley sighed as it burned in her throat. “You’re not wrong.”

Sam let out a throaty chuckle. “Life’s funny that way, I guess.”

The front door opened and Deb walked in, her apron draped over her arm as her fingers tried to take her hair out of its tied-up bun.

Finn ran to greet her and she rubbed his head before looking up.

“Oh, didn’t know we were having company. Dean, nice to see you again.”

“You too, Debbie," Dean replied. This is my brother, Sam.”

Her eyes grew wide and Riley chuckled before telling her, “yup, Sam and Dean Winchester.” She turned to the brothers. “And yes, Deb knows everything.”

“I knew I recognized that face. Dean, I haven’t seen you since you were a kid. And Sam…my god, you were just a baby.” Deb pulled up a chair and joined the group. “Now that love of pie makes so much sense. You were the same way as a little boy,” she said, eyeing Dean.

Dean let out a small gasp of frustration as he remembered his forgotten to-go bag. “Dammit! I dropped my pie back in the alley.”

Debbie laughed, “don’t worry, honey. There’s plenty where that came from.” She got up and grabbed two pies from the refrigerator along with some forks before bringing them to the table. “Dig in. We don’t need plates when we’re with family.”

Dean lit up with excitement and went straight for the pie as Riley did the same.

“So, the Winchesters are back in Lawrence. Is your dad with you?”

“We’re only in town for the case. Dad’s out kind of doing his own thing right now,” Dean said with a full mouth.

“You boys came in for the vampire nest, didn’t you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam chimed in.

Dean shook his head with his cheeks stuffed, “mm-mm. She doesn’t like that. Gotta call her Debbie.”

Sam, being slightly embarrassed by his brother, returned to his conversation. “So, hunting runs in your family too?”

“Oh, yeah,” she replied. Deb lifted a small bite of pie to her mouth, chewed, and swallowed, followed by a soft sigh. “My brother was a hunter, it cost him his damn life.”

Sadness fell over Riley’s face. She hated that her aunt still hurt so deeply over the loss of Jackson; not to mention how disappointed Debbie was that Riley was following in her father’s footsteps.

Deb took a breath and continued, “he was gone so much. Riley was just a baby and spent a lot of her time with me--I practically raised her. Whenever Jackson would come back home, he would teach her everything he could about hunting. I hated every second of it. Watching her learn to handle a gun when she was only in kindergarten made me sick. But, Riley wanted to be a ‘hero’ just like her daddy. I knew I couldn’t stop her, no matter how hard I tried.” She grabbed her glass and downed the last bit of whiskey, trying to stifle her emotions. "And then one day, 'Riley was old enough to hunt’,” Debbie scoffed in annoyance. “She was just a child, but she didn’t want to be away from her father and wanted to help him find the thing that killed her mom.”

“Deb, I didn’t want to leave, but I had to.” Riley reached her hand to Debbie’s and squeezed. “You were like a mom to me, that never changed.”

Deb returned the loving gesture and exhaled.

“So, you hunt alone now?” Dean asked Riley, surprised at the thought.

“Yup. Well, Finn comes too...sometimes. He’s mostly there for the company on the rides and in the motels, but he’s saved my life a couple of times. He’s the only partner I’ve ever had besides Dad.”

She reached under the table and pet the sleepy dog.

After a quiet moment, Sam looked to Debbie. “We were all so sad to hear of Jack’s passing,” Sam added. “If you don’t mind me asking, we never really heard what happened...”

Riley put her fork down, ran her hand through her hair as it fell back in her face and she took a deep breath. Running her finger around the rim of her glass, she looked over to Sam and Dean.

“Dad had been hunting down the thing that killed Mom for as long as I can remember. That’s why he became a hunter. I don’t even remember my mom, I was only a baby when she died. But, the night Dad died,” Riley paused as she swirled the liquid in her glass. “He didn’t tell me anything was wrong. He said 'he had to handle some business’ and went alone. I would have never let him go if I had known something was gonna happen.” Riley choked back tears and cleared her throat before her jaw twitched with a hint of anger. “God help that yellow-eyed son of a bitch if he’s what took my dad from me.”

“Wait a minute. Was Jack after a demon? A demon with yellow eyes?” Dean asked eagerly.

Both Riley and Deb’s faces went white. They looked at each other and then back at Dean as they both froze.

Debbie’s voice cracked in her throat. “H--how did you know that?”

“Because that’s the same thing that killed our mom too. Riley...how old were you when your mom died?”

“I was exactly 6 months old,” she told him.

Trying not to show the shakiness in his voice, Sam replied, “...I was 6 months old to the day when our mom was murdered too.”

Debbie grabbed Riley’s hand in anxiety. “What the hell is going on? How can this even be happening?” She shook her head and gulped, almost afraid to ask. “Sam…was there a fire in your nursery?”

The brothers went quiet before Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam was completely taken aback. The conversation brought him back to the fresh memories of losing Jessica. The images that plagued his mind flashed and it was if he could still feel her warm blood fall on his face.

He wasn’t ready to talk about it yet and refused to bring her up. Sam did his best to pull himself out of his thoughts.

Dean was on edge too, both shocked and confused as to how it was all connected. He was left at a loss for words.

“Dean," Sam said as he turned to his brother. "Jack must have been working with Dad on the case the whole time. We always knew they went on hunts together, but Dad never really talked about them.”

“Hunters always have their secrets, kids...always.” After a moment, Debbie sighed as she stood up.” Well, I have to go close the diner for the night and clean up. Riley, you’re off the clock tonight. Stay here and enjoy the rest of your night.” She kissed Riley’s head and looked at the boys. “It was nice to see you both.”

“You too,” replied Dean. “Thanks for everything.”

Debbie gave a half-smile and headed out the door.

Riley stood to clear the table and Sam stopped her.

“I got it,” he told her. Sam put the dishes into the sink and turned to the others. “Well, I’m gonna head back to the motel. Thanks for everything, Riley. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too, Sam.”

The brothers exchanged looks and Dean nodded in his direction as if to say, ‘I’ll be there in a bit’.

Sam acknowledged the notion, patted Finn's head, and left.

Finally, Dean and Riley were alone again.

“Come on.” Riley grabbed her glass and led Dean over to the living room couch as he held his drink in hand as well.

The couch was soft gray and incredibly clean. Dean was impressed with how tidy Deb kept her home.

They both sat down and looked at each other, somewhat unsure of what to say.

“I gotta admit, Winchester, I did not see tonight going the way it did.”

Dean let out a throaty laugh. “Yeah.” He searched for the right words. “You’re something else though, Riley. You just keep surprising me.”

“In all good ways, I hope," Riley said with a smirk.

That small smile gave Dean chills up his neck. “In all the best ways,” he replied.

Riley smiled again and took a drink.

Pausing, Dean gathered the courage to keep talking. “You were right, you know? You’re not like most girls. I don’t think I’ve met anyone like you.” He looked up and caught her eye as the charge surging between them only grew.

“Listen,” Dean said, taking her drink and putting them both on the coffee table. “I gotta do this before something stops me again or I know I’m gonna regret it.” He pushed her hair away from her face before taking her chin in his hand.

Slowly, they leaned in towards each other and their lips barely touched.

Finn suddenly jumped up on the couch between them, knocking over one of the glasses as he did.

"Oh, Finn..." Riley said with a sigh. "What am I gonna do with you?"

The dog panted with what seemed like a happy grin, eager for attention as he stared into Dean's eyes.

Riley got up to grab a kitchen rag to clean up the mess and Dean looked back at Finn, disappointed at yet another interruption.

Finnick grew excited and his tail wagged as he began to lick Dean's face.

Dean scrunched his face in disgust, trying to put some distance between himself and the all-too-friendly pup. He stood up from the couch and looked at Finn who had sprawled himself out on the couch on his back, practically smiling at Dean.

Dean muttered under his breath as he wiped the slobber from his face.

"Fucking dogs..."

------

The next morning, the boys drove down the main strip of town, the sound of the Impala rumbling beneath them. That Chevy was the only home Sam and Dean had ever known, the only constant in their lives besides each other.

Dean flipped open his phone to reveal a message from Riley:

‘Come in through the back. See you soon’.

A Blue Oyster Cult song played softly from Dean’s go-to cassette tape.

Sam broke the silence between them and asked, “so, you sure you wanna see again Riley after your night together? I mean, I've never seen you do that before. I'm not even sure how many times I've seen you even call a girl back." He chuckled to himself.

Dean knew he was right. “It’s not like that, Sam."

"Wait a minute..." Sam said with a thoughtful smirk.

"What?"

"...are you trying to tell me that nothing happened between you guys?" When Dean didn't answer, Sam took a second to absorb his brother's strange behaviors and chortled as he looked over at Dean. "You really like this girl, don't you?"

Trying to not let his brother think he was right, Dean scoffed. "'I like her'? What are we 12 years old?"

Sam laughed. "Whatever, dude. You got it bad."

Ignoring Sam's commentary, Dean pulled the Impala into the diner parking lot.

After turning off the engine, Sam and Dean stepped out of the car, the doors creaking behind them as they slammed shut.

As the brothers walked around the back, they saw the diner in the daylight. Memories from the night before played in their minds; remnants of blood that couldn’t be scrubbed away were still staining the concrete.

Opening the back door, the two stepped inside.

Riley was sitting cross-legged on the couch with papers, newspapers, and a map sprawled around her on one side and Finn on the other.

She glanced up, trying to not seem too eager to see Dean. “Hey, guys. Good morning.”

“Morning,” they both replied.

Dean sat on a single chair close to Riley and Sam made himself comfortable on the longer end of the sofa as he greeted Finn. The golden pup was already a fan of the youngest Winchester.

Riley sipped her coffee and nodded toward the side table. “There’s a fresh pot if you want some, help yourselves.”

Dean got up and poured two mugs full, giving one to Sam and then returning to his chair. The heat from the warm drinks danced in the sunlight that shined through the window.

He looked at Riley and studied her. She was just as beautiful in the morning as she was the night before. Her hair was in a messy bun, twisted together quickly after waking up. She was wearing sweats, a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and socks.

Riley didn’t even have to try to impress Dean, it happened naturally.

“So, whaddya got?” Dean asked.

“Well, looks like all the attacks have been up north on the furthest skirts of town towards the city of Midland,” she answered.

Sam chimed in. “I did some digging and I haven’t seen a single attack here before the recent ones this last week. It’s so weird that they just showed up in Lawrence out of nowhere.”

“Yeah, but with the death toll piling up, and the visit from our friends last night, I’d say it’s a safe bet we have a full-blown nest now. Now where they came from, I don’t have a damn clue.”

Riley pushed everything to the side to focus on the conversation and the warm coffee in her two cupped hands. She always joked about how the smell of coffee would ‘wake up her soul’ as she was most certainly not a morning person.

"So, are we just going to gloss over the fact that a case brought all of us back home to Lawrence at the same time?" Sam asked. "I mean, what are the odds of that?"

"Yeah..." Riley replied. "I was kind of wondering the same thing."

"How did you hear about the case?"

Riley took another drink. "I got a call from another hunter."

Both Sam and Dean turned to look at each other.

"What?"

"Who was it that called you?" Dean asked somewhat earnestly.

"That's the weird part," she started. "We got cut off before he could tell me his name. I wouldn't usually follow a lead like that, but when I checked some local records, it all panned out. I knew I had to come home." Riley paused. “He said he knew my dad too.”

"We got the same call," Sam told her.

"Wait, are you serious?"

"Yeah--the quick info, no name, that he knew our dad, the sudden hang up..." Dean answered, looking back over at Sam again. "Someone wanted us here...together."

"...but who? Why?"

"Damn good question. And the fact that our moms died the same way when you both were the same age...” Dean thought for a second. “Why didn’t Dad tell us about that?”

“My dad didn’t either.” Riley couldn’t understand why Jackson had kept something so big from her. She thought they didn’t hide anything from each other, especially not when it came to finding the demon. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. He didn’t even mention the fire--done by the same evil bastard too. It just…doesn’t make any sense.”

“Remember what Deb said?” Dean asked. “Hunters always have their secrets.”

Unsure of how to answer any of the questions in front of them and itching to get back on the road to find those answers, Sam switched the subject again.

"Well," Sam leaned over towards the coffee table to study the map again. "We're here and Lawrence has a vamp problem. No matter who got us here, we have to handle it."

He was eager to get the job done. As soon as the nest was handled, Sam and Dean would be back on the road again to keep looking for John.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Dean asked while he sipped at his warm mug.

“I say we stake it out tonight,” Riley answered. “If we think we can handle it, we go in. If not, we gather intel and we’ll regroup for tomorrow. At least if we’re there, they can’t leave without us knowing.”

“Sounds good to me. Guess we have the day to kill,” Dean said with a playful shrug.

Sam knew where his brother’s head was and smiled at the thought of Dean being so keen to be with this new girl.

“Well, let’s go grab some breakfast and we’ll make plans from there. I am in dire need of more coffee. I’ll go change and meet you in the diner.” Riley got up and patted her side for Finn to follow.

“Great! I’m starving” Sam shot out in response.

“Meet you in ten,” she called back as her voice faded further away.

Dean watched her disappear up the stairs, his eyes locked on her.

Once she was gone, Sam snickered.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Dude, could you be more obvious?”

“...shut up.”

------

After a day of lounging in Deb’s apartment, an abundance of delicious food, and a couple of classic movies, it was time for the hunters to head out.

Grabbing her gear and giving a kiss on Finn’s soft head, Riley followed the boys to the car.

Dean popped the trunk to check on their supplies while the sun set softly behind them. The sky was softly lit with beautiful orange and yellow light just peeking over the horizon.

Riley peered down into the trunk and was thrilled with all the different ‘hunter toys’ it held.

“Oh, my God.” She pulled out a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and grinned as she admired it. “This is so badass.”

Dean laughed softly under his breath, admiring the weapon as well. “That’s one of Dad’s favorites.”

“Don’t think I won’t be taking a swing with this baby at some point.”

Sam let out a playful sigh. “My god, there’s two of them.”

After Riley and Dean exchanged a flirty glance, they shut the trunk and walked around the Impala.

Sam went to the front passenger door and opened it for Riley.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased.

After all three were in the car, Dean started the engine and cranked up the music.

“Let’s do this.”

------

Night had fallen as the Chevy’s lights shut off and rolled to a stop; it hid behind some brush just shy of a rusted metal gate that led up to private property. From there, the hunters could still watch to make sure no one tried to leave the cabin on the hill.

A beat-up old van was parked in front as warm lights seeped out of the house windows nearby.

The still night’s silence surrounded the car with only the sound of crickets chirping around them.

“Do we know if there’s a way out on the other side?” Riley was frustrated that she wasn’t able to find any records on the old property.

“No,” Sam responded. “We’re going in blind.”

She sighed as she tried to scan their surroundings in the darkness.

Dean saw an opportunity to get a moment with Riley and formulated a plan. He put his arm over the seat and looked back at Sam. “Well, Sammy, how about we stay here and you do a little recon? You can come back and let us know what you find.”

A look of ‘play along’ sat eagerly on Dean's face.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure. Why not?” he said with an annoyed tone.

Grabbing a flashlight and packing his gun into his hip, he got out of the car and tried to close the door gently.

Dean peeked his head through the crack in the window and whispered, “take your time. No rush.”

Sam rolled his eyes again and began his trudge down the road.

With Sam no longer in view, Riley and Dean were alone again. They both had been hoping all day for the moment that would happen.

It went quiet for several minutes as they both struggled to speak first.

“Listen," Dean started. "At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, I had a great time with you last night. Even if it was interrupted by blood-thirsty monsters.” They both let out breathy laughs. “But had that not happened, I may have never seen what a kick-ass hunter you are.”

Riley’s stomach flipped. Knowing that she impressed him filled her with pride. Watching him in the fray the night before turned her on and she couldn’t wait to see him in action again.

“I can say it was definitely my most interesting date so far.” She tried to not come off too flirty, but with him, it was hard not to.

Dean’s lips pressed together while a smile grew behind them. She looked so perfect. There hadn’t been a moment since they met that he didn’t think so.

Riley bit her lip, catching his gaze and the tension grew.

With heated eyes, Dean leaned in and Riley began to meet him as they inched towards the kiss they had both been wanting.

The back door of the Impala opened and the two turned at the sound as Sam got in with a tired huff.

Both Dean and Riley looked back at Sam in a way that made him realize his entrance had been somewhat of a disappointment.

“Oh, I’m sorry, should I come back?” he asked sarcastically.

“Shut up, Sam," Dean retorted plainly. "What’d you find out?”

“This is their only way out. If they leave, we’ll know it. I was able to get a view into the window and heard them talking. They’re pissed about the three vamps we took out last night. Losing them brought their nest down to four. They know it happened behind the diner and they plan to hit it hard.”

Riley’s eyes grew with anger and a hint of panic at the thought of Debbie getting in harm’s way. “That’s it. I say we handle these bastards now. No way in hell am I letting them near my home.”

Dean loved seeing that side of her, the hunter side. She was always ready for a fight. It made her that much more attractive.

With Dean’s mind set on being at her side and raring to go, he looked at her and then Sam.

“Agreed. Sam, you in?”

“Let’s go,” Sam replied.

The three got out quietly and grabbed their gear from the trunk. A gun on each of their hips, knives hidden in boots or sheathed in jackets, and a machete in hand.

Riley reached for the bat and studied it in her hands. She gave a fiery look that sent chills up Dean’s spine, diving him wild, while her hands tightened their grip around it.

With purpose and intensity, Sam, Riley, and Dean marched up the hill, ready for whatever awaited them behind that cabin door.

The remaining four vampires sat in the main room venting their anger in front of a roaring fireplace.

Thirsty for blood and revenge, one of the men with black hair and a large build hissed under his breath. “I’m not waiting. Those fuckin’ hunters took out our kin. They die tonight.”

With the rest of the nest in agreement, they got up, ready to leave.

Just as their decision was made, the door was kicked open. It swung with force and slammed against the wall. Chips from where the door met the frame splintered out.

Riley stepped between the Winchesters and went in first, ready to take the lead.

Taking large, controlled strides into the house, she swung the bat with abandon and hit the black-haired monster in the head, caving in the side of his skull. He hit the floor and Riley swung another two times ensuring that he was down, blood splattering from his fresh wounds.

Dean and Sam went in opposite directions to take their part in the fight. Punches were thrown and Sam took a blow to the jaw that caused him to falter back, but he quickly shook it off and charged back at the creature.

On the other side of the room, Dean faced off with another vampire in a leather vest.

As they both danced around a bit, each trying to corner the other, Dean looked the monster over with a chuckle. “Dude, you know, you reek of 'douchebag’, right?.”

The man let his rage take over and rushed at Dean, creating the perfect opportunity for him to duck away.

Dean spun around and with his blade at the monster’s neck, he shoved it through the vampire’s throat. The creature’s head fell to the floor, followed by what was left of its body.

Turning around while still riding the high of the kill, he then removed the head of the other monster that was fighting his brother.

Riley, face to face with the only remaining creature, was met with a monstrous woman with a pixie haircut. Her teeth were bared and she snarled at the hunter.

“You, bitch!” she spat. “You come into our house and kill my family?”

A cocky smile grew on Riley’s face as she tensed around the bat and jested, “better yours than mine.”

After a couple of swings and misses, the vampire lost her step and was met with a swipe to the side of her face. She hit the ground, blood dripping from her head as she realized she could no longer stand.

Riley took her time and walked behind her. She reached out her hand to trade her weapon for Dean’s machete. Grasping it firmly, Riley moved back to the beaten monster who was leaning onto her hands.

Barely able to get out words the woman hissed through her breaths, “you…hunters…you’ll never win. There’s too many of us. We’ll always…come for you.”

With one final look, Riley answered, “and we’ll always be ready.”

------

The Chevy pulled up to the front of the diner late into the night. Debbie had already closed up for the night and must have gone to bed as all of the lights were out.

Exhausted, covered in blood, and still coming down from the adrenaline of the tussle, the car was quiet.

“You know, Riley, you’re a damn good hunter,” Sam admitted from the back seat.

“He’s right,” Dean added. “You kicked serious ass tonight."

Riley sighed. “This was the first time I hadn’t gone on a hunt alone since I lost Dad.” Her voice trailed off, not wanting to share how terrified she had been for anyone else to die. Riley’s head fell slightly and she knew that if she got too close to the boys, odds were, she would lose them too.

“Hey,” Dean said, waiting for her to look up at him. “Look, this job sucks. We’ve lost more friends and family than we ever care to admit. It hurts every damn day. And the thought of losing more? Honestly, it’s almost too much to live with. But this ain’t a one-man show, sweetheart. We survive because we do it together.”

A small smile came over Riley’s face and she knew he was right.

Sam leaned towards the front seat as Riley turned to him. “Riley, I don’t know how we got here or why. All I know is that every single day all I can think about is finding that demon, which means we gotta find our dad…and I think we could use all the help we can get. We can go after Yellow Eyes together.”

The idea thrilled Dean to his core and he couldn’t help but grin. Regardless of his interest in Riley, he knew it was going to take more than just the two of them to finish what John had started 22 years ago, to end the nightmare that had haunted their family.

“...so, whaddya say, kid?” Dean asked.

A million thoughts ran through Riley’s head while she tried to fight her fear of getting too close to anyone. “I--I need to think about it. I know you guys are headed out in the morning. So...I guess I’ll let you know then.” Riley’s uncertainty kept her hesitant, afraid to make the wrong decision.

Both brothers nodded while a swell of comradery swept through the car. Whatever her decision, a bond had been formed.

Riley looked at Dean and then back at Sam, “goodnight, guys.”

Getting out of the car and swinging her bag over her shoulder, she disappeared into the back of the diner.

Sam moved from the back to the front passenger seat next to his brother.

Dean’s eyes had watched her every move until she was out of sight. He couldn’t help but hope she would say yes and that the three of them could find the answers they’ve waited for their entire lives, and that this wasn’t goodbye.

-----

It was a brisk morning and more leaves had covered the streets and sidewalks of the quiet street. The mood in the town had shifted and even the air felt lighter.

Evil had left Lawrence, for the time being.

Dean parked the car and immediately set his gaze on the diner door. He had tossed and turned all night worried that he would have to say goodbye to Riley, and he just wasn’t ready.

Although he never said it, Dean knew he was a player. He had a tendency to meet a new woman everywhere he went, sometimes more than one. Each time, they almost always ended up back in his hotel bed. Being so infatuated with someone like he was with Riley was driving him crazy and constantly occupying his thoughts.

After waiting for a while, Sam saw the concern in Dean’s eyes.

“She still might come, Dean. We’ll give her a few more minutes.” Even Sam was keeping his hope that the new friend he had made would be leaving with them. Sam wanted to believe that together there was a way to avenge Jess, his mom, and his entire family.

Dean’s heart sank and with a heavy sigh. Reluctantly, his fingers grabbed onto the keys to turn the ignition.

As he did, he heard the soft jingle of the diner’s bell behind him. Dean beamed when he saw her.

Riley was grinning from ear to ear, a bag over her shoulder, and a guitar case in her hand. Finn and Deb followed close behind.

“Still got room for one more, Winchesters?”

“Hell yeah.” Dean hugged her and happily took her things to put in the back seat.

Sam went to her and embraced her tightly. “You play guitar?”

“Oh, honey, I’m full of surprises.”

Riley walked over to Finn and got down to his level. With a tear in her eye, she pet him and rubbed his ears while she looked him over.

“I love you, buddy. But we’re going after something too big and I can’t risk you getting hurt. Aunt Deb’s gonna take good care of you. I promise I’ll be back soon.” She wrapped her arms around the whining dog and kissed his head. “I love you.” Tears crept up in Riley’s eyes and the lump in her throat threatened every breath she took.

Getting up, Riley squeezed Deb in a loving embrace.

Her aunt whispered in her ear while her voice broke and held back tears with each word. “You come back to us, you hear me?”

“I promise. I love you so much.”

The two tried to pull themselves together as Riley stepped away and walked towards the car.

Debbie hugged both of the boys and handed Dean a large bag. “It’s filled with food for the road. I made sure I packed some pie in there too.” She winked and Dean’s smile was beyond enthusiastic.

“You take care of her,” Deb told him softly, a somewhat desperate look in her eyes.

“Thank you, for everything. I promise to get her back to you.”

The trio got in the car with Riley and Dean in the front again and Sam in the backseat.

A silent tear rolled down Riley’s cheek and she discreetly brushed it away before waving one more time. She had no idea how long it would be until she would be with her family again. Being on the road meant never knowing when she'd come back, and this time was going to be different; this time she knew she might not make it back at all.

Riley hoped she had made the right decision to leave as she wiped any remaining tears off her face.

Dean backed out of the spot and headed on the road.

Finn and Debbie were right where Riley had left them as they faded in the side mirror.

“You good?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Riley took a deep breath and tried to soothe herself. “Music?” She asked as she turned the dial, hoping to take her mind off it all.

Nothing took her mind off things like the beautiful sound of memories. That’s what music was; it was solace, it was Dad.

Bob Seger’s ‘Night Moves’ came through the speakers and it was as if Jackson had sent a message just for her. It was their song and Riley smiled from ear to ear, knowing that in some ways he never truly left her.

“I love this song!” The music swept through her and Riley sang to the tune. “I was a little too tall, could’ve used a few pounds. Tight pants, points hardly reknown. She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes. And points all her own sitting way up high…”

“Woah, she sings too,” Dean teased as he soaked up every beautiful sound that she shared.

“Always the tone of surprise with you, Dean. Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy. Out in the back seat of Dean’s '67 Chevy. Workin’ on mysteries without any clues. Come on, boys!”

Dean watched her as a grin stretched over his face. Every word and ridiculous sway she made in the front seat of his car was magic, she was magic.

The brothers chuckled and joined in as they all sang in unison.

“Workin’ on our night moves. Tryin’ to make some front-page drive-in news. Workin’ on our night moves in the summertime…in the sweet summertime.”

For that moment, as they drove past the sign reading: ‘You are now leaving Lawrence, come back soon’ and lost in the night moves, the three of them let the weight on their shoulders fall. Being together felt right, even if none of them could explain it.

Sam got comfortable in the back seat as Riley gazed into the horizon, imagining the roads to come.

That day was the start of something bigger than the three hunters could ever have known. Call it fate or destiny, but Sam, Dean, and Riley’s lives would never be the same.

“I woke last night to the sound of thunder. How far off, I sat and wondered. Started humming a song from nineteen sixty-two. Ain’t it funny how the night moves when you just don’t seem to have as much to lose? Strange how the night moves...with autumn closing in.”

-----

Note: Not sure if I’ll do the gifs and images for each chapter but I’m sure as hell going to try. Welcome back, everyone!

P.S. sorry to those who wanted to be tagged and weren’t, but Tumblr wouldn’t allow me to find the link for some people. We’ll keep trying!

My taglist is always open--just let me know if you want me to add or remove you :)

Chapter 2 will be out soon! I’ll keep you all updated!

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