#head in my hands he's so GOOD HE'S BEST BOI! GUIDING LIGHT NORTH STAR!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!
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One thing that I feel is really interesting and often forgotten about Essek is that fundamentally, his characterization has been from the start based upon his desperation for external perspectives and connection, which, along with much of his narrative and mechanical positioning, means that he actually has an extraordinary and almost (but not actually, as I'll show) counterintuitive capacity for both growth and trust.
(Buckle in. This is a long one.)
In particular, I would argue, knowing now that many places where the plot touches Ludinus have long been marked for connecting back into the current plot, that he was quite possibly built as a prime candidate for radicalization by the Ruby Vanguard. He felt isolated from his culture, he was desperate for other connection, and he was certainly of the type to believe he was too smart to be drawn into such a thing, given his initial belief that he could control the situation and the fallout. If things had gone any other way, he easily could've been on the other side by now.
As such, he has been hallmarked by being fairly open to suggestion, perhaps for this reason, but the thing about that kind of trait is that it is both how people are radicalized and deradicalized. This is certainly true of Essek, who experienced genuine kindness and quite frankly strangeness from the Nein and was able to move from the isolation the Assembly had engendered to meaningful and genuine connection, largely propelled by his own internal reflection. By the time Nein are aware of his crimes, he's already begun to express regret to an extent and, furthermore, doubt in the Assembly, including explicitly drawing a line against Ludinus, even in a position where he was on his own and probably quite vulnerable.
Similarly, when the Nein reach the Vurmas Outpost some weeks later, he has moved from regret for the position he's ended up carrying a heavy remorse. This makes sense! He's fairly introspective, seems used to spending a lot of time in his own head, and was left with plenty to mull over. It's not some kind of retcon for him to have progressed well past where the Nein left him; it just means he's an active participant in the world who has done his own work in the meantime.
This is another interesting aspect to him. I've talked about this a bit before but I cannot find the post so I'll recap here: antagonists in D&D have significantly more agency than allied NPCs. Antagonists are active forces, against which the party is meant to struggle; allies are meant to support the PCs, which means they tend to be more passive in both their actions and their character growth. Essek was both built as an antagonist, in a position that gives him significant agency, and also was then given significant opportunity to grow specifically to act as a narrative mirror for Caleb's arc. Even when he becomes a more traditional D&D ally, he still retains much of that, though he occupies a supporting role.
I believe that this is especially true because of the nature of Caleb's arc, which I've already written on; the tl;dr of this post is that Caleb is both convinced that he is permanently ruined and also desperate to prove that change is possible. Essek is that proof, because he is simply the character in a position to do so. But this also means that his propensity for introspection and openness is accentuated! He has to do the legwork on his own, for the most part, because that's where he is in the meantime.
But he still ends the campaign necessarily constricted; he is under significant scrutiny, he's at risk from the Assembly, and he goes on the run fairly soon after the story ends. He spends most of the final arc anxious and paranoid, which is valid given the crushing reality of his situation. It would be very easy to extrapolate that seven years into this reality, he would be insular, closed off, and suspicious of strangers, even in spite of the lessons he's learned from the Nein and their long term exposure.
So seeing his openness and lightness now is surprising, but at the same time, given this combination of factors in his position in the narrative over time and his defining traits, it's not by any means unreasonable.
But one thing that I found so delightful is how much trust he exhibits, which is obviously a wild thing to say about Essek in particular, given much of what he learns is both earning and offering trust, which was something he says explicitly in 2x124 that he's never really experienced: "I've never really been trusted and so I did not trust." It makes up much of the progression of his relationship with Caleb, and the trust that he is offered by the Nein in walking off the ship is the impetus he needs to grow.
But I think it's easy to talk about trust when it comes to people who have proven themselves to you or to whom you've ingratiated yourself, and that's really the most we can say about Essek by the time he leaves the Blooming Grove. There is this sense in a lot of discussion of trust (not solely in this fandom) that it is only related to either naivete or love, but there's far more to it. Trust at its best is deliberate—cultivating an openness to the world at large is a great way to combat cynicism and beget connection instead. It allows a person to maintain curiosity and be open to experience, but it can be incredibly difficult to hold onto.
It is clear that the Essek we meet now is a very pointedly and intentionally trusting individual. He trusts Caleb and by extension Caleb's trust in Keyleth, as he shows up and picks up a group of strangers from a foreign military encampment and walks in without issue. He trusts the Hells to follow his lead moving through Zadash and to exhibit enough discretion so as to avoid bringing suspicion upon all of them. He trusts that Astrid will respond well to his entrance, but he also trusts himself and the Hells enough to execute a back-up plan in the case that she doesn't. In the end, he even trusts them enough to give them his name and identity.
He doesn't scan as someone who has spent half a dozen years living like a prey animal, afraid of any shadow he runs across in an alley, withdrawn into himself and an insular family, which would've been an easy route for him to take. He scans as someone who has learned the kind of trust borne of learned confidence and a trained eye for good will and kindness, which are crucial weapons one would need for staving off cynicism in his circumstances—as if he has survived thanks more to connection and kindness than paranoia and isolation. (If we want to be saccharine about it, he scans quite poignantly as a member of the Mighty Nein.)
So it is easy to imagine this trust and openness as a natural progression of his initial search for perspectives external to his own cultural knowledge. Though he makes those first connections with the Assembly to try to vindicate his personal hypotheses, he finds in them exposure to the deepest corruption among Exandrian mortals, which could've—and did, for a time—turned him further down that same dark path.
But it's also this same openness to exposure from the wider world that allows the Nein to influence him for the better, and in spite of the challenges he's certainly faced simply surviving over the past seven years, he seems to have held onto this openness enough to move through the world with self-assurance and a willingness to extend the kinds of trust and good will that he has been shown.
(I would be remiss not to mention that I was reminded about my thoughts on this by this lovely post from sky-scribbles and their use in the tags of 'light' to describe Essek's demeanor this episode, which is really such an apt word for it.)
#something something hope is a weapon hope is a discipline hope is a garden to cultivate!!!#HE'S SO GOOD HE IS TRULY EXEMPLAR OF THE WHOLE PHILOSOPHY OF THE NEIN AND I DO NOT THINK THAT'S AN ACCIDENT#truly just like. enormous proponent of letting trust and curiosity into your heart regardless of the horrors.#it's hard and it makes you more vulnerable and sometimes it hurts so so much but it will also save your fucking life!#cr spoilers#critical role#essek thelyss#cr meta#I was gonna apologize for the length but I'm not sorry. I'm also not sorry for being insane about him but he's so special to me.#head in my hands he's so GOOD HE'S BEST BOI! GUIDING LIGHT NORTH STAR!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!#also truly if i had two nickels for a span of time with no essek sightings where I wrote a lot of fic#with deliberate personal acknowledgment that I was writing some pretty maximal arcs for him in terms of character growth#and then end up getting essek for half an episode and having to go OH WE'RE GOING THAT FAR ACTUALLY. FUCKING INCREDIBLE.#yanno. two nickels. but good lord I am thriving that it's happened twice#augh this is ONE of the pieces I need to write this week. we're not gonna talk about it
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i was never really into the jonsa ship, but that post of yours has got me really interested... do you have any fave fics of them??
welp, we’re going old-school, lads. prepare for some of my favourite fandom throwbacks well, I failed at that, I put some of the newer things on the list, too
CANON-VERSE:
Now You See Me: Kissed by fire, Ygritte thought to herself, just like me.
Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting): Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.
Take My Crown Away (Don’t Smile So Sweetly, My Love): A world where everything is easier. Except for those who love, and love too much.
Build a Ladder to the Stars: Jon abandons the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s cause. After rescuing Sansa from King’s Landing, he and Sansa find themselves in a relationship they never saw coming.
A Winter’s Tale: The War of Three Dragons comes to the Vale, bringing Jon Snow and Sansa Stark together once more.
The Winter of Our Discontent: In the end it is Jon and his men of the Night’s Watch who come to take her back to Winterfell.
tell me true (who are you): Ned Stark brought a dark-haired, grey-eyed bastard babe home and called him son. Years later, Jon Targaryen does the same.
Lift Me Like an Olive Branch and Be My Homeward Dove: She never dreams of Jon Snow but in the end he is the one that comes for her under a Targaryen banner, the might of Winterfell and the North behind him with their father’s sword on his back.
The Whispering Ghosts (Left You Out In The Cold): Winter came and brought Jon home. [this is the first Jonsa fic I ever read, boy, did it fuck me up]
A Bronze Crown: In the end there are no knights. In the end Sansa must rescue herself. Based on the prompt: he doesn’t ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.
how ruthless are the gentle*: “Yes, I do.” The easiest lie he’s ever told, by far. It came so naturally, he hardly thought of it as false. “She’s easy to love.”
Tell the Ones That Need to Know (We Are Headed North)*: After years of confinement in the Red Keep with Ned prisoner in the black cells, the Dragon Queen comes. With the knowledge that Jon Snow is actually a Targaryen, she agrees to let the Starks return to Winterfell only if Jon marries one of the Stark daughters. Sansa volunteers so they can all go home. Soon she figures out being married to Jon isn’t bad, but it is complicated.
Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things*: We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark.
Dragons of Red, Dragons of White*: An AU where the Battle of the Trident took place, but just between Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon. Their duel and its outcome have ramifications that none could foresee. In the world built afterwards, dragons once again rule and roam Westeros, among them the son of a northern beauty and the king. Prince Jon and his kin, Stark and Targaryen alike, face new challenges from both without and within. Whatever the future holds, the Seven Kingdoms will learn that, whether in a coat of red or a coat of white, a dragon still has claws.
A Knight’s Watch: Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places.
The Conquest*: Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart.
Live Without Shame: When Catelyn’s treatment of Winterfell’s Bastard unexpectedly softens, Sansa reconsiders her relationship with Jon. But despite the revelations that ensue, Jon must and will always remain Winterfell’s Bastard and suffer its consequences.
The Tempered Kingdoms*: After years of wars, death, destruction, politics, and White Walkers, a tentative calm has returned to Westeros partially due to the rulership of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. But politics rues its head again as Stannis Baratheon demands his right to rule, while the former Queen Cersei languishes in a cell, plotting her revenge against all who live above her. Sansa Stark is forced to return to King’s Landing after being found by the rumored lovers Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth.
winterbloom: “You’ve traveled a long way for a rumor.” Sansa lives at the Wall under the protection of her brother Jon Snow, but when Sandor Clegane comes looking for her, she and Jon begin to realize that she is not as safe as they once hoped.
As History Changes: Jon agrees to accompany Stannis south to the Vale and he meets a person he did not expect to meet.
hold onto your heart (you’ll keep it safe): When Sansa turns eleven her wrist burns. She excitedly unwraps the cloth guarding her skin, waiting eagerly for the name to finish forming. The dark letters stop after only three and when Sansa leans in closer she realises that she knows that name and she knows that handwriting already.
carve your heart into mine: Sansa spent many evenings sewing her wedding dress by the fire, dreaming of her husband. The gown spilled out of her hands like a silver river, burning brighter from the light of the flames. She had embroidered it with a noble husband in mind, but she wed her lowborn love in the godswood, with snowflakes falling on her veil.
ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE:
Into the Darkness of the Grave: The tragic death of Eddard Stark’s cousin Lyanna brings her estranged son back to Winterfell House, the family’s old plantation home, for her funeral.
The Other Shoe: If anyone had told Sansa Stark that she would be married to Jon Snow, expecting a child with him at the age of nineteen she would have laughed at them. Not because Jon was a bad person, for he had slowly come out of his shell in the past seven years; not because she was young, her parents were married right out of Hogwarts; simply because Sansa Stark seemed to be the anthesis of a happy ending.
several sunlit days: Everyone knows you don’t date Robb Stark’s sisters unless you want to spend your days avoiding hexes and angry bludgers shot at your head. Too bad Jon’s traitorous feelings could care less.
the unexpected champion: Jon must swim to The Black Lake and retrieve something *cough* Sansa *cough* stolen from him. This task makes him realize who he should invite to the Yule Ball.
Where Did You Sleep Last Night: Sansa needs a new guitarist, Jon needs a new band, and the two of them definitely don’t need each other.
and labor till the work is done: Stark Industries is a family legacy she was hoping to avoid: Robb is a project manager, grooming to eventually be a partner, Arya is a summer intern with Bran sure to follow next year and Rickon in another three, and even Jon Snow, who is technically not family but who has been around for as long as Sansa can remember, works as an estimator. But Sansa is not who she was at sixteen or eighteen or even twenty and she’s still in the process of learning what’s truly important, like who she is, who she wants to be, and what kind of people she wants in her life.
One Of The Few Things: Jaime and Sansa spend a lot of time pining over Brienne and Jon together. Sometimes, they actually even do their jobs.
flower shaped heart*: Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King’s Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets.
Crawl up to my Room: Jon left her side after a few moments of silence and she watched him leave with a quiet thought playing in her mind. He was her stepbrother for only a few hours, and she already found herself utterly fascinated and irritated with Jon Stark.
in the summer, as the lilacs bloom: “You did tech in high school,” Sansa points out. (Yeah, I did tech because you were playing the lead and I was in love with you.) Jon doesn’t tell her that, though. Of course not. Instead he agrees to spend his summer stage managing this passion project of hers, and some trace of his seventeen-year-old self has dried out his throat at the thought of three months’ constant contact with Sansa.
Down from the Mountain: Sansa flies home from college after her older brother Robb, one of the country’s hottest young pitchers, is hurt in a car accident. Robb’s best friend Jon is there to help the Stark family in any way he can.
Little Bed in the Big Woods: “I stared at him for a solid five minutes because he looked like what I imagine god would look like if god was a lumberjack.”
A Game of Stars*: When the Mad Emperor hears that the Starks are Force-sensitive, he discovers the hidden rebel base on Hoth. He sends Jon there with one order: Burn them all. But bring the Stark children to Coruscant. It’s time for the two most powerful Force bloodlines in the galaxy to merge.
I’ll Pack My Goods for the Arkansas Woods*: When Sansa’s brother goes missing, it falls to her to defend the house and the woods against the greed of the Boltons and Freys. All of this would be much easier if she could fight fire with fire, and there’s a saying in the valley: that all the Starks are a little wild, and all the Targaryens are a little mad. Her cousin Jon just happens to be both.
In the Face of Death: On a long list of things Jon never expected, Sansa came top.
United States of Irreversible Oblivion: With the government losing its fight at the northern border, Sansa’s only hope is that one of its soldiers, Office Jon Snow, will return for her and save her from the horrors of a collapsing society.
remember me love when i’m reborn: ‘Longest Night’ has biggest night in hollywood history. “Joffrey wanted someone to make him famous, and as soon as Sansa wrote a movie for him that did just that, he left her in the dirt.”
Hear the Wolf*: The Starks are in Hogwarts. Sansa has to learn to stand up to her ex-boyfriend and Jon has to learn to face his past. They’re determined to do it alone. Will they ever admit they’re stronger together?
Somewhere in the Winter Woods*: Lost on her way to her grandmother’s cabin in the winter woods after running away from home, beautiful young Sansa thinks she’s run into trouble when she crosses a white wolf in the forest. Instead of harming her, the animal guides her to his master, a handsome warrior named Jon who lives in solitude and clothes himself in black.
* marks the ongoing stories.
#jonsa#jonsa fanfiction#jon x sansa#sansa stark#jon snow#game of thrones#*#anonymous#ask box#in this tag resides fanfiction
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Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 12 - Year 2: Summer
(ao3 link)
He was coming.
Dressed all in black and poised as a knight in glimmering darkness would be. His power was overwhelming: unforeseen before this day and age and nearly unstoppable. Nothing in his path would be saved.
Friends, foes, strangers… All of them dead and not to the passion of yellow eyes of hatred, but hopeless and never-ending black lenses.
He would be their undoing.
“If you are not with me… You are my enemy.”
He snapped into full consciousness.
Other screams echoed down the hall from him, residual aftershocks from a recent admin to the highest security level of Azkaban. It was here that only the most vile prisoners existed- those that committed such atrocities that deemed them unworthy of ever seeing light ever again- not even by the means of a small window.
This, he concluded, was wise, because no space would be too small for him to worm his way through.
The dementors were coming.
What could they take from someone who never had anything?
Glowing yellow eyes bore into the wall across his cell, finding their focal point in a small newspaper cutout that billowed slightly in the ever-present wind that consistently raged through the prison. Over the ticking years of his capture, he learned that it was wise to always maintain focus- lest the physicality of the drains become too consuming. That was never to say it was pleasant, but he prided himself in never requiring positivity or happiness to thrive.
Unlike many of the bottom-dwellers that filled the triangular structure in the middle of the North Sea, he knew he had a purpose.
And that purpose had always been to stay hungry; so mind-numbingly starved that it was impossible to satisfy his appetite. He thrived in the sort of lust that was always searching, but never fulfilled in true. That was the mind of the hunter.
The impenetrable gate to his cell swung open, yet he remained seated patiently with crossed legs on the floor- back to his enemies- as he always did. He used to fight, because that’s what the hunter did: they fought. However, extended torture offered him something convenient: it offered him the perspective of the prey.
He never had anything to give the dementors- no happiness or positivity of his own, leaving them often dry and unsatisfied from their routine visits to his block. This time, as the writhing flow of darkness and despair filled the space of his soul, finding corners and pockets once inhabited, he had to fight back a smile.
His imprisoners would call him crazy- driven to the brink at their own hand- and would laugh merrily at the mere thought of it, because he deserved what he got. But he knew above all else that they were fools for not killing him dead in the first place. Instead, they allowed his search of purpose to fester in the obscurity until grasping it with unyielding fingers.
He dropped to the ground unceremoniously, gasping for breath and keeping his head down. He could get up. He could fight, but he learned something about hunger over his capture and that was the control of keeping it at bay.
Their time would come.
His skin itched at the blissful thought of ripping them apart.
After the shrouded floating embodiments of torture drifted down the hall to a more promising victim, he lifted his head to gaze up at that singular picture on his wall.
A boy smiled widely with a fluttering owl on his shoulder- full of life… hope… destiny. It was the picturesque sort of Daily Prophet image that foolish readers ate up in efforts to forget about the perils of their world.
This boy was the one to fulfil the great ambitions of the Sith, to bring Salazar Slytherin’s true vision into place with complete superiority. It seemed impossible to see in such youth, but he didn’t doubt his master’s foresight for one moment. Sidious was always operating several steps ahead of everyone else. He had once believed that he was to be a crucial part of Sidious’ plans, but was cast aside like a worthless sea urchin.
His stomach growled and he rose to his feet.
“You should have killed me, master.” He said softly, never taking his eyes off the picture, feeling that pleasant swell of burning hatred coursing through his veins. It was so overwhelming that he almost laughed, but such a display would draw attention that he could not risk.
He never had his own happiness, but was always ravenous for someone else’s. And with that, his purpose was renewed.
He would take and take until there was nothing left of his master’s plan- until there was nothing left of this boy.
Anakin Skywalker would soon find that Maul was not unlike a dementor.
***
It was an uncharacteristically sunny day as young Anakin Skywalker raced across the street. Several paces back was his mother who managed to grab his arm and pull him back just in time to save him from an oncoming bicycle.
“Anakin, be careful,” She chided, guiding him rather purposely onto the sidewalk.
“I had it under control!” Anakin declared although his heart was still beating a little too fast. After all, Anakin and his mother weren’t normal pedestrians, they were wizards. What’s the worst that could happen to someone like them? Anakin may not know many spells yet, as he was only about to begin his second year. However, when he looked up at the faded sign dangling haphazardly above them, he knew where he could find much more skilled magic users if something were to happen.
“I’m beginning to wonder if I should accompany you after all,” His mother was looking down at him with concern.
“No, no! I’m old enough!” He stood a little straighter, maybe leaned forward on the tips of his toes a bit, “I’m already 12! All I have to get is a bunch of new books anyways, not like last time,” He bounced a little bit, eager at just the thought of what other sorts of wizard things he might get a chance to look at unsupervised, “And if anyone knows where to buy books, Obi-Wan does.”
“Well alright dear,” Shmi smiled as he staggered a little. She ran her fingers through his hair, likely trying to flatten it down as it was always rather unruly, “I suppose when I was your age I was allowed to traverse Diagon Alley by myself,” Anakin gazed up at her with curious eyes. His mother still never spoke much of her own time in the wizarding world, “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re too old for your dear mother,” He shook his head frantically, hugging her tightly around the waist.
“I’ll never be too old for you!” He admonished and she laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“Off you go, Ani,” His mother sighed, but when he pulled away, she was giving him a firm look, “It would hardly be proper for you to be late,” He nodded in excitement before pulling open the door to the pub, but not without one last wave back.
The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was just as dim as last time. However, this time he felt a few pairs of eyes flicker towards him, whispers he couldn’t quite make out hung in the air. He wasn’t sure if they would be talking about how he was part of the group of students to oust Dooku, or about his status as the chosen one.
Either way he puffed his chest a little bit and walked through the room like he’d been there hundreds of times before. He tapped into the bricks in the back just as he’d practiced a dozen times before in his room and the wall melted before him. Bricks turned and fell until there was a good-sized hole in the wall. His mum had insisted they walk there, as Floo Powder was a luxury and she said she only kept some for emergencies. It didn’t bother Anakin as he was completely fine with reliving the charming experience that he’d first witnessed last year.
Not much had changed about Diagon Alley and he doubted it ever really did, like a time capsule. Older witches and wizards still walked around in ridiculous outfits while the young wore muggle clothes to seem more inconspicuous or school robes to break them in. Anakin had grown a little bit and was probably due to exchange his old robe for one of a bigger size, though his mother was sure he’d grow out of it again by the end of the year. Perhaps he could learn a spell to make clothes bigger, that would surely impress her.
“Anakin!” He turned and saw Rex Fett waving at him from in front of a little red shop on the right.
“Rex!” He ran over quickly and found himself in a chokehold alongside his best friend.
“There’s my star beater,” Cody greeted him before dropping the both of them, “I hope you’ve still got it because I’ve spent all summer planning the perfect comeback for Gryffindor!”
“That and running me ragged,” Rex complained, but he was grinning as he turned to Anakin in excitement, “Dad gave me money for my own broom!”
“That’s great!” Anakin, though happy for his friend, felt a little green with envy as he thought about the dusty old brooms at Hogwarts.
“I can’t wait to try out for the team, then we can beat the other houses together!”
“Sounds great!” Anakin nodded, “Do you-”
Before he could continue the wall to Diagon Alley opened again. Satine tucked her wand in her hair when her eyes landed on their little trio.
“Satine!” Cody pushed past the younger boys to crush his friend in a hug.
“Already visited the Quidditch store I see?” She smiled glancing around, “Ben’s not here yet?”
“Gotta make sure I’m up to date on all the new gear,” Cody stated as if he ever wouldn’t be, “Not yet, but I’m sure he’s just caught in Floo Powder traffic or something,” Anakin opened his mouth to ask about how such a thing would work anyways when something caught his eye. Turning, he watched as a shopkeeper pulled down the old broom displayed in the window.
“Oh no way,” Rex’s eyes lit up, “They weren’t supposed to come out with a new model until spring!”
“What’s this one?” Anakin followed Rex up to the window.
“Oh!” Cody pressed close to the glass, “This handle shape can really only mean it’s a Randolph Spudmore!” Rex nodded and Anakin looked at them in exasperation.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” He gazed down the length of the broom, it certainly looked impressive either way, but just what sort of differences could there really be between brooms.
“It has to be the Firebolt Supreme,” Cody gushed, “Rumored to fly up to 200 miles per hour, much faster than its predecessor, non-slip grip and impressive ironwork!”
“The Bulgarian Quidditch team already stated they wanted some before they were even announced,” Rex told him, “It’s supposed to be the smoothest broom experience ever, a potential game changer.”
“Wow,” Anakin felt like he was seeing the thing in an all new light, if this broom was that impressive it definitely felt like something he would love to ride, “Rex you should get this one!” Rex gave a startled laugh and looked at him like he’d grown antlers.
“This broom is going to cost an arm and a leg,” Rex shook his head, “No way that’s affordable for a school-aged kid.”
“I wish,” Cody said longingly, “Still, we’ll get ya something worth riding, Rexy. Maybe last year's Cleansweep model, or a Starsweeper. I’m quite partial to the Thunderbolt line myself.”
“Cody, you have a Comet 295,” Rex crossed his arms.
“Obsolete!” Cody waved a dismissive hand, “We gotta get you a broom that’ll last mate, they don’t grow on trees after all.”
“Well, they are made of wood,” Anakin pointed out and Rex laughed.
“Maybe we should make our own,” He suggested much to Cody’s look of annoyance, “It could be revolutionary.”
“Yeah ‘cause the next best broom is really gonna come from a couple 2nd years who barely know how to charm a teacup,” Cody huffed, “Broom making is an art-”
“We could call it the Skywalker,” Anakin continued for Rex, “Who knows, I am supposed to be all powerful, that might include making my own super broom.”
“Right mate,” Rex rolled his eyes.
“Where’s Obi-Wan when you need him,” Anakin gazed back at the Firebolt Supreme, “He’s rich, maybe he’s taking requests for Christmas presents.”
“Yeah, your Christmas present for the rest of your life maybe,” Cody crossed his arms, “In case you’ve forgotten he already had to get a new broom himself last year.”
“What’d he pick anyways?” Anakin asked.
“Nimbus line, 2005” Cody answered with a shrug, “He’s always had a Nimbus, figured he wouldn’t want to try anything else.”
They turned back to oogle the broom once more before sighing.
“I suppose we should save the fun shopping for last,” Rex lamented pulling the same list Anakin had received in the mail out of his pocket.
“Boo,” Cody complained, “But alright, why don’t you two run along and I’ll go hunt down my missing friends,” Anakin looked up to see that Satine was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she’d gone off in search of Obi-Wan in lieu of talking brooms. Anakin couldn’t really bring himself to care much about it, they’d surely all run into each other again.
***
“Diagon Alley,” Obi-Wan spoke in a firm, clear voice. Loud enough for the green flames before him to teleport him to his location, but soft enough that they wouldn’t echo throughout Kenobi mansion. His parents wouldn’t be too pleased if he interrupted them with his departure. The Floo network was second nature to him at this point in his life, although Satine, who had only gotten to try it once or twice, claimed it to be an odd out of body experience.
Obi-Wan deftly stepped out from the fireplace. Peering around, it seemed he had landed himself in the robes shop. Nodding towards the wizards measuring students for their new robes, he dusted himself off and stepped out on the cobblestone street. Despite what many would assume, he didn’t spend a great deal of time in Diagon Alley. There were other wizarding areas his mother used to take him shopping at, and it was really only once or twice a year he was able to come to Diagon Alley on his own account. It was such a great coincidence that he managed to plan such a trip when his friends would be there. Though he supposed his parents would be interested to hear that he met Anakin on his day out.
“There you are,” His heart leapt in his chest as he turned. It was Satine as expected, but there was something a little bit more elegant about her. Gone was any lankiness or lingering awkwardness, instead she looked exceptionally radiant in a way he hadn’t seen prior. It was rare indeed that he saw her dressed down to a casual muggle look and he tried desperately not to stare.
“Satine, it’s-”
“You’ve got a little something there,” She leaned into his personal bubble with practiced ease and scrubbed at his nose with her thumb, “Really now,” She stepped back as if admiring her work, “I’m disappointed that even someone as prim as you can’t manage the Floo Network without getting soot stained.”
“Prim? I think not,” He crossed his arms, “At least I know it’s best not to store my wand so haphazardly.”
“Really you don’t think it suits me?” She tipped her head to the side and he frowned.
“What suits you best is your head still attached to your shoulders,” Though the light brown shade of her wand did look rather beautiful in contrast to her blonde waves.
“Have you no faith of my magical control?” She countered.
“Even the most talented witch could accidentally cast a spell,” He chastised.
“Good to see you again too,” She rolled her eyes and tugged him gently by the arm as they started moving further down Diagon Alley.
“How’s your summer been?” He asked her, eager to hear what sorts of fun muggle activities she’d been privy to.
“Bo was off to camp again,” She shrugged when he winced, “Left a lot of time for me to catch up on my readings I suppose.”
“Did we not finish the summer’s readings prior to leaving Hogwarts?” He asked and she nodded.
“I’m talking about muggle readings,” She explained, “You know our dusty old wizard school can only teach us so much. I want to keep track of a little science knowledge, biology, and a little chemistry at least,” Such things Obi-Wan wasn’t privy to knowing about, but he committed to memory to ask her a million questions about it on the train.
“Surely you did more than just read over the summer?” Obi-Wan prompted and she glanced at him.
“That’s rather rich coming from you,” And he knew this would be the most she referenced his own summer vacation.
“I’m only curious,” He grinned innocently, “If you’d rather tell me about biology, I’m all ears,” Her cheeks had gone a little red for some reason. He hoped they weren’t walking too fast.
“I did go on a short holiday with my mum,” She shrugged, “Nothing fancy just down to Brighton for the beaches,” She studied him a moment before nodding and continuing, “You would have liked it I’m sure, there were lots of quaint, little stores.”
“I’d love to see such a sight,” He was sure of it, even if he had no real visual to what Satine was talking about.
“There was this tall observation tower,” She tried to explain, “You ride an elevator up and can see 360 degrees. It feels like you can see for miles,” He nodded trying to figure out what such a structure would look like.
“Fascinating!” She looked at him with a small smile.
“Perhaps one day we could go together?” She suggested and Obi-Wan grinned at the thought.
“That would be rather wonderful. I’d love to travel.”
“But you’ve travelled,” Satine easily put him under scrutiny.
“A few times yes, but never anywhere really new,” He shrugged, “Wizarding towns are very similar, you know,” She nodded slowly, before looking into a shop window with not very well disguised disgust.
“What the bloody hell do wizards need an entire store revolving around jellied eels for?” She wrinkled her nose and he couldn’t help but laugh at her expression.
“An eel can be a delicacy, my dear,” Obi-Wan gestured towards a rather offending pie in the window, “Surely you’ve had a meat pie?”
“I’m not so sheltered,” Though she looked a little green as she stared into the beady dead eyes of the eels, “Though I’m pretty sure this is a crime against food.”
“You could say that,” A newcomer came up behind them and Obi-Wan turned with a smile.
“I thought you’d eat near anything, Cody,” He greeted and Cody shook his head.
“I don’t like the way they’re looking at me,” He grimaced, “Have you ever eaten them?”
“I have,” He admitted and both of his friends took a step away from him, “Hey! No need to act like I’ve committed some crime.”
“I dunno mate,” Cody looked towards Satine.
“It should be,” Satine looked at him like he was some poor ill cat, “We’ll get you some real food one day.”
“I believe I’ve had plenty of real food,” He crossed his arms and Cody and Satine both shook their heads much to his chagrin.
“Eating the Great Hall out of sweets doesn’t really count.”
***
“Alright now we just have to find copies of the Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2,” Rex read off his list as Anakin juggled two stacks of books.
“We’re going to spend all this money on books we won’t even want to read,” Anakin complained as he tripped over his own feet and the books went sliding across the floor.
“Bloody hell,” Rex sighed, bending down to help Anakin pick them up.
“Hey what’s this?” Anakin picked up a faded and incredibly yellowed journal-styled book. Rex took it from him and inspected the front and back and then flipped through the pages.
“Doesn’t look like much, mate,” He shrugged, “It’s likely a magilingist’s journal,” At Anakin’s confused look he clarified as he tucked the book back into a shelf at random, “They travel around studying other languages of magic. There’s not much of a market for it, but there are usually a few copies created.”
“So there are different types of magic?” Anakin asked as he stood again, this time letting Rex carry his own stack.
“Yes and no,” Rex clarified, “There are debates about it, but all magic seems to connect at its core. There are different ways to use magic however. England sure isn’t the only country with magic.”
“So are there other magic schools?” Anakin asked as Rex beelined towards the charm’s textbooks.
“Yeah, Hogwarts has been known to do events with some of the European schools like Beauxbaton, which is in France,” Rex answered as he dropped the rather heavy grade 2 textbook into Anakin’s unexpecting arms.
“Oof!” Anakin wavered, but managed not to drop the books again, “Does the French school learn different spells then? Are they all in French?”
“I think they're Latin based like us,” Rex shrugged around his books, ��If you’re so interested maybe you should buy that journal.”
“More reading? No thanks!” Anakin laughed, “I want to save any extra sickles for some sweets from Sugarplum’s.”
“Maybe save it for the trolley witch,” Rex suggested, “It’s a long train ride.”
***
“Ben, is this any good?” Satine held up what she could only assume to be some sort of Wizard romance novel.
“Do you really expect me to have read all these books already?” He asked her exasperated, but still he looked at the cover and cringed, “Get this one instead,” He pulled a different book from above his head and handed it down to her. It seemed to be a romance between a wizard and a mermaid if the cover art was to be trusted.
“It’s bad enough we have to buy textbooks,” Cody complained as he leaned against the shelf between them, “But why must we shop for additional books?”
“Because-” Satine began, but Cody didn’t even let her finish before groaning dramatically and sinking to the floor.
“Ok, ok! I know! But why am I here?” Satine looked down at him and tapped him lightly on the head with the novel.
“Because, we need someone who can reach the top shelf and it certainly isn’t going to be Ben.”
“Excuse me, I can reach!” Ben was looking at her with a rather offended expression, but there was something about his disposition that made her laugh. Maybe it was because he looked like the youngest professor ever with his sweater vest and slacks combo.
“You’re hardly going to be as tall as Qui-Gon,” She shrugged.
“Maybe I will!” He yanked out a book with more force than was necessary and almost stumbled backwards, “I’m certainly taller than you!”
“Yes, and?” Satine raised an eyebrow, “You’re still shorter than Cody.”
“Magic!” Ben spat out suddenly, “We’re wizards, we can use magic to reach the top shelf.”
“That’s a fair point actually,” Cody perked up, “So I’ll just leave and-”
“Don’t you dare,” Satine pointed a finger at him, “We’re almost done here. I don’t want to hunt you down again.”
“Hunt me down? You’re the one who left me to find him,” Cody jabbed a thumb at Ben.
“I didn’t want him to get lost!” Satine tried, her cheeks felt a little too warm so she turned swiftly and pulled another book at random.
“I’m certain, Mr. Pureblood here, is not about to get lost in Diagon Alley,” Cody teased.
“Certainly not,” Ben sided with Cody.
“Ok we’re done here,” Satine set off towards the register, “I’m in need of a butterbeer before we meet up with Anakin and Rex.”
“Why on earth would she think I’d be lost?” She overheard Ben murmur to Cody and she felt her cheeks practically glow as Cody responded.
“She didn’t, she just missed you,” Cody chuckled.
It took little time to check out and then books were deposited in their respective bags, all enchanted to hold many things and weigh almost nothing. The sun was edging towards late afternoon, but still shone brightly off the silver barrel of the butterbeer store.
“Oh, Satine look,” Ben pointed out with a smile, “I’ve never really noticed that it’s referencing the Fountain of Fair Fortune, just like our Halloween ensemble,” Satine was caught up in his expression and the sound of her rapidly beating heart. She found herself unable to respond for a couple seconds.
“Ah, yes, I- I’ve not noticed that before either,” She hid the stumble in her speech with a cough.
“It’s a much better connotation now,” Ben said and she felt Cody’s eyes flick between the two of them, “Since I know the real story.”
“Yes, no muggle murder here,” Satine tried to give him a smile rather than choke on her memories of that night.
“Quite excellent,” He pondered the sign once more, “Let’s go in shall we?”
***
“You got Butterbeer without us?” Rex was much more offended than Anakin, though he craved trying the famed drink.
“You weren’t around,” Cody shrugged as he drank the last bit of his before Rex could yank it from his hands.
“It’s still a little sweeter than I expect,” Satine commented, “I’m surprised every time.”
“It’s wonderful,” Obi-Wan looked extremely pleased at the thought, his own glass sat empty in front of him.
“That’s because of your incessant sweet tooth,” Satine complained though she slid the last bit of hers over to him anyways.
“There’s still time don’t you think?” Rex pleaded, “Can’t I get one to go?”
“Sorry little bro,” Cody shrugged, “Hevy expects us back in about 5 minutes and if we’re not there you know he’ll come searching. Plus we gotta stop by Quality Quidditch Supplies on the way out.”
“I must be off too,” Obi-Wan lamented. He finished off Satine’s drink as she watched him just a little too closely, “My parents do expect me to be home for dinner.”
“Don’t worry, Rex,” Anakin whispered, though maybe a little too loudly, “We’ll find a way when we get to school.”
“I rather hope you’re not planning to sneak into Hogsmeade in front of two prefects,” Obi-Wan frowned. Yes, he’d definitely whispered too loudly.
“Of course not, Obi-Wan,” Anakin gave him a very serious look, “I’d never break the rules.”
“That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard,” Cody laughed before standing up, “Well, Kenobi, Satine, I’ll see you lot on the train.”
“Likewise,” Obi-Wan stood nodding to Cody and Satine, before sticking Anakin with a stare, “Do be on time.”
“I’m not going to miss the train Obi-Wan,” Anakin rolled his eyes.
“See ya, Anakin!” Rex waved as they departed leaving Anakin alone with Satine.
“I suppose we should head out as well,” Satine nodded towards the wall as she stood.
“This place is so cool,” Anakin took one last look around, “I almost never want to leave!”
“I had the same feeling coming here the first few times,” A nostalgic look fell across her face, “I suppose in a way that feeling never leaves. It’s not the same way of seeing things as Ben or the Clones.”
Even if Anakin had grown up with such sights, he wasn’t sure he’d ever run out of things to look at. Still he watched the wall fall closed behind him with a sigh and followed Satine through the Leaky Cauldron. The customer base seemed to be growing as it reached sundown, but they paid him little mind, more interested in their drinks this go around.
“Ani,” His mum waved at him from the street corner just outside of the door. He ran to her with a smile, “Did you get all your things?” He nodded.
“Yep, I’m ready to go!” Grabbing his mum’s hand they set off.
#the clone wars#anakin skywalker#obi-wan kenobi#obitine#anidala#star wars#harry potter au#magical forces au#YEAR 2 BABY!!!!
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Listened to Logan’s playlist, so naturally, had to write some angst because oh boy does he need some love. I might write a follow up to this, if you guys want one, let me know!
AO3
Next
...
“Logan.” He startles at the voice. He hadn’t heard anyone knock, hadn’t heard the door open, though it must have.
He's sitting at his desk, papers stacked and sorted neatly, the schedule in front of him, which he is comparing to the calendar on his computer, compiling the two, making sure all birthdays and holidays are listed, all social events and commitments and activities and work sessions are allotted time. Trying to make Thomas's schedule line up with their schedule, so the best suited to handle each potential situation is on hand should they be needed.
It’s a headache and a nightmare but it’s his job, and he doesn’t mind it, truly. Finds it to be like a complex puzzle, rearranging and reworking the pieces until they snap together with a satisfying click.
But he finds himself wondering more and more one simple question: why?
Why keep making a schedule that will inevitably and always be tossed out the window? Why make and arrange plans when they will never be followed through on? Why keep speaking if no one is listening, why keep showing up if nobody cares, why is he needed at all?
He isn’t, is the simple answer. The logical answer. So why does it hurt, to think of himself as unwanted, unnecessary, unneeded? He doesn’t have emotions. He doesn’t care. He is logic, he is a robot, he has always been a cold amalgamation of science and fact and blunt objectivism.
A heart can’t break if it doesn’t exist to begin with.
“Logan-"
“What?” He snaps, not looking up from his work, one hand rubbing his temple, the other tapping a pen against his chin idly in thought. “I have work to do, Deceit.” His eyes are blurring and he doesn’t think he’s actually comprehended what he’s looking at for the past five minutes, but it isn’t a lie. He has work to do.
“You need rest. It can wait.” Deceit's voice is soft, inviting, but he shakes his head, regretting it as it starts to dully throb.
“I’ll finish this then go to bed.” He replies, not even sure what he’s saying.
“Logan, it can wait. You’re going to have to redo it in a few days, anyway.” He knows this. Knows that they will ignore the schedule, then wonder why they’re behind on work, and then he would be blamed and have to remake the schedule to fit everything in at the last minute until it became a hurried scramble to get it all finished and he’d be told to plan better next time. This is a fact.
So why does Deceit saying it so casually, admitting out loud that his work means nothing, why does it hurt? He slams the planner shut.
“yes, thank you for enlightening me, Deceit. I already know that my work is extraneous, but I just really needed someone to point out how stupidly useless it is tonight.” He doesn’t know where this angry, heated, bitterness is coming from, but it burns on his tongue and sets his stomach churning as he glares at Deceit, who looks taken aback.
“if you would like to inform me on the proper use of the word infinitesimal or give me flash cards that I try to use to better relate to the others but only succeed in inducing mockery, that would be greatly appreciated. Otherwise, I am not in the mood for your company." His head is pounding now, and Deceit is looking at him with complete shock, and he can’t stand this anymore.
“Logan, please-" Deceit reaches out, and he chokes back a bitter laugh, because of course Dee would be the only one who even cared to notice.
“go.” He says lowly, almost a growl. Deceit hesitates. “Go!” he yells, loud and choked and fierce, and Deceit does, fleeing out the door in the face of his anger, which vanishes as quick as it came.
He locks the door, sliding down to the floor, instantly overtaken by sobs as he buries his head in his arms, shaking from the force of them, wheezing as each sob only makes his head pound more, his vision blur and spots dance behind his eyelids, which makes him sob harder, which makes the pain grow. A vicious cycle, which he can’t seem to stop.
Somehow, he manages to crawl his way to the bathroom, making it to the toilet before he throws up, hot tears tracking down his face as he spits the last of the sour bile. His head is resting weakly against the toilet seat, the cool rim balm to his aching, pounding head.
The light is so bright, but he doesn’t have the strength to move to shut it off, the throbbing behind his eyes pounding in time with his pulse, spots of white jumping through his vision as he groans, throwing an arm over his head to block out what he can.
Least listened to. Least appreciated. Least needed. Least loved.
The truths eat at his heart, cloying decay in his chest, acid in his brain because what is the point of even trying? If no one wanted him at his very best, certainly no one would ever want him now.
His head is heavy as the weight of the sun, swimming with stars and explosions of dark light that popped with agony and sends him gasping as his stomach churns. He barely notices the tears anymore, the exhaustion sweeping through him too much to resist, the emotions swirling through him too loud, and he is all too willing to let his mind shut down, if only for a few hours, so he doesn’t have to feel anymore. He wishes he never had to feel, period.
“I can do that.” He doesn’t even have the capability of surprise anymore as gray streaked hair and electric green eyes come into view. “I can help.”
He nods, too tired to do anything else, weakly reaching out a hand. Remus takes it, gently running his thumb over his knuckles, before lifting it to his lips, kissing it tenderly.
Logan gasps, feeling… nothing, as everything drains from him. All the hurt and doubt and pain and loathing fades to absolutely nothing, leaving him empty and numb and his mind blessedly absently silent.
“oh, Lolo.” Remus whispers, all the negativity and bad thoughts he’s absorbed from Logan cycling through his mind, and he feels the sting and pain of every one of them as if they were his own, the price of taking them to begin with.
They make him want to tear out his intestine or jam pencils in his eyes or dig and dig and dig in his ears until he reaches his brain and can pull it out one gooey piece at a time, but he doesn’t. He sits, shaking with the effort of not until it passes, and he can focus on Logan, who had so much negativity in that pretty head of his that there had been no room for anything good, as evidenced by his empty, glassy eyed stare, eyes open and unseeing.
“come on, Polaris. Let’s get you taken care of.” He murmurs, pushing back Logan's hair, wincing at the heat of his forehead. Carefully, he scoops Logan up in his arms. Logan doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, and that worries him more than anything. “Go to sleep, starry night. Everything'll be better in the morning.” Logan's eyes slip closed without more coaxing, limp in his arms. He presses a soft kiss to Logan's forehead, finally getting a response as Logan lets out a soft sigh, head tilting so it rests in the crook of his elbow.
...
He wakes slowly, head pounding, feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton. He tries to move, but the slightest shift sends nausea flipping through his stomach, and he retches, barely feeling someone help him sit up, holding a pail under him. His stomach is empty, but it still takes his body a few long minutes to realize it and stop its violent upheaval.
After a long moment, be slumps back into whoever's arms are supporting him, squeezing his eyes shut against the too bright noise of the room, trying to ignore the shaky tears on his face. He still feels numb, mind a bit fuzzed and unfocused, and he shivers despite the warmth he can feel around him, it isn’t enough.
“Here, starlight. Can you drink something for me?” Someone presses a cup into his shaky hands, helping him raise it to his lips. He manages a few shaky sips before his stomach protests and he shoves the cup away, not wanting another round of pain. He trembles, feeling himself pulled closer to the warmth supporting him. Without thinking, he buries his face against it with a wordless whimper, that movement making his head spin and pulse harder, his hands fisting fabric, squeezing in a futile effort to make the world stop rotating. He feels someone gently running a hand up and down his back, someone crooning softly, gentle pressure as someone rests their head atop his, pressing soft kisses against his hair.
“remus?” he slurs, finally recognizing that voice now that the world was barely wobbling, the darkness of Remus's shirt against his closed lids a blessed relief from the too loud light.
“Shhh. I’ve got you, polaris.” His tongue feels thick and dry, but he forces it to work.
“Polaris?” he hears Remus chuckle softly, a hand brushing back his hair.
“That’s the north star, isn't it? The guiding light in the oceans and oceans of space?” Logan murmurs an affirmative, barely lucid.
“Well, that’s what you are, to me. Steady. Dependable. When everything is too much and too loud, you give me balance. You’re my guiding light, Logan. My Polaris.” Remus murmurs gently, not minding the wet spot he can feel growing on his shirt, instead continuing to rub Logan's back, murmur softly, until he falls back into an exhausted sleep.
Remus looks up as the door quietly opens just enough for Deceit to slip through, closing it quietly behind him.
“Any better?” he asks lowly, frowning as he sits on the bed beside Remus, Logan curled against him, practically on his lap. Remus shakes his head, eyes clouded with worry.
“he woke up for just a bit. Hurled again. Fever's holding steady. Isn’t any worse, at least. Got him to drink a bit of water. He knew it was me and didn’t flip out, so I think we’re good on that account.” Deceit nods, running a hand through his curly, disheveled hair for the thousandth time, wincing as he pulls a knot.
“If we can get some food in him, we could give him a dose of Benadryl, but not on an empty stomach like this, it’d just make it worse. I… gods, what do we do?” he breathes out, tucking another blanket around Logan.
“This. This is what he needs.” Remus answers, looking down at Logan. “I felt it, dee. There was so much. It’s still rattling around up here.” Remus taps his head, biting his lip. “It still hurts, Dee.” Deceit softens, honey eyes meeting Remus's.
“I know. Can I?” he asks, holding open his arms. Remus smiles, carefully shifting Logan out of his lap, the soft sound of protest quickly dying as he is settled against Deceit, who cradles him with all six arms, holding him, rubbing his back, teasing through his hair, stroking his cheek. Logan leans into it all, every touch eliciting a small sigh of happiness, a small breath of relief until the logical side has practically melted against him, as if he hasn’t felt touch in years.
Remus wraps an arm around Dee, holding him as he holds Logan, encasing the two of them in warmth.
“he feels useless, Dee. Unwanted. Unneeded.”
“I know. And we will show him otherwise.” Comes the fervent reply, as Logan stirs uneasily in his sleep.
...
He's not sure he's awake, at first. It’s warm. Cozily warm, and soft and he lets out a small breath as he shifts closer into the warmth, relieved as the world stays stationary, his head barely pounds.
“Logan?” Deceit, he’s being held by Deceit.
“I’m sorry. For yelling at you. I didn’t mean to, I-"
“I know, dearie, it’s ok. Why didn’t you tell anyone you were so sick?” Deceit's hand is carding through his hair, and it feels so good, it’s hard to focus on anything else.
“It was neither important or relevant.” He hears Deceit hiss.
“You… Logan, you were nearly unconscious in the bathroom. You were burning up, you’ve been asleep or out of it for two days, how is that not important or relevant?” his voice is incredulous, and Logan looks up, puzzled.
“it is as you said. Any work I do the others immediately undo, anyways. My purpose is irrelevant. I am irrelevant. Being ill and out of commission for two days is of no consequence. It did not affect Thomas, correct?” he asks, bewildered at the soft horror on Deceit's face.
“No. That’s not true, Logan. I should know. It’s not nothing, not irrelevant. You scared us half to death. We need you. We love you.” He crumbles at the honesty on Deceit's face, and buries himself back against the side, shaking from the silent sobs.
“Did they notice? Did they even care? Did... did anyone try and check on me?” He stammers out, knowing the answer from the hesitation in Deceit’s reply. He feels a second pair of arms wrap around him, not Dee’s.
“I’m gone for five minutes, and you break him!” Remus mutters, practically suffocating him against Deceit’s shirt, but he doesn’t care.
“not his fault... was already broken.” he chokes out between teary gasps, and Remus hugs him tighter, nestling his head against his neck.
“You’re perfect. They’re the broken ones, if they can’t see that. If they can’t see how much you care, if they can’t see how hard you work, if they can’t see that you always, always give one hundred percent of yourself in everything that you do. If they don’t care about you as much as you care about them. If they won’t care for you like they should, I’m never letting go of you again. I’m never letting you feel that way again, Logan.” Remus is sniffling too, and Deceit lets out his extra arms, hugging both of them, kissing their heads.
“Remus is right. You are amazing, Logan. You should be told that more often, be shown that more often. I... you should never think that your existence is meaningless. You mean everything, sweetling.”
“i want to stay. I want to stay with both of you. I want... I want to be listened to, I want to be heard, I want to be appreciated, I don’t care if it’s selfish to want that, but that’s what I want.” he stammers breathlessly, oddly afraid that they will reject him for speaking his mind. When was the last time he said what he wanted out loud?
“It’s not selfish to need love and attention. It’s not selfish to work so hard and then want to share it. You can stay, right, Dee? He can stay?” Remus asks, desperation tinging his voice, because he can’t stand it if Logan has to go back and he has to feel all of that all over again.
“of course he can stay. If you’re sure that’s what you want, Logan. They won’t like it. They may be angry.” He points out. Logan lets out a breathy laugh.
“If they get angry at me leaving, they should have made it clearer they wanted me so badly. And if they blame you for it, I will quickly dissuade them of that notion. I am sure, Deceit. I know it will change things. I know it will change me. But I am sure.” He feels Deceit smile, pressing his lips to his forehead for a long, endless moment.
“alright, dearie. I’ll move your room. But later. Right now, you still need rest. I’m not taking a risk with your safety. I don’t know how much it will affect you, and you need to be at full strength before I move it.” His voice is soft and tender, and Remus squeals excitedly, rocking back and forth with Logan on his lap.
“We can be temporary roomies! I know you probably think I’m a slob, but everything is just as organized as your room! Can’t be storing the spleens with the livers, that just doesn’t work. And, how would I ever tell the blood bags apart if I didn’t sort them properly? I mean, sure, I can taste test, but that’s just a waste of resources if I need to do it every time. And sometimes the positives and negatives are so hard to tell apart, such a nuanced taste.” Remus is surprised as Logan laughs, leaning back against him, looking up at him with teary, happy eyes, a small smile on his lips.
“I wouldn’t mind that. It does sound like you have some rather fascinating experiments going on. I would love to help you compile your data and take notes. I have a feeling you are more interested in the action than the results.” Remus squeals higher, at a practically inaudible level of joy.
“HE WANTS TO HELP! DEE, HE DOESN’T THINK I’M GROSS!” Deceit rolls his eyes.
“So I gathered. I get the feeling you’re going to have a lot of work on your hands, Logan.” He teases gently, Logan’s small smile easing the worry in his chest, untying some of the knots there. He can tell Logan is going to be ok, eventually, now. Remus already adored him, had always loved Logan for never shying away from his thoughts or words, answering all his lewd questions honesty and with thought. Remus would fight tooth and nail to make sure Logan never doubts his worth, never feels unloved. Remus knows well enough how that feels to not wish it on anyone else.
And he understood Logan, himself. He understood doing hard work and being unappreciated, unwanted, unneeded. He knew how hard it was to bottle that all up, to keep going despite it, to get up day after day when you had no one who cared.
But they do. And Logan is here now. And Deceit will make sure he is happy and loved and needed and wanted and knows it, no matter what. No matter what Logan does or doesn’t become. He can imagine, what it will be. But he won’t worry now, not when Logan is smiling and happy and snuggling back against his chest, Remus snuggling tight on his other side. He embraces his two boys, gently wiping the tears away from Logan’s face, the side already starting to drift back to sleep, Remus clinging to him, petting his hair as head slumps against Dee’s shoulder.
“Poor baby, still exhausted. He really needs to eat something, next time he wakes. God knows when the last time he actually slept was.” Deceit murmured, continuing to stroke Logan’s cheek, sensing how badly he needed the contact.
“He’s coming off it. I think he just needs to sleep off the last of it, and he’ll be alright. He’s already better, Dee. So much better.” Remus answers, and he knows that Remus isn’t just talking about Logan’s illness.
“Yes. And we will make sure it only continues to get better from here.”
#sanders sides#logan sanders#logan angst#deceit sanders#remus sanders#emotional hurt/comfort#sickfic#sympathetic deceit#sympathetic remus#protective dark sides#angst with a happy ending#pre dark side logan
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@bionic-jedi is the only valid person on this whole platform!
have some ahsoka, light angst, and physics :>
She hadn’t even known the moon’s name. Of all the things she could remember about that moon, its name was the least important. She’d left everything behind there, from name to lightsabers.
Ahsoka shook her head and walked a bit closer to Coruscant, stars and hyperspace lanes flickering in her path.
A moon made of ice and rock, above a blue-white planet. Single star, main sequence—which cut out most of the stars in the galaxy.
Still, there were hundreds of candidates.
Ahsoka closed her eyes and reached out through the Force. Felt the stars of the hologram on her skin like rain, humming with energy. The galaxy flowed through her hands, its currents guiding her to one point of light.
When she opened her eyes, she held a planet between her hands, a name blinking in blue above the north pole—Eris, with one moon. Keres.
She wasn’t an expert, but she knew that no matter how much things changed, the light that touched them would travel through space, to other solar systems and beyond. A star gone supernova could still be seen from far enough away, shining like nothing was wrong.
With a fast enough ship, the light from the stars could turn into a time machine. All she had to do was look.
—
“I will admit, it’s been some time since a student such as yourself expressed an interest in the telescope. It’s left the domain of the physicists and entered the realm of the archaeologists, if you catch my drift.” The Kel Dor curator patted the side of the enormous telescope fondly.
“Sometimes, the simplest tool is the best one for the job,” she lied. “I won’t be long.” In her pocket, she could practically feel her timer ticking down. She’d done so much math for this, waited for just the right time on just the right planet.
“It’ll be good to be useful again,” the Kel Dor commented, mostly to the telescope. “Well, do let me know if you need anything. I’m always ready to lend a hand.”
“Yes, I will, thank you.” Ahsoka’s montrals itched with impatience as the old Kel Dor fussed over the telescope. “Thank you!”
Once the curator had left, she sat down at the telescope’s controls.
“Oh, boy.”
She frowned down at the actual physical keyboard and poked at one of the black squares. Nothing happened, so she poked harder. The key gave a little click, and an aurek appeared on the screen. It took a bit to get the hang of pressing down on the keys, not just tapping them, but she entered in the coordinates to Keres easily.
The telescope whirred to life, mechanical parts rotating to point towards the western sky. Part of the observatory slid away to reveal the dark sky of Trion and all its glittering stars, and the timer in Ahsoka’s pocket ticked towards zero.
There was really no reason to be here at all. The planet itself was forgettable, no resources or strategic importance.
“What am I doing? What am I doing...” She shook her head and looked through the eyepiece.
It took a moment for the telescope to focus, but even blurry, she knew the outline of the Tribunal. Things had already gone wrong by the time they arrived in the Eris system.
The Tribunal hadn’t even hit the moon’s atmosphere before she bit down hard on her lip, eyes burning as she turned the telescope off. She tasted smoke, scorched electronics, that mass-produced soap used on the clones’ blacks, felt the weight of lost sabers in her hands. Felt Rex beside her, his hands shaking as he aimed a blaster at Jesse—
Ahsoka stood up and turned away, scrubbing at her eyes.
This wasn’t real. Ancient history. A cosmic echo.
She stepped outside, Trion’s cold night air turning her breath to frost. The stars above burned, too far away to feel. Ancient people had looked up at them and seen something—gods, legends, hope.
Ahsoka walked back to her ship and didn’t look up once.
#star wars#ahsoka tano#tcw#editing? i dont know her#writing? also don't know her#heavy-handed greek mythology references? now there's a gal i can party with
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Touch (Laurel/Nyssa; T) - earth-44
Ships: Laurel/Nyssa
Summary: Laurel and Nyssa. Dinah and Amina. Green Arrow and the Black Canary. Daredevil and the Black Sky. The Flash and Vibe.
Across the multiverse, they go by many names, surrounded by different people at different times in their lives. But there is one golden link between the Dinah Laurel Lances and Nyssa Raatkos across the infinite earths - that they always find each other. And every time, their story starts with a single touch.
A/N: As I recently watched The Old Guard, I was inspired by the dynamic between Joe and Nicky and immediately dreamed up (as I so often do) a Lauryssa AU for those characters. So here is a little bit of it - and then there will be an expansion of that story as a separate fic, to come sometime soon I hope as it’s half-finished.
Read at AO3
Earth-44
(In which Laurel and Nyssa are immortals who have been together for a thousand years fighting righteous battles side by side as part of an army, a la Nicolo di Genova and Yusuf al-Kaysani in The Old Guard.)
The chains cut coldly on Laurel's wrists, drawing blood, but she barely noticed as she continued to struggle against them. She had eyes only for Nyssa. Even after an eternity of witnessing the love of her life die and come back, Laurel could not bear to even contemplate a world without Nyssa in it.
There were questions, vague and half-formed in her mind, about why they were taken, where the others were, particularly their newest recruit, Sarah Diggle, for whom Laurel and Nyssa already felt responsible.
Laurel wanted to know who these soldiers around them were, where they were going - and, of course, the age-old question about whether they had finally been caught, and if they would be put in a cage as a lab experiment.
But at the forefront of Laurel's thoughts was what lay before her, and that was her beloved, her partner, and her soulmate. Nyssa was sprawled on her front, having been shot when attempting to escape her restraints, and even now as Laurel's eyes moved down further, she winced at the sight of Nyssa’s lifeless body.
This was always the worst part. While Laurel and Nyssa were hardly strangers to immortality and its secrets, no amount of dying could make Laurel used to the agonising seconds and minutes before Nyssa finally gasped back to life. And the hard truth was that despite Nyssa's words that she would always come back, they both knew this was impossible to predict. Their immortality would run out one day, and every time they got caught in the crosshairs of another enemy, Laurel wondered if today was it.
"Nyssa," she whispered, feeling a surge of anger not at the tears that stung in her eyes but that one of the soldiers - a square-jawed blond man - was eyeing her closely. "Nyssa, habibti - wake up."
But Nyssa was still motionless in the armoured van. The soldiers had shot her squarely in the back, but that had been minutes ago, surely. She should have awakened by now. Unless…
"Ya Nyssa!" Laurel cried, louder this time, and the blond soldier grabbed her by the shoulders roughly.
"Oi. Shut up!"
Laurel just ignored him, reaching out despite her restraints to touch Nyssa's cheek. "Nyssa, please. It's me, habibti. Wake up!"
"I just told you to shut the fuck up!" the soldier barked.
"Or what?" Laurel shot back. "You can kill me too if you want. I’ll just come back, and make no mistake - I'll be angrier." The guard spluttered at that, unable to form anything coherent in reply, and Laurel went back to shaking Nyssa in an effort to rouse her. "Come back to me, my love. Please." For good measure, Laurel blessed herself and said a silent prayer, and somehow, miraculously, someone upstairs seemed to have heard her, because Nyssa then started coughing.
Automatically Laurel looked up at the heavens above - obscured, of course, by the armoured ceiling of the van, which should have made it less poetic - and thanked every deity she could name in her head. There was blood in Nyssa's hair as Laurel stroked it tenderly, leaning forward so her forehead touched the crown of her beloved.
"Are you okay?" Laurel asked softly in Arabic.
"I think so," Nyssa replied, also in Arabic, before switching loudly to English. "Very pissed off, though."
"As am I," Laurel said, glowering at the blond soldier. She softened, though, in an instant when Nyssa squeezed Laurel’s hand. "I'm just glad I didn't lose you. They shot you."
"You will never lose me, hayati. And I'm fine." Nyssa groaned in pain as she lifted her shirt and the two bullets that had temporarily stymied Nyssa popped out and rolled onto the floor. Laurel could see the exit wound knitting, just under Nyssa's ribcage, and she winced. As she did so, though, she could sense the blond soldier's leer before she saw it.
"Aw, are you two together or something? Is she your girlfriend?"
Nyssa just rolled her eyes, letting out a faint sigh of fatigue and exasperation as another soldier then joined in. They knew what was going to come next - Laurel and Nyssa had been together for over a thousand years, but one thing that had worsened, rather than gotten better, was the way the world saw them.
"Feel free to make out in front of us. Always found that hot."
"To call you childish would be an insult - " Laurel snapped, "- to children, that is. You speak like prepubescent boys guided by nothing but the pathetic newfound stirring of your loins. You could not even begin to fathom with your simple mind the depths of love I have for this woman. You lack the maturity to understand how her very breath awakens my faith and her smile strengthens my soul, that even after centuries together I fall in love with her more every single day. She is not my girlfriend, little boy. She is my moral compass, my north star, my guiding light when I am lost."
"And your wife," Nyssa added helpfully and Laurel almost forgot her anger for a moment as she automatically smiled. Nyssa had a way of doing that, of tempering the storm of emotions raging in Laurel's head at the best of times.
“Yes,” Laurel said. “And she is my wife.”
Slowly, the soldier crouched down so his face was uncomfortably close to Laurel’s. “So you’ve joined the twenty-first century. Congratulations. Why the fuck should I care about that?”
Laurel did not even flinch. "Because if you so much as touch a hair on her head, you will find out just how much." For good measure, she headbutted the man, with such force that he was knocked onto his back, his head hitting the van floor with a satisfying thump.
"Ralph!" one of the other soldiers yelped, immediately going to his aid.
"He does look like a Ralph, doesn't he?" Laurel observed.
“Yeah. I think he does,” Nyssa said after a moment. “That was nice, though.”
Laurel smiled. “Yeah?”
"Indeed, my love. Romance and stamina?” Nyssa said teasingly, her chained hand going behind Laurel’s neck to pull her wife towards her. “You must save some for the rest of us, dearest." And despite their circumstances Laurel laughed.
"What do you think, Nyssa?" Laurel asked quietly. "Do you think this could be like Marrakech in '67?"
Nyssa smiled back. "You read my mind." She waited, then leaned in as if to kiss Laurel, but at the last second they both moved so quickly the soldiers didn't even have a chance to think, let alone raise their guns. With her chained hands Laurel got a hold of the two soldiers nearest her while kneeing a third between the legs. She knew from the crunching sound she heard that Nyssa had probably broken some bones, and as Laurel caught sight of Ralph feebly stirring a few feet away, she kicked his face for good measure.
Then and only then did Laurel pull Nyssa towards her for a kiss, and she sighed contentedly in her wife's mouth.
"Keys?" Laurel asked, and Nyssa shook her head. The two of them rifled through the soldiers' pockets just to be sure, but they came up with nothing. "Shit.”
“It seems we are out of luck. They must have locked us in from the inside. We must simply await our fate, habibti."
“I hate doing that,” Laurel muttered.
"I know you do, hayati, but we are out of options."
Laurel looked up, met her wife's eyes. "How are you always able to stay so enduringly patient?"
Nyssa smiled back. "Why, from centuries of practice, of course."
As if on cue, the van ground to a halt, and when the doors opened by yet more soldiers, Ralph’s unconscious body rolled out with a thump.
Laurel cleared her throat. “Any chance you motherfuckers can get these chains off us?”
"Perhaps don't lead with that, my heart," Nyssa said, but it wasn't with a lot of conviction and she was unsurprised when the soldiers ignored her words and dragged her to her feet. Next to her, they were doing the same with Laurel.
"Habibti, I love you, but you know playing nice isn't going to get us anywhere," Laurel said, annoyance laced into her tone from how the men were gripping her shoulders with far more force than necessary.
"True. We are usually better judges of character," Nyssa said, speaking now to the woman who had orchestrated this whole fiasco - Amanda Waller.
Waller didn't reply, just glowered back at Nyssa.
"It's a nice plane, Amanda," Laurel said, as Nyssa was frogmarched onto the plane waiting for them.
"There's a TV, Laurel!" Nyssa called over her shoulder, and Laurel couldn't suppress her laugh if she wanted to.
"Ooh! Any champagne?" Laurel asked, her heart soaring when the words elicited a laugh from her love.
Her smile was short-lived, though, as Waller brought up the rear and the plane door closed behind them. This was Laurel's second worst fear come true, of capture and inevitable experimentation, and she wondered if it would lead to her greatest fear of all - that she would be separated eternally from her beloved.
She closed her eyes, as she was being strapped onto the seat of the plane next to her wife. The restraints around her ankles were unnecessarily tight and Laurel could barely move her wrists, but in that moment she felt the gentle press of a single finger hooking around one of hers. It was Nyssa, reassuring her through the tiniest touch that she was there, that she was okay, that they would be, and Laurel wanted so badly to seize Nyssa's hand and kiss it, but she couldn't.
So instead, she squeezed her wife's finger in return, and then murmured the prayer that she hoped was sent up to the heavens, for the two of them to emerge from this intact and together.
Tagging: @skydisneylover @stungunmilly2 @mewis-sisters @therewas-a-girl @bulbasaurfan93 @nyssalance @istanlena @abbyscameron @nyxxyn22 @ineedhelp25fan @theolivekiddo @me-and-sweatpants @rainboisland
#laurel x nyssa#lauryssa#black assassin#laurel lance#nyssa al ghul#arrow#the old guard au#the old guard#arrow fanfiction#mine#my fic#homophobia tw#fic: touch
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PINK + WHITE.
—chapter eight ; the flapper girl.
summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.
pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby
tags in this chapter: swearing, drinking
[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]
“TERESA, would it kill ya to quit staring at me? I'm tryna do my work here." He fumbles for the ballpoint pen that fell out of his shaky hand. Even when his eyes were down, he still felt hers following his every move when he picked up certain sheets, watching his lips curl when he read a sentence on a report from his father, or just overthinking if Teresa was judging his appearance. There's nothing on my chin, is there? Food in my teeth?
"Am I making the Italian mafioso Luca Changretta nervous?" Teresa leaned over the desk to trail her finger down Luca's chest where she could tease him by gripping the line of his blazer and rip the buttons off. "The same Italian mafioso that got some amateur in Los Angeles to beg on his knees?"
Luca didn't look up from his work. "He was trying to be sneaky and spent nearly a hundred dollars worth of gin for his mistress."
"Is that something you would do? Spend every dime to make his mistress happy?"
"I spend money on myself, to make myself look and feel good, some for business and for special occasions. But I also save," Luca glanced at her, mostly at her cleavage. "And you're not my mistress. I'm not even married. My mother wonders when I'm ever gonna tie the knot with a woman back home." Luca sighs and takes a break, resting his head for a moment. He grunts, rubbing his temple.
"Want me to take over?"
"No," Luca pulls her closer, using his other hand to set his folders to the side so carelessly. "Come here."
She obeys, allowing him to lift her up and carry her on top of his desk.
Luca kisses her. "Ciao, bella," he whispers to her. He kept going, making his way into the sensitive spot of Teresa's neck, his lips pressing against it so gently.
Teresa chuckles, feeling his hand run up her dress. "Who are you? Dracula?"
"Hm?"
"I mean you sort of look like him. You're about to drain the blood out of my neck, so you need me to be in the right position."
"Dracula draining the blood from a flapper girl, eh?"
The sounds of knocking on the heavy wooden doors made Teresa hop off the desk, thinking it was one of his men, or even his mother. She wouldn't contain the embarrassment of being affectionate and intimate with someone's son. It could possibly be the maids, but not the same ones from the hotel Luca stayed at. He fancied staying at a manor his father bought somewhere up north, his family members occupying the other rooms just a few ways down, but just spacious enough for everyone, even for a Welsh named Teresa.
Luca clears his throat and turns the knob. The servers come in with the trolley cart of a decanter and two glasses. "You ordered whiskey, Sir?"
The Italian watched the servers roll in the bar cart and nodded at him before shutting the door on their way out. "You like whiskey, amore?"
"Love all kinds of poison." Teresa walked over to the cart, picking up the vessel. She lifts the glass lid and brings it to her nose to let in a good smell. "Rich, like you."
Luca scoffs. "Yeah, if you drink out of that decanter, you'll become a part of us."
Teresa scoffs back.
"What? Teresa, becoming a soldier was like striking gold."
"I'd rather stay here and sit in the gardens, or walk around this palace wearing only my stockings."
Luca shrugged, imagining the erotic sight. It's happened before and he experienced it first-hand. "I bought you those stockings," he comments, staring down at her legs.
"I'll become a part of your family when the cows come home."
"Oh, come on! Don't gimme that. My family likes you."
"Seriously?" Teresa makes a face at him, and he responds by rolling his eyes.
"Okay, maybe it'll take some time."
"Your mother called me a brazen hussy the other day. Like what you said, she wants you to marry a woman in New York. She's mentioned a name, the woman is close with your family and she often visits at dinner parties? She came to the wedding." Teresa smirks. "She's Italian."
Luca grunts, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Viviana."
"Signora Viviana must be the whole package."
"We consider her family, but I can't imagine marrying her," Luca shook his head, pouring himself a glass of the whiskey. "Matteo would be crushed."
Teresa was already ahead of him, nearly downing the whiskey, ready for a refill. She brings the glass to her lips, about to take in the last sip. "Do you want to get married?"
"Someday."
Teresa nodded.
"When we were at my cousin's wedding, as best man, I watched two people who were so in love exchange vows. I really felt the love my cousin had for his wife that day. And I know one day that'll happen to me. I'll marry the most beautiful bride who is my whole world. I'll be able to wake up next to her and remember how she likes her coffee in the morning."
"She'll be the luckiest wife."
"I'll treat her like a diamond."
"She'll come around. I'm sure she's somewhere out there, searching for you. Hell, she could be right on your bloody nose," Teresa jokes.
Well to be fair, the woman named Viviana was right on Luca's nose for quite some time. She shared her beautiful smile with the family, and Luca did admire her, respected her when she paid her contribution to the family. She could be waiting for him to return home as of right now, and throw her arms around the Italian so they could spend a night drinking champagne on a balcony.
Yet, Luca didn't set his lust and attention on Viviana. Not even at his cousin's wedding. Luca was picky when it came to his preferences with people, that's part of being a Changretta. But there was someone he wished his mother showed at least some respect to, a woman whose eyes light up like stars whenever Luca says her name...
Yeah, he answered to himself, watching Teresa refill her glass from the whiskey decanter. Maybe I already found her.
TERESA ran her fingers through her head, thinking about what she told Finn the other day that made the young boy rush back to Small Heath before she could settle down for her lunch break, taking her words with him. The blinds that gaped in between to let in the last bit of afternoon sun into the dark room of her office gave out the blonde locks she styled for yet another casual day. Simply walking down each corridor and back to the departments was a way to wastefully tear down the strands to her cheeks as she kept her head down so carelessly.
See what happens when you open your mouth, 'Resa? She sighs, knowing that revealing her past love to be the man that's after the Peaky Blinders would either cause high tides between her and them, or maybe even her and Luca himself, or maybe more pestering phone calls from Tommy.
Luca. He's a malicious man, she couldn't deny that. He would get his way without an issue, and if someone had to object about that, if someone were to challenge a man with such high power, would they live to tell about it? She would hate having the idea of handing the one thing she has all to herself to a man who would gladly have paintings hung in his gigantic home. The Changretta family distributes gin in and out of America with the exception of handling Alfie Solomons' rum, anyways, so why would he want to claim an art gallery all the way in Wales?
The thought of Luca threatening to put a bullet through hers or any one of her loved ones' heads sent a chill in her body. Would Luca ever do that to her? Would the Italian ever have the thought of harming someone he had a past relationship with? Would he regret it?
What was even left of Teresa's loved ones, anyhow? She wasn't as close to her team to consider them family. Perhaps one time she scolded the manager for not realizing one of their employees smoked a cigar when the gallery has a strict no smoking indoors rule, but she couldn't live with the thought of having them indirectly killed by the New York mafia. Come to think of it, she didn't have anyone, which is just as disheartening as having someone to protect. Maybe if she never got her brother killed that day—
She walks out after setting her teacup in the tiny space left open on her desk. Normally she would hear distant chatters from the tour guides speaking to the guests, or just guests speaking among each other, talking about whatever piece they lay their gaze on. But she frowned when she noticed how empty the gallery was, except for maybe five guests. Given that it's still hours in the early afternoon. Why wasn't it busy?
Teresa approaches two guides, asking the question that swirled her head. "Where is everyone?"
"I believe the gallery is in need of an upgrade." One of the tour guides spoke out, a bit of nervousness in their voice to speak up on feedback to the owner.
"Was deco not enough?"
"Most of it has already been seen, Miss."
The Welsh shook her head. "What does that even mean? The people wanted to see deco, we gave them deco. I provided rum to the guests on the grand re-opening, I made sure this place is clean and shiny from every inch of every corner. How could this place already be dead? At this hour?"
The tour guides slightly shook their heads, shrugging.
Teresa sighs. "Fine. Have any of you seen Mason?"
Mason Miller was hired on the spot when his well pressed suit and love for Rococo struck admiration for Teresa. She saw her younger self in him, almost like she was looking in the mirror of the past. Someone at a young age so passionate, she needed him as extra help.
"With all due respect, Miss Griffith, there hasn't been enough—I would say razzle-dazzle, to the place. We have a lot to catch up on, or guests will yawn and find themselves out the exit."
"Mason, this is a gallery, not a circus." Teresa scratches her neck. "It's been days since the opening. Our blood, sweat and tears shouldn't be a one time thing and dropped down to rubbish."
Her assistant shrugs. "Well, these days people don't wake up and think about visiting a gallery, y'know? You can find art deco everywhere you go; fancy dinner parties, manors. It inspires what we wear on occasions."
Teresa stares at her desk. "If Luca Changretta were to ever own this gallery, would he fix this problem? Make the place go fucking bankrupt?"
"I'm sorry, w-who? Luca Ch..." Mason asks, skimming through his clipboard of names he might have missed pinpointing and scheduling a meeting with.
Teresa looked at her assistant, realizing she spoke out her thoughts. "It's nothing. You're dismissed."
"Thank you." He smiles to himself as he bid an exit out of her office for Teresa to be back with her thoughts. Her jaw clenched. I will not let my team down, and I will not give my gallery to a mafioso.
"Actually, Mason?" the young lad stepped foot inside again, peering in with his full attention on one odd request. "Luca Changretta, that's his name. I'd like for you to find where he is at the moment and set up an invitation via letter. Let me know when he responds at your earliest convenience."
"Miss...?"
She didn't stop rationalizing it. She even settled for it faster than deciding not to ally with the Peaky Blinders. Mason Miller stared awkwardly at his boss as she set her focus back on her notepad laid on her desk. "I'd like to meet up with Luca Changretta."
+ enjoy my scene edit above! my peaky blinders editing account is @/fcknshelbys via ig.
#pink+white#tommy shelby#luca changretta#luca changretta x oc#luca changretta fanfiction#luca changretta fanfic#peaky blinders fanfictio#peaky blinders#tommy shelby x oc
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christmas eve will find me, where the love light gleams. / honey & smoke - m.h. x OFC story
- One Week Later: Winter Break
Lucy's POV.
A White Christmas in White Plains. Running on two hours of sleep as the night before when my brother stayed in my room. Watching Christmas shows and singing along to all the carols. Anxiously waiting but falling asleep before we could hear the thuds of the sleigh on our rooftop. Hoping to hear the goodbyes of the bells jingling as Santa went on with his tight schedule.
Only to be woken up by my enthusiastic mother, her emerald green eyes shining like the green lights hanging in our living room. My eyes meeting the grays of outside. My nose meeting the tickle of her peppermint tea. Tenderly nudging us awake as Christmas had finally arrived. My dad peering into the room as his big arms wrapped around me. Scooping me up from my snug bed, my mother pulling Eric by the hand as the child in her led us to the excitement around the tree.
The ivory colored living room glistened in a parade of different colors. Red, green, pink and blue draped along the ceiling. Paper snowflakes, oddly shaped from my brother and I hanging from the ropes. Tinsel swirled in between, smiling at the reminisce of watching my mom and dad struggling to hang it all over the day after Thanksgiving.
Standing tall with five points in gold shining on the top to guide us home like the North Star. The multi-colored evergreen tree was adorned with different ornaments all over from when we decorated it the night before. Strings of colored beads and garlands hugging around it. Watching as the Lionel toy train road choo-chooed around the track on the snow-like tree skirt.
Exuberance running high. Oh's and ah's coming from Eric and I's jumpy voices as we opened all the things from our letters to Santa. Beaming from ear to ear as we talked the night before of all the things we hoped for. Were being eagerly unwrapped from pretty patterned paper.
I sat in front of the fireplace, my feet pretzel legged under me. In the new footies I got the night before. Patterned with unicorns and rainbows. Eric assumptions being right as I brushed the hair of my Lil Miss Magic. Watching the brush turn her from pink to purple to blonde in seconds. In a daze that it was in my hands in the first place.
Listening to the synthetic sounds of Eric's blue Gameboy that he asked for all year. Giggling as he lost to his game of Pokemon. Stuffing our faces with the fresh baked goods Santa failed to finish.
Looking over at my dad in his red flannel pajamas, complimented with a Santa hat to match his slight grey beard. Nodding off on the couch every once in a while, as early mornings caught up with him. Only for them to be woken up when my mother came in from the kitchen. The aroma from the pineapple glazed ham followed her from being prepared for dinner.
Taking a seat next to my dad, watching as the couch sunk as she relaxed. I found myself admiring my mom. Looking so pretty. Her long dark chocolate hair, hanging over her shoulder blade. Wearing this red long silky nightgown with a chunky white knit duster. Her smile glistening with the silver and golds in the room. Just before her lips met the brim of her oversized purple mug. Indulging in it all as we found Christmas to be our favorite holiday.
++
The resemblance of the gray overcast back home, peered through the windows in London. I woke up with that memory playing out in my mind. Closing my blue eyes as it clashed with the gray. Only to go back to remembering fifteen years ago like it was yesterday.
From the glowing excitement of our abundance of gifts and treats. How my brother let take a turn on his scooter that my mom gave up on telling him not to ride in the house. My heart beating so fast as I road around the couch. Feeling my heart suddenly warm up when my dad intertwined his fingers with hers. Muttering little 'I love you's' and sharing a kiss or two as the joy overlaid.
It was the first lesson I was giving in love. How it should feel, what it should look like. That you didn't need to just love one thing as everything around went and you felt it all at once. As long as that same warm feeling progressed inside you each time, you were in love.
I was beginning to feel this warmth again as chills overwhelmed the exposed skin where Matty's duvet missed.
I would've never known that one slipping glance and a misstep into a pool would land me here. Land me falling ever so hard into the depths of Matty. Completely symmetrical as he was so much more than just this boy persuading a mystery. A boy of rare perception when he spoke, only to realize how misleadingly radiant he was behind his dark disposition.
Focusing on where that gleamed feeling was coming from as he stood peering out the window. His dark chocolate curls slightly lax and napped from his neglect to brush them. Gazing as they frolicked, noticing how they were beginning to meet his shoulders. Shirtless in his famous black jeans below his back dimples. Smiling as I recalled the light pink markings on his back from the night before.
Observing as his muscles danced everytime his hand roused to his mouth. Smoke illuminating from those alluring lips I craved. Colliding with the dark roasted essence swirling into the airwaves from the mug in his hand. I was in awe with his stance. Unaware of my awaken presence in the room as it was my turn to commend.
Disappearing into my arrangement of thoughts. I hadn't realized that Matty had caught a glimpse of me staring till I heard the light clatter of his mug hitting his dresser. Putting out his cigarette in a glass of water.
"Morning," He smiled, then. "Did you sleep well?" As a little hum vibrated through my lips. Tilting my head against the pillow. Watching the rise and fall of his body as he dampened the mattress. Parting my legs with his knees. Crawling till his figuration was poised over me and a hand caressing over my jaw.
He pressed his lips to mine, "Last night was fun." He recalled, my reflecting in my mind as we laid on his bed in the early hours.
Laughing and carrying on as the alcohol consumed and the weed lightened the dark for us. Smoke and wine on our breath, stinging as my lips were still swollen. Eternally glowing down as I looked beyond to the wall that Matty had me pinned to. Remembering how it felt when I was a mess under his tender touch that held me, became raw and potent.
My body being extinguished of any lingering slumber as his lips rejuvenated my senses. Tingling my skin as they trailed down my jaw and to my neck. My lips falling open as they disclosed in a soft whimper sound. Feeling his own form into a heart before his brown eyes met mine.
"Round two, maybe?" He smirked, my cheeks mixing crimson on a empty palette. I sighed, longing for the matter to build again. Only time was catching up far too quickly.
I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling him slightly weigh into my palm at the touch. "We have to leave soon." I reminded, then. Today being the day I'd bring Matty home for all my family to meet. Soon stepping foot into New York on Christmas Eve.
I watched Matty's eyes fleet to the red lit clock, till they deviously meet mine. Settling my hands on his broad shoulders. Flipping him to where I straddled his frame, his bewilderment getting the best of him. Feeling him rising under my ache, his hands resting to my waist.
"I believe we've got enough time." He said, peering up at me with a smirk. Moving one of his hands to the exposed skin of my thigh beneath the sheet I gathered. Becoming a canvas under his finger as he made little infinities, even marking me with an 'M'. It's simplicity nearing me to let it all happen and unravel.
I sighed, "No we don't." Tracing the embracing hands of the tattoo on his chest. "Why's that?" He questioned, tugging at the blanket slightly.
My blue eyes turning pure glass as they looked back him. Biting my lip at the thoughts that cascaded through my mind in that moment, "Because" I began, my hands trailing down his chest to his navel. My selfish need getting the best of me as I gently rested on him. "There's not enough time for what I'd like to do."
Watching his lids fall and brows furrow. His plump lips flat lining as a raspy hum vibrated through them. His eyes rich in golds and browns as the glared at me, my body jolting over him as he sat up. His lips not even centimeters away, feeling the warmth of his breath.
"Your dad is not going to like this corruption I've caused." He smiled before pressing those lips to mine. Giggling in between collisions, wrapping my arms around his neck. Tangling my fingers into his hair, before I brought my eyes to his, fixing the disarray. "He's not going to like that I enjoy it." I smirked. Feeling chill against my chest as Matty slipped open my sheet, using it to pull me closer to him. "Now, let's get ready before I purposely make time."
----------------------------------------------
Matty's POV.
I sat anxiously on the edge of my seat during the flight. Unfamiliarly nervous as it wasn't the idea of being up astronomically in height. Instead when I would be taking two feet onto the unknown grounds of New York. Doing so many things in my twenty-five year life-span. Not once thinking that meeting the family of a girl I was falling amicably for. Would have me in such a rut, mentally rehearsing how to even say 'hello' and not sound ludicrous.
I was charming needless to say as I yield at the bombarding sounds of my own horn. I got along with many, all different types of people as I clinged to others so easily. Feeding the idea of attention I loved and wanted others to devour.
Specially with mothers as my mystic, dark persona had them wishing they were eighteen again. Truly living the idea of the bad boy image they only imagined. One sided as the fathers were never much of a fan because I reminded them of themselves. Leisurely taking hearts and moving on to the next when the sound became to familiar.
That was an old retrospect of me. Sure I wore the same leather jacket, paraded in metal, grunge band shirts. Smoked like a chimney and liked lying in the wonders of a woman. All still potent on the exterior as the interior was becoming a bit more velvet. Finding this comfortable closeness with another, enjoying the beat of the eternal drum that played on.
I looked over at this walk of life I crossed paths with. Her Buddy Holly glasses resting on the brim of her nose. Sitting comfortably with her tight covered legs under her jean shorts crossed over the other. Smiling at the loose green and white flannel she fished out of my closet that fit her perfectly. Complimenting the Jane Austen lithographic shirt tucked in. A book in her lap as her eyes grazed upon the lines, waiting as she silently thought unaware.
Lucy was implementing a part of me that did not see the light of day before the night I met her. Never in a million thinking I'd be flying across the pond. Looking for approval of the ones who brought up this, so extraordinarily unreal human. Situated so calmly as she already found acceptance when she found the same closure in me.
I brushed back the dark loose hairs falling from her messy bun, slipping them behind her ear. Derailing her from her oblivion till her eyes met mine, perfectly lined with a point at the end. Shined in bright blues with gold around her pupil. Squinting a bit as her cheeks rose with the curl of her lightly coral lips.
"Hey," She greeted, closing the book she folded the page to. Bringing her little hand over my hand on the arm rest. "We're almost there." I replied, then. Watching as she tried to mask a big smile, failing terribly but ever so sweet.
++
When we arrived to the airport, we were immersed into the heavy crowd. Observing all the ricocheting sounds and all the gatherings. Seeing all the families being brought into light, hugging tight as some just arrived like Lucy and I. Some also heading out to another place from here, thinking about how I almost would've been like the ones left behind. Feeling the rush of the holidays as they all wanted to settle in the glowing rafts of home.
Lucy being one of them as eagerly pulled me along. Her hand intertwined with mine as she led. Scanning impatiently for the two people she was longing to see. "Where are they?" She questioned, looking behind and past me as she tried covering all her bases.
Only to hear her gasp when she spotted a little sign reading "Sunshine has arrived in the grays of White Plains!" Watching her face light up ironically brighter than the lights in the place. Dropping my hand as she ran her family, trailing behind swiftly as I felt my heart beating uncontrollably.
She leaped into the arms of a tall, slender building of a brunette. Her brother, Eric that I heard nothing but fond memories about. How he showed her her first Smiths record. Saving up money for the complete season of Friends, that she quotes all the time. His light hazel eyes closing as he hoisted her up, evident that he missed her just as much. "Hey there kid!" He greeted, steadily placing her back on the ground.
"Look at you! Have you grown an inch or two?" He began, Lucy sucking in her teeth at the unbelievable recognition. Watching as his bright smile became soft in the sight of me. Diverting our glance as Lucy brought her attention the other man along side Eric, her father.
Lucy talked about how her dad barely has spoken since she has left. Mainly because he was still trucking after twenty years. Finding new places he hadn't seen in his years on the road. Trying to find time to call in as he did so, but she also knew that her being the one away this time. Was just as hard on him as it was on her.
"Hey dad," She croaked a bit, wrapping her arms around the tall man. His beard completely coated peppered around his mouth.
Standing taller than her brother, in light blue denim jacket. His red flannel shirt playing peek-a-boo at the collar, embracing his only little girl in his long, broad arms. "So glad to see you home." His southern accent mixed with New York tongue.
When he migrated up the states when his heart found home with a exciting, city waitress. Tightening his arms once more with a peck on her head before she pulled away. Lucy put her hand into mine, blushing as it became aware she's never brought a boy home.
"Matty, this is my brother Eric and my dad Jerry." She introduced, then. "Guys, this is Matty.. My boyfriend." Sensing my cheeks starting to warm as the words fell from her mouth like she's been practicing. Seeing her face flush as she looked worried I'd protest, but never in the slightest when all I wanted her to do was say it again.
I shook hands with the two gentlemen, firm and strong. Slightly intimidated at any moment I could mess up and they could have my ass. Only to begin to feel relived when Eric flung his arm around my shoulder, "So, my sister says you're in a band?"
++
Lucy's childhood home was very quaint. Dressed up in Christmas lights against the light shade of blue, cascading on the block with a white porch front. Gushing with happy filled memories before you placed your foot on the first step. Nothing compared to the slight mansion of mine back home Cheshire. That lost all of it's fuzzy magic when my parents split.
She had taken me on a tour as we put our luggage in her childhood room. Stories were hanging on the walls, pictures of Lucy, Eric, her mother and father paraded. Listening to Lucy beaming as she told some in passing. Her first time riding a bike at seven. First day of high school. The corgi that use to prance along the wooden floors. All different events that paved Lucy's life, all sharing one thing similar as that same bright smile glistened.
Eventually settling after a slight induce food coma from her dad's home cook meal. I sat on the cream sofa in the olive green living room. String lights dangling from the ceiling, Lucy's fond memories painted clearly as her father and brother tried recreating the arrangement of snowflakes like her mother would.
"Remember when you spilled all the mod podge!" Lucy recalled around the oddly round evergreen as Eric and her continued on traditions of decorating the tree on Christmas Eve. Leaning up onto her tippy toes to hook an ornament near the top. Admiring a little shiny red ball with a tiny fingerprints disguised as snowmen as it twirled on the hook in my hands.
Eric trying to wrap garland around the tree, only to be defeated when he remembered Lucy's summon. "Yeah, and then you put your hand in glitter that took weeks to get off" He remarked, her little angelic laugh bantering as she threw a candy cane at him in protest.
Reminiscing on all the various ornaments that were made when they were kids. Glancing at Lucy who would dance around the tree to all the carols she remembered. In her first gift of night a red and white snowflake pajama set that was slightly too big. Matching the red flannel set that the gentlemen had given me. Pulling me up to help with some of the tall places. Taking her hands into mine as we swayed to the jolly harmonies.
When the tree was lit up, dolled in pretty lights. Overloaded with ornaments and garlands hugging around. Lucy put on a kettle of water for her mother, Emma's famous peppermint tea. Sparsing it between the three of us as her father made an exit to meet some of his pals earlier on. Getting caught up in a game of questions as her brother asked about my band, what I was studying and bonding as we talked Quentin Tarantino films.
He took the last sip of his mug, before letting out a gulping sigh in delight. His hazel eyes trailing as he ran his finger of the rim of the cup. "I miss her a lot." He bluntly stated, Lucy smirking a bit as she grabbed his hand. "Me too. But she's here, always." She reassured when she looked back at the tree. Taking a double glance when she realized her mother's gold star was not placed on the top.
"I'll help you." I exclaimed before she went to explain. Smiling at how I was observant in her flee of thoughts. She went over to the mantel where the star with a string sat. Straightening it out a bit as it was becoming old in age, only to cherished till it couldn't uphold anymore.
With one swift move, I bent down to till I grabbed Lucy's thighs that rested on my shoulders. Watching her little arms outstretch and place the topper, perfectly straight and aligned. Setting her back down on the cricks of the wooden floor.
Eric smiled in awe, "He's a keeper, Lu!" He remarked, walking back in from the kitchen. His cargo tan jacket in hand, "I'm heading to Marco's for some drinks. Want to come?" He offered, then. "They sure miss ya." Adding, placing the jacket on one arm at a time.
"I'd love to, but I'm very tired from my trip." Lucy excused, fixing the collar of his jacket. Eric nodded, "What about you, Matty? I'm sure the guys would love to hear about your music." He asked, smiling lightly at his kind gesture. "I think I'm going to turn in as well. You know, jetlag." I replied, smiling with a nod.
I helped Lucy in the kitchen after her brother left to gallivant. Her running and soaping them up under the warm water. "So, this visit isn't bad after all." She remarked, recalling the days before inching to our flight.
Fabricating different scenarios as to why my appearance would be a havoc. I took the dishes Lucy finished washing over with a cloth to dry and put them on the dish drainer. "It's only been four fours." I reminded.
Leaning my back against the counter as I watched her wipe down the kitchen. She chuckled a bit, smirking at my response. Watching as she gliding the rag around the sink. "My brother offering you out for drinks is a big deal." She replied, draping the rag over the faucet. She stood in front of me, wrapping her little arms around my waist. Planting her head against my chest "Trust me, they like you." She said reassuringly, before leaning up to kiss my chin.
++
Lucy and I retreated to her room. With a faded coat of pink fluorescing off the panels. Old artwork hanging scattered in the mix of transition as she got older. Her love for music progressing with The Beatles to PJ Harvey. Showing off the books that were far too many for her tiny room back in London. Connecting her fascination for a dim room with twinkle lights replicating the ones over the tapestry in her flat.
I lied within the purple sheets of her princess bed. Spooning her to my chest, feeling the hum of her body as it rose and fell steadily. Tracing a bit of her side with my fingertips as the hem of her shirt shifted. Listening to her huff when she aimlessly flipped through the channels. Each every other showing the same Christmas flick.
I went to reach for the remote in her hands when a famously recognizable knock sounded off the TV. Watching the little ginger singsonging to her sister through the door. To come out and build a snowman with her.
"Don't change this!" I insisted as I seen her finger graze the next button. Lucy looked back at me, "You like Frozen?" She questioned, then. Only to answer her back when I picked up from the chorus. Dramatically raising my hand in the air as I sang along.
Mouthing all the words to my favorite scenes and songs. Pressing my lips to her cheek, her neck and leaving her in stitches. Watching as Ana, Kristoff, Olaf and Svan went searching for Elsa to end the icy spell casted over Arendelle.
We lied there as the movie began to near towards the end. Ana turning to ice as she learned the powers she had no control over, protecting her sister Elsa from Hans. Hearing a light sniffle of Lucy's nose as the movie captured her heart like it did mine. Watching her gaze in glee when the ice melted over Ana, breaking the spell and putting Arendelle back to normal for the rest of coronation.
Ana and Kristoff finally realizing what they had in front of them after the time they spent with each other. Turning Lucy to face me in perfect timing--
"I could kiss you. I could. I mean, I'd like to. I–may I? We me? I mean, may we? Wait, what?" I repeated after Kristoff. Implementing a totally different form of kissing as it fell from my lips. Turning off the TV by the remote before I brought my attention back.
I looked down at her as she gazed back at me in question. "What?" She asked, then. Tilting her head against the pillow behind her.
"What's wrong?" She asked again, her naivety kicking in as I was silent. My mind, not so much.
That was the thing, nothing was wrong. Or that was my issue that nothing was wrong. Everything was right, it felt good and it scared me shitless. I had so many things running through my mind. What could go wrong during or after this but right now was all I was worried about and the words that have been hanging of the edge of my tongue for weeks.
Feeling her hands moving the curls from my face as I snapped back to reality. Feeling okay and nervous all at once. Meeting her eyes with mine again before I sat up.
"I love you." I said, then. Her blue eyes widening with every syllable that fell from my lips. "It's been weighing over my mind for a while now, it's something I've never experienced before." I began, "I can't quite put my thumb on it. The feeling just grows and I love you."
Lucy was just starring, listening to me mumble before she sat up. Smiling and growing closer to me.
"I can't explain much of it either." She said, "but I love you too." And feeling the weight lift before I pulled her even closer and kissed her.
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Soul - Jack Kline x Reader
Summary: Castiel always insists that it is impossible for humans to perceive the physical form of a soul. After spending time with Jack, you swear Cas is wrong.
Pairing: Jack Kline x Reader, Father figure!Castiel x Reader
Word count: 8.1k
Warnings: canon typical violence, light torture, some slight angst, fluff, danger to reader, danger to characters, blood, fatherly castiel (is that a warning? idk), basically there’s some good stuff and some bad stuff, but overall it’s fluff! slight canon divergence, vague early season 14 spoiler, but the main Jack plot in season 14 doesn’t apply here
A/N: I had this idea like FOREVER ago bc of that shot of jack asleep in the back of the impala (gif below), and i just got around to writing it bc school is garbage (pls stay in school). Hope it’s alright! Feedback is always greatly appreciated!
gif creator here, give them love!
Soul /sōl/ noun - the immaterial essence, animating principle, or actuating cause of an individual life.
You often found yourself asking Castiel the most random of questions about the universe. What was the beginning of the world like? What did the Bible completely get wrong? How have things changed over time in Heaven? Who thought the platypus was a good idea?
Most of all, though, your questions seemed to focus on one thing: souls. You were absolutely enamored by the subject. Something about them felt so incredibly intriguing, and after having seen the change in Sam Winchester when he happened to lose his soul, you wanted all the information you could get. Having an angel friend to answer your questions was exactly what you needed.
“Cas,” you spoke his name softly, intent on not destroying the peacefully quiet nature of the bunker’s library at 4 o’clock in the morning. The pair of you were up researching for a hunt after you found yourself unable to fall asleep. You insisted that instead of having Cas use his grace to help you sleep, that you could use your time to get some work done. The seraph reluctantly agreed.
“Yes?” He hummed in acknowledgement. His eyes lifted from his book in front of him just slightly to meet your gaze.
“What does a soul look like?”
Castiel let out a quiet chuckle, leaning back in his seat and pushing the book away just enough to show that you had his attention. A small smile quirked at the corners of his mouth at the question. This was far from your first time asking it. You questioned him relentlessly about every topic you could think of, but no matter what, you always came back around to the same question. What does a soul really look like?
And every time he gave the same answer: “They look like light.”
Sometimes you took this at face value, just glad to hear him say it again, but sometimes, like this particular night, you needed to hear more. You gave him a nod of encouragement, urging him to continue speaking. He took in a breath and cast his eyes over the room momentarily. His hands clasped together in his lap, and the small, relaxed smile remained on his face. He loved answering your questions and you could tell. There was always a childlike excitement to you when he would offer you a new piece of information. You would take his words and hold them close to you, eager to commit them to memory. You knew secrets of the universe that other people could never even dream of knowing. It felt nice to take you under his literal and metaphorical wing to teach you the things you wanted to know.
“Souls tend to shine differently depending on the person. You can tell so much about someone based on their soul alone. This is why demons are so easy to spot: their souls are so twisted that they become something so much different than the purity of a human soul,” he elaborated, his eyes trailing over the swirls of the wood grain on the table top.
You leaned forward slightly. “But surely not all human souls are so… pure,” you pointed out. He nodded.
“You’re correct. Many human souls find themselves being twisted in their life on earth as well, but never to the extent of a demon’s, of course.”
“But demons manifest themselves as black smoke. So, does that mean that the purity of a soul is based on how bright it is?” You continued to pester. You trailed your nails along the edge of the table subconsciously.
Castiel shook his head side to side. “No, not at all. It’s less of it being one rule for all and more of just a… feeling. Much like you are often able to tell the intentions of a fellow human with a glance, souls are much the same. Some souls are dim, but that does not mean that they aren’t beautifully pure,” he informed you. His voice remained level and patient, as it always did when you started a line of questions. You smiled at his tone. You were always grateful for the care he took in these situations. He never made you feel bad for your questions or your lack of knowledge, something you wished that your old school teachers had taken lessons in.
Your gaze travelled down to the pages of the lore book still open in front of you. The old weathered paper was yellowed and tattered with time. The top right corner of the page you were on was creased from someone who knows how long ago that dog-eared their spot in the text. You fought the urge to grimace at the foul treatment given to the book and focused instead on posing your next question. “What does… my soul look like?”
This was another familiar question, but still, Cas humored you. He trailed his eyes over your face with a thoughtful expression before he opened his mouth to reply. “Your soul is… complex. It shines bright, and has a slight, dare I say, twinkle to it. Like a star.” He paused to cast you a proud, fatherly smile. “You’re the team’s North Star, forever helping to guide us home.”
You cast your eyes downward, hoping the way your hair came down around your face was enough to hide your reddened cheeks and meek smile. You reached a hand up to trail a finger along the edges of your book. The worn leather of the binding was soft beneath your fingertips, and the scent of old pages wafted around you like a blanket in the serenity of the library. “I wish I could see souls,” you commented in passing, your voice heavy with exhaustion.
Cas was quick to recognize the wobble of your form and the half closed position of your heavy eyelids. He stood from his seat and made his way around the table, placing a hand on your shoulder and coaxing you upright. “Humans can’t see souls, and I promise that if there was a way for you to do so, you would be the first person I would tell.” With that, he led you down the maze-like halls of the bunker and into your bed. He brought the covers up to your chin, giving a light chuckle as he heard your soft snores before he was even able to shut the door behind him.
-
A year or so had passed since that night. Things finally settled down, and for once you could feel at peace. The bunker now consisted of the two Winchester boys, your fallen angel mentor, an ex-trickster archangel, and the son of Lucifer himself. Things were… good. There was just one thing…
Castiel had lied to you.
He had told you that humans could not see souls. That humans were incapable of comprehending the visual aspects of a soul. And you swear to every higher power you know, he lied to you. He must have. It was the only explanation.
These thoughts paraded around your mind, your brain’s mess of emotions a swift contrast to the atmosphere of the Impala you were sat in the back seat therein. Your eyes fixated on the nephilim sat by your side. Jack’s body leaned limp against the car door, his hand placed with his palm against the window to act as a barrier between his cheek and the icy glass. The sun was setting just on the other side of his window. The sky was streaked with endless shades of pinks, yellows, and oranges, spreading out in wisps that curled lazily around the surrounding landscape. Your ears were filled with the soft guitar riff of Dean’s favorite Led Zeppelin cassette. The scent surrounding you was that of old leather, whiskey, gun powder, and a swirling mixture of both Sam and Dean’s favorite colognes - in other words, it smelled like home.
You fixed your attention on Jack’s form. Your gaze swept over him, taking in every detail you possibly could. You noticed the way the tips of his fingers twitched in his dreaming state. You noticed the slight part of his lips as he let out soft, even breaths. You noticed each little freckle that dotted his skin. You noticed the way that his favorite red jacket was tugged up to tuck into his neck, as you knew he loved how the fluffy fabric felt comforting against his skin. You noticed it all.
Most of all, you noticed the way the light of the sunset behind him framed his form. The remaining rays trickled in through the car window, casting a gentle glow around his silhouette. The orange tendrils of light curled along his hair and tinted his dark brown curls a lighter, more fiery blonde color. The slant of his cheekbones was far more distinct in this lighting. The shadows of his face were dark and impressive, but somehow his features maintained his tender nature. In fact, you swore you could make out the shape of a halo at the crown of his hair. Everything about him and the way the sunset curved around him felt so celestial, so strong. Yet still he retained an air of care and love about him. He just looked so… Jack. And it was incredible.
-
“What do you mean you’re scared of the dark?” Dean asked in a teasing tone. An annoyed scowl formed in your lips and your arms wound around your own torso as you sought out as much comfort as you could get.
“Oh, shove it Winchester. We’re all scared of something. You wouldn’t be so cocky if we were in an airplane right now,” you shot back. You tried your best to hide the shake in the back of your throat, but you knew by the eldest brother’s deep chuckle that you hadn’t done as well as you had hoped.
“That’s because a plane crash will kill ya, and you just have to go down without a fight. Seriously, you’re a hunter, how are you afraid of the dark?”
You shuffled around from your place in one of the plush couches of the library. The darkness surrounding you curled its claws around your neck and began to squeeze, but you just shook your head in an attempt to fight it off. “I know what’s in the dark. I think we have more reason to hate the dark than anyone else does,” you insisted. You could practically see the stupid smirk on his face, and you wanted nothing more than to punch it right off.
Your knees tugged themselves up against your chest so you could wind your arms around them. Gazing into the endless darkness was unsettling no matter what, but to make things worse, you didn’t know what was really in the bunker. The last time something got out, the Wicked Witch tried to destroy Oz, and you weren’t too keen on fighting both your fear of the dark and another old fairy tale on the same day. Nope. Definitely not. You were much more comfortable sitting right where you were on the couch with your back pressed against the wall and your feet up off the ground so nothing could grab you from somewhere in the emptiness.
The sounds of shuffling coming from the winding corridors caused you to jump in fright. “Wh-who’s there?” You stuttered out, turning your head from one side to the other as if you could see who - or what - was making their way over to you.
Around the corner, the flame of a lit candle made itself visible, the light it emitted casting a soft golden glow over the surrounding few feet. “Dean? (Y/N)?” The soft, familiar voice of the nephilim called as he rounded the corner, candle in hand. Your heart jumped at the sight.
“Jack!” You cried out gratefully. You instantly flung yourself off of the couch, the balls of your feet barely hitting the floor with each step before you leaped forward again, all the way up until you made it to the man. You ducked underneath the candle and wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging him close to you in search of comfort.
The air in his lungs was exhaled with a huff upon impact. He raised the candle above his head to ensure the flame wouldn’t catch on your hair or clothing before he wrapped his free arm around your shoulders in a comforting - yet confused - manner. “Are you alright?” Jack asked with an edge of worry in his tone. You nodded against his chest.
“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Just… don’t like the dark. And Dean is mean to me.” Your accusation brought forth a cry of offense from Dean, which in turn caused you to chuckle into the material of Jack’s shirt, which you were still clinging to as if your life depended on it. Jack looked up to Dean in an ever-so-serious accusatory manner.
“Sam is working on getting the power back on still. He said he’s almost got it, but I should come check on you in case you were worried,” the nephilim explained, turning his gaze to you once again. You cast him a small smile and took a step back.
You coughed to clear your throat from the awkward silence that followed, much to Dean’s amusement. He indicated this with a rather unflattering snort that you would have demolished him for in other circumstances. Instead of tearing into the older hunter, you peered upwards at the man in front of you. “Well, thank you for coming to make sure we were alright. I don’t know how much more of Dean’s teasing I can take, especially when it’s too dark for me to even take a swing at him.”
A smile bloomed on Jack’s lips, and your expression brightened to match. He lowered the candle again, now that you were a safe distance away. You instantly found yourself mesmerized by the way the shadows shifted across his skin, accentuating the hills and valleys of his face in different ways based on where the flame sat.
The soft orange glow flickered in his irises. The light was just bright enough to illuminate his face, chest, and shoulders, but the rest of his body seemed to fade into the darkness all around you. A few strands of chestnut hair were still visible, and the light brought forth more details of his natural highlights than you had previously noticed. Overall, he looked warm and safe, and you found yourself shuffling to remain close to him with each movement. You would later insist to Dean that this behavior was a result of you wishing to remain close to the light, but deep down you knew what the true source of your comfort really was.
-
“They’ll never find you, y’know,” the young janitor insisted as he strolled leisurely around the empty space. Well, to be fair, this wasn’t really the janitor. The real man was likely off in some remote location with a slit throat like all the other poor vics you had come across in the coroner’s office on this particular case. No, this man was the shapeshifter you and the team had been hunting for the past week.
You weren’t entirely sure how you had gotten caught. Your plan was foolproof, at least it was all the way up until it wasn’t. Perhaps it really was never the best idea for the whole team to split up and have each of you going off on your own, but there were simply too many possible hotspots the shifter could have shown up to and not enough hunters to adequately cover them all. You were all hoping to figure out who the latest face claim was tonight, and had no intentions of moving in on the creature. Apparently it had far different plans.
All you could remember was an ear ringing thud against the back of your head before you woke up tied against one of the rickety support beams in an old abandoned warehouse close by where you had been conducting your personal search mission. An hour and a half had already passed, and you found yourself running low on snarky quips to fire back. The backhanded commentary about the cliched locale ran out of steam about thirty minutes ago, and he really wasn’t giving you much else to work off of.
This had clearly worn you down, and you wanted nothing more than to get back to the motel room, shower off the blood and dirt clinging to your skin, and collapse into bed. Of course, your idiotic friends would have to actually find you and save you before that could happen.
“If you were really that confident in them not finding me, then you wouldn’t feel the need to constantly remind me how hopeless it is,” you pointed out, shrugging nonchalantly. “But, whatever, that’s just psychology or whatever. I’m sure the world renowned Winchesters will be completely fooled by you, some random back alley shifter with a thing for the dramatics.”
The noise that ripped from the man’s throat could only be described as a growl; it was a bit too human to be an animal, but just animalistic enough to not feel human either. All in all, it was utterly unsettling, and you found your feet shuffling around in discomfort. “Shut up,” he snarled. His lip curled upwards to bare his teeth, an act that seemed out of place when the pearly whites being revealed were the dull, omnivorous ones of a human being. You quirked a brow in question.
The shifter twirled the knife in his hand as he made his way over to where you stood. The cool metal of the blade was chilling against the skin of your neck, and you pressed your back into the wooden beam behind you in an attempt to retreat from his threat. “For someone about to die, you sure do talk a lot,” he hissed. You winced against the scent of tobacco and cheap liquor clinging to his breath.
“Well,” you muttered, mustering a smirk despite yourself. “For an evil mastermind who wants to kill me, you sure are taking your precious time.” Perhaps goading a mentally unstable form changing monster into killing you wasn’t the best course of action, but it was the only comeback your brain could think of as you felt the kiss of his knife against your bared throat.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m just letting you simmer for a while,” the shifter hummed. He raised the knife to brush a lock of hair from your eyes before trailing it down the side of your face. Your fists clenched from their place tied behind your back. “That fear in your eyes, the fear you’re trying to hide from me, it’s… thrilling. You act so high and mighty, you act like you’re the one in control here, but all it would take is one… little…” The knife in his hand trailed down the column of your throat and paused just over your heart, where he pressed down the flat of the blade just enough that the edges dug into your skin. “Slip.” On that word, he flicked his wrist, drawing a line of scarlet blood along your chest. You hissed out in pain.
“Oh, screw you, man,” you muttered through clenched teeth. He gave a dark chuckle and ran his knife through the stream of blood trickling down your skin.
He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a bang sounded from behind him. “Jack, wait!” Sam Winchester’s gruff voice called. The old, dilapidated door of the warehouse opened and slammed against the wall, revealing the young nephilim’s fuming form in the doorway.
“Jack!” You cried out in desperation. His gaze flickered over you momentarily, scanning your injuries and growing darker and darker with each new one he found. At the sight of the knife still being held against your chest, Jack’s eyes went alight.
“Stop!” He shouted, throwing his hand out in front of him and sending golden beams of his grace towards your attacker, who went flying far from gracefully across the empty room. His body slammed into one of the support beams, causing the wood to crack and splinter.
Sam and Dean came barreling into the warehouse after Jack, guns and knives at the ready. Sam wasted no time before rushing towards you, slicing through the rope around your wrists with his blade and catching you in his arms when your legs collapsed beneath you. You sighed and settled into his grasp, turning your eyes to Jack’s squared shoulders as he made his way to the crumpled form of the shifter.
Dean stepped forward to help the nephilim, but with a wave of Sam’s hand, he held his place and watched from afar instead. Jack’s entire body seemed to glow with his grace, his eyes a brilliantly bright gold unlike anything you had ever seen from the man. His jaw was set in determination as he reached a hand down and gripped the shifter’s shirt collar. He dragged the struggling man a few feet to the wall, where he slammed him against the ramshackled wooden planks.
“You should never have touched them,” he spat menacingly. Golden irises swept over the shifter’s body in disgust. The veins in Jack’s arm took up his signature glow as well, the light travelling up to his hand, where it seemed to sizzle against the shifter’s skin. An ear splitting cry ripped from the man’s throat, his legs thrashing wildly in an attempt to escape, but Jack made no move to let go. He simply tightened his grip and continued on. The shadow of two large wings spanned out along the wall, each wing easily seeming to be at least twice as large as Jack himself. They flared out in a way one could only describe as threatening, and for the first time in your life, you could understand the fear others seemed to have when they spoke of Jack Kline. The golden glow emanating from his being sent the hairs along your arms and at the back of your neck standing on end. Never had you seen Jack so… frightening. You tended to spend most of your time around the man cooing over his soft spoken nature and kind smiles. Seeing the full extent of the nephilim’s powers felt like being thrown into a bath of ice water. This truly was a being of immense strength and unimaginable power, and that fact was being thrown in your face quite suddenly.
“Jack!” You called out, voice wavering slightly in fright of the sight of such a cool and collected man in a state like this. He froze at the sound of your voice and turned his eyes to you. His grip loosened ever so slightly and his face fell as he realized what was wrong. He blinked away what he could of his anger and shifted his hand to the man’s forehead, sending one last blast of his grace to smite the shifter on the spot. The body crumpled to the floor, burnt out eyes gazing into nothing.
Jack turned on his heel and made it over to you in a few long strides. His hands reached out and he took you from Sam without a second thought. The golden glow in Jack’s eyes still had not disappeared entirely as he scanned over your injuries. His brow furrowed in unease at the sight of the various bruises and cuts marring your skin. Slowly, he raised a hand up to your cheek and pressed his palm against you. His grace flooded over your body, surrounding you in a warmth and comfort that felt so utterly Jack. Your injuries burned briefly as the grace touched them, but the discomfort was gone as quickly as it came.
At some point during the exchange, it seemed that your eyes had closed on their own volition. You allowed them to open once more, and they locked on to the fading light surrounding Jack’s pupils. Neither of you said a word, you just pulled him towards you and buried your face in his chest.
-
You tugged your jacket closer to your body against the chill of the late night winds. The tell tale splash of yet another rock being tossed incorrectly into the lake could be heard clearly as it echoed through the trees. A chuckle escaped your lips, an the nephilim by the shoreline pouted in response.
“I just don’t get it!” He complained, hanging his head low as he shuffled over to you. Your smile practically split your face at this point.
“Jack, it’s all about the technique. Plus, you have to get the right kind of rock. Make sure the rock is flat. Like…” Your eyes scanned over the rocks all around your feet until you found one that suited your needs. “This one!” You plucked it out of the mess and held it up to Jack for him to inspect. He turned it over in his fingers, brushing over the rock’s surface and giving an understanding nod.
“Okay,” he hummed in acknowledgement. “What next?”
You reached down and grabbed another similar rock that would suit your needs before standing upright once more. “Next, you want to crouch down a little, get yourself closer to the surface of the water, you know?” You do so as you speak, and Jack slowly moves to follow. “Turn to the side…” He shuffled so his side is facing the water. “Now, from here, you need to throw the rock as close to matching the surface of the water as you can, throw it kinda sideways, and flick your wrist.” With a quick flick of your wrist, the rock skids over the water and hops one, two, three times before it finally drops beneath the surface entirely.
You stood to your full height and turned around to face Jack, who had his arm wound back in preparation and a look of utter determination in his eyes. A small smile graced your lips at the sight. The light of the full moon illuminated his features in a soft, innocent glow. This setting felt so much different from the usual yellow tinted bulbs back in the bunker. The natural white light conveyed a sense of purity you had yet to see of him, but once it has been seen, the image will surely never leave you. His hair was pushed back to ensure there would be no distractions during such an important moment. Your gaze followed his arm as he flicked his wrist forward, sending the rock hurtling along the water. The ripples of the stone against the surface distorted his reflection, and you felt a small sense of pride when you saw how it bounced up and hit the water again with a splash.
“I did it!” He cried in victory, jumping up with a look of sheer joy.
You smiled back and nodded, trying your best to match his excitement. This proved to be an easy task, as anything pertaining to Jack and his happiness brought you joy. “You did! That was great, Jack!” You praised. He took a step towards you and pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you in a grateful embrace. Just like that day in the warehouse, you found yourself easing into his arms without a second thought. You slumped against him and pressed your face into his neck, glad to simply bathe in his presence and nothing more. The light of the moon cascaded down upon the pair of you, casting a line of white over the surface of the water. You trailed your eyes down the path of moonlight until your gaze rested on the still rippling reflection of your embrace. A smile settled itself on your lips, and you allowed your eyes to flutter shut.
-
He wasn’t supposed to run off. He was supposed to stay with the group. Where did he go? Why did he run off? Why did he run off?
Your panicked gaze scanned over your wooded surroundings in hopes of spotting the familiar nephilim, but it was to no avail. This hunt was lasting longer than it was supposed to. The last rays of the day were disappearing and the streams of sunlight that once ran through the treetops were quickly being replaced by a shroud of dark night sky.
A scream of his name bubbled up in your throat, and it took everything in you to force it back down and continue your quiet search. You could hardly even hear the shuffling of the rest of the team around you over the pounding of your heart in your ears. You tightened your grip on the handle of your gun, hovering your pointer finger over the trigger in case of an emergency. The bullets loaded into the gun wouldn’t do much good against the wendigo lurking somewhere in those woods, but you held on to the hope that you would be able to distract the thing long enough to molotov the son of a bitch.
“I just don’t understand why he would go off on his own like that,” you muttered aloud, voice audibly shaking with unease. Dean let out a sigh.
“You know how the kid has been lately. He hasn’t felt the same since he came back without his mojo. He’s probably trying to prove he’s still valuable to the team,” the older hunter explained. He kept his voice as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the bloodthirsty monster hiding in the shadows, but even at such a low volume his baritone seemed to echo endlessly through the trees. You winced at the idea of the wendigo perched atop one of the many branches looming overhead, simply listening to your conversation and waiting for the right time to strike.
You let out a frustrated huff. “He doesn’t have to prove a thing. We all know he’s a valuable asset to the team. Plus, he’s family.”
From the corner of your eye, you saw Sam nod his head, his chin length hair swaying with his movements. “Of course we know that, but I don’t think he’s trying to prove it to us. He’s doing this to prove it to himself.”
Your heart constricted at that. Jack didn’t believe he was capable without his powers, and now he was risking his life to make a point to himself. You swallowed the rising lump in your throat and blinked away the sting of would-be tears. This wasn’t the time to get emotional.
Your search seemed fruitless, and soon enough you found yourself unable to see past a few feet in the darkened woods. Castiel’s eyes shone a bright blue, the only light you could make out in the otherwise almost pitch black night. The moon provided little comfort from its place shrouded behind the tops of the trees. A chilling wind swept through the forest floor, sending an unnerving chill down your spine.
“Can you see anything, Cas?” You asked the angel, whose eyes flickered back and forth across the landscape. He furrowed his brow in frustration.
“I can’t find any signs of Jack’s presence. No trail of footprints, no broken branches, nothing to indicate where he might have gone.”
This answer was unhelpful, but exactly what you expected. Jack might be practically human now, but he isn’t a fool. He knows how to cover his tracks like the best of them. Castiel continued to examine the terrain, being the only one of the four of you who could still manage to see. Meanwhile, you followed close behind and tuned your ears in to listen for anything suspicious. It didn’t go over your head that there was still a ravenous wendigo prowling around, and three blinded hunters would surely be a tempting meal to the beast. If it wasn’t stalking Jack, then you had no doubts that its eyes were on you. To be entirely honest, you weren’t sure which option made your stomach turn more.
You had just taken another step forward when you heard the scream. Jack’s voice. Undeniably, that was Jack’s voice. “Help!” He sobbed, the piercing sound bouncing off the trees. “Please help me!”
It took less than a second for you to turn and dash in the direction of the disturbance. The cries of your friends behind you, begging you to stop were drowned out in favor of pushing all of your energy forward. A hand made a grab for your jacket. You yanked the material away in one smooth motion.
Once a set of fingers wrapped around your elbow and pulled backwards, that was when the world came flooding back to your senses. Your body tumbled to the cold dirt floor. Your limbs scrambled to right yourself and continue on, but you were ultimately stopped by a pair of arms curling around your waist and lifting you up and away.
“Sam, let go of me!” You pleaded as you continued to thrash in his hold. His grip only tightened. “Sam, please! I need to save him!”
“I can’t let you do that!” His voice sounded pained, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at that point.
“Why not?” You hissed through your teeth. Frustrations were mounting and anger bubbled up deep within your chest. “We can’t just leave him! He’s gonna die, I can’t lose him! We can’t lose him!”
“God, this is like trying to keep Jack from barging into that warehouse to save them all over again,” Dean muttered. His hands worked to keep you still, and your legs worked double time to kick him away. “Dammit, stop that!”
“No! Let me go!”
“(Y/N), have you forgotten what we’re hunting in the first place?” Castiel butted in. “This is a wendigo, their mimicry of human voices is perfect. We can’t trust anything we hear!” His tone begged you to understand. It told you how upset the situation made him as well. The amount of pain he felt from being unable to save the boy he sees as a son was clearly audible. And it made you even angrier.
“Sam, I’m sorry about this.”
A pause. “Wait, what?”
Without another word, you threw your elbow back to meet his chin. His hold on you released instantly, and as soon as your feet touched the ground, you were off. You could no longer hear their shouts. You couldn’t hear the pounding of your feet against the leaves and branches littered beneath your boots. You couldn’t hear your heaving breaths. All that registered in your mind was the pumping of the blood in your ears and the memories of Jack’s cry for help. Maybe it was the wendigo, but if it was, then it knew Jack. And now you had no doubt in your mind that it planned to go after Jack first. Maybe you were running straight into the monster’s trap, but if there was even the slightest chance that you could kill this thing before it set a claw on Jack Kline, you were going to take it.
Your search brought you to the mouth of a cave. All you could make out was the rock’s shape around a gaping, pitch black hole. Carefully, you tucked your gun in the waistband of your pants and replaced it with your lighter in one hand and your homemade molotov bottle in the other. In a few quick flicks the lighter sparked to life. Upon waving the flame over the ground outside the cave, a few old splotches of blood became very apparent, and your hunter instincts kicked into overdrive. This was the wendigo’s lair. There was no doubt about that.
You took silent steps into the cave. The humid air held the unmistakable scent of rotten flesh and the metallic tang of blood, new and old. You swallowed down the bile that threatened to creep up your throat and continued on. The shake that previously overtook your hands was long gone now, replaced by the deadly, steady accuracy of your rage.
Your venture took you deeper and deeper into the cavern. The farther in you got, the heavier the stench became in your nose, and it took all you had not to gag on each breath. The air was stale and the ground was just damp enough to utter a soft squish each time your boots sunk into the dirt. The cave took a sharp turn, and you pressed your back against the wall before swinging out around the corner with your lighter and bottle outstretched and at the ready. What you saw, however, wasn’t the wendigo, but a clearly winded Jack Kline pressed against the wall where the cave hits a dead end.
His eyes met yours and instantly you saw the fear filling his body. “No, you shouldn’t be here!” He cried out, struggling to his feet with one hand planted firmly on the rock wall.
Your jaw clenched at the sight of crimson staining his left pant leg, the denim clearly torn where the wendigo must have slashed at him to immobilize him. “Where is it?” You growled out. Jack opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short when the sound of skittering claws rang from behind you. You turned around in just enough time to see the beast swipe a hand at you. It sent you flying into the far wall of the space. Your grip on the bottle and lighter tightened as your back slammed against the stone. Pain exploded in your side, and only once you felt the blood soaking into your shirt did you realize it was coming from the large gash along your torso.
The wendigo let out a ferocious snarl as it stalked towards Jack, seeming ready for a meal now that it had stocked up on a new victim to keep for later. Blood trickled down your neck from where the back of your head had connected with the wall, and the pounding sensation sent your vision swirling and fading in and out. You couldn’t see much, but from what you made out of the creature raising its claws to strike Jack down, you were ready to jump into action.
One flick of the lighter seemed to be enough this time, and you barely gave the cloth enough time to catch the fire before you screamed out, “Duck!” and hurled both objects, molotov and lighter combined, in the direction of the monster. Jack dived towards you to the best of his ability with an injured leg. The molotov connected with the wendigo’s calf, the glass shattering and allowing the fire to spread to consume its entire frame.
You closed your eyes against the sudden light and turned to face Jack, who now sat next to you against the wall. Your hand reached out to instinctively cover Jack’s face from the flames, only to find that he, too, had turned to face you. You kept your hand in place on the side of his head. Your fingers curled into his hair and your palm pressed against his cheek in an effort to ground yourself.
Slowly, you opened your eyes to take in Jack’s features. The flickering orange flames illuminated his tousled mop of waves. With the fire placed where it was, only one side of the boy’s face was visible, but from what you could see, his skin was blotched with a layer of dirt. Some patches of skin were also coated in the telltale crimson of blood, while others were tinted a deep purple with an oncoming bruise. A distinct line ran down from his eye to curve around his chin, the path his tears continued to take along his cheek. His eyes fluttered open, a red tint surrounding the blue of his iris. The orange glow of the fire flickered in his glassy pupils. His eyes were wide and his pupils were blown like a frightened animal. His bottom lip pouted out, only adding to the image of a scared little boy being built in your mind.
His frame shook so heavily that you could see the shadow behind him quivering as well. He was scared - no, he was terrified. He was beaten, bruised, clawed, and thrown around, but all you could see was that he was alive. And in a moment of absolute clarity and overwhelming relief, you did the only thing you could think to do. You placed your palms against his cheeks and pulled him towards you into a kiss. He let out a gasp against your lips, but melted into the kiss only a moment later. He shuffled as close to you as he possibly could. His hands clutched desperately at your shirt and tugged every so often as if he wanted you even closer. Your hands drifted to the back of his head and your fingers curled through his hair. You gripped at the roots with just enough force to remind him that you were there, and you weren’t going anywhere.
By the time you both broke away from each other, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were stood over the flaming wendigo. The brothers’ chests heaved with the exertion of their run, and each of the three men wore expressions of mixed relief and understanding. Your cheeks flushed at the sight of the bruise forming on Sam’s chin. Dean let out a huff and shook his head to remind you that you would be getting a lecture for what you had done, but kept his speaking tone soft and clear of judgement for the time being.
“Come on, lovebirds. Let’s get you two patched up.”
-
You lounged lazily across the couch in what Dean had deemed his “Dean cave.” You had mentioned your favorite movie the other day in passing, and Jack had seemed quite interested in the subject, having never seen the film before. When Sam and Dean went out on a local salt and burn with just the pair of them, you decided that would be the perfect chance for you to introduce the ex-nephilim to your world. After mentioning the idea to Castiel and wondering if he had seen it before, he told you that he knew about it from the information Metatron gave him, but held no personal memories or thoughts on the subject. He seemed glad to join yourself and Jack on your movie night, and you were more than prepared to have a nice, calm night with your favorite celestial beings.
The room was dark except for the soft glow of the DVD’s menu screen on the flat screen Dean had splurged on a few weeks prior. You were grateful that you no longer had to crowd around someone’s laptop for movie nights, and the dedicated room for relaxation was a necessary add in to the bunker after everything you all had to deal with. You fiddled with the remote in one hand, your arm spread out towards the TV as it hung off the couch.
Castiel sat upright in one of the comfy old recliners placed on either side of the couch. His hands rested on his knees and a soft smile settled on his lips. His cobalt gaze swept over you in amusement and a bit of wonder. “(Y/N),” he addressed into the silent air. As usual in these situations, he kept his tone soft.
You looked up at him, your vision of him upside down from your position. “What’s up, Cas?”
“I was just wondering,” he began, fiddling with his thumbs. “We haven’t had a talk in a while.”
You paused a moment to think. “We have, Cas. We usually have a talk at least once a week. We had one a couple days ago, right?” You reminded him. Your brows were furrowed in confusion. Castiel gave a quick nod.
“Yes, I suppose, but I more so meant we haven’t had a talk about a specific subject in quite a while.” His rephrasing cleared up little in your mind, but from the look in his eyes, he was expecting you to come to some sort of understanding.
Your eyes wandered the room as you continued to rack your brain for a clue. “Do I get any hints? Am I allowed to phone a friend?” You joked casually.
Now it was Cas’s turn to furrow his brows. His gave his signature head tilt as he spoke. “I… don’t see how calling a colleague might help in this situation, but…” He trailed off and shook his head in dismissal. “What I mean is, you seem to have lost interest in the lore on human souls. I simply find it peculiar how you have stopped asking about wishing to see them and wondering what they look like so suddenly. I hope you know that you are not bothering me when you ask things like that.” His tone held an apologetic edge to it, as if afraid that he had seemed to disinterested and had scared you off of the subject. A smile found its way onto your face at the thought. Castiel, angel of the lord, worried he made you feel bad about your interests and curiosity.
“No, Cas, I know. You’re always very patient with me during our talks, and I really appreciate that. It’s just… I don’t know. I guess I kinda… understand it now?” You tried to clear things up, but it came out sounding more like a question than an answer.
“How so?”
You gave a vague shrug. You dropped the remote onto your stomach and picked absentmindedly at your nails, trying to hide the crimson blush creeping up your cheeks in the low light available. Around anyone else you would be certain that they could not see such a thing, but you knew better with Castiel. His vision that night in the woods was proof enough that he could see in the dark without issue. “I guess I just… I understand how you can just… tell what someone is like through something as simple as a light. I understand that feeling of looking at something and understanding how it’s feeling. I used to think that a light couldn’t possibly be enough, that a soul can’t be made up of something so simple, but I guess I figured out how complex it can really be. Complex, but still… really beautiful. And good. And pure. And sure, maybe sometimes it’s a little scary, but at the end of the day, it stands for power and beauty and life, and that’s pretty amazing.” You trailed off of your tangent with a cough. Your cheeks were on fire, and you could practically feel Cas’s gaze burning holes in your head. “Or, like, something like that. I guess. Whatever, it’s not important.”
The angel opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Jack opened the door with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in hand and a bright smile on his face. He raised the bowl in celebration. “I didn’t burn it this time!” He cheered in victory. You grinned.
“That’s great, Jack! Now get over here, and let’s get this movie started.” You raised your head up just enough so he could sit down before dropping it back down onto his lap. He placed the bowl on the coffee table to free up his hands so he could begin running them through your hair.
You wouldn’t notice the way Castiel’s gaze lingered on you both for the better portion of the movie. You wouldn’t notice the way he picked out each little social cue Dean had taught him about romance all those years ago. You wouldn’t notice the pleased smile that would tug at the corners of his lips when he realized that this was real. But you would notice the way Jack’s face would change with each twist of the plot. You would notice the way the dull light from the TV cast a perfectly cut shadow to define his jawline. You would notice how different he looked in the different color palettes present in different scenes. You would notice how the shadows across his face danced and shifted each time he would lean down to plant a random kiss on your lips, cheek, or forehead. You would always notice these things, because that was Jack Kline’s soul. Every little flicker of the light across his skin, every shadow along the curves of his body, every glint in his eyes, everything you saw was a part of who he is. And in your eyes, who he is is the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen.
#Jack Kline#jack kline imagine#jack kline/reader#jack kline x reader#jack kline x you#supernatural#supernatural imagines#supernatural imagine#supernatural x reader#SPN#spn x reader#alexander calvert#dean winchester#castiel#fluff#angst#fanfiction#fanfic#jack kline/you#jack kline/y/n
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FFXIVWrite2020 25: A Dream Made Flesh
G’raha had never been to Ishgard before. The way Lin was welcomed by several reminded him of how many times he had read Heavensward as the Exarch. Even meeting the author himself.
However, Lin hardly spent a day there before insisting he follow her to the airship landing.
“So, do you remember that place I took you to in the Burn a week ago?”
He nods his head. “You told me that the Allagan lab there was... trying to do something? Make land fly? Something about dragons? And Bahamut?”
She nods her head, a smile on her face. “Yes, it is. Among other things, a prison for the dragons of Meracydia, who tried to avenge their fallen father, tricked by Ascians to try and call him back. However, there’s more to it. Three other imprisoned primals. That I killed. But it seems something is keeping the power going.”
“It could be reserves. Do you know where this place is?”
Lin nods her head.
“Is it a stationary?”
It takes a moment for Lin to think. “I believe so. Somewhere north of Vylbrand if I recall correctly. But I wanted to show you more. There’s an Allagan Museum there. I’m sure you’d love it.”
A museum? The whole place must be one now.
It takes a few hours of flying on chocobos again before he sees the islands on the horizon. A large ship with chains and anchors to all of them, charging the power to float to everything around it. He can feel the ionization of the air.
Lin lands in a covered place, a landing of some sort. “Welcome, G’raha, to part of your birthright. Welcome to Azys Lla.”
He’d read about the place before, but it was considered a myth while he was at the Studium. And Lin had found it.
“Hm, now, where was the Fractal Continuum? I’m sure you’d love it. Even if I did... kinda beat up some of the exhibits?” She gives a nervous grin.
“Why did you fight the exhibits?”
“Well, the first time, I was trying to save a node Wedge cared for. Second time I was trying to protect an Ixal researcher who thought maybe this was their promised land.”
“It was,” G’raha says. He can feel the memories of his blood there. “The Ixalion were powerful creations. That some became spoken was a miracle that none know the truth of.”
Lin takes a few steps away, as if looking for someone.
Does something still work here?
“Ah, excuse me my lord.”
The words are as clear as day. Electronic.
A node.
There was the one that made its way to the First with him. He’s familiar with their tone.
He turns around. “Ah, pardon me, but did you call me ‘My Lord’?”
The node, one egg-shaped, with a strong point on top, chirps and spins. “Indeed. It has been three thousand two hundred and twenty seven years since Allagn Royalty last visited. What brings you here?”
Lin rushes over. “Ah, there’s one. We were looking for the Fr--”
“Excuse me, miss. I was speaking to the King. He may have gifted you his blood, but that does not mean you are royalty.”
Lin huffs.
“Could you take us to the Fractal Continuum, good node?”
The node chirps again. “I believe the Navigation Node would be the best guide for royalty these days, but do keep your consort under control.”
He can hear Lin choke at those words. He looks over and her hand itches to grab her rapier. A few seconds and she lets it pass.
The somewhat conical node introduces them to a round one with blue markings, the Navigation node in question.
It leads the way, both of them on their chocobos again.
“If you would put your hand here, Your Majesty, we will let you in. Please note, there have been reports of break-outs in the past few years. But I assure you, everything will be safe.”
He does so, and looks around. It is late allagan, when decadence overtook them. But still, the Continuum is an archaeological site in itself, ignoring the rest Azys Lla. Preserved stories and mindsets.
The first two hallways have signs of battle. If Lin hadn’t warned him about her previous ventures, he probably would have been more shocked, but the node’s narration does a wonderful job of filling in the gaps.
The third, however, is pristine. Full of plants and smaller animals from Meracydia, according to the node. Insects and a couple galago species rustle around them in the amber light of the Museum.
“I haven’t been to this part,” Lin says to herself as they walk around. “But it’s beautiful. How did you manage to keep all this going for thousands of years?”
The node replies to her. The answer, of course, lies in the energy of the warring triad, but also nodes caring for the specimens around them.
G’raha stops and takes Lin’s hand. He’s not sure why he brought the small bag with the necklace with him on this stretch of their trip, but he’s glad he did.
“Raha?”
He clears his throat. “Ah, when I was a boy, many long years ago, I yearned to stand tall as heroes of eld.”
She blinks. “What are you doing, Raha?”
Raha continues, his tail starting to swish. “But like a fool seeking to pluck stars from the heavens, my every attempt to reprise their actions fell short.”
“No, they didn’t. You are as much a hero as I am. Please don’t--”
He takes his hand from hers and places it on her lips, His legs feel heavy, and he falls to his knees, as he pulls the bag from his pocket.
“And then, one day, an all-but-forgotten dream from my youth stood before me in the flesh, and she told me I could do that. I can pluck stars from the heavens and reprise every deed. That she would help me every step of the way.”
He opens the bag and pulls out the necklace. “And I would give much and more for her to stay by my side every step of the way.”
“Raha, are you-- Is this--?”
He tries to stand up, but his legs feel locked in position. “Perhaps I am weak, unable to believe in myself without you next to me, but please, Lin. I know it will not be your first time marrying, but I would give much and more to call you my wife.”
She kneels next to him, kisses him on his lips. “I promise every day will be an adventurer as long as I can call you husband.”
He places the necklace around her, smiling at the stones sparkling in the artificial light. Elsewhere, it would be even more gorgeous, but this is good.
“Ah, I had wondered if she were a consort or more. This is the fifth royal betrothal in this very room.”
Lin chokes again. “C-conso--” She starts to laugh.
He joins her. He hadn’t thought it a tradition of his blood. He hadn’t planned on today, or here. Just soon.
“Now, if you two are quite done, I can take you to another wing. Perhaps the one with the Ultima Warrior perhaps.”
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Jaig Eyes (Ch 60)
Jaig Eyes (60/?)
Summary:
Kida, a former slave who now thrives as a bounty hunter, finds herself sucked into the war she advised Jango Fett against. Now that she’s involved, she has to finally mourn the loss of Jango, seeing his face in the clones that man the GAR. What happens when she allows herself to get attached to one, not for his resemblance to her former mentor, but for his heart?
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Chapter Sixty: Attacking Umbara
The Force was trembling with darkness, but I couldn’t tell what was causing it. It could be the death that surrounded our Star Destroyer as we finally broke through the Seperatist blockade. It could be the war that still raged around us and on the surface of the planet below. Or it was the Force warning me of something horrible that was coming.
I shifted uncomfortably in my beskar, teetering nervously as I joined some of the 501st for a briefing with Obi-wan and Anakin. My armor was painted 501st blue again, as per request of the men. They allowed me to keep the kyr’bes in red, though. I stopped between Rex and Fives, still unused to the new style of their new armor. We were gathered near a gunship with what looked like a Boga painted on the nose.
“Masters Krell and Tiin will be supporting my troops to the south,” Obi-wan briefed us, pointing at the map R2 projected for us. “While Anakin’s battalion comes in from the north and takes out enemy reinforcements.” My eyes scanned over the hologram of the planet’s battle zones, noting how difficult it was going to be to take any ground. “It is imperative that we conquer the capital city as quickly as possible and hold it.” Wonderful.
Anakin stepped up to join the briefing, hands folded calmly behind his back. “Our biggest problem is going to be the local militia.” I nodded silently, still scanning the holographic map. “The Umbarans have aligned themselves with the Separatists and are heavily armed.” My eyebrow quirked. This was just laying itself out nicely from start to finish, wasn’t it? Maybe this was why the Force was unsettled. Nothing about this was going to be easy. “ARC Trooper Fives will be assisting my units on special assignment.”
I smirked, glancing sideways at the ARC trooper as he snapped to attention. “Ready to do my part, General Skywalker.”
“Nice to have you on board,” Rex said past me to his brother, his words genuine.
I felt Fives’ smile behind his visor. “Just like old times, Rex.”
“And Kida will be joining us this time,” Anakin teased gently, giving me a look.
I rolled my eyes with a grin. “Hey now, that underwater nonsense on Mon Cala was no place for me,” I joked back easily. They’d asked me to join, but I’d declined. I had no equipment or training for underwater combat. I wasn’t about to sign up for a job with the absolute certainty I’d die. “But I’m glad to be along to keep you boys out of trouble this time,” I added, crossing my arms as they chuckled with me.
“Remember Anakin,” Obi-wan interjected, returning our focus to the mission. “Cody and I will be 12 klicks to your south. We’re counting on you to take out those local fighters or, I’m afraid, the capital will never surrender.”
Anakin sighed heavily. “Does my battalion have to do everything?” I cracked a grin, enjoying watching the Jedi bicker. They were more like brothers than friends, really.
“You seem to always volunteer,” Obi-wan replied easily with a glimmer in his eye. He turned and left with Cody and his troops, making their way towards their own transport.
Anakin couldn’t fight the grin on his face while he nodded at us, hopping aboard the gunship. “All right,” Rex called to his men, “Let’s go!”
We boarded the gunship after Anakin, the Star Destroyer trembling slightly as we entered the atmosphere of Umbara. The hangar doors hissed open, revealing a terrible dark sky. The engines of the gunship engaged, the pilot slowly guiding us out.
My eyebrow quirked slightly when I saw Tup wrap both his hands around the railing above, gripping for dear life. “Not a flyer?” I asked, teasing.
“Just like you’re not a swimmer, miss,” the young clone replied easily, catching me by surprise. I blanched before breaking out in easy laughter. I gave him a nod through my shaking shoulders. Fair enough.
The gunship shook in the air, the doors opening to let the wind whip past us. I wasn’t afraid of flying….but I could understand Tup’s tight grip. Mine got a bit firmer when the ship took a particularly hard pitch to the side to avoid damage.
The air was crackling with energy as bombs burst around us, the local militia somehow having anti-aircraft weaponry. “There’s a lot of surface fire,” Rex said to Anakin beside me, both of them peering towards the mist-covered ground.
Hardcase chuckled on the other side of Skywalker. “They ain’t got nothing we can’t handle, sir.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled as the clone spoke, my eyes lifting to watch the side of Rex’s helmet. Despite getting new armor, Rex thought the new visor design made it harder to see. So he welded the two designs together to get the better air filtrations and seal, but keep the good vision. He lost the HUD upgrade, but he didn’t seem to mind.
He’d been doing fine without it so far.
As if in a daze, guided by the Force’s warning, I reached out and wrapping my fingers around Rex’s wrist. He turned immediately, panic flaring in his mind.
The Force pushed harder and I heard the engine of the other gunship that was beside us in the air. I let go of my own handhold and pulled Rex hard, twisting him to be on my other side. Wind whipped past the back of my head, gently tugging at my ponytail as the piece of shrapnel flew through the passenger bay.
The gunship beside us had exploded, debris flying at us. Most bounced off harmlessly, but one particularly nasty piece hurtled through our area. It hit no one, managing to just miss Fives’ helmet, but it did take out the handhold Rex had been using a moment before.
They group stared at me for a moment before Hardcase let out a loud laugh. “See? Nothing we can’t handle!” I knew it was a way of smothering the grief of losing that gunship. The clones around me were already making mental notes, deep down beneath the strategy of the battle, of each brother they lose so they can recite the names in remembrance.
“You hanging in there, Tup?” Rex asked after muttered me a thank you. I felt his gratitude in my mind, since he couldn’t express it here. Still, through our time together it had become easier for me to feel our connection and link our minds easier.
Tup, who was behind us, was still holding on with two hands. Still, he gave us a firm nod and sounded confident. “So far, so good, Captain.”
Anakin’s wrist comm pinged. “General Skywalker,” the pilot said. Hawk, I think. “I’m turning the lights out. Our night vision sensors are having a tough time in this chop. I hope we don’t overshoot the landing site.” He sounded worried.
“Just get us as close as you can,” Anakin responded.
Beside him, Hardcase cheered, pumping his fist. “Time to lock and load!” The gunship began to dip lower, approaching the landing zone.
I let my eyes slide close, doing my best to ignore the explosions outside the ship and focus on centering myself. Flying didn’t bother me like it did Tup, but I certainly wasn’t loving the whole ‘doors open while we’re being fired on’ thing. At least, not when I wasn’t in the pilot’s seat.
Speaking of, I let my mind reach out and feel the nervous tendrils of Tup’s mind. I mentally took my hand and smoothed it over the harsh lines of worry, soothing him while we shook in the air. I could feel Rex’s gaze on me, prodding me to open my eyes again. He was glancing between Tup and I, likely seeing some of the tension melt out of his brother. He said nothing, but I knew the Captain’s wheels were turning and connecting the dots.
The reverse thrusters whirred, the back hatch opening to allow our AT-RT to drop. We were now only about 20 feet above the ground. Both my and Tup’s tension melted away. We’d survive this fall.
Hawk brought our gunship down after the AT-RTs took out the anti-aircraft cannons, our group leaping out to begin our strike as planned. Both my pistols and my lightsaber were on my belt, but I’d planned ahead for the conditions of Umbara.
We were launching into an upfront charge in low-visibility. As I stepped slowly forward from the gunship, I lowered my goggles, the HUD engaging with a soft greeting from Apex in my ear. Drawing the modified rifle I’d brought from over my shoulder, I activated thermal imaging and began scoping out the Umbarans hiding in their tricky landscape.
The feeling of...death….was almost too much. I had to physically pause in the battlefield and close myself off in order to stay focused. Resisting the urge to keep a part of my mind on Rex, I put all of my focus into my place in the battle.
The feelings of the clones and Umbarans faded away, as well as the deafening sound of explosions. Slowly, I felt things moving slower, my rifle never missing. I heard the pull of the trigger mechanism and saw the barrel flashing. I never stayed looking at one target long enough to see the blast hit, though.
But I knew it did.
I slowed on the next hill as Anakin and Rex took cover there. Scoping over the top of it in a crouch, I listened to the captain report to his lightsaber-wielding general. “This map has a ridge at 23 degrees north, northwest.”
“Good, we can use it as a staging area,” Anakin replied, easily blocking fire for both him and Rex.
They advanced, Rex calling over his shoulder at his men. “Keep moving! We gotta claim that ridge! The other battalions are counting on us!” He was met with a chorus of cheers and battle cries. I couldn’t help but crack a proud smile as I moved forward as well, still using the thermal scope on my rifle.
“Don’t stray too far!” Anakin yelled as he ran alongside an AT-RT. “The enemy could have the whole place rigged with traps.”
It was in that exact moment that I realized I had never seen all-out war. Not until that moment. I’d been in countless fights with the clones and Jedi...but they’d all either been space or in relatively close quarters. They never had the chance to get massive.
And bounty hunting never featured a full-out battle unless you were a mercenary, which I never did.
I was thankful that I was never exposed to it before understanding my connection to the Force. If it had been back when I was just scratching the surface of understanding who and what I was….I probably would have lost the battle the darkness long ago.
And I never would have found my way back.
My heart ached for the clones. I knew they were trained and battle-hardened for this very reason--to deal with the trauma of war. But I knew that they felt loss, even if they hid it well. I knew they grieved for the senseless death of their family.
“I can’t even see the enemy,” Tup yelled beside me as I continued to pick off the Umbarans with thermal. The clones weren’t given that gadget, unless they were specialized.
Jesse ran up beside us, still firing his rifle, despite the fact that I could see he wasn’t actually hitting anything. I couldn’t hold it against him, though. I’d be hitting nothing either without the thermal….and the Force. “That’s why they’re called the Shadow People, Tup,” he teased, making me chuckle as I took aim again, never ceasing in walking forward.
“You did your reading,” I joked, my eye still at my scope. “Keep studying hard and you’ll be an ARC in no time.”
“Yeah, in his dreams,” Fives yelled from somewhere in the mist and hellfire.
It was weird….to joke while men died around us. While we took the lives of our enemies with the twitch of a finger. While we ran through fields of death and destruction. But somehow, it helped. It made the horror bearable. Reminded you that others were experiencing the same thing as you. You’d have people who understood later.
So long as everyone made it out, that is.
The Force whispered, tickling at the hair on my neck. My scope lifted obediently at its call, spotting what it wanted me to see. “Cannons!” I cried, temporarily deactivating thermal to save my retinas when they fired.
“Everybody take cover!” Rex ordered as the first cannons began to rain explosions over us. We pushed on, taking as much cover as we could while running. Stopping meant certain death, so this was the only way.
Other than going back in time and telling myself to not get out of bed the morning before leaving.
My heels dug into the ground when I heard screaming. Hardcase, the Force whispered. I turned, seeing what I had thought were vines begin to lift into the air. They were tentacles--attached to a rather angry looking mouth. My first thought of recognition was that it resembled the Sarlacc on Tattooin. The second thought was that we were all screwed if we didn’t handle that right now.
I threw my rifle over my shoulder in its sling, goggles sliding up on my forehead and drew my lightsaber without a thought. The blade ignited under my touch as I leapt into the air, slicing through the tentacle that was trying to feed Hardcase into its mouth.
He fell to the ground beside me as I landed on the balls of my feet, the white blade extended at my side. By the time I looked up, though, the creature already had four more clones in its grasp, one going down its gullet.
“That’s not right!” Hardcase yelled with disgust, resetting his grip on his rotary blaster. Fives was suspended in the air, but I saw him drawing a detonator from his belt. I shifted sideways, slicing through three more tentacles to free clones. Fives tossed the detonator like a treat, the creature happily eating it up.
Only to blow up from the inside.
Fives, being the only clone left suspended, was the only one to fall hard on his ass. Hardcase was there, helping him up in a moment. “Nice work, Fives.”
“You’re welcome for saving your life,” I joked to Hardcase, giving them a roll of my eyes as I tossed Fives his dropped blaster.
The tattooed clones returned the expression before cracking smiles. “Thank you for saving my life, Kida,” Hardcase called as we went back to pushing our front line forward. His voice was comical, but I heard the wince he tried to cover. The creature throwing him around certainly hadn’t felt good.
We moved up to join the group, finding them closing in on the cannons. Lightsaber still in hand, I rushed the front line with Anakin, slicing through a cannon with him. It was all we needed. The single explosion created enough of a hole in their lines that it allowed our forces to flood through like a raging river. We worked methodically, groups splitting off at every destroyed cannon to establish control over the ridge. When enough were destroyed to prod Umbaran retreat, we finally let ourselves have a minute to rest.
The Umbarans had dug a trench across the top of the ridge, giving us perfect cover from their forces that now resided on the opposite side. The men immediately posted up as lookouts, the AT-RTs stationed before us for extra cover.
I’d made sure to find Hardcase, finding him resting beside Fives, Jesse, and Tup. They all had their helmets off. I sat beside him, feeling out with the Force to find him hurting. Trying to be discreet, I put my hand on his shoulder. “How do you feel after taking a beat down from that thing?” I asked with a smile, hiding the fact that I was willing the Force to heal him. At least a little.
“Like I just came out of my incubation tube,” the clone winked.
I needed more time. I traced my fingers over the few sharp lines in his shoulder guard that the sharp vines left. “It was like the Sarlaac on Tatooine,” I mused absentmindedly, focusing on healing.
“Vixus, actually,” Jesse said over a bite of his ration, flashing me a crooked grin. He lifted a single finger and tapped it against his temple. “I did my reading.”
I laughed, the light feeling bursting forth from my chest and down my arm. I felt it work within Hardcase, healing him slowly. My hand left his armor, knowing it would continue to help him for a bit, while he rested.
“General Kenobi’s battalion, sir?” My head lifted at the sound of Rex’s voice without the modulation of his helmet. I found him in a moment, seeing him standing beside Skywalker as they examined the battlefield through electrobinoculars.
Anakin looked away from the Umbaran line to address his captain. “They’re pushing towards the capital. We’ll need to move out as soon as the men are ready.”
I sighed, looking down. I wasn’t too tired, just yet. And I knew Jesse was only munching on his rations because he could and didn’t know when he would be able to again. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to more of the bloodbath we just got through. And that was just the outside defenses.
A young clone I recognized raced by, the tattoo clear on his face. “All platoons have reported in, General,” Dogma said, his back rigid.
I watched Anakin fight a small smile. “Get some rest,” he ordered gently.
“Thank you, sir,” Dogma replied evenly, before adding. “I’m fine.” My eyebrows lifted, even Fives turning where he was resting to look over my shoulder with me.
Rex stepped towards his brother slowly. “The general’s given you an order, Dogma.”
“Of course, sir.” The young clone was quick to respond, running off to follow the order immediately, I’m sure.
“He’s wound tight,” Rex allowed, returning to Anakin’s side. “But he’s loyal.”
Skywalker chuckled. “He kind of reminds me of you.” My lips quirked, Fives watching my face. My elbow jabbed into his side gently, making him laugh.
“Maybe,” Rex sighed, his voice deepening while he looked over the battlefield. “Back in the day.”
“Ah,” Fives whispered so only I could hear, our faces beside each other as we eavesdropped. “I wonder why our good captain isn’t wound quite so tight these days, huh?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at me. “Maybe he has some….biases when it comes to the fairness of our rules?”
I chuckled, but my face grew stoically cold when I turned to him. I put my finger in his face, speaking as quietly as he had. “If you ever even think about telling Dogma anything--”
The ARC lifted his hands in a mock salute immediately. “I’d rather die.”
“Thank Ka’ra,” I laughed, earning a playful shove from my friend. The more time I spent with him, the more I realized he was the brother I wish I could have had with Boba. Able and independent, but playful and loving, too. I trusted him to take care of himself, but knew we’d take care of each other if we needed to.
And then my laughter stopped, my eyes going distant as a cold washed over me. A darkness of foreboding. Like someone was whispering, “look out” down an abandoned hall. Fives frowned at me, concerned coloring his features.
“Kida?” he asked, knowing I never wanted him to call me ‘Miss.’ “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head, my gloved fingertips touching my brow gently. “I don’t know.” There was the sound of gunfire, all of our heads turning.
“The enemy’s circled behind us,” Fives announced, pulling on his helmet as we all raced to join.
“Everybody,” Rex called, gathering the troops, “We must defend our backs!”
“What the hell is that thing?” I heard as we ran, my legs slowing to see a tiny bug-like creature, completely encased in electricity. It leapt onto a clone, the man screaming in anguish before falling dead.
My nose crinkled as I snarled, saber igniting in my grasp. I leapt forward, easily slicing through the bug. The Umbarans were attacking us from behind, hidden in the same trees we had used for coverage to take the ridge. I switched back to my thermal-imaging rifle, doing my best to pick them out of their hiding places. Sliding into cover behind a dip of the landscape, I set up my rifle over the lip, laying fire over any Umbaran who dared to pop out of their cover.
“I’ve called in an air strike on the enemy positions,” Rex reported to his general, his back against the rocks.
“Let’s hope they’re not too busy helping Obi-wan,” Skywalker replied. In the madness of our battle, I’d almost forgotten that there were countless others just like ours going on all around the planet. The planet was already one of darkness...but all this death would likely create festering holes for the Dark Side.
“There’s an opening to our south,” Rex continued, ever the planner. “I recommend we move all platoons off the ridge in case the air strike overshoots.” That was an incredibly fair point. I was glad for my good, handsome captain’s presence. I liked having him fighting at my side.
“Everyone move out now!” Anakin’s order was obeyed in seconds, the clones pulling off the ridge. Rex waited a moment for most of his men to pass before following Skywalker. His hand touched my back as he went--a silent signal for me to follow sooner rather than later.
I listened, throwing my rifle over my shoulder and racing through the trenches. We had to make our way down the opposite side of the ridge, ducking into the scarce cover the open landscape offered down there. It was covered with a thick veil of mist, but the ridge was still clearly swarming with Umbarans.
“All here, sir,” Rex said a minute later as he reported back to our group.
“Stay covered,” Anakin ordered from where he looked out at the ridge. “We have to hold the position.” We all shifted, pressing our backs against the cover to stand in wait. I closed my eyes, trying to ease the anxiety from myself and the clones. With our backs pressed against the base of the tree, no one saw Rex’s fingers brush mine, gently squeezing them behind the cover of our bodies. It was nice.
And reassuring that the beautiful dream that exists in my apartment on Coruscant is, if not actually real, at least a dream we share.
“Are you sure those bombers are coming?” Tup asked after a few moments of painful silence.
“Patience,” I hummed immediately, earning a low chuckle from a few of the clones. A moment later, the low roar of engines sounded over the rolling hills. Two bombers came into view in the sky, dropping bombs perfectly where they were called in.
“Good old OddBall,” Jesse cheered, seeing the ridge ignite in a flurry of explosive colors. “Always on target.”
Anakin chuckled when we all finally moved out of cover. “Glad we got off that ridge.”
“Yeah,” Hardcase chuckled as he walked up behind us. “Ha! That’ll teach ‘em!”
I sighed gently, my eyes looking over the ridge as we began to set up a new staging area. “Or it could just piss them off.”
Rex glanced sideways at me before peeling off to begin setting up our staging area. Helmets came off as Anakin went back to planning.
“So,” Hardcase said as he slouched along the ditch beside me, helmet in hand. “You’re using a lightsaber openly now?”
I raised my brow at him, giving him a smirk. “Don’t pretend Fives didn’t already tell you.”
He laughed. “Fair enough. It’s cool. You look like a genuine Jedi out there.” His eyes glanced over my attire. “Minus the guns, of course.”
“Well, I’m not a Jedi,” I responded easily, rising from his side. “So I have no code against punching you.”
“I’d believe her, if I were you,” Jesse called as he walked over to join us, touching his nose sadly.
I waved my hand at him dismissively. “Would you drop that? That happened forever ago and your nose looks fine!” There were some confused looks between the newer additions to the 501st, such as Dogma and Tup. I lifted my brow, smirking. “You didn’t tell them.”
“Tell us what, sir?” Dogma asked, his back rigid. I gave him a once over, but ignored him.
“During my first-ever run-in with the 501st, I happened to punch Jesse in the face,” I admitted, more gloating that shy, to be honest. The younger clones looked shocked, making me laugh.
“No, no,” Jesse laughed, coming over and throwing his arm over my shoulders, catching me in a headlock. “She didn’t just punch me. She broke my damned nose.”
I struggled in his grasp while the clones laughed at us. Finally getting leverage beneath him, I planted my feet and twisted in his hold. His arm came with me, his wrist clenched in my fingers. In a moment, I was above him, holding his arm behind his back. “And it healed great, don’t you think?” I asked jokingly as the clones guffawed at their struggling brother. “It could have been so much worse.”
“Alright,” Jesse practically whined below me. “I get it, I get it!” I let go, the clone rolling his shoulder and casting me a sad look. I only smiled at him, moving to sit back down.
I stopped, though, my ear pricking up at the sound of a gunship engine. It was coming closer. My gaze lifted, the clones around me beginning to sober from their laughter as they followed my line of sight.
Fives got up and followed me through the mist of Umbara to get closer to where Anakin and Rex were still planning. The gunship’s floodlights washed over us as it landed, revealing an imposing silhouette. The Force rippled with power around him, but it wasn’t like Anakin’s. Anakin’s Force signature was mesmerizing in its blinding light. This figure’s made me recoil from its power, but also its mystery.
It worried me. The Force was often hard to interpret...but this almost felt blatantly mixed up messages in order to remain a mystery.
The figure hopped from the gunship, his heavy feet thumping on the dirt. As he approached, he became more visible. He had four arms and a prominent three-pronged head crest--A Besalisk.
“General Krell’s here?” Dogma said, approaching us from behind. I jumped, my focus having been on the approaching figure. So the Besalisk was a Jedi. A well-known one, at that.
“Something big must be going on,” Fives muttered back, glancing between me and his brother.
I ignored the clones, stepping a bit closer to listen as the Jedi approached our own General. “Master Krell,” Anakin greeted formally, “My thanks for the air support.”
“Indeed, General Skywalker,” Krell responded, crossing one set of his arms across his chest. His voice raised the hairs on my neck immediately. I wasn’t sure why, but something was...off.
Maybe It was just my natural-bred paranoia.
“The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated,” Krell continued, his voice lightening in tone.
Anakin nodded slightly, but his face was solemn. “But that’s not the reason for your visit,” he guessed.
“No,” Krell confirmed. “The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.” Shock rippled across the clones, even flashing across Rex’s face.
“What?” Anakin exclaimed, equally as confused. “Wh-why?”
Krell’s signature--which I was watching very closely--never wavered. “I’m afraid a request was made by the Supreme Chancellor and the Council obliged.” Krell shrugged slightly. “That is all they would tell me.”
Ah. So that was the reason for the weird feeling. Krell’s presence was because he was taking over for Anakin. Anakin must be in danger, in some way. I was still wary of the Chancellor, despite doing my best to support the Republic. Maybe he was the weird feeling I was getting from Krell.
A residue from the creepy old man.
“Well, I can’t just leave my men,” Anakin argued. The clones all seemed to straighten a bit at his words. I smiled. They were proud to follow Skywalker into battle. They were proud because he was proud of them. He fought with us, every time we went into battle. Fought for us.
“I’ll be taking over in the interim,” Krell assured. I worried silently. Would I be going with Anakin? I had no issue with Krell taking command, as the 501st would handle everything anyways. But I didn’t want to leave Rex alone without myself or Anakin there. Especially since Ahsoka wasn’t on the ground with us.
“Don’t worry about a thing, sir.” Rex’s voice drew my attention back, seeing him trying to reassure his general. “We’ll have this city under Republic control by the time you get back.”
Skywalker seemed soothed, even just a little. He grinned, looking up at the interim general. “Master Krell, this is Rex, my first in command. You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.” I smiled, feeling my captain’s chest inflate slightly from his general’s praise. I could compliment him all day, but it was nothing compared to Anakin. I understood. I was like that with Jango.
“That’s good to hear,” Krell replied curtly, looking over the clone captain with a hard eye.
“And I should introduce Kida,” Anakin continued, catching me by surprise when he picked me out where I loomed in the mist. I stepped forward, putting on my bounty-hunter face. “She’s under contract with the Republic and a good friend of mine. I’ll be leaving her here to assist you.”
“Yes,” Kreel responded, almost droning. “I have been briefed on young Miss Fett’s….abilities.” He cleared his throat slightly as I fought the urge to scowl at him. “As well as the concerns of the Council. But rest assured,” he smiled at me, as if giving me a compliment. “I know what is cause for concern and am confident in my ability to detain you, should you become an issue.”
I crossed my arms over my beskar, giving the Jedi a glare. “I’m so glad.”
“Of course,” Anakin leapt in, doing his best to defuse a situation before it arose. “That won’t be necessary. I trust Kida with my life. She’s incredibly talented and I advise you use those abilities during the taking of the city. There’s a reason we brought her along.”
Master Krell gave us all a smile, his shoulder relaxing. “Of course. I wish you well, Skywalker.”
Anakin gave us all a final glance before walking past Krell and into the gunship that dropped him off. It took off, our general flying away. I glanced at Rex, cutting my eyes to Krell’s back with question. Rex rolled his shoulders slightly before stepping forward.
“Your reputation precedes you, General,” he commented, “It’s an honor to be serving you.”
“I find it very interesting, Captain,” Krell replied, my hackles raising immediately at his tone. “That you are able to recognize the value of honor, for a clone.”
I watched Rex’s face warp in sad recognition, glancing sideways at the Jedi. My heart ached. He’d seen this before. In other Jedi. Bounty hunters. Civilians. Senators. Everyone.
“Stand at attention when I address you,” Krell snapped, the captain immediately stiffening...as well as all the other clones.
I moved to step forward, but stopped, feeling Rex quietly wishing for me to stay back in his mind. I obeyed, for his sake, rather than my own. Still, I wasn’t going to stand at attention.
“Your flattery is duly noted, but it will not be rewarded. There’s a reason my command is so effective and it’s because I do things by the book.” He was walking amongst the clones now, glaring in their faces.
I stepped up next to Rex, my gaze dark as I watched the Jedi’s back. Rex’s hand brushed mine for only a brief moment, but I got the message. He wanted me to cool it. Respect the chain of command. Fine. I’d listen.
For now.
“And that includes protocol,” Krell continued ranting as he walked amongst the clones. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately. That is all.” He strode away, disappearing into the mist.
I expected the clones to be livid, like I was. Instead, they just seemed annoyed. Fives looked over at us with a dramatic roll of his eyes. Rex only sighed, stepping forward to organize his men. He said nothing to me, putting his helmet on as if to try and block me out. I pursed my lips after him, but didn’t follow.
“Sometimes they’re like this,” Fives sighed as he fell into step with me, his helmet still under his arm. “It’s something we have to...get used to.”
“That’s not right.”
“Oh?” he laughed, nudging my shoulder slightly. “There aren’t many fighting for us in the Senate, Kida. We aren’t...human to a lot of them.”
I stared at the ground as we walked, my thoughts teetering on darkness. I did my best to steer them away. “Well I’m going to have to find some kind of silver lining to this situation.”
Fives shrugged. “Winning?” I lifted my brow at him, but didn’t get the chance to say anything.
“Fett,” I heard Krell call from somewhere in the mist. I winced, my hackles raising again. He didn’t call again, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t.
“Better go,” Fives whispered, putting on his helmet. “Have fun.”
As I walked, I could feel the Jedi prodding at my mind with the Force. I recoiled slightly, immediately building a mental wall. I’d gotten pretty damned good at it, considering I’d taken to spending my time with Jedi. Of course, Yilria had taught me a lot when I had to hide my conferring with her from Darth Bane.
“In the future,” Krell said, still turned away from me as I approached, “You will not keep me waiting when I call.” I didn’t respond, standing in silence behind him. “You will reply when I speak to you, Fett.”
I swallowed, biting my cheeks to refrain from saying something bad. “Understood.” He looked over his shoulder at me, raising his brow implicatively. I knew this game. It reminded me of how the Zygerrians would treat slaves. Taunting us with their power over us. I swallowed thickly again, lifting my chin. I knew the game, and I didn’t want to play. But I knew the deal with the Republic. “Sir,” I bit out.
Krell accepted it, turning to face me fully. “I’ve read all the information the Council has on you to prepare myself,” he launched right into it, making my eyebrows raise in surprise. “And my decision is that I don’t trust you.” He waved one of his hands when I opened my mouth to argue. “Not for your heritage or profession. I look down on you for both, but neither hinder my trust.” I gaped but said nothing, too shocked to form words. “Your track record shows an incredible amount of free-thinking and disobeying orders. That’s not how my command works.”
I swallowed, glancing over the imposing Besalisk. “I’ve only disobeyed orders when I knew they were wrong.”
“That’s not your right,” Krell growled lowly, my lips smacking closed immediately. That was annoying. It was a knee-jerk reaction I developed from my time as a slave. I usually schooled it down quickly, but most of my competitors weren’t Force-sensitive and endlessly battering at my mental walls. I had to constantly block him mentally and verbally….simultaneously.
It was hard.
“You don’t have the qualifications as a bounty hunter,” he spit the word like it was sour on his tongue, “To question my orders. Is that understood?”
I swallowed for a moment in silence, earning a hard look from the general. Finally, I sighed, feeling the tension of the clones around us. If I denied the Jedi, he’d either kill me or have me taken off the mission. Then I wouldn’t be around to keep an eye on my boys.
It was true, I knew the game. And I didn’t want to lose it. But….sometimes you had to appear to lose, in order to win in the long-run. Breathing slowly, I solidified the mental wall I built against the Jedi, planting myself firmly. I looked Krell in the eye, showing the fire I was containing in my eyes, as if warning him to set it loose. When I spoke, my voice was deceptively even, almost completely hiding the bite in my words.
“Yes, sir.”
----------------------------------------
Author's Note:
Watching Umbara is making me want to have Kida just stab Krell and move on. Of course I can't for both canon and character development reasons. But it's SOOOOO tempting. Might write alternate ending for my own pleasure lol.
As always, reviews/likes/comments/shares are appreciated and encouraged!
-Ryder
#fanfiction#fanfic#Mandalorian#Daughter of Jango fic#Kida Fett#captain rex#rex x oc#captain rex x reader#captain rex x oc#rex#clones#Clone Wars#clone#The Clone Wars#Clone Troopers#star wars#star wars the clone wars#star wars oc#oc star wars#bounty hunter#Umbara#Carnage of krell#General Krell#Master Krell#Tup#Kix#Jesse#Hardcase#Fives#Dogma
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Denial
for @sayaoqueen
There are also most definitely spelling errors in this, really sorry.
Prompt:
“Go back to sleep”
“I can take care of myself”
“Take my jacket, it’s cold outside”
summary: Should anyone ever ask him, Sasuke would vehemently deny it, perhaps even blame it on you -- but, no matter how hard it was that he rejected the thought, the two of you were utterly, completely and totally lost. It also happened to be entirely Sasuke’s fault (though this he would deny, too). Sasuke, while he was a proclaimed “God of Shinobi," last Uchiha, one of the saviors of the fourth war, and many more sorts of incredible things, was a terrible navigator.
Should anyone ever ask him, Sasuke would vehemently deny it, perhaps even blame it on you -- but no matter how hard it was that he rejected the thought, the both of you were utterly, totally lost. It was also entirely Sasuke’s fault (though this he would deny, too).
Sasuke, while he was a proclaimed “God of Shinobi," last Uchiha, one of the saviors of the fourth war, and many more sorts of incredible things, was a terrible navigator.
This is something that he would also deny, as would many others. He was simply too strong of a shinobi to be lacking so heavily in something so trivial and yet vital to the life of a shinobi. You had thought so, too, until you met him along your travels. How he had managed to survive for so long without you during such a taxing excursion as the one he was on, you had absolutely no idea.
The two of you had been traveling together for a significant period of time now, and with the end of the fourth shinobi world war, Sasuke was investigating on the Otsutsuki while you had your own reasons for traveling. Your paths just so happened to intertwine, and thus came each other’s company.
In fact, recently on your travels, the two of you had celebrated Sasuke’s most recent birthday together. To be honest, it hadn’t been much of a celebration -- the two of you just spent some time at the most decent restaurant that you could find in the small town you were passing by. It was somewhere in the midst of the Land of Snow, bringing frosted breath forwards as it became visible in the air while you spoke across a shared wooden table. Sasuke didn’t complain much, though, it was happy enough for him (and it had absolutely nothing to do with you being there with him, he would say).
It was overall a good night by anyone’s standards. Quaint and small? — Yes. But good? — Certainly.
Except, there was one minor problem about the night, unbeknown to you at least. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that Sasuke had no mental compass to guide him in the right direction -- literally. The boy barely knew south from north and west from east. You honestly found it a little funny, as would anyone, and briefly mentioned as much to the boy that same night.
“I just think it’s a little ironic, honestly!” you laughed through the high of good spirits. “You go on a journey filled with different directions, and yet you don’t know any of them!” You spoke over the rim of a glass, and smiled as you drank the next moment. Sasuke peered at you over the wooden table you were sharing.
Should you have been paying attention, you may have noticed a small twitch in the cheek of the boy across from you. But alas, joy clouded your senses as you grinned and celebrated the birth of your companion.
Now, Sasuke has always been the aloof sort -- he doesn’t care to think too much about others, for he doesn’t care too much what others think about him. Yet something about hearing the light teasing come from you... it just didn’t sit right within him.
Believe me when I tell you, dear reader, that Sasuke did indeed try to ignore the irritation he felt, he really did. The last thing he wanted was to fall into some sort of convoluted mindset of feeling a need to prove himself; he had been in one of those for years before.
But he had realized lately that he didn’t mind being noticed by you for his feats of strength (it brought out a glimmer in your eyes, which he would swear he definetly hadn’t noticed). Companions should just appreciate each other, that’s all it is, he would think. Certainly proving his navigation skills to you wouldn’t be so hard, would it?
....
It was indeed rather hard.
After morning came from spending a proir night in an inn together, you hadn’t thought much when Sasuke requested the map, and told you that the two of you were to head North. Privately, you were vaguely aware that you were supposed to be heading East, but seeing as how Sasuke often went on detours, you again, thought nothing much.
Thus came about your aforementioned predicament -- you were lost, and in the middle of a snowstorm too.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” you called over the nipping air, your voice snatched by violent winds that drenched you in cold.
Sasuke merely glanced back at you, perfect aloofness on his face. But you knew better; you knew that in regards to your question, he had absolutely no idea. You cursed yourself for not thinking much of it when Sasuke decided to take the map off of your hands in the inn just a few hours ago.
“Sasuke, we should start to head East if we want to reach a safe camping site by dusk.”
Your calls for a direction change went unheard, as Sasuke ignored them in what you knew to be his stubborness.
And this is how the remainder of the day was spent. Sasuke claimed around half way through the noon that he was simply tracking all potential areas for traces of the Otsutsuki clan, and that this was a neccessary precaution, but something in the way his ears turned red from something other than the cold told you otherwise.
Soon, dusk fell upon the two of you, and the winds of the storm that had blew you in every which way settled, until a stale nothing permeated the space you stood. Sasuke stood just a few feet in front of you, his body hunched, as he stood up to his knees in the white powdered snow, complimenting his brow as it furrowed between his eyes.
The trees of the forest you traveled went stiff, and Sasuke turned toward you, the silence of the air forcing the sound of the snow under Sasuke’s weight going brittle through the area. Suddenly, you realized just how alone and cold the forest was, and just how far away you were from visible camping sites. The night would be long in the maze of these trees.
“It’s not safe to travel East during the night. The weather won’t allow for safe travels with no light.” was all Sasuke said. You accepted this apology, for that is what it was, and knew the Uchiha to be acknowledging your initial prodding to head in the other direction. This was as far as Sasuke would ever go to admitting his defeat, though again he woud of course deny it.
The two of you hadn’t needed to speak too much before you started setting up what little camp you could. A campfire, while it would have been nice in the chill of the night, would not have been wise -- many people had yet to forgive your companion for his previous crimes, and the investigations of which he was doing required absolute secrecy in location, anyway.
You shivered as you set up a small base beneath a tree for the two of you to sleep on.
You heard a rustle behind you as Sasuke, having seen the chattering in your teeth as you made camp, stood in a thick sweater. Outstretched in his hand, he held his winter jacket.
“Here, take my jacket.” he thrust it toward you, “it’s cold outside.”
“Won’t you get cold?”
Just as you asked, Sasuke began to retrace your steps from the day in what you knew to be his covering of your conjoined tracks. “I can take care of myself” was all he replied, and no sooner after draping the jacket over your shoulders, was he gone.
Sasuke, was a proclaimed “God of Shinobi," the last Uchiha, one of the saviors of the fourth war, and many more sorts of incredible things. You thought of this while vaguely jesting to yourself, jokingly wondering if he would even be find his way back to the camp site after he was done with his task. You knew he was a fast worker and that there was little to cover, the snowstorm from earlier having done a lot of the work for the two of you.
Gripping the jacket across you shoulders, you sat down at the base of the tree, the small camp you had made doing little to keep you warm.
Vacantly, you watched as the sun settled itself just below the line of treetops within your view, and as it fell, did you eyelids do the same.
In what must have been no more than half an hour later, your eyes reopened to the blurry sight of a familiar figure, making himself comfortable for the night right next to where you yourself were.
“All done, Sasuke?”
He gave a “hn” in reply, finally setting himself down beside you as he looked up at the sky, the stars just starting to shyly peek through the dark. Your gaze lay on him for just a moment too long to be casual. You watched, and saw as his brow furrowed much like earlier once again.
“I...” Sasuke began. “I thought we were headed in the right direction.”
Carefully, you saw his eyes slowly move downward, his face forming into his best attempts to be unreadable. But you would always know better.
“Sasuke, don’t worry. Let’s just get some rest and we can head East in the morning.” A slow smile drew itself on your face.
Sasuke’s lips twitched as he regarded you, gentle eye contact holding you both together. “I wanted to take us in the right direction... but-” he glanced at the snow surrounding the both of you.
Still looking at him, you quickly sat up at the sound of his tone going down in obvious displeasure. Breath visible in the air, you knew the redness in his ears was most certainly not from the cold as you pressed your lips against his cheek.
“It’s fine Sasuke,” you muttered against his skin. Pulling away, your smile only grew as you sat yourself closer to him for warmth. “Tomorrow, I get the map, okay?”
Sasuke, as terrible of a navigator as he was, also had no skill in expressing his emotions (just one more thing he would deny). Which is why, in a quick turn of his head away from you and a short glimpse of a blush later did he hurriedly tell you to “go back to sleep.”
Chuckling, you took the jacket he gave you and placed it on top of both of your laps for warmth, getting closer to him so as to share it evenly. Complying with his stammerred response, your eyes slowly drifted closed, head resting against the bark of the tree.
The night turned still once more, but you were no longer cold.
For all we know, you may have imagined it, but as your consciousness faded, you could have sworn you felt a small peck returned on your own cheek. Had you asked in the morning though, Sasuke would have of course denied it.
Kk, that’s it. Sorry it lowkey sucked lol. Requests open!
#naruto#naruto headcanon#naruto headcanons#naruto fluff#fluff#scenario#sasuke#uchiha#Uchiha clan#Naruto shippuden#Sasuke x reader
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Hey there! Do you have any punk au recs? Can be either or both boys! I know you have a bad boy Harry rec but I’m hoping for a little Louis mixed in too! Thank you so much 💕
Here you go, darling!!! :) Hope this is enough, but let me know if you want more! :)
Punk H/L Fic Rec
Punk Harry
oops, i like you by say_thanks
Words: 5k
He thrives in the attention, at the knowledge he makes these boys with their tattooed dicks and pierced whatevers, so hot and bothered. These boys with their confident smirks and broad shoulders and hands, touching Louis wherever they can. Louis reduces them all to a wet, moaning, mess, every time.
Usually he doesn’t see those guys again. It’s not generally part of the plan.
But then Harry tightens his grip on the back of Louis’ neck and Louis ducks his head to taste the sweat beading under Harry’s chin, kissing the ink curling up Harry’s neck, then kissing his way down to get his mouth on the god forsaken nipple piercings. He listens to the way Harry breathes his name, and for the first time silently asks, Can I keep him?
Clusters of Stars by Hazzalovescarrots
Words: 5k
Louis doesn’t have the best history with guys. When Harry shows up, totally different and covered in tattoos, things change. Liam and Zayn don’t really approve but it’s none of their business ey?
leave this house and i’ll burn it down along with myself by orphan_account
Words: 6k
“So I’m simply your guest, am I?” Louis asks, before leaning up and kissing Harry.
“Nope. You’re not,” Harry mumbles into his mouth, and he tries to ignore how Louis’ body arches against his, “you’re not even my living partner. You’re the princess I captured and now I’m going to keep you here, in the forest, all for myself.”
Purr Like a Cat by floatingsalad (orphan_account)
Words: 6k
harry wears eyeliner and listens to loud music and lives in a constant mess and sprays his hair with fifty cans of hairspray every morning when zayn interrupts his perfect sleep. this changes when the innocent cat-boy named louis enters into his life, flipping everything upside down.
It’s In The Love. by SS98
Words: 19k
AU in which Harry is sorta punk and never stops staring at Louis.
These Constant Stars by stylinsoncity
Words: 31k
Louis’ career has nowhere to go but up. He’s living at the height of New York City on the precipice of an epic promotion. Life is good and only getting better. And then one day, things turn disastrous.
Can I Make It Any More Obvious? by slashter
Words: 35k
[AU where Louis does ballet and Harry is the epitome of everything Louis’ friends want him to stay away from]
Beauty Behind The Madness. by ZiamsLarry
Words: 59k
Harry doesn’t meet the worlds perspective of looks, causing him to be judged every time he leaves his house. He never lets it get to him, because he knows that when he gets home at the end of the day he has the most beautiful little girl waiting for him.
So with just her and the lovely old lady down the hall who babysits her, Harry thinks his life is good enough for him.
Of course it all changes when the appartment across from him gets new attendants.
A Place To Call Home by Snowy38
Words: 90k
Louis rides a BMX and works in a diner all the hours god sends to keep his little brother Alex with him. Since their parents died, Louis has become mother and father to his sibling but he’s missing out on love.
Harry is a motorcycle gang member with a mysterious past but his vulnerability soon becomes evident as the two men’s worlds collide.
Louis becomes embroiled in a more-dangerous way of living but he helps Harry finds what he’s been missing all along- a place to call home.
Baby Heaven’s in your Eyes by theboyfriendstagram
Words: 120k
Or a sixth form!AU where Harry is the fucked up bad boy with too many problems, Louis is the perfect rich boy with too much money and their schools are right across from each other. They meet at a party and that’s the last (and maybe the only) thing they need.
Punk Louis
Sun-kissed Hurricane, Perfect Storm by iwillpaintasongforlou
Words: 7k
Harry is the quiet kid in the back of his statistics class who writes a lot and dreams about Louis’ cheekbones . Louis needs a statistics tutor ASAP before he flunks and the quiet kid in the back of the class seems like a good choice. Harry wants to help Louis however he can and Louis wants to see how much he can make Harry blush.
Forget Your Ex by PwoperNinjaElf
Words: 9k
When Harry’s boyfriend of two years leaves him for someone else, it’s fair to say he’s rather a bit upset, but his friends have a solution for him. Nick and Niall are hosting a start of term house party at their flat, having invited everyone they know from uni. Who knows, with a bit of luck Harry can find a rebound shag and finally forget his ex…
but he cant be what you need (if he’s eighteen) by lingerielarries
Words: 10k
the one where harry is sick of getting bullied and casts louis as the hot punk boyfriend to scare them away. louis needs harry to return the favor.
Opposites Attract by louisgrindsonharry
Words: 11k
Or, the AU where Harry’s an innocent little preppy kid and Louis has lots of tattoos and piercings and Harry wants wants to know why he cant’ stop thinking about the boy who walked him home.
In All Its Imperfections by BriaMaria
Words: 15k
From: Louis TomlinsonTo: Undisclosed Recipients
Hello!
I’ve asked the front desk and you lovely folks are the ones who are on the same level as me in the car park. I found a to-do list today that looked somewhat important because it has lines of poetry scribbled at the bottom that seemed like they might be for a card project. The stationary has a moose in a canoe at the top of it (and he is quite adorable). Let me know if it’s yours!
Cheers!
“Oh. My. Fucking. God,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting over the sentences again willing them not to make sense. They did, they did make sense. “Oh. My. Bloody. Fucking. God.”
The next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling, with a very concerned Liam hovering over his head.
“What happened, mate?” Liam asked.
Harry just pointed to his computer.
Liam bent over Harry’s desk to read the email. “What? This isn’t bad. Is that your to-do list? Did you finally come up with the inside text for those cards?”
“Leeyum" he groaned. “It’s what’s on the list.”
“Oh,” Liam paused for a beat. “Is it dirty stuff?”
Harry nodded.
There was more silence. And then, “Dirty stuff with Louis?”
You’re So Square (Baby I Don’t Care) by mmaree
Words: 15k
Or a summer camp au where Louis tries to sort out whether he wants to murder or snog his perky co-counsellor.
Can We Talk for a Moment? by lululawrence
Words: 15k
Or the one where Harry is a shy, nerdy alpha, Louis is a loud omega punk, and there’s more to both of them than their reputations.
Saturday Detention by FallingLikeThis
Words: 15k
Five boys with nothing in common end up together in Saturday detention. Maybe if they can get past their first impressions, they’ll realize they’re not as different as they thought.
Or The Breakfast Club Au that was dying to be written.
the love is ours to make (so we should make it) by lingerielarries
Words: 19k
the one where louis takes some time off from life to return home, only to be met with a strange boy in pink and a flowercrown as the nanny of his siblings.
The Moments When My Good Times Start to Fade by paintsplatteredteardrops
Words: 23k
Where Harry is a flower child who works in a bakery and Louis is a guitarist who has no idea what it is he wants.
In Dreams by dolce_piccante
Words: 23k
AU. When Harry moves to a new city, his new flat come with a number of sweet, anonymous gifts and surprises that brighten his days. Could it be a friendly ghost? Another friendly presence in his new building is his tattooed neighbor, Louis, who seems determined to put a smile back on his face.
i’d burn this city down to show you the light by you_explode
Words: 23k
Harry’s a sheltered rich kid and Louis’s a punk with a heart of gold. They meet when Louis breaks into Harry’s house, Harry obtains an instant and all-encompassing crush, and they spend the summer falling into a whirlwind romance.
Life Saver by objectlesson
Words: 30k
Louis is a sweetheart punk with a theater background and a heart of gold, Harry is an inexperienced nerd who plays by the rules. Classmates, lab partners, and eventually friends, what happens when Louis knows he’s in love, but doesn’t know how tell Harry?
Open Up Your Broken Heart (and Keep on Wanting) by alistoney
Words: 49k
Louis works in a tattoo shop and rides a motorcycle
Harry wears flowers in his hair and does yoga in the morning
Somehow they fit
if my heart was a compass, you’d be north by cheekiestcheeky, heartsoftlouis
Words: 55k
Or the one where punk Louis likes to think he’s not clumsy, but he suspects he’ll have to accept it when he falls face first into a relationship with a head full of curls and his tiny human.
Give Me Truths by iwillpaintasongforlou
Words: 110k
Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.
Lights Will Guide You Home by Cafelesbian
Words: 137k
Louis Tomlinson is his school’s resident bad boy and easily the most liked person there. He’s loud and confident and popular. He spends most of his time abusing his parent’s money or partying or playing football. He also spends a good deal of it obsessing over the quiet curly boy in his English class, but no one really needs to know that.
Harry Styles is more or less invisible at the same school (unless he’s being harassed). He’s shy and painfully insecure and quiet. He spends most of his time crying on his bedroom floor with a razor pressed against his skin or trying (and failing) to think of reasons to stay alive.
So, of course, it’s inevitable that they fall for each other.
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We’ll See About That - Ch 1
Warnings: major character death, smoking, swearing
Summary:
Conner Kent is dying. Clark is hell-bent on using Kryptonian technology to find a cure, not yet at the point of desperation that would drive the Big Blue Boy Scout to ask him for help.
But, after watching his own son’s heart break at the prospect of losing his best friend, Bruce realises Conner’s other father figure is the boy’s only hope.
More than that, Bruce thinks, Lex deserves to know.
In which Bruce Wayne fights for Lex Luthor because he knows all too well what it’s like to lose a son. Angst ahoy!
*
‘The last time we were this quiet was at Jason’s funeral,’ Lex says.
And, for the second time in Bruce’s life, Lex Luthor breaks his heart.
Pairings: Lex Luthor/Bruce Wayne, TimKon
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Conner Kent, Tim Drake, Jason Todd
Word Count: 2034
Chapter 1 under the cut >>>
‘What could I have done better?’ Bruce asks quietly.
'This is about Superboy, isn’t it?’ Jason replies sharply, 'You want to tell Luthor.’
His second son has always had a knack for cutting through the bullshit, a trait that Alfred would say is a reflection of Bruce. Were it any other day, it might have made him feel proud. Today, it humbles him.
The sun is rising over Gotham’s bleak skyline as father and son share cigarettes and pointed gazes atop a secluded rooftop ledge, the only terms of the uneasy alliance between them being that neither will tell Nightwing about the cigarettes.
’Lex,’ Bruce replies equally as sharply, 'was the only man brave enough to stand beside me at your funeral.’
If that touches a nerve, Jason doesn’t show it.
His helmet is off, much like Bruce’s cowl is drawn back. Black hair, blue eyes and broad shoulders mirror each other; a subtle challenge evident in the tension in their backs. Who takes the last cigarette? Who gets up to leave first? Do they part ways, or head in the same direction?
The cogs turn in both of their heads, synchronising like clocks without a word being uttered. A plan unfolds in tandem. One ashes their cigarette, then the other.
When Jason finally speaks, Bruce senses the apprehension in his tone, though it’s a near-perfect imitation of apathetic even to his mentor’s ears.
'I’ll keep Tim distracted,’ Jason says.
What goes unsaid is far more powerful, communicated in the briefest of glances Bruce’s way before Jason stands and returns his helmet to his head.
The shiny red thing is a relic of days past. Days when Batman was still the feverish daydream of an angry young boy. Days when the taste of Lex Luthor was still fresh on his lips.
He deserves to know, Jason’s eyes say.
Perhaps Bruce is imagining it, but he thinks they might also say, I wish someone had been there to put us back together.
*
'You’re here to tell me not to break your son’s heart,’ Conner says.
Bruce is seated next to him on a patch of yellowing grass, somewhere amongst the vast nothingness that spans the width and breadth of rural Kansas.
The cheap two-door he’d rented from a town a few hours north of here is parked behind them on a shoulder lane, shielding them from the prying eyes of truckers on the dusty road.
Bruce had thought better of the expensive suits he normally wore, and now finds himself in ill-fitting jeans and a pale blue polo shirt. He’s wearing a hooded sweatshirt over it all that makes him feel a few decades younger than he is.
It’s cold and foggy; early evening.
'I’m here to tell you to ask your father for help,’ Bruce counters.
The ensuing silence speaks volumes. Bruce notes clinically that at no point does Conner think he might have been talking about Clark, nor does he deny that Lex is his father.
'Your son didn’t really die,’ Conner says eventually, eyes fixed firmly on the horizon.
It’s a deflection tactic, Bruce knows, or perhaps just a low-blow designed to knock Bruce off his game. And it might have worked, had The Joker himself not been employing the same tactic against him for nearly half a decade.
Bruce briefly contemplates telling Conner everything he’s wanted to say since he found out Jason was alive. Perhaps, That’s not my boy, or, The little bird I knew and cherished never came back to the nest.
Instead, he finds himself thinking about the man he’d sat atop a grimy Gotham rooftop with that morning. His son, certainly, but not the one he lost.
So he says what he thinks that man on the rooftop would want him to say:
'I think Jason would be insulted to know he’s still thought of as the boy who died that night.’
Conner doesn’t speak for a long time. When he does, it’s with another protestation, just as half-hearted as the first.
'Lex Luthor is an evil man.’
'Evil,’ Bruce says slowly, chewing on the word, 'is a hyperbole Superman is quite fond of.’
'And you’re the right man to judge that?’ Conner quips back, voice pitching upwards, 'One exploitative billionaire to another?’
Bruce lets out a wry laugh. It comes out sounding more like the type of short bark a dog would make if it felt threatened.
'Certainly not,’ Bruce concedes.
He finally turns towards Conner, his demeanour something approaching friendly.
'I hardly think Lex Luthor’s ex-fiance is the right man to judge the virtue of his past deeds,’ Bruce says boldly, surprising himself not for the first time since this exchange began.
There’s a pause, during which the sun descends fully below the horizon and they are engulfed in near-complete dark.
Bruce waits for Conner to speak, but instead he finds himself speaking. Perhaps it’s the bat in him; emboldened by the dark.
'But perhaps I’m the right man to offer you some insight into your father’s humanity.’
Another long pause. The wind stills as though Mother Nature herself is holding her breath alongside Bruce.
Just as Bruce is starting to frantically cobble together another moving speech, Conner exhales. A long, deep sigh.
'I’m dying,’ he says.
There’s no sadness in it, just a bone-deep resignation that damn near rips Bruce’s heart out.
'You know what your father will say, don’t you?’
Conner responds with a tight nod.
'We’ll see about that,’ they say in unison.
On the way back to the car, Bruce finds himself saying something else that is far too honest for such a young man to bear:
'As for Timothy.’
He hears Conner suck in a pained breath, wonders if it’s the illness plaguing him or the pain of thinking about the boy he loves.
'You Luthors have a certain knack for breaking the hearts of Wayne men,’ Bruce says plainly, 'I doubt I could stop you if I tried.’
*
In the car, Conner asks the practical questions; the ones that come to mind only after the gravity of the situation has settled on your shoulders:
'How did you find me?’
'Kryptonian scanners are quite good at picking your genetic signatures from amongst the other lifeforms on this planet.’
Bruce’s hands tense on the steering wheel as he braces for the next question, and for the answer he knows he won’t be ashamed of even though he ought to be.
'So Clark sent you?’
The bleak greys of mid-evening Kansas speed by out the window. The moon and the stars are still obscured by cloud cover, though they’re yet to see a drop of rain.
It had felt somehow wrong to do anything but drive from here to Metropolis. A waste of time that Lex would chastise them both for, Bruce was sure. But there was something Bruce couldn’t shake about the notion that every boy ought to experience a cross-country road-trip at least once in his life. Maybe they’d have a greasy breakfast at some non-descript gas station and forget their capes for a few short moments.
Superheroism seemed like a burden too great for a dying boy to bear. Though perhaps not as burdensome as dying itself.
'The Watchtower is equipped with Kryptonian sensors,’ Bruce finally says.
'Partners in crime, then.’
Another dozen miles of road pass.
'Is Dick with Tim?’
'Jason is looking after him.’
'Is that wise?’
'No less wise than letting him date the half-Kryptonian son of Lex Luthor.’
*
They arrive at LexCorp’s head office a day or so later. The gas station food has been mediocre, and the car rental company has been ringing him off the hook.
Neither of them have slept, and it shows in their eyes.
A nameless Wayne Enterprises employee brings them fresh clothing – a suit for Bruce, something relaxed but fashionable for Conner.
They change in a parking lot that’s entirely too close to the Daily Planet for Bruce’s liking.
It feels a little too much like they’re changing into their costumes for a mission, and Conner looks a little too much like Clark in this light.
He thinks of a hundred missions in Metropolis that started just like this one, long before the Justice League was formed – before they’d even taken on protégés like Conner and Tim.
They waltz into LexCorp fifteen minutes later like they own the place, exiting a top-of-the-line sports car (Bruce would be lying if he said he paid any attention to car manufacturers) that the Wayne Enterprises employee had exchanged for their rental.
Bruce is unsure if the receptionist at the front desk recognises himself or Conner, but by the time they reach the sleek elevator at the opposite end of LexCorp’s glossy atrium, she is chittering into a telephone receiver.
Bruce hears something like, Yes, Mr Luthor, as he guides Conner into elevator first, a tentative hand clasped on the boy’s shoulder.
Lex knows by now, Bruce thinks as he watches the floor numbers tick up one by one. He’ll have these precious seconds to prepare.
What else could it mean, when Batman arrives on your doorstep with your son in tow?
'He knows who I am,’ Bruce thinks to say a few floors before the hundredth.
Conner doesn’t speak, but nods almost imperceptibly. Equally as imperceptibly, he leans closer to Bruce, toward the hand on his shoulder.
The hundred-and-first floor is Lex’s. The gentle ping of the elevator is like shrapnel tearing through their heads. Conner flinches, Bruce squeezes his shoulder.
The doors slide open, and Lex’s face is so pale Bruce is sure his heart stops when he sees it.
Mercifully, however, Lex has eyes only for his son.
They teeter there, the three of them, for a few heartbeats too long. Bruce wonders if this is how people who aren’t bats feel when they stand on the edge of a cliff.
Then, Conner does something that surprises all three men. He leaps into his father’s arms, nearly knocking him off-balance.
Bruce is there to catch Lex’s elbow and keep him right way up. It’s a scorching hot moment of contact; skin-on-skin because Lex’s dress shirt has been hastily rolled up around the elbows.
Bruce swallows it down and turns his back to the father and son, allows them their privacy.
Conner is whispering something like, I’m dying, over and over. In stark contrast to the resignation of yesterday, now Conner sounds terrified. Beneath the anxious fog that has settled over Bruce’s mind, he is faintly aware that Conner’s newfound terror comes from the realisation that this is it. Turning to Lex is the Hail Mary they had all prayed they would never have to make.
Bruce is reminded of Clark in the past, the way he would so callously say things like, Lex Luthor? I wouldn’t go to him if I was dying. Bruce files that away for later; to ruminate on the impression that has left on Conner, to chastise Clark and remind him of his responsibilities as a mentor. If, after this, he still has someone to mentor.
'We’ll see about that, son,’ Lex says.
There is comfort in it – perhaps more than there ought to be. Lex’s confidence is unwavering, even in the face of crisis. Difficult? A few seconds. Impossible? A few minutes. But Bruce is sure he is scared; that any moment the cracks will begin to show.
Bruce glides across the room unnoticed, and finds himself idling awkwardly in the middle of it. Perhaps it is the sleek, futuristic furniture that Lex has decorated his office with. Is that a couch, or a table? Either way, it puts Bruce directly in Lex’s line of fire the moment he spins around, and Bruce supposes the room is designed with these exact moments in mind.
'How did this happen?’ Lex demands, voice booming throughout the sparse, cavernous space.
Bruce takes a moment – selfishly – to breathe deeply. Lex watches him with keen eyes, every muscle in his body going rigid at the thought of Batman needing to steady himself before this conversation.
'Truthfully,’ Bruce says.
He grimaces, because he knows not even the ever-fatalistic Lex Luthor will have prepared for an answer this grim.
'We have no idea.’
#bruce wayne/lex luthor#bruce wayne#lex luthor#conner kent#konel#kon-el#timkon#tim drake#jason todd#kon el#clark kent#superman#superboy#batman#red robin#young justice#justice league#red hood#dc fanfic#angst#dc fanfiction#dc comics#dc#my posts
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Leave me here to die. (Ch. 17)
A/N: Two chapters in two days? It’s a miracle!
XXXX
“Hallelujah!!” The four friends all hop in Marty’s truck and pull out of the driveway. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready for some se-“
Kensi snaps her head quick, giving him a glare that says don’t you dare.
“Secluded. I’m ready for some secluded living.”
The two couples wanted to do something big together, I mean it was their last summer as college students after all. So Kensi and Mandy came up with the idea that they’d take a two week long trip up to the Sierra’s for some R&R before school started back and life got hectic once again.
With Kensi on track to start NCIS training in June, Mandy going off to Seattle to start her internship at her father’s Health and Wellness Center, and Marty and Matt…well who really knows where they’ll end up.
Heading up north to the mountains was quite a brilliant idea in the middle of July, the weather is nice and they can just take time to refresh.
XXXX
Marty is huffing as he and Matt come to a halt, unable to go any further. “You girls are crazy.”
Kensi and Mandy exchange a smirk. Their guys are fit but not soon to be federal agent and personal trainer fit. “Aw, is a little altitude getting to you, baby?”
His body gives out, collapsing onto the abandoned road. “Just leave me here to die.”
Matt bends over still trying to catch his breath, finally giving up and taking a seat on the curb.
Shaking their heads at the wimps they call boyfriends, Kensi and Mandy continue jogging in place trying to keep their heart rates up.
“Matt, will you make sure my boyfriend doesn’t get ran over by a car?”
The brunette wordlessly nods his head in agreement. Getting in one last laugh, the girls turn around and get back to their run.
Marty turns his head towards his friend, unable to move much else. “You’d think with as much sex as Kensi and I have that I’d be in shape for this.”
Matt shakes his head in agreement, but seriously he doesn’t think his heart can take much more. “You’re telling me. Between this and the hot tub in our room, Mandy’s gonna kill me before I even get to propose.”
XXXX
She walks out of the bathroom wearing a beautiful black sun dress that has a slit that starts at mid-thigh running down one side. Concentrating on putting her earrings in, she’s oblivious to the darkening of his cerulean blues.
His hands wrap around her waist from behind. His lips placing soft kisses to her bare shoulder. “You look beautiful, baby.”
Turning around in his embrace, she slides her hands up his chest feeling the grooves of his very taught muscles through his dress shirt. “Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself, handsome.”
They bring their lips together, pouring their want and desire into a single kiss. “Okay, mister, we have to get going other wise Mandy and Matt will be eating dinner alone.”
He playfully pouts, giving her those puppy eyes that she can’t seem to resist. “Awww.”
Her arms incircles his, guiding him out of their room. Right as they get to the living room where their friends are already waiting, she whispers just loud enough to where only he can hear. “Just so you know, I’m not wearing any panties.”
No one but Kensi notices his almost silent moan and his lips mouthing, “Oh my god.”, as they walk out into the warm summer air.
XXXX
The over look of the restaurant is breathtaking to say the least. His arm is wrapped around her waist as they watch the sun disappear behind the mountains. Tonight has been one for the ages. It’s not everyday that they get treated to a five star meal with a breathtaking view. Not to mention being dressed to the nines.
The soft whispers of the people around them leave them in a tranquil state with a feeling that neither of them have felt before. It’s crazy how one person can change your perspective on life. The feel of their touch, their lips, the way their smile lights up a room and the security and love of the feel in their arms. He’s that for her. She’s that for him.
She tilts her head to place a kiss on his jaw when her eyes go wide. Turning herself and her boyfriend towards their friends who are at the other side of the terrace, they watch as Matt gets down on one knee in front of her best friend. “Oh my gosh. Is he-“
He nods his head that’s laying on top of hers. The image of her and him having that moment in the near future is at the forefront of his mind. Picturing her looking down at him with tears in her eyes as he ask her to be his forever and placing the beautiful ring on her finger that he’s had since this time last year. “Yeah. That’s my boy.”
He sees the want in her eyes when Mandy profusely nods her head yes. If he thought he could get away with it, he’d propose right now, but that wouldn’t be fair to their friends and it sure as hell wouldn’t be fair to his girl. No, his girl deserves her own night. Her own moment and if everything goes accordingly, she’ll have her moment soon.
XXXX
The brunette and blonde are sitting out on the back porch of their cabin, sipping on glasses of wine. “I can’t believe I’m engaged.”
“Yeah.”
Mandy can hear the somewhat defeated tone in her best friend’s voice which catches her off guard. “Hey, sweetie, what’s wrong?”
The melancholy demeanor on the soon to be agent’s face tells Mandy she’s anything but fine. “Nothing. I’m happy for you. So happy, it’s just-“
“You’re wondering when Marty’s gonna pop the question.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, didn’t you tell him that you weren’t quite ready for that yet?”
Nodding her head, Kensi tries to not to let her emotion get the best of her. She’s never been really good at letting people in with the exception of Marty and sometimes her best friend. “Yeah, but that was like eight months ago.”
“So, you’re ready now.”
“Honestly I was ready then. I was just afraid.”
“Afraid of what, Kens? That man loves you.”
“I know, but what if he’s getting tired of me? What if he’s changed his mind?”
“He hasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
Reaching her hand out to grab Kensi’s hand, the blonde gives it a reassuring squeeze to let her know just how true the words are that she’s about to say. “Sweetie, the way that man looks at you, it’s like you’re the only thing that exist in his world.” Apparently her words don’t have much assuredness as she would like. “Look he still probably thinks that you’re not quite ready yet.”
“But I am ready. I’m so ready.”
“So tell him that.”
Her brow furrows at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. “Are you crazy?”
“Telling your boyfriend that you’re ready to get married? Yeah, totally crazy.” Bringing her wine glass back to her lips, she leans back in her chair, leaving her friend with one last thought on the subject. “He probably already has it all planned out in his head anyway. So in the mean time just throw out some subtle hints here and there and maybe he’ll do it sooner.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” In fact she’s surprised she didn’t think of it before.
#Densi#Densi Fanfic#Kensi Blye#Marty Deeks#What if?#The College Years#Mandy#Matt#NCIS: LA#NCIS: LA Fanfic
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The North Star
Summary: 'There are so many names and so little to remember them by. She wants to be as strong as they all were. And she hopes she can make it further than they could.' / So many are gone. Judith remains. And she tries to remember them all as best she can.
AO3 / FanFiction
-
Her first memory is of his voice and the stars.
It’s only about a snippet in her head, like so many others from when she was little- like of Aunt Maggie, before she stopped coming to visit, tickling her to make her laugh, or of her dad’s scratchy beard as he kissed her forehead- but she still recognises her first memory best of all. It had been dark, and she was in his arms. They pointed up at the sky together, to the bright, flickering dots.
He was talking, she knows, but she can’t remember most of the words. She’s not even sure she truly recalls the part she does know, or if she only does because her mom told her about it afterwards. But she can still hear the sound of his voice- the softness whispering in her ear, and the memory is… good. Content. Peaceful.
She is afraid she’ll forget her dad’s scratchy beard and his warm kisses.
She is afraid she’ll forget the softness of her brother’s voice.
‘He was showing you the stars,’ Michonne told her once. ‘I heard him telling you about the North Star, in case you ever got lost. He wanted to make sure you were always safe.’
But how would it keep her safe if she were trapped outside the walls, all on her own and surrounded by walkers? Judith doesn’t understand at first, and it takes her a while to do so.
It isn’t until she is eight and Michonne finally lets her go out scavenging with Aunt Rosita and Uncle Aaron that she begins to realise why it matters. They are cut off by a herd moving in from the east, and have to take a detour- a long one. The sight of them all, even at this distance, safely tucked away in the trees and beyond their scope, fills her with dread.
She can’t remember the days on the road, when she was very little and they hadn’t found Alexandria. She doesn’t remember the people Michonne tells her about; Aunt Maggie’s sister Beth, who used to watch over her when she was born, or Tyreese, whom Aunt Carol says helped to protect her when she was separated from her family. Sometimes Judith wishes she could remember being that small. There are so many names and so little to remember them by. Judith feels like she should know them, and the harsh world beyond the walls where they all died. She should remember what it feels to be out here, so as to adjust now. She wants to be as strong as they all were. And she hopes she can make it further than they could.
But it is fanciful dreaming of a childhood safe behind the walls, protected by loved and lost ones alike. The world outside is more than she believed it could be, and as she and the group hurry along a lesser trodden path through the woods, the reality sets in.
She is just a child. She’s smaller and weaker than the rest of the group, and scared after all. Her original excitement at being allowed to come turns to exhaustion and fear. She knows her mom will probably send patrols out to look for them, and might not let her do this again.
And RJ? RJ will cry. He’s still such a baby, even if he is four. He’s started drawing with her recently, and once Uncle Eugene had shown them how to make paper aeroplanes, their home had been filled with them, whizzing down staircases and soaring out of open windows. Until one had hit RJ in the face, anyway. Then there had been a flood of tears.
But she won’t see him cry tonight. Because Aunt Rosita is saying that they will have to camp out, and soon the group is trudging through the undergrowth towards a known cabin serving as an emergency outpost. Judith stays close, her hand never straying from the hilt of the revolver at her side. They only come across one walker loitering near a stream, and hear a few more in the distance along the way, but as the night draws near something about their presence becomes far more ominous than before. She tries not to stare at each tree as the sky grows darker and darker, because once they stop looking like trees and start looking like they could be anything at all, the outside world becomes all the more frightening.
She begins thinking about him. She wonders how afraid he was, during all that time on the road. He had been little too, when it all started.
She has been practicing for this moment, she tells herself. She has trained each day with the katana, ever since she was big enough to carry it and old enough to be careful not to cut herself. Her mom taught her how to be safe.
And he did too. He told her about the North Star, and how could guide her.
And so she looks up to the sky and peers through the canopy of leaves, hoping to catch a glimpse of it.
She isn’t sure she spots it, for there are so many up there and the trees hide most of them, but the light brings her to that night in her brother’s arms, pointing at the stars together, and she imagines his voice in her ear once more, leading her home.
They find the cabin. Judith feels strangely light and calm. Suddenly, things aren’t so bad. The stars are easier to see in this small clearing, and as Uncle Aaron puts a hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze, she smiles.
It will be fine.
-
She is almost nine when Michonne tells her and RJ about Andre.
It is a slip of the mouth, one Judith has heard before. She knows everyone does it from time to time- they address those who are no longer here, or call people by the wrong names. She sees it in the days and weeks following a supply run gone wrong, and when an old man grows sickly and begins talking to a wife who isn’t there. And she has seen her mom do it before, when RJ wouldn’t stop running around the house as a toddler once and when she had been reading both children a bedtime story.
Sometimes, very rarely, their mom calls RJ Andre. And then she becomes very quiet, and doesn’t say any more for a long time. Judith doesn’t ask why.
‘He was your brother. Before you were both born,’ Michonne tells them one night, as Judith draws a picture of her family- her whole family.
‘Where is he?’ RJ asks.
Judith knows the answer easily enough. He must be where the rest of their family is.
‘Heaven,’ she tells him, and Michonne nods.
‘Sometimes it’s hard to talk about people,’ their mom tells them. ‘It can be very sad. But I want you to know. You should know.’
Judith adds another face to the picture that night. Up in the clouds, above the drawings of her, RJ and their mom, of Aunt Maggie and Hershel, Aunt Carol, Uncle Daryl and many more, she puts a little boy who looks like RJ next to that of her other mom, who died so she could be here, her dad, and the boy with her hat and an eyepatch, who always smiles in her pictures.
-
(She remembers him smiling, even when there were tears. Even when he said goodbye.)
-
Michonne lets her leave again with the groups who go outside the walls. And again. And again. Judith learns not to fear the dark as much, for they usually make it back before the sun sets. And although her stomach still twists in fear when the night does fall, or when a walker emerges from the shadows, rasping and gurgling as it staggers towards the group, she holds her head high. She will get better at this. She will never feel safe out here, but that’s fine. She has a home waiting for her, and stars to guide her.
Even if she doesn’t know which way to go, she feels them all watching from above, beaming down at her.
-
‘That one,’ Judith says when RJ turns five, ‘is Dad.’
She points up at a dot in the sky, shining brighter than those around it. Uncle Aaron says the ones that are brighter are closer, or so big that they outshine all the others. She can’t remember which one this is- maybe Sirius?- but it’s close, she thinks. Closer than most of the others, anyway.
‘Dad?’ RJ asks, lifting his head up from her shoulder. The two are curled up in the rocking chair on their front porch, and Judith feels an odd tingling in her chest each time she points at a different star and RJ copies her.
‘Um hmm,’ she says. ‘Rick. Like you.’
She says this to make him smile, because ever since RJ was old enough to know that he was named after their dad, he has been happy about it. He never got to meet Rick, so Judith guesses this helps him feel close to him anyhow.
A star nearby glistens and she looks to it next, her fingers threading through and twisting the curls of RJ’s hair absent-mindedly. She isn’t sure how to tell him about this one. ‘That’s Lori,’ she tells him.
‘Who?’
‘My- our other mom.’ RJ won’t get it. She can hardly go explaining it all to him now- that Lori wasn’t ever his mother, and that she never got the chance to be Judith’s either.
‘There’s Andre,’ she continues as another star catches her eye, and RJ squirms happily beside her. She tries to imagine this long gone brother of theirs, a brother she knows deep down isn’t hers by blood, and an image of another RJ jumps into her head, just as it does in her drawings. She understands these things now, but also that it doesn’t matter. She has family in many places; all around her and up above.
‘That’s Uncle Glenn,’ she says next, pointing at another. She thinks she might be able to remember him- just possibly- as one of the shadowy figures at the back of her head, carrying her or watching over her. But there are so many of them, and she’s never quite sure.
She picks out a few more, all of them random and unknown to her. As long as they shine brightly and RJ can spot them too, that’s all that matters.
‘There’s Hershel.’
RJ twists around to squint at her. ‘He’s not in heaven.’
‘Not him. Aunt Maggie’s dad.’
‘Oh. I don’t remember him.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ Judith says. ‘You never met him.’ She doesn’t mention that she can’t remember him either.
RJ rests his head against her once more, pointing his finger and choosing stars for her.
‘Who’s that?’
‘That’s Sasha.’
‘And that?’
‘Tyreese. And that one’s Beth.’
The two go on and on, picking out stars and naming them. Judith’s throat feels tighter than before, and Michonne’s words echo in her head; sometimes it’s hard to talk about those who are gone, and it hurts. She can feel how it starts to burn, and she understands. But her mouth still stretches into a grin. She remembers another face that once smiled through all the sadness, one eye shining at her in the darkness of the tunnel just as the stars do in the sky, and her own eyes begin to blur.
‘What about that one?’ RJ asks, and Judith blinks the tears away.
He’s pointing at one she does know. It isn’t as bright as some of the others they’ve picked out, but RJ must recognise it from some of his sister’s drawings. She likes to sketch out the constellations she learns about, and she always makes the curling end of the Little Dipper a different colour to the others- sometimes blue, sometimes purple, sometimes red- so that it looks special.
She remembers something as hazy as her sight when the tears form again. Something deep and flickering, like the dots of light above. In it, she is very small, pointing just as she and RJ do now.
And in his embrace, her elder brother points with her.
His voice is soft and warm. She feels safe.
‘That’s the North Star,’ she knows he is saying, and she repeats the same to RJ. ‘If you get lost at night, just find that star.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s special,’ Judith murmurs. ‘It helps guide you home.’
The two rock back and forth slowly, quiet for a little while. They both watch the glimmering star.
‘Does it have a proper name?’ RJ asks eventually. ‘Like a person?’
Judith nods, and keeps smiling as she lets the tears fall.
‘That one,’ she says, ‘is Carl.’
#the walking dead#twd#judith grimes#michonne#carl grimes#rick grimes#rj grimes#fanfiction#fanfic#renzfics
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