#i wanted more acknowledgement of the horrors of war. the stumble and the fall

[impossible-rat-babies]

me projecting my character issues on stormblood by giving eyrie issues

[yama-o-utsusu]

Sakura in the first series goes through one of the more important character developments. She starts out as naive, book smart, absolutely upreared for horrors of combat and war. Her views are simple and childishly self-centered, she doesn’t yet grasp the severity of life and death. She calls Naruto annoying, making snarky remarks at him. “Orphan” doesn’t fully register in her brain, because she’s young, naive and unaware. She is very quickly confronted by Sasuke, proved wrong and called “annoying” back. And that’s enough to make her think.  During the bell tests, Sasuke shows her his darkness and she seems taken aback. A slow realization creeps into her but it only fully blooms during the Zabuza arc. She sees poverty, pain and death, and as she walks through impoverished village she realizes that life isn’t simple and colorful. It’s scary and anything she has read from any of her books didn’t prepare her for almost witnessing her teammate die. Being a ninja is not a game. She doubts herself, because despite what some people try to insinuate, she’s fully aware of her cons and shortcomings. Sasuke helps her out of that self doubt, because he likes her. She’s his teammate and when he almost died, she cried over him. And it feels nice and kinda fuzzy even, to have somebody care about you that much, but Sasuke would never admit that (Why would he say “you’re heavy”? He should’ve say “I’m alive” or even “get off” but he doesn’t. He speaks up to inform her he’s fine, but by that he also acknowledges their closeness and does not refuse it! It’s such a Sasuke thing to say, I could talk about this for hours) Forest of Death is the prime Sasusaku. I don’t understand how could somebody watch/read through it and not see it. There’s of course a lot of fear and pain but there’s also so much closeness and comfort and genuine care for one another. It’s a very important arc for the whole Team 7 but I’d argue it’s mainly Sasuke & Sakura’s. Sakura especially, as we see her develop a wider understanding of her place as a person, as a teammate and as a ninja. How she finally stumbles into action, saving Naruto from a fall and yelling at Sasuke. Because god, if anyone is going to do anything about this absolutely terrifying ninja, with a power they haven’t seen even from Zabuza, it’s Sasuke.

There’s this guilt of her own weakness looming over her as she takes care of her teammates. But she tries her best because someone has to, because she wants to. She wants to be stronger, to help but, most importantly, she wants Sasuke and Naruto to be safe. 

It’s no wonder people think of Sasuke’s seal awakening as one of the most powerful scene of this arc. Because sure, it’s badass and cool but what’s most important about it is often missed. When Sasuke wakes up, brought from the brink of death by his own strong will, he is furious. But it’s not a mindless rage, it’s not like Naruto’s nine tails transformation. The seal is not a being on its own, it just pulls on the deepest, darkest strings of his mind. On his insecurities, his dreams, his trauma, his worst qualities. It’s still Sasuke, asking Sakura who did this to her. It’s still Sasuke attacking the Sound-ninja. It’s only when he engages and even takes joy from his cruelty Sakura realizes it’s not him. Because Sasuke is kind, cold but extremely caring, because he can get carried away but never like this.

The fact that people can read these chapters, hell, the whole manga and still think that Sasuke hates Sakura, that she doesn’t know him, that Sakura herself is a selfish, shallow characters is mind-boggling.

tl;dr: Sakura is a greatly developed character and first part Sasusaku is so well written it makes me want to cry fkljsd.

[zinzinina]

Hi hi Sam!! 💕 Could I please send a ✨ for ‘Hierarchy of Needs’ (one of my favorite fics, btw)? I am thinking about the part where reader first sees Rex on the Resolute, and she’s senses his energy signature. I’d just love to know what he was thinking about! 💖

Hi Jess! Thank you so much, my love! I had a lot of fun with your suggestion x

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader Words: 950 Rating: Mature (Non-explicit) Warnings: Canon-typical mention of violence and war

This is a reworking of a scene from this fic, told from Rex’s POV.

from a certain point of view ask game ✨

Rex’s mind is so deep into strategy he’s barely aware of the quiet murmuring around the edges of the holodisplay from the figures waiting for the briefing to begin. He needs to mobilise a small detachment without attracting attention from the main deluge of fire; he’s already considering which troopers are most likely to manage to make planetfall without coming to any harm.

But then he hears the familiar, smooth lilt of Skywalker’s voice behind him.

“…is Captain Rex, of the 501st.”

He turns at the sound of his name, and there you are.

Rex isn’t flustered easily. He can’t afford it. It doesn’t help anybody in the heat of battle when the commanding officer is left without a plan, regardless of what happens. His men look to him in the midst of death and dismemberment and horrors beyond anything they could have imagined sitting through simulations in training. It’s his job to stay calm, even if his stomach is turning with the sights and smells of warfare.

Which makes the sheer intensity of his body’s response to the sight of you even more alarming.

His heart jolts like he’s been thrown out of a moving transport without warning. Every thought of flight paths and ballistic vertices leaves him, his head completely empty except for this: what are you doing out here? You’re only supposed to be providing ground support for relief missions; evacuating civilians, accompanying official convoys safely to their destinations. This is an active combat zone. It isn’t safe. But as he watches you tilt your head, listening intently to whatever Skywalker’s saying now, he’s reminded that nowhere in the galaxy is safe anymore. Not for soldiers, not for civilians, and not for Jedi.

Your eyes turn up and meet his, and he’s caught for the first time in your direct gaze. His breath leaves him. Maker, you’re beautiful. Even more beautiful than he remembers, in the way you’d gently crossed your arms over your chest during the last holoconference, your fingers tapping lightly against your own forearm. He could nearly buckle under the weight of this; how close you are, close enough to smell the faint sweetness of incense on your robes and hair. He feels like a cadet again; as though he’s experiencing the same embarrassed, slightly dizzy groundlessness of falling from a height during a training exercise and being teased by his older brothers. He can nearly hear the grin in Cody’s voice ringing in his ears: “Get up, vod’ika! It’s not naptime now!”

Your lips part slightly as you gaze across into his face, and he feels the prickle of heat under the high neck of his blacks as this thought intrudes above all others: your bottom lip looks as though it would be so soft under the gentle press of his thumb… or his teeth.

It only takes him a second to shuffle through this storm of emotion and shove it all down — hard. He knows he was pretty quick, but as your brows draw slightly together in confusion, he worries for a moment he wasn’t quick enough. With a focus bordering on frantic, he draws up thoughts of his DC-17s; mentally disassembling them, cleaning out the interior components, checking over the carbines. He realises that his distracted nod of acknowledgement to you is gruff, bordering almost on surliness, but it’s better than the alternative.

He ignores Skywalker’s sideways glance of amusement, maintaining his concentration as the briefing commences. Even as he directs every thread of his attention to avoiding them, the thoughts still turn over in the hidden quiet of the underneath-part of his mind. At one point, your hand comes up unconsciously to touch your chin, your index finger brushing the side of your mouth. And if he weren’t already watching you, he’d have missed it; but there it is, and you glance at him again for just a second, your eyes darting nervously away.

He’s seen this before. With the soft-spoken archivist on Coruscant. With the funny, glamorous translator aide on that mission to Malastare. Glittering, confident women in bars during nights off, and shy, sweet women on remote farming worlds. He’s not unaware of the presence he carries, and he’s had enough women stroking their own lips while looking at him to know what it means. In the same moment that the realisation swells with joy in his chest, it breaks his fucking heart.

Rex has never allowed himself to want anything too deeply. Some of his brothers relish in their shore leave; glutting themselves on civilian food, drinking and dancing until they’re nearly too exhausted to stumble back to the barracks. He can’t begrudge them this. Not when any night could be their last. He’s never shared in these activities with quite the same level of enthusiasm though, finding it foolish, close to dangerous to want something that he couldn’t have. Every fresh-cooked cantina meal only made the ration packs the next morning taste that much blander by comparison.

So instead he’d managed to almost completely convince himself that everything he wanted, he already had. To serve the Republic with dignity and pride. To protect the people who couldn’t protect themselves. To be a brave, strong leader. A good brother. A good soldier.

But looking at you as you nervously readjust the wide sleeves of your robes, your eyelashes flicking sideways as you glance at the tally marks on his thighplate, he realises how very wrong he was. There was never any danger in food or spirits, cards or dancing. The danger was here all along, right where he’d stumble blindly into it. And now that he’s faced with the one thing so far removed from the realm of possibility as to be almost physically painful, he’s never wanted anything so badly in his entire life.

[besanii]

shattered mirrors 73

[ set after #69 ]

He’s stumbling forward before he even realises he’s moving, knocking into the low desk with his foot and almost falling over if not for Lan Wangji’s steady hand around his elbow. His limbs feel like lead and his body moves as though wading upstream against a rushing river. His ears are ringing, his vision spotting at the edges, but through all of that he sees the person before him.

“A-Xian.” A sob bubbles up inside his throat at the sound of his name in her voice. “A-Xian.”

She too is stumbling towards him, arms outstretched and tears in her eyes. He wants desperately to fall into her arms, to bury himself in her embrace and let her warmth wrap around him and wash away the horrors of the last fourteen years. Pretend as though he is still Wei Ying, the ward of Yunmeng, her brother in all but name and blood, the little boy who had grown up as her second shadow.

Instead, he sinks to his knees at her feet and presses his forehead to the floor. Lan Wangji follows him to the floor, hovering protectively around him

“Your guilty subject pays respects to Gongzhu-dianxia,” he says. “I humbly beg Dianxia’s forgiveness for failing my duty to Yunmeng Jiang.”

There. He’s said it. The words that had been eating away at him all these years, the constant shadow of guilt lingering in the corner of his mind. His family had been tasked with the protection of Yunmeng and its royal family, it had been their job to gather intelligence and wield it in their defence.

He’d failed. And Yunmeng had fallen.

A strangled noise leaves Jiang Yanli’s throat.

“A-Xian, no,” she says. “No, A-Xian, there is nothing to forgive. Please, get up—”

She reaches for his hands, tugging at them to make him stand, but he remains resolutely prostrate.

“Gongzhu-dianxia, this guilty subject does not dare.”

Her hands tighten around his almost painfully for a moment before she sighs, her whole body sagging with the movement.

“You did everything you could,” she tells him. When he goes to deny it, she squeezes his hand again. “Look at me.” He reluctantly raises his head and sees her looking back at him with a tremble in the firm line of her mouth. “A-Xian, I would be dead—or perhaps worse—if not for you. You saved me.”

He presses his lips together in a hard line, his breath heavy through his nose as he struggles to keep the tears at bay.

“I could have done more,” he whispers. “I could have—”

“You did everything you could,” she repeats firmly. “A-Xian, there was nothing more you could have done. Not under those circumstances.”

A raw, wounded noise tears itself from his throat, through his tightly closed lips.

“I should have realised the reports were false,” he argues, hands twisting in the fabric of his robes. “I should have verified them personally, I—”

She takes his face between her hands, shocking him into silence.

There are new lines on her face, around her eyes and mouth, that hadn’t been there before; she’s older, he realises, and has had to fend for herself for many years. The Jiang Yanli before him now glows with health and vigour, dressed in the thick, coarse garments of the northern border tribes rather than the silks of the capital—a far cry from the sheltered princess from Yunmeng she had been in their youth. Her hands, still so small against his cheek, are rough and callused from hard labour.

“A-Xian, you did everything you could,” she repeats firmly. “It is in the past. Do not blame yourself any longer. Alright?”

He closes his eyes with a shuddering sigh.

And then he’s falling forward into Jiang Yanli’s waiting arms with an aborted cry, clutching at the back of her heavy cloak desperately. Her scent is different—the lotus blossoms replaced by something earthier and less floral—and the arms she wraps around him are stronger, the hug firmer than what he remembers. But the way her fingers run through his hair, the warmth of her body, the way she envelopes him in her embrace despite the difference in stature—there is no mistaking it. He would know it anywhere.

“Jiejie.” He’s repeating himself, over and over again, the way he has not done since they were children and it was still allowed. This is not a dream. “Jiejie, jiejie, jiejie—”

“A-Xian.” Jiang Yanli laughs, her voice thick with tears. “Oh, A-Xian, I’m so glad you’re alive. I’ve missed you so.”

He’s missed her too. There are no words to describe how much he’s missed her. So he just holds her tighter, buries his face in her shoulder as they sink to their knees in the middle of the study floor. He’s dimly aware of movement around them—the servants, perhaps, or Lan Wangji, stepping away to give them some privacy—but he doesn’t acknowledge them, overwhelmed by the fact that Jiang Yanli is here, in his arms, safe and sound after so many years.

“Fourteen years…” She pulls away, running her hands over his hair and face as she does, drinking in the sight of him. “A-Xian, you’ve lost weight.”

He shakes his head and laughs. “I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.” He leans into the hand resting on his cheek. “You look good, Jiejie. You haven’t changed at all.”

It’s her turn to shake her head, falling so easily into their familiar banter as she admonishes him for lying.

“Nonsense. Look at me.” She sits back on her heels and raises her arms to show off the travel-worn garb beneath her heavy cloak. “I’m just a humble farmer’s wife now.”

At the word ‘wife’, Wei Wuxian is suddenly reminded they are not alone. His attention is drawn to the doorway where Jin Zixuan stands with his arm around a boy of no more than ten. Gone are the fine, embroidered silks and gilded jewels signature to the Crown Prince of Lanling. Instead, both are dressed in the same thick, northern-style robes as Jiang Yanli, both with the same broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin and matching vermilion marks between their brows. Jin Zixuan offers him a nod when their eyes meet.

“Wei Wuxian, it’s been a while.” After a moment, he hastily corrects himself and bows. “My apologies, I did not mean any disrespect. Jin Zixuan greets Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei.”

“Taizi—Jin-gongzi.” Wei Wuxian corrects himself quickly, returning his greeting with a short bow. “There is no need for such formality. It is good to see you all well.”

He is surprised to find he means it sincerely; there was no such goodwill the last time they had crossed paths, young and foolhardy as they were. But those days are long past. Gone is the spoilt young prince who had spurned the woman he regarded as a sister, buried beneath the cold ashes of a war that took everything from them in one fell swoop. This Jin Zixuan is a husband, a father, who had done the unthinkable—renouncing his claim to the throne of Lanling to search for Jiang Yanli without knowing whether or not she was even alive—and had been rewarded for his devotion.

Jiang Cheng, ah, Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian thinks. I think even you would hold a bit of respect for him now.

Jin Zixuan’s eyes shift to Lan Wangji, standing silently behind Wei Wuxian, and offers a deeper bow, which Lan Wangji returns with an incline of his head. Jiang Yanli follows suit from where she is still on her knees with Wei Wuxian, bowing low at the waist.

“Jiang Yanli greets Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei,” she echoes. “Thank you for taking care of A-Xian. Yunmeng owes you a great debt.”

Before either of them can react to dispute her claim, she turns to beckon the boy—her son, Wei Wuxian’s heart leaps with realisation—closer with one hand, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of the other. She draws the boy closer, turns him to face both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji with a warm smile and a comforting hand on his back. The boy looks up at them with something akin to awe in his eyes.

“A-Ling, come and pay respects to Wangye and Wangfei,” she tells him. “They are our family’s benefactors. Without their help, we would not be here today, so we must repay this debt however we can.”

“Yes, A-Niang.” Jin Ling steps away from his mother, squaring his little shoulders in a way that reminds Wei Wuxian of his father when they had first met, trying to put on an air of importance despite his small stature; he clasps his fingers in front of his chest and performs a textbook-perfect bow from the waist. “Jin Ling pays respects to Hanguang-wangye, Hanguang-wangfei.”

Wei Wuxian looks back at Lan Wangji, helpless in the face of their collective insistence, and sees the corner of Lan Wangji’s lips twitch. He sighs in defeat.

“Jin-xiao-gongzi,” he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. “Your mother’s family took me in when my parents passed, kept the roof over my head and the clothes on my back. Without them, I would not be here today. Whatever debt there is between us, let us wipe the slate clean now and start anew.”

He sees Lan Wangji incline his head in agreement, eyes soft as he holds out a hand to help him to his feet. His arm is warm and steady around his waist, his hand firm in his, holding him upright as he works to calm the storm of emotions warring within his chest. Finally, he gives the hand in his a brief squeeze and turns back to their guests with a bright smile.

“Now, let’s dispense with all this formality,” he says. “You must be tired from your journey—you must stay with us, here in Hanguang Manor. In fact, I insist upon it.”

Jiang Yanli exchanges a quick look with her husband.

“We do not wish to—” Wei Wuxian clears his throat pointedly, and Jiang Yanli falters mid-sentence, pauses and acquiesces with an amused sigh. “Then it would be impolite of us to decline such a generous offer.”

--

Translations

Gongzhu-dianxia (公主殿下) - Your Highness, the Princess

wangfei (王妃) - consort to the Duke, his legitimate wife/spouse

--

Notes

Approximately a billion years later!!!!

WWX called JYL jiejie as a child, before they got older and it was inappropriate to do so, after which he sometimes called her shijie in private, but mostly addressed her as Gongzhu-dianxia in public.

Any errors or inconsistencies will...be addressed at some point. It’s been a while and I need to revisit some things to remind myself what’s happened >_>

--

buy me a ko-fi!

more shattered mirrors fic | verse

[amandaoftherosemire]

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part One

Fandom: Marvel/MCU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, OMC Joseph

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,121

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Language, violence, references to captivity, implied abuse, angst.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: I haven’t posted anything in five months, so this may be a little on the odd side. I guess I’m working through some stuff? 

This takes place in between Black Panther and Infinity War but is not consistent with MCU canon because I do what I want. 

I used my old taglist, but only as a way to let y’all know I’m posting again. As always, feel free to ignore me. 😊 Heads up, future parts will get smutty.

 Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

  And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part One

 The first time Bucky saw you, you were literally on fire. Not just a little flame, either, but a full-on conflagration engulfing your entire body and crackling with cheerful menace. You’d turned to him, your eyes blazing white in a face painted in flame, and intoned with a voice that both popped and roared.

“Are you a god?”

Bucky’s eyes widened over the barrel of the gun he continued to keep trained on you despite his uncertainty that it could do any good should you decide to attack. Unsure how to prevent that decision, but wanting to try, he responded slowly. “I have no idea how to answer that.”

From the woods around him, Bucky heard a shout. He stood at the edge of a clearing in which you stood at the center, a scatter of charred bodies surrounding you. He went no closer, not willing to discover the hard way what your range was.

Sam was yelling as he walked closer, “Ray, when someone asks you if you’re a god, you say, ‘Yes!’”

Bucky was fascinated to see blue flames dance along your teeth as you smiled. He couldn’t explain it, but something about the way the flames whipped and whirled around you was unbelievably beautiful. It was also incredibly terrifying, but Bucky had needed to survive horrors best left undefined, so had long since learned to find the beauty in terror. In the next moment, Sam was stepping into view on the other side of the clearing, his own gun out and ready.

You turned, and with a happy, surprised sob, cried, “Sam!?” The next moment, the fire was flickering into nothing and you were just a lovely woman wearing nothing more than the ash from what had once been a long white dress.

Sam immediately holstered his gun and ran forward. “Y/N? We knew there were prisoners but--"

"Sam," you whispered brokenly as you stumbled on knees turned to jelly toward the concerned face of your friend and former colleague. You hadn't seen him since before your abduction, not long after that last doomed mission in Lagos. When he'd gone on the run with Captain America after the fallout over the Accords, you'd been nothing but happy to hear that he was alive and free. His face was one of the last you’d expected to see upon your escape, but the sight of Sam was a joyous relief.

"What are you doing here?" Your teeth chattered on the question, reaction and your own nakedness leaving you freezing and shaking. You didn't see where the silver emergency blanket came from, but Sam was nevertheless wrapping you in it and then in his own arms, to your everlasting gratitude. You'd never been anything more than friends, but he'd always been a true and loyal one, with a giving heart and wicked sense of humor.

You let him comfort you, the bone-shattering terror of your ordeal hitting you now that it was over. Now that someone you knew and trusted held you, the sick horror of what you'd endured sent tears flooding into your throat. The exhaustion of everything you'd done that day turned your muscles to water and so you didn't resist when Sam bent and slid his arm behind your knees to lift and carry you out of the clearing where you'd hurt so many. Instead, you buried your face in the crook where his neck met his shoulder and let the tears fall.

"Do me a favor and tell the others I've found Y/N Y/L/N and that I'm taking her back to the jet."

Bucky had lowered his weapon when the fire had flickered out with your recognition of Sam, but his eyes were still narrowed with a hint of suspicion. He was pretty sure you weren't a danger to Sam, at least, but that didn't mean he thought you harmless. He nodded slowly and lifted his microphone to his lips to report in even as he fell into step behind Sam as he headed back the way they'd came.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Sam said gently as he walked briskly back to the jet, "but do you know who is in charge of all of this?"

"Joseph." Your voice was a rasp with the tears that still shivered out of you, but all of the emotion had left your tone. "I don't think he survived."

Bucky glanced back at the clearing where they'd left a half dozen charred bodies and figured he knew how Joseph had met his end. When he turned back, you were peeking over Sam's shoulder at him, to his admitted consternation.

"I'm sorry about the dumb joke." The emotion was back, remorse in your eyes and tone as you looked at him. "I wanted to either make you laugh or scare you. I just didn't want to hurt anyone else." With that, you buried your face back in Sam's throat and started crying again.

Bucky tried to resist but his heart throbbed in sympathy, with understanding. He knew all about being forced to do things he didn't want to, both by cruelty and circumstance. He'd be the last to blame another for what they'd done to escape. He was concerned about your apparent propensity for bursting into flame, but he understood why you'd done so, since you could.

"He probably hasn't seen Ghostbusters, sweetheart." You lifted your head, a frown on your tear-streaked face to glare with narrow-eyed suspicion at Bucky, who was at a complete loss as to what the two of you were even talking about. Sam laughed when he saw your face and went on. "This is Bucky Barnes."

Your face cleared in understanding and Bucky wondered who you were that you recognized his name so quickly. "Welcome back, Sergeant," you said softly, with a shy smile that Bucky couldn't help but find charming even as he wondered who you were and how you seemed to know so much about him when he'd never heard your name before.

"At least now I know why we're here," Sam called back to Bucky, his voice cheerful as he tramped back towards the jet. "Nat's got a soft spot for this one; I'm willing to bet she had an idea we'd find Y/N."

Bucky murmured as he kept his eyes on yours from where they peeked over Sam's shoulder at him. "I didn't know we were looking for Y/N."

"I was part of the supply chain." You didn't like the wariness with which this man watched you, but you could hardly blame him, considering your introduction. You weren't normally so dramatic, but he couldn't know that. "Natasha would have noticed when I disappeared."

Sam shook his head with a smile and moved toward the edge of the forest, now in sight. "Why am I not surprised? Were you Nat's secret source?"

"Of course." You couldn't seem to stop looking at the man following you and Sam with such deadly grace and aloof readiness. You'd never seen anyone look so dangerously bored. You were damned if you didn't find it sexy as hell. "She asked me if I wanted to help and I said yes. The Accords are a human rights violation."

Bucky's eyes flicked to yours and warmed as the corner of his mouth lifted just a little. Your heart skipped in the first beat of attraction as Sam laughed out loud. The sound had you smiling even as he replied, "Like I said, not surprised." He turned his head to call over his shoulder, "Bucky, this is Y/N. She used to be support staff for the Avengers, was one of the researchers there. She helped me when Steve and I were looking for you."

Bucky bent his head in acknowledgement and smiled fully for the first time. Now that he had more of a handle on things, he could roll with them. And he'd ever been the sort willing to go the extra mile for a pretty woman. "Pleasure to meet you," he rumbled, and sounded like he meant it.

You thought about the sacrificial dress you'd been wearing when the fire had blown through and carried you out of the building, remembered the fear in the eyes of the henchmen sent to recapture you as they'd circled you like a pack of wild dogs. "Believe me. The pleasure's mine."

As Sam broke through the tree line where the quinjet that had brought them sat, the little bottle blonde assassin behind the controls, he turned to catch your eye. "So, Y/N, are you gonna tell me how you're a firestarter now?"

Natasha turned in her chair at the sound of his voice as they mounted the ramp into the jet. "Good, you found her," she said briskly with a gentle smile for you. You smiled weakly back as Sam set you down in one of the chairs. Natasha turned back around and continued, "Strap in. Steve and Wanda are almost back and I want to be in the air five seconds after that."

Bucky's eyes flicked to you in puzzlement at the sound of a soft hiss, like that of a snake, followed by a crackle or a popping noise. He may have looked elsewhere, but you'd made a soft shushing noise that drew his eye.

That shushing sound was followed by a tired sigh when Sam lifted a brow at you as he went about helping you rearrange the blanket so you could strap in but remain covered. "I wish I knew, Sam," you replied to that lifted brow and Bucky wished he knew why he didn't believe you.

You sat in the sand and watched the ocean crash against the shore, letting the sound soothe you. Feeling hot and itchy most days, thanks to your experience at the hands of the weird cult that had abducted you, this was often the only peace you could find. Most days saw you driving down from the house in the mountains to sit here and let the wind and the waves ease your mind and soothe the soul.

Today, however, you couldn’t seem to settle, upset by the conversation you’d had with Steve that morning. He’d wanted to apologize for overstaying their welcome, and assure you they’d be moving on soon.

After your rescue, they had come to stay with you in the house you’d inherited from your uncle. Tucked away in the heavily forested mountains of Oregon’s Coastal Range, it was big, secluded, and ideal for hiding five fugitives. You’d simply been happy to help, to give them a safe place to rest.

Now you were dealing with the fact that you didn’t want them to leave. You were chilled, sick at the thought of rattling around in the big house with nothing for company but your thoughts and the memory of what had happened in a house in upstate New York. You may have traveled three thousand miles to escape what had happened that night, but you couldn't escape what was now yours, whether you'd wanted it or not.

The soft hiss in your ear warned you that someone was approaching, but you were surprised when that someone flopped onto the cool sand next to you with a huff of irritation. "Huh. What a shitty day at the beach."

Damned if you knew why the surly bitch did it for you, but Bucky Barnes had charmed the fuck out of you by not being the least bit charming.

He wasn't mean, or rude, not by a long shot. He was unfailingly kind and polite and genuinely grateful for the shelter. You could see the good man underneath the pissiness, but Bucky was perpetually baffled and annoyed by most of the world around him. He never complained, really, but he regarded everything with a vaguely hostile skepticism. You could not understand why you thought him adorably sexy, the big, grumbly bastard.

"Good thing we’re not at the beach," you replied with a laughing sneer, your habitual attitude towards him as it prompted that ridiculous half-smile. You fucking adored that sly smirk. "We’re on a beach. We’re at the coast."

Bucky gave you his amused disgust face and made you melt. He picked up a handful of sand and held it up to let it run through his fingers in a rather accusatory fashion. You waved him away. "I would think a Broody McBrooderface like yourself would immediately get this."

You gestured at your surroundings, a lonely beach on a winter day in the Pacific Northwest. Clouds covered the sky and boiled over the sea, turning the waves into a stormy bluish gray that reflected in the eyes of the man that watched you with a reluctant fascination. The wind whipped around you both, tumbling his hair around his sculpted face and making you think of the covers of trashy romance novels from an earlier era. Moody and bleak, a cold winter day at the coast was made for Bucky Barnes.

A long, charged pause as he stared at your profile in disgusted astonishment.

"What?"

You couldn't stop the snort at the sound of pure stupified horror in his voice. You didn't know which part of what you said he found objectionable, but the insult of something clearly offended him. You didn't usually get this much reaction out of him, so you had to assume it was the new nickname.

"The beach," you replied snottily, "is where you go to relax in the sun or swim in the ocean." You tilted your head to fix him with an intense stare. "But we’re in the ring of fire, Bucky, and the ocean doesn’t play with the shore here. We’re at the coast, where the sea meets the land with force." You gestured out at the dark waves as they continued to crash and pound on the sand, curls of violent energy breaking upon the shore. "The beach is for fun; the coast is where you go to brood."

With that, you uncrossed your arms and placed your hands at your sides on the cold, dry sand behind you, bracing yourself as you leaned back, a smirk on your lips. You loved informing him of opinions as though you had just bested him with facts. The way his lips tightened when he was holding back laughter made your heart gallop.

Your breathing joined your heart in its race and sped as well when Bucky's eyebrow quirked in addition to the happiness that gathered in the corners of his lips. "Broody McBrooderface?" he asked, doubt collecting in his eyes and his furrowed brow. His voice was still rich with the disgust that had characterized his earlier question. The combination made you sputter with mirth before giving up and dissolving into a fit of laughter. You fell back onto the sand to wrap your hands around your middle and hold on as you cackled and snickered.

When you calmed enough to look at Bucky, he'd shifted so that he was leaning on one arm, turned towards you to grin delighted at your laughter. He was so pretty, white teeth against the dark brown of his beard, thick hair tumbled in the wind around him. You hoped you didn't look as starry eyed as you felt. Some days it was harder than others to not bodily tackle the man, but it seemed tacky, not to mention gross, to accost a houseguest.

His satisfied smirk turned into a look so hot with promise you could feel it in your toes. "So you don't wanna go skinny dipping?"

You laughed even as you cringed, your body tightening at the memory of underestimating the Pacific Ocean's wilder moods on visits to your uncle during your childhood. You shook your head as a chill at the thought ran down your spine. "I double-dog dare you to jump in that water." Bucky crooked another brow and then surprised you by leaping to his feet in a move shockingly graceful in its deadly arc. He was off in a run in the very next second towards the waves. You sat up to shout after him but he was faster than you'd thought possible. "But don’t say I didn’t warn you about the FROSTBITE!"

If he hesitated for a second, you didn't see it. Fully clothed in the athletic wear he’d donned to run down to the beach, he leapt over a terrifying curving beast of a wave into the now dark gray and, you expected, freezing cold water. You got to your feet to follow him to the edge where the sea lapped at the shore, a little wary to find out how the grumpy super-soldier would react to the Pacific's bite.

The two of you argued all the way back to your car.

"The least you could do is give me a ride back to the house." Bucky didn't seem like the water had really fazed him beyond pissing him off. He wasn't shivering, his teeth weren't chattering, but his jaw was set in severe irritation and his eyes blazed with banked anger. He was so fucking hot it made you crazy.

"My seats will get soaked." You couldn't help it; he was so sexy when he looked like he wanted to murder the world. You didn't know what was wrong with you, but the way he was striding up the beach toward the parking lot where you'd left your car made you shudder with lust. You had to fuck with him a little more, irritate him just that little bit extra. Maybe it was because of what had happened to you, but you needed to toss a little more gasoline on the fire. "I only brought a towel for sand, not for swimming. Besides, I told you it was cold as fuck; you jumped in anyway."

"I can't run home like this, I'm fucking freezing." The look Bucky shot you was so vicious, your heart kicked in response, but in desire rather than fear. He was perfectly bristly and annoyed now, his bright blue eyes blazing and his sculpted cheeks flushed with temper. You could eat him alive.

"You should have thought of that before you jumped in an ocean that is obviously not into your shit right now.” You deliberately kept your tone and demeanor casual as you stopped at the water fountain at the top of the beach to rinse the sand off your feet. “It's not like I would have thought less of you if you'd stopped when I warned you about how cold it was."

Mostly clean and aware based on experience that mostly clean was the best you were going to do, you dropped the rubber flip-flops in your hand and slipped your wet feet into them as Bucky glared at you.

“I would have thought less of me,” he replied with a sneer that made you want to lean in and bite his plump lower lip. “I took a dare. I'll finish a dare.”

Unable to help yourself, you burst into delighted laughter, throwing your head back in the pure enjoyment of him as you nearly stumbled down the sidewalk toward your car. Bubbling and cheerful, the warm chuckles poured out of you until Bucky was grinning at you, albeit reluctantly.

You were somewhat calm by the time you got to your car. You turned to Bucky with a sparkling smile, the laughter still trembling on your lips and Bucky’s heart kicked in response this time.

“You’re fun, Bucky.” You leaned against the driver’s side door and grinned at him over the roof of the car. “A little bonkers, but fun.” Shooting him a sassy wink, you opened the door and slid in. “Fine, get in the car."

“I know this is a big ask.”

Bucky was sweating, but he was determined not to let you see that. He was asking a lot of you and he knew it. If he didn’t believe it was important, for you as well as himself, he’d never have had the courage.

“I’m really more confused.” Bucky made himself stop watching the way your lips shaped the words when you spoke, your eyes wary and your brow furrowed. “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to go with them?”

He didn’t think you’d noticed how he watched you, fascinated by the curving whip of your movements, like flame had become part of you. He couldn’t help but focus on you, obsessed with both the magic and mystery of you. How could he stop himself when he could also hear your mutters under your breath? He was concerned yet intrigued by the admonishments to behave yourself.

He’d had numerous fantasies about misbehaving with you.

Bucky’s attention moved to the way your fingers fidgeted with the book in your lap. He couldn’t explain why, but he loved to watch you move. There was a grace and beauty there that he’d rarely seen and always treasured. He’d seen too much ugly and cruel to take anything as pretty or as kind as you were for granted. He'd made a study of you because it soothed him somehow to do so.

Your hands weren't fidgeting in agitation, concern, or fear; all of which he'd seen and memorized. Through trial and error he'd learned how to distract you from whatever had you picking at your cuticles in anxiety and, sometimes, something that looked perilously close to panic, but he could see that wasn't necessary now. You were fidgeting absently, the same way you had been for the entire conversation, not in response to his request.

Bucky was still a little struck by his daring in asking if he could stay when the others moved on. He hadn't known if he'd have the nerve when he walked to the little library where you often sat in the window seat so you could read with your face to the mountain air coming through the open window. But when you'd looked up with a smile when he'd poked his head in and asked for a minute, he'd known even if you said no, he could trust you to be gentle.

"I don’t want to fight anymore."

By the way your eyebrows flew up and your lips parted before you paused, Bucky could see that you were as surprised by the blunt honesty of his answer as he was. But he was asking a lot of you and he knew it. Harboring an international fugitive was only the least of it. You knew his reputation, and that it was based on fact, yet you'd welcomed him into your home. He had to be honest with you if he was going to ask anything more than that already unimaginable kindness.

He smiled at you, but he couldn't stop the sadness, the exhaustion of a century's worth of years from quivering around his mouth. Your eyes, scanning his face under those expressive eyebrows, softened and your lips twisted with wry sympathy. "Of course you don't. Why would you?"

Bucky relaxed back into the plush little sofa where he'd taken the seat you'd offered when he started this conversation. He now knew it was going to be reasonably painless. Something about you almost always put him at ease within only a few minutes in your company. Maybe it was the way you listened to him, both the things he said, and the things he could only speak around.

Somehow he always ended up saying more than he'd intended.

"I didn’t volunteer, you know." You tilted your head in question, so he continued, not sure where the words were coming from. "Not like Steve, who wanted in so bad he kept trying to get past the physical. I was drafted." Bucky laughed a little and lifted his hands to rub them over his face, dragging them through his hair before threading his fingers together behind his head. "I just wanted to settle down to a normal life and try to keep my best friend from dying from one of the thousand things trying to kill him. Instead…" As he trailed off he shrugged and noticed your eyes drop to his chest in what he would swear was appreciation.

The corner of Bucky's mouth was lifting in a crooked half-smile when your eyes flicked to his. Bright and intense, he felt pinned by your gaze as the still forming grin fell from his face. "Instead you got to be a prisoner of war for sixty-odd years," you said, your voice full of the wry sympathy that still lived in the slight curve to your lips, "only to discover that things are still trying to kill your best friend?" In the next instant, that searing stare was gentle with understanding, your eyes warm with concern. "You're a little fucking tired?"

Bucky huffed out another of those little laughs, the only kind he really had these days. A little fucking tired was an understatement if he'd ever heard one, but the fact that you saw that so easily explained why he was even asking this of you. "You get it," he said, that half-smile coming back in a sweeter form. "That's why I'd like to stay here, actually." Your lips had started to curve in response to the little half-laugh, even that much heard only occasionally, when the warmth in his face sparked an answer in yours, charming you with the little glimpse of sweetness under all the salt.

Bucky's breath caught a little at the look on your face, the way the movement of your hands had smoothed as you absently toyed with the hardback still in your lap. He could see you relax by degree in his presence and wondered if you were as soothed by his company as he was by yours. "I don't want you to think you have to say yes," he heard coming out of his mouth, more honesty he couldn't help, but he didn't want you to feel pressured. "I'd rather stay here in the States, but I'm not homeless if it doesn't work for you. If it's a no, I promise, no hard feelings. I have another option lined up. I understand if you don't want to stay alone with a man you barely know."

He was starting to worry based on the soft, gentle look that remained on your face. You normally smirked and teased him, poking at his gruff exterior with a playfulness that had charmed him completely. You may not have known it, but you had him firmly wrapped around your fingers. This tenderness made him afraid you were about to let him down easy. He braced himself for rejection.

"Alright," you murmured thoughtfully, your eyes kind if shrewd as they rested on his face. He wondered what you saw when you looked at him, how much you saw beneath the surface. "If you wanna stay, we'll have to have a few ground rules, a couple of understandings."

Bucky's face lit up in surprised delight as his heart began to pound. He hadn't really expected you to say yes, and so hadn't prepared for the rush of excitement and satisfaction that ran through him at the prospect of getting to know you without feeling like he was being watched by his friends. His heart speeding a little, a hot shudder of anticipation working through him at the prospect, he shot you a bright and reckless grin. "I was afraid you were gonna say that."

Something dark and hungry moved in a flash over your face. Bucky's heart raced in answer despite his uncertainty that he'd even seen the lightning fast emotion. He wanted to be your friend first, but he couldn't deny he'd found inside himself a well of desire for you so deep he'd yet to find the bottom. He could only hope you felt some fraction of that for him.

"First and most important understanding," as you spoke your eyes flattened and your mouth tightened, your gaze on his face reminding him of the first time he'd seen you, "I am not afraid of you." The words were a warning, not a threat, but the hair on the back of Bucky's neck stood up. "If you're going to live here for the foreseeable," you continued, your face softening again into something lonely and sad, "I need to be clear on this point. I have no reason, whatsoever, to be afraid for my own safety. Not anymore."

The hollow tone to your voice was a chilling counterpoint to the fingers wrapped in white-knuckled terror around your book. Bucky could see you were trying to tell him that you were still dangerous, despite how deceptively harmless you looked when not bathed in flame.

"The fire?" Bucky didn't know he still had that much tenderness inside him for anyone, but he could hear the gentle sympathy in the two words clearly. By the tentative smile teasing the corners of your mouth, you could hear it, too.

"I would tell you if I thought you weren't safe." You looked sick with worry that he'd reject you and Bucky could see that he was right; the two of you needed each other. You went on in a little rush, your eyes dipping to your hands still clutching the book in your lap. You frowned as you spoke and he watched you deliberately uncurl your fingers as though you were carefully calming yourself. "I don't believe you're in any danger here. I will absolutely tell you if that changes."

Bucky always preferred when people were matter of fact in their questions about him and his issues. He figured he should start there and see how you responded. "Can you control it?" he asked, his voice unconcerned, his posture unchanging from his easy sprawl against the corner of the couch.

Apparently, you also liked plain speaking as you smiled a little more, this time with a wry exasperation that piqued his interest. "Some. More persuade."

Bucky's heart throbbed as he asked the question he knew you'd least like to answer. He wished he didn't feel like he had to, but he needed to know how not to incite the blaze. His voice soft as a whisper, as tender as a touch, "What set it off that night?"

The look on your face sent a chill down Bucky's spine, your eyes empty and cold and nothing like the warmth he'd come to expect and adore. Your voice as hollow as he'd ever heard it, you answered with just enough information to somewhat explain. "Joseph was going to hurt me."

Upon your recovery from the forest surrounding the house in upstate New York where you'd been held against your will, it had become clear that you'd been snatched up by one of the occult offshoots that often split from HYDRA. As HYDRA was itself founded as an occult offshoot of the Nazi war machine, it wasn't really a surprise that it so often shed more of the same. The one that had taken you, however, had apparently been particularly weird and cultish, the leader, Joseph, convinced of his own superiority and seeking the power he believed to be his due. You hadn't spoken much of what had happened to you while held captive by them, by him, but Bucky could recognize pain and trauma when they were right in front of him.

"Since I won't be hurting you," he said gently, the words both reassurance and promise, "it shouldn't be a problem." When your eyes, blurred with memory, focused back in on his face, Bucky's lips curved slightly, the smile sweeter than any he'd given you yet.

Your lips curved in response as a soft sigh that didn't come from you whispered at the edge of Bucky's hearing. His ears perked even as he kept his eyes on yours, his expression betraying nothing but the warm appreciation he always had for you. The next moment, however, his attention was caught and held by the grin you flashed, sparkling and friendly. "That's what I was thinking," you chirped and looked happier than he'd ever seen you.

The sight had his body tightening in lust even as his heart squeezed. Bucky had always been a romantic with a love of making a pretty girl smile. Being able to make you smile like this made him feel like he was getting another piece of himself back. Still, he wanted you to know that you could trust him with more than just your physical safety.

"Do you wanna tell me about it?" he offered, his voice gentle again.

"Maybe," you said, and Bucky cursed himself when your smile dimmed. You shrugged and looked back down at your hands where they'd tried to tense around the book. "I might need to. You gonna tell me about you?"

"Some." He answered quickly, without hesitation, though he grinned sheepishly when your eyes lifted to his in suspicion. "Probably."

When your eyes remained narrowed on his even as the corners of your mouth twitched with suppressed humor, Bucky narrowed his eyes back at you. To his surprised delight, that sparkling smile came back. You stretched the denim clad legs you'd had curled under you out and relaxed into the pillow at your back.

"Then rule number one," you said cheerily, an interesting heat in your eyes, "is that you continue to be your usual hostile self. It revs my engine." The cheer on your face took on a darker edge, your smile more like a dare. Bucky's eyes narrowed once again, but this time his gaze glittered with desire, with the urge to take that dare.

"Does it?"

You bit your lower lip as his voice rumbled through the air and into you. Bucky could swear he saw goosebumps erupt over the skin of your arms when he spoke, the desire riding him clear in that quiet question.

You laughed, a little breathless, and grinned at him, a cheeky taunt all over you. He was dazzled by the flash of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes, the whipping movements of your hands as you gestured while you spoke. "Rule number two is that you make yourself at home." You pointed a mock stern finger at him and made him smile. "Don't be a houseguest or stand on ceremony. I want you to be genuinely comfortable. If you have to stay under house arrest for now, you should be able to do so as painlessly as possible."

There you went being sweet and kind in addition to being sexy and adorable. Bucky didn't know if he could take it. He was beginning to think he was in over his head but he couldn't find a thing not to like about it.

"Steve keeps me in line." Bucky smirked as he teased. "Once he's gone I'll make you regret that."

You looked delighted with him and Bucky could have wept with gratitude. Spending time with you was helping him remember parts of himself he'd thought long dead, like the boyish flirt he'd once been, but he was equally grateful that he seemed to be good for you, too.

"Okay," you purred as you smirked back at him, "in case Steve has kept you in line in other ways, rule three is you clean up after yourself. I will be very annoyed if you start leaving dirty dishes or clothes around once he's gone." One eyebrow lifted in mock warning and Bucky could have cuddled you.

"He’s the slob, actually." Bucky huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "You're making this too easy, doll."

He couldn't be sure, but for a moment you looked shy and a little vulnerable. Bucky's heart squeezed again as he quivered with the conflicting desires to both ravage and protect. When you glanced at him from under bashful lashes, he felt torn between.

"Am I?" The murmur of your voice was rich with something dark and exciting, something that lit up his ear and made his stomach tighten.

Bucky's voice was husky on his reply as he offered both clarification and escape route. He wanted everything on the table before the negotiations came to a close. "Any other rules?" His face spread in a hot, almost feral grin, one that left no doubts as to what rules he was asking about. "Any other lines you don’t want crossed?"

The corner of your mouth lifted in a grin equally hungry, equally reckless. "Nothing comes to mind." Your eyes reminded him of sultry whispers, heated words. "I think we can play it by ear from there."

Bucky felt his heart race in exhilaration and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. He couldn't wait to find out. "I’m happy to dance to your tune."

Part Two here >>

Taglist:

@hellzzzbelle @bucky-the-thigh-slayer @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @miraclesoflove @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @destiel-is--endgame​ @irritated-bisexual​ @peaceinourtime82​ @badassbaker​ @walkingtravesty97​ @fashionworld12​ @readermia​

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions XVII

masterlist; my links

CW: blood, death

Phew, when i first started this fic (way back when in august last year, i think) i didn’t expect it to become a multi-chapter nor did i expect it to go in literally any of the directions it went in. with each new chapter the boys cooked up something different and apparently more and more dark. nonetheless this has been one of the most absolute fun, exciting, and rewarding fics i’ve ever put out there because 1. i just kind of did whatever i liked with it (plot holes be damned) and 2. because the interaction i got from this fic was mind-boggling. Every plot twist brought a gasp, an angst gremlin, and a sweet supporter to my doorstep (i cant name anyone because you all swopped roles continuously). 

when i started writing this chapter tbh i was dreading it because how on earth do i get myself out of the sheer monstrosity that i dug myself into in the last one? but i wrote some words and even though they were all wrong and it was only seven hundred of them at least i had written something you know? but then i was at the beach and the ocean water was shoving itself into my lungs and the salt was stinging my eyes and i literally couldn’t have been happier if i tried and suddenly i just kind of knew what i wanted to write... or rather i knew i wanted to write and these troublesome princes knew how they wanted their story to close. yes, indeed, close. somehow, without me realising it, we kind of got to the last chapter. i truly didn’t think this would be it but with each word i put down it just kept drawing closer and closer to a close. and i can’t force this fic to be anything but what it is. So, my dear ones, this is the last chapter of Kingdom Collisions. thank you for coming along, i hope with all my heart you enjoyed it even a fraction as much as i did. I love these Princes so hard and Nish, Gretch, and A can tell you how sad i was to see them end. Nonetheless, please enjoy!

Since it’s been a hot minute since the previous chapter, here’s a recap:

Prince Jason Grace stumbles from the mouth of the arena and falls to his knees in front of the platform.

“Kill him Perseus.” A voice glimmers around him, leaking in through the ringing in his ears.

“Come home Prince,” That voice lilts, “Do not die so far from the sea.”

Jason looks up at him, blue eyes hazy, a dagger loose in his clasp. “Hello Prince.”

Percy steps down from the platform, and takes the dagger from his husband’s hands. It is almost sickening how easily he gives it over.

The crowd stomps its feet: they are ready for blood; they are ready for slaughter.

He holds the dagger up, making sure it glints in the sun. And then he draws his husband close until there is nothing between their bodies, not space, not even air.

“Let’s go home my love.” He whispers. “We will not die so far from the sea.”

Prince Perseus Jackson brings the blade down.

[image has alt text]

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Prince Perseus Jackson knows he’s going to die today. It is not a feeling, or a morbid premonition. It is the cold, hard truth. If he does not the world will continue to suffer for it. And what kind of prince would he be if he allowed his people to suffer? His father would say he’d be a coward. His father did not know the meaning of the word until he screamed as a blade sunk into his chest. Percy wonders how a man made from the Rivers themselves, can die by knife. He supposes when you spend long enough pretending to be human, you die like one too.

All the same Percy must take his last breath today, before the setting sun has managed to hide for the night. Before the darkness can wrap around his bones like cigarette smoke, and keep him trapped once more. 

But first, Percy must kill his husband. 

The crowd is violent; their need for bloodshed a hyena’s cackle in his head. He cannot keep them out. He cannot keep them at bay. It drives into his blood, makes every dangerous drop slosh through him, as wild as the rivers of his father. As wild as the blue eyes staring him down.

Perseus Jackson looks at his husband, barely an inch apart, so close it seems no room is left for air. He can’t breathe, so it must have been pushed away, pushed out. Those blue eyes, as striking as the brilliant sky above them, are looking at him with so much… sorrow, love, joy, rage? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and it terrifies him. He knows and that scares him more. Prince Jason Grace is looking at him with delight and it makes him want to sin.

“I will find you again, my love.” His lips brush the sensitive skin of his ear. He feels that beautiful body shudder underneath him.

The musician’s box echoes with the notes of the wind, a melody that rackets around in his head, bouncing off the walls of his memories. He has died to this tune many times. Died as a king, and a peasant, and a squallor, and a whore, and every form of human scum and royalty alike. They all bleed the same in the end. All die with regrets on their tongue, and the unconquering falsehood of love in their hearts, as if that alone is enough to save them. He has never been safe from death. But love saves him all the same. He wonders if he will die again.

“I will not be lost.” Jason whispers back, so quiet, so full of sweet darkness.

Percy slams the blade into his Jason’s heart and watches as the light from beckoning eyes morphs into a smile that surrenders the world. He doesn’t acknowledge the warmth at his side. There is only his Prince, his husband, his other half, his, his, his. 

“I will be waiting.” Jason Grace grins. Jason Grace dies.

Already he can feel the absence of his other. It is not a dull ache, nor a sharp one. It is not really an ache at all. Rather as if a veil has been placed over him, leeching the world of colour and light. Leeching him of any goodness. What is a destroyer, without his healer?

The Prince of Mare pulls the knife out of his husband’s chest and holds it up to the crowd. His smile dances, violence coating the angles of his face like a liquid mask. The colosseum responds in vigour, chanting his name, chanting the name of Princess Piper Mclean, chanting victory as if they’ve won. Dust begins to settle at his feet, settle then jump as they jump, then settle once more. And endless dance. He knows the score by heart. 

“What you have witnessed today my good people,” The woman in power stands in her box, surveying the scene before her with triumph in her brown, glinting eyes. “Is the beginning of forever, again.”

The people cheer, clap, stomp their feet, make the stone underneath them quiver.

A drop of blood falls to the floor.

“We have completed what our ancestors could not. We have made sure that the threat— ” She sneers at them; at him in his bloodied rags, and the husband still in his arms, limp and fast growing cold. “The threat of Our Downfall may never rise from the ashes.”

The deafening sound of celebration is a vice around his throat. He wants to rip the air from their lungs, make their joy a noose around their necks. They celebrate the loss of a life as if it were the birth of a thousand more; they celebrate the death of his husband as if they had won the war. But they have never seen war. And his past selves, rushing up to him in these moments, like reeling pictures, smile at the prospect. They seem to gather in his mind, grinning with endless terror and say, so very softly, “You think this is war? We’ve only just begun.”

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

“My people,” Piper’s voice is a lull in the tides, a blind comfort to distract from the storm ahead. “We have severed the wings of a phoenix so it may never rise again.”

The crowd stomps, he stomps with them. A fissure runs under his feet, small, unnoticeable. Blood drips down, down, down, into the cracks. There is nothing left for him here. He smiles, soft and small. It is a smile only he knows exists.

With a gentleness he does not possess for anyone else but the man before him he lays his husband down, wincing as the dusty platform touches that beautiful golden skin. But he does not have time to make it clean. To give him a worthy place to rest. He only has right now. Eternity is a second in itself.

And when Prince Perseus stands, straight and unburdened. He reveals the last piece in a twisted puzzle. For sticking out of his own side— the side his prince was pressed against— is a dagger of his own. One that is killing him slowly.

The people are still cheering, Princess Piper is still revelling in her glory. She looks ethereal up on her dais, every bit the goddess she craves to be. Her brown skin shines in the brightening sun, her black hair flowing down, down, down past her hips, swishing at her thighs. And the crown that sits on her head, perched there as if it was too scared to be trapped to such power, glints almost menacingly, jewels reflecting onto the people closest to her. To the woman at her side. Annabeth, sister to Jason, lover to Piper, and honorary daughter of Hekima, sees him. Sees all of him and goes as pale as the moon. She grabs her lover’s arm, points a shaky finger in their direction, at the blade in his side.

The look of horror on their faces is almost enough to make him laugh; it’s certainly enough to make him smile. He watches on as their plans unravel, remembering the deadly words Piper had said to him all those days ago. “Instead we will kill one of you and keep the other continually alive.” But what good would that do, if he had killed them both, if he made sure his blood was smeared across his husband’s wound; if he made sure his husband’s blood could not be used to heal them. He has become the destroyer they so badly wanted. 

Prince Perseus Jackson falls to his knees, at the symphony of a princess’s screech. And as he looks to his side, his fingers find the cool hand of Jason Grace. The sky is a lover’s blue. He closes his eyes. He finds his husband amongst the dead. And ever so slowly, the colosseum starts to crumble. For the blood from his wound seeps into the cracks running rivers of their own, and eats at the stone that holds the people, the power, the world. He has become his father. His mind is fill of his own stories, just like his mother. He feels the cold band on his husband’s finger. He becomes life.

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

The walls behind her turn to dust in slow motion. She sees particles fall, land at her feet in never-ending waterfalls. Her gaze tilts to the sky where she half expects to find it raining blue, as if the whole world would collapse on top of them. She can hear the screaming, she doesn’t known if it’s joy or fear. Sh doesn’t know if anyone has realised what’s just happened, if they know the true extent of her failure. 

“PIPER!” That voice is so far away, but it is one she recognizes. One she has loved since she was left on a lover’s bench ten years prior. “We have to go, we have to stop it from reaching the water.”

A pale hand gestures in front of her, to the crimson rivers speeding across the ground. They are the prettiest canals she’s ever seen. She wants to— 

“PIPER,” The time for shock has gone, and in it’s place is a violent need to save herself, to be saved. “We have to get out of here, this whole place is going to come down.”

When she looks to Annabeth, grey eyes bright with fear, she is struck with feeling so deep she fears she may drown. It wouldn't’ matter; she’ll be dead before she gets to submerge.

“My people,” Her voice is loud, blessedly steady, as she surveys the uneasy crowd who are only now noticing the red brooks bubbling up to meet them. “We must leave here at once. The colosseum is no longer safe. I urge you to go home to your famililes, to pack important things and make your way as far from the oceans and rivers as possible. Danger is here, and it is not a force we can fight.”

A thousand eyes look at her, emotions blatant on their faces ranging from denial, to anger, to fear, to the worst of them all, resignation. Those are the ones, she knows, who have lived through this before, in some way or the other. Whether in a past life, or the echo of their current one through stories carried down.

The ground underneath them shakes, making their feet stumble, their legs quiver. It is laughing at them, at the idea that they can escape this destruction. It has done this a thousand times before, it will do it a thousand more. The end has never been about them. They cannot escape it, no matter where they run, how hard they pray. And people are. Praying. They don’t know it is their gods who order this. Their gods who have no care for the lives of them when they can create a million more. In the end they are pawns to an endless game of chess. The first to be discarded, despite how hard they fight to prove useful. And Jason, her lover’s brother, and Perseus, her own ex lover, are soldiers sent to do their duty. Pawns themselves, maybe knights. But gods they have never been, and gods they will never become.

Annabeth’s hand is warm in hers as they race to their death. Her blonde curls fly behind her and Piper thinks it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. And then the princess looks to her and she changes her mind. With each glance, each step, each squeeze of their skin, she changes and changes and changes. Until the beauty cannot be pinned to a single thing, until it is a tapestry continuously incomplete, of all the features that make up her love. If she— when, when she dies she will do it with this image in her mind.

And then they’re at the river, the one that feeds her kingdom, the one that runs into to the forest and branches to the five other kingdoms, before feeding into Perseus’s own and out to the ocean. There is no red tainting it’s glistening blue. They have time, maybe, just maybe they have time to save the only home they have ever known, the only one they ever will. 

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Quickly, with a haste she has never seen, Annabeth pulls a single match from her pocket.

“Will you grant me permission, my love?” Her princess nods to the little stick.

There is only one way to stop a stream from turning towards a river. She nods. “For the kingdoms.”

“For the kingdoms.” The blonde echoes. She strikes the match.

Sunshine yellow flame bursts from the small head, and as it settles it turns orange, blue, goes back to yellow. Annabeth lets it fall to the floor.

And they both watch, flames dancing in their eyes, as the little match catches a dry leaf, which catches dry wood, which catches, and catches, and catches.

They clasp hands, look at each other. Piper runs a finger down a freckled cheek, skin already so warm from the blaze before them.

“Let us live.” Her princess whispers.

They jump into the river. The forest burns to an inferno behind them.

But there, trickling slowly, as if it has all the time in the world, is a single stream of blood. It creeps through the forest, turning already charring soil to nothing. The fire jumps over it, around it, beyond it. The fire does not stop it. 

A single drop of blood catches on a shard of blackened stick, once a match, and as the wind blows it carries the wood over over over. It lands in the river. The stick floats away. The blood spreads wide.

And two princesses, still hand in hand, frantically swimming for their life, start to crumble to ash, like the forest they had left to burn.

We’ll never get free// lamb to the slaughter// what you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water

Perseus Jackson opens his eyes to sky blue, ice blue, saviour blue. And he cannot help but smile.

“Where have you been, my love?”

“Just had to take care of some things before i could join you.” He reaches up a hand to caress a golden cheek, warm and reddening under his touch.

“Are we finally free?” That voice is so soft, full of angled hope.

“Till the next time.” He sees that hope startle and shape before him, as if it can bend to fit around steeled will.

“What shall we do while we wait?”

“As long as we are together,” He brushes back a lock of gold. “It does not matter to me.”

“Might i suggest, staying here for the next decade at the very least?” A laughing reply, one that heats him to his bones.

“Your wish,” His green eyes sparkle dangerously, deliciously, “Is my salvation.”

“Wicked, wicked being.” Lips find his, press to him. It is so familiar, and somehow new all at once. As if the shadows they are made from need to get used to the light within them once more. As if they have not done this for a millennia, longer. 

“I cannot help it when i’m with you.”

“And you are always with me,” Those blue eyes set him on fire.

“Yes,” He says simply. He touches the golden chest, the heart within. His heart.

“What shall we be in the next life?” The question is soft against his skin, raising bumps across his arms.

“I think i shall be a painter,” He muses, lips falling to a shoulder. They trace their way up, catching on collarbones and the crook of a neck, and the dimple behind an ear. “And you, my sweet? How do you intend for us to meet?”

“I think i shall like to be your nude model.” That grin is enough to cause a flush through his form.

“And who will be our heroes?”

“The queen of course.” The blonde’s voice gets conspiratorially low, “I’m her favourite servant you see, and she cannot bear the idea of anyone else seeing me naked.”

He cannot hold in his laughter, the mind of his other half an endless stream of amusement. “And how do we intend to end it this time?”

“That’s up to you dear one.” The being curled into him smiles, “I can only heal, and you know i will only heal you.”

“You make me such a villian.” His expression is violent, and beautiful, so so beautiful.

“We have never been anything else.” 

He stares into the face of eternal love and is struck by the thought that it is all for him, that it has only ever been for him. He cradles a golden face in his hand, and with a deep unhurried breath, kisses Jason.

For the infinite time in his endless life, Perseus tastes fire.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01 : to Nish for loving this fic harder than anyone, and for loving me harder still.

@queen-of-demons-and-hell : to Gretch for always being there even though were many countries, and many timezones apart

@leyontheway : to Ley for the endless and unwavering support and for making me smile no matter what

@sparkythunderstorm : to Lily for the continuous love and the wonderful comments

@comradefurudate : to avatar for the hilarious interactions and for loving this the way you did. Your comments made my day.

@aalikun : to ali for the theories and the comments that made me smile so hard my cheeks hurt

to A : you don’t have a tumblr account but you asked if you could read one of my fanfics and i sent you this one and you sent me back a 3 minute long voice note telling me every reason you loved it and i cannot begin to explain to you how much it means to me. i listen to the vn all the time. i love you.

and to every single one of you who liked, and/or commented on this fic: you are special to me in every way that matters and i think about you all the time.

[out-of-jams]

Howl’s Moving Castle || Part One || kth

↠ Howl’s Moving Castle ↞ Part of my Ghibli Yandere Series!

It was an accident: offending the witch. But he didn’t take it lightly, cursing you to age into an old hag overnight. With no way to reverse the spell, you took it upon yourself to hunt down the only person who may have been able to help. But the self-absorbed wizard who lived hidden away in the moving castle wouldn’t be so easy to convince.

Especially when it came to letting you go.

Warnings/Genre: Horror. Soft Yandere!Taehyung. Howl!Taehyung. Magic.  Mature themes. Light violence. Some fluff. Explicit language. 18+

Word Count: 7.5k

Part 1 of 3.

A/N: Hey guys. Holy shit did this take a lot longer than I’d originally planned it to. I’ve decided to split it into three parts instead of two so that I could get it out to you guys quicker. Hope you all are staying safe out there! (just a warning, this is unedited haha).

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

                              | Next | Masterlist | 

In, through. Pull. Around.

In, through. Pull. Around.

The steel needle twisting around your fingertips did so without a second thought. Pushed through the heavy material to stitch together fabric until it resembled something wearable. Your eyes were glazed over as your mind wandered away from your task. Sewing was simple, so-much-so that you could look away from the hat in your hands and still thread it together. It came from the experience of owning a hat shop for most of your life.

“Is that Taehyung’s castle?”

The excitable titering of women’s voices brought you out of your trance-like state and left you blinking down at the half-sewn brown hat in your hands.

“It can’t be.”

You let the grasp you had on the needle falter in order to send a glance at the gaggle of women gathered at the window to the left. Through an archway they stood, with their bright colored dresses and overly large skirts. One of them tapped against the glass windowpane facing the street like the rest of them weren’t already looking.

And you couldn’t help the curiosity that had your head turning back to stare out of the window in front of you. Placed in the wall right above your cluttered work desk. You squinted in an attempt to see through the smog lingering in the air outside to the rolling green hills in the distance. Past the tops of buildings cramping the streets.

You could just barely see it, the giant machine that seemed to almost float across the ground it walked on. Even at its distance you could tell it was big, taller than the top of the highest building in the city. But you’d never seen it up close. No one had and lived to tell the tale of it.

The sight wasn’t common, but it wasn’t quite rare either. The monstrous mechanical structure that just barely resembled a castle had roamed the land for years. Ventured from town to town, city to city, never stopping in one place. Where it went and what it did, you hadn’t a clue. You’d only seen it a total of three times throughout your life.

But never close enough to get a glimpse of the wizard who was rumored to dwell within it. So evil and so powerful that no one dared to go near.

As it disappeared into the fog, you sighed. Turned back to the needle lying between your fingers with distaste. You didn’t hate what you did with your life, making hats day in and day out. But you didn’t like it either. Never had. But you’d been forced into taking over the shop when your father passed away years ago. It was boring, the routine, and you couldn’t help your craving for something more.

For adventure.

“I heard that the last man who saw Taehyung’s face disappeared. Vanished right into thin air.”

You shook your head to snap yourself out of your thoughts and went back to work.

In, through. Pull. Around.

In, through. Pull. Aro--

“I heard that he looks like a monster.”

“A monster? Don’t be ridiculous, Lotty. I heard that he’s quite handsome. Likes to go into towns and seduce women to take as his own. Then he kills them afterwards!”

The needle fell from your fingers to dangle in between your legs by the threat still attached to the fabric. Frustrated at the lack of ability to focus due to the obnoxious women not working, you dropped the unfinished hat onto your work table. And pushed back your wooden stool to stand up.

The four women didn’t turn at your movement, didn’t even acknowledge your presence there. While they loved to gossip up a storm, they were good at what they did. So you didn’t berate them for their lack of work. Just grabbed your bag and slipped out the room and down the stairs. Maybe a few moments to yourself would do you well. You’d been stuck up in that stuffy shop for hours and taking a quick break wouldn’t hurt. Especially when you could barely focus on your work anyway.

The door to the shop closed tightly behind you and you took a moment to pull out a piece of cloth from your bag. Slipping it over your nose, you adjusted the thin straps of the face mask behind your ears until it sat perfectly. It wasn’t safe to step outside without one because the smog in the city was unhealthy to breathe in. Polluted by the airships that flew above your head and cast streaks of black smoke through the sky. From the four-wheeled cars that prowled the cobblestone streets like cats, puffing unbreathable air through the Square.

You hitched your bag higher up onto your shoulder as you took off at a sedated pace. There was a large amount of people crowding the streets, more so than what was usual in a city as large as that one. Perhaps it had something to do with the military parading through the roads on their way to the king’s castle as they returned from wherever they’d been. Taking up space like they owned the place. Like the citizens of Market Chipping actually wanted them there.

No one did. Not when your land of Ingary had been at war with the neighboring kingdom of Strangia for longer than you’d been alive. No one knew why exactly you were at odds with one another. Some debated that it had to do with stolen land, others insisted that the king of Strangia had done something to slight your own king. Whatever it was turned the land into a warzone.

“Hey, watch it!” A sharp elbow found its way into your side. And you stumbled back, a grunt falling from your throat as a short, middle aged man shoved past you with a glare.

He held a flag in his hand with the emblem of the royal family embroidered into it. Either he was on his way to protest the military parading through the city, or he was going to embrace them. While a majority of the people hated the presence of soldiers in Market Chipping, took to the streets to scream at them until they left. Some of the population praised them, welcomed them with open arms like they didn’t leave a trail of dead bodies and burned cities in their wake.

Because wherever the military went, death was soon to follow after.

You knew the main roads would’ve been packed from end to end with people and you didn’t feel like dealing with crowds. With more elbows forcing their way into the grooves of your ribs. So you took a shortcut through one of the alleyways closest towards your shop. They wouldn’t be as congested seeing as how almost all of the citizens poured themselves out into the streets for a reason.

So your journey was quiet. And your shoes scuffed at the ground as you wandered through the mazes between the buildings. The sounds of military vehicles driving through the streets that you could occasionally see through the gaps between buildings filled the silence. Along with shouts from the people pouring out of homes and hanging halfway out of the windows. Who sat on their balconies with heavy frowns on their faces.

A pair of single-manned airships flew above your head with the flag of the king following behind, attached to the backs of the machines to catch the air. You were close to your destination. Just needed to walk through a few more twisted alleyways until you made it.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

You didn’t stop when the deep growl hit your eardrums. Kept walking in hopes that whoever had tried to talk to you would take the hint and leave you alone.

“Hey!” A rough hand grabbed at the bag hanging from your shoulder and pulled you backwards. And you tripped over your own feet in an attempt to stay upright. “I’m talking to you!”

With another tug, you were sent careening back into someone’s chest. The stench of cigarettes and whiskey hit you like a wall and had you sending a glare over your shoulder. A man towered above you with a blue rimmed hat pulled down low across his forehead. But you could still see the dark eyes that glimmered beneath like a snake.

“You lost, little mouse?” His lips, chapped and thin and unhindered by the facemask pulled down to his chin, lifted up into a smirk that spelled nothing but trouble. The navy blue military blazer on his back didn’t bring you relief. Quite the opposite really. Especially when the backdoor to a pub hanging open behind him spilled out another man that came stumbling to his side.

Caged you in like an animal.

“Let go.” Your jaw clenched as you attempted to pull away from the hand that held onto your bag like a leash.

“What do we have here, Reny? Why don’t you let us help you find your way?” The second man had a dark caterpillar that sat atop his lip in the form of a mustache. He leaned down to fan his heated beer stained breath across your face and it was only the facemask that prevented you from smelling it. “And we’ll only ask for one thing in return. How’s that sound?”

The first man let go of your bag to watch you stumble backwards with an amused flash in his eyes. You bit your lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering. But it did nothing to prevent the fear from flooding your veins and taking hold of your throat.

“I’m not interested. Let me pass, please.” You hoped that they weren’t able to hear how loud your heart was beating.

They were bigger than you, stronger than you. And you didn’t know what they’d do if they got their hands on you. Weren’t sure how far you’d make it if you had to run. The closest main street was farther than you would have liked, to the point where you could barely hear the roar of the crowd.

The second man took a few steps closer towards you. “Aw, don’t be like that sweeth--”

“Are you deaf?” That voice didn’t come from either of the men in front of you. It brushed through your ears with its rich baritone and had you straightening where you stood, tense muscles unconsciously relaxing. Especially when an arm wound itself around your shoulders to settle with a comforting weight, bringing with it warmth that heated your skin. “Or are you just stupid?”

The first thing you saw was a slender hand decorated with a plethora of multicolored rings as it casually adjusted the bag hanging haphazardly from your shoulder. And you followed it up, and up until your eyes landed on who it was attached to.

You could only see his side profile, but that was all you needed to have your breath catch in your throat.

Harsh, but gentle, was the first thought that popped into your mind. His nose, while soft and rounded at the tip, contrasted with the sharp angle of his jawbone. Even his hair followed the same guidelines as the rest of him. It looked silky, smooth, but the dark curls it fell in across his forehead and to the nape of his neck made him appear innocent, and yet not.

“Because I believe that the lady said she wasn’t interested.” The voice that fell from the stranger’s bow shaped lips was deep, strong, and filled with a humorous edge that teased around the syllables.

He wasn’t looking at you, but his arm still around your shoulders gave off the same amount of heat that his gaze more than likely would.

“This has nothing to do with you. Mind your business.” One of the men, you didn’t know which because you’d yet to take your eyes off of the strange man, spoke.

You were sure that you would get a kink in your neck from how much you were straining to look up at the man towering over you. But you couldn’t help but stare, not when a smile perked up around the edges of his soft looking mouth. The stranger tilted his head to the side and the emerald earring dangling from a chain pierced through his ear brushed against tanned his neck.

“Or, here me out.” He lifted a single eyebrow and nodded pointedly at the still opened door to the pub behind the men. “You go back inside and leave this woman alone. How’s that sound?”

They didn’t respond.

Tearing your eyes away from a mole painted onto the tip of the man’s nose, you watched confusedly as the military men suddenly stood up straight. And with their gazes blank and mouths partially opened, they turned on their heels and staggered back inside the building like they’d never left it.

Like they’d been compelled to do so.

“Are you alright?”

You blinked yourself out of your stupor and turned to look back up at the man who’d saved you. With his complete and utter attention now focused on you, the breath that’d caught itself in your throat earlier struggled to remove itself. Which left you floundering with your mouth opening and closing, but no sound escaping.

“Miss?” He leaned in a little closer, brows knitting together in concern. And his eyes. They were the softest blue that you’d ever seen.

Clearing your throat, you nodded. “Yes, thank you for rescuing me.”

He smiled, a box-shaped, gentle thing that had his eyes creasing in the corners. You didn’t even think to wonder why he was outside without a mask. “No need to thank me.”

And then he winked.

Ah, a lady’s man then.

“Well, thank you anyway.” You smiled in return before stepping out from beneath his arm. And with a glance down the alleyway, you gestured over your shoulder. “I should get going.”

His arm dropped back down to his side, hidden beneath the dark blue and grey jacket that hung around his shoulders like a cape. The black, long-sleeve blouse-like shirt he wore stood out even amongst the darkened alley. “Where are you heading? I’ll escort you there.”

“You don’t have to, really. I don’t want to waste anymore of your time.” You tried to argue, not because you didn’t want him to, but because he’d already gone out of his way for you once. And you didn’t want him to feel obligated to do so a second time. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all.” The man stepped forward to rest a hand on your shoulder once again, only that time he turned you around to start walking down the alleyway. “Besides, someone needs to ensure that no more danger finds you.”

The pressure of his hand on your shoulder was gentle, but firm in the way he guided you. And when he leaned down to whisper in your ear, the look in his eyes was something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe if you would have spared a second to take another look, you would have seen it for the warning that it was.

“But just don’t look behind you.” The man’s breath was warm against the shell of your ear. “Because I’m being followed.”

Alarm sprang through you at his sudden admission. “Wha--?”

He merely winked at you and held a finger to his lips before leaning back out of your personal space. And when you tried to turn your head to look behind you, he stopped you with a hand to your cheek.

“Don’t look back. Just walk.”

The alleyway was long. Neverending. It encased the two of you in a bubble where even the loud shouts from the people in the streets couldn’t pierce through.

“Who’s following you?” You asked in a hushed whisper.

Still unnamed, the stranger glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. A lot of different things swam in the ocean that was his iris. Things that you couldn’t discern, things that were hidden just below the surface. And just as he went to part his lips in answer, his attention left you to focus on something behind you.

When you turned to look too, all you were able to see were shadows emerging from the alley walls like ghosts. With long, spindly-like limbs and headless bodies, they filled the spaces where the two of you had just vacated. Crawling over each other in an effort to reach the man at your side.

Fear bubbled in your throat. What the hell were those things?

“Sorry.” If he was trying to reassure you, he was doing a horrible job. “They weren’t supposed to find me so soon.”

Especially when the nameless creatures began to pour out of the walls in front of you like an endless tidal wave.

“Why are they--”

“No time.” The hand he had on your shoulder turned gripping as he quickly turned left at the fork in the alley and dragged you down it. “Just walk.”

Your eyebrows shot up into your hairline, but you did your best to keep up with his brisk stride anyway. A quick glance behind you had another bout of fear surging through you.

They were close.

How had you managed to escape one type of danger, just to wind up in the clutches of another?

You turned back to the front.

And let out a scream.

Because those creatures had cut you off again. Only now they moved faster, with their spider-like arms and gaping maws extended to capture you in their grasp. The man at your side let out a curse before stopping in his tracks to wrap both his arms around your waist.

“Hang on!”

Hang on?

“To what?”

Your question went unanswered. At least verbally.

The only warning you got was the tensing of the muscles in his slim arms before he leapt into their air. But it wasn’t an ordinary jump. Your feet left the cobbled ground and even with your face pressed into the stranger’s chest, you could still see if you looked down. Could see how one of the creature's claws missed your foot by a mere centimeter. Could see how they piled on top of each other as both sides crashed into the other in a wave of black.

You’d thought that the two of you would go falling right down onto them. That they’d devour you whole until you could no longer see the light of day. But you didn’t.

Because you were flying.

At least, that’s what you assumed when you continued to soar through the air like a wingless bird. And when the both of you cleared the rooftop of the building next to the alley, well, you couldn’t help but dig your fingers into the back of the stranger’s shirt.

“H-how is this happening?” Maybe if you weren’t a hundred feet in the air, you would have been embarrassed by the way your voice came out in a stuttered squeak. Or the way you clung to him like a particularly stubborn barnacle. But you weren’t. Because you’d never been so high up before in your entire life.

The man keeping you from falling to your death chuckled. It was a nice sound: smooth, deep and warm with his amusement. He pulled back a little, just far enough to let his eyes meet your own. Though that did little to loosen the death grip you had on him.

“Magic.” His boxy smile made another appearance as his gaze sparkled in mirth. More than likely at the wide-eyed, stunned expression on your face.

“You’re a wizard then?”

He merely winked in response before reaching behind him to grab at your wrists. “Do you trust me?”

“I..,” Your answer got stuck in your throat. Did you trust him? Hell, you didn’t even know his name. But he had saved you and your life was technically in his hands. So what harm could it bring really? To put your faith in a mere stranger? “I suppose so.”

“Then let go.”

“What?” Was he crazy?

His eyebrows raised playfully, disappearing behind his curly bangs. “Trust me. Let go.”

You hesitated, gaze snapping back downwards at the city below. At the streets filled to the brim and packed with people who looked no bigger than ants. If you fell, you’d die. Become nothing more than a splatter on the cobblestoned streets.

As your heart raced in your chest, you looked back up at the man with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Well, you’d wanted adventure, right?

Ever so slowly, you loosened the tight grip you had on his shirt until your palms were pressed flat against his back. His grip on your wrists was loose, not enough to keep you up should you fall. Taking a deep breath, you removed your hands from him completely.

And didn’t fall.

“See?” You could hear the smile in his voice even when you were too busy staring at your floating feet to look at him. “Now, are you ready for the best part?”

“Best part?” The question left you with a voice filled with wonder.

The stranger hummed and used his grip on your wrists to spin you around until your back was to his chest. His hands on you were barely there, just hovering beneath your fingertips. And when he leaned down to murmur in your ear, the scent of him flooded your senses.

Sweet like freshly mowed grass on a summer evening.

“Yes. Now walk!”

You were positive now: he was absolutely crazy. Magic or not. “But we aren’t standing on anything.”

“Didn’t I say to trust me?” He mused.

Though he didn’t give you a chance to respond because he took a few steps forward, which in turn made you follow. Made a gasp leave your lips when your feet hit something solid that wasn’t there. As you continued to walk through the air like it was completely normal.

Magic. You’d only ever seen it displayed from afar where you could barely make out the details, never up close. Never to the point where you could feel it rippling off the man at your back like it was second nature. It was...it was…

“Amazing.”

“You like it?” The man smiled at you from the corner of your eye. “This is always my favorite part. Look down.”

And you did.

From the ground the city always looked drab. Lifeless. Dull. But from up high, where the pollution didn’t quite reach? It didn’t look so bad. Not when the brightly painted rooftops stood out amongst the grey slated military vehicles, like a beam of light in the dark.

“I believe that this is your stop.” The man’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Drew your attention to the fact that the two of you were descending into an area that looked very familiar.

Your feet touched down on a balcony attached to the side of a building. One you’d stood on many times before. When you turned to look at the man who’d just flown you halfway across the city, he had his arms planted on the wooden railing like he belonged there. Despite the fact that he was hovering in the air on the other side.

“Unfortunately, I have some things to go take care of. But I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” He threw you a charming wink. “So try not to find anymore trouble in the meantime, okay?”

You nodded slowly with a smile forming on your lips. “I’ll try my best.”

Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for you to really see it. “Good girl.”

And then he flew out of sight as if he’d never been there in the first place.  

Like the pop of a bubble, the noise of the crowded streets came flooding in. And with the roar of the protesting yells brought a thought to your mind.

How did he know where you were headed? You’d never told him.

The inside of the building was just familiar as the outside. However, unlike the raging streets outside, once you’d closed the balcony doors behind you, you’d been enveloped in silence. Not even the shouts from beyond the four walls surrounding you could enter inside. Which, to be completely honest, gave you a little bit of peace. There was only so much yelling you could take.

Old wooden stairs creaked beneath the weight of your feet as you descended the well worn staircase to the bottom floor. With your facemask safely deposited in your bag, the scent of baked bread hypnotized your nose as you followed the smell. The swinging door to the kitchen swung open underneath your hand with a squeak to announce your presence.

“Hey.” You greeted the man on the opposite end of the room. He stood with his back towards you, the strings of a white apron tied behind his neck and right above his broad shoulders. Before you’d announced your presence, the man had been bobbing his head to a soundless tune as his hands rolled out fresh dough onto the countertop.

“Y/n?” His head turned to look over his shoulder, and once he spotted you in the doorway, his plump lips pulled back into a grin. “It’s been a while.”

You snorted, pushing off the doorframe to walk across the room. “I just saw you like, three days ago, Seokjin.”

“What?” Even though Seokjin had turned back around to continue kneading the dough, you could practically hear the pout on his lips. “Am I not allowed to miss my little sister?”

Despite the fact that he was the older sibling by a few years, sometimes it felt more like the opposite. Shaking your head, you couldn’t help the smile on your face as you leaned your side against the counter. From where you stood in the kitchen, you were just able to see through the glassless window cut out of the wall and into the front of Seokjin’s bakery.

“How’s business been?” You asked, lip caught between your teeth. The front of the shop was empty of customers, leaving the freshly baked sweets to sit beneath the glass case untouched.

A sigh left your brother’s lips and he stopped in his work to send a sad look through the window. “Same as usual.”

It wasn’t that Seokjin was bad at baking or anything. Quite the opposite. However, with the war going on, not many people had the extra money to spend on pastries and things that could be considered “non-essential.” The only reason your brother’s shop was able to stay afloat was from his usual customers that never failed to buy from him.

Hell, you didn’t even know how you managed to keep your hat shop open.

“Things will turn around.” You tried to reassure him, gaining a tiny smile from Jin in return. “The war can’t go on forever.”

“Hopefully you’re right about that one.” He was frowning again, eyes dull as his thoughts drifted away somewhere you couldn’t follow. After a moment he shook his head. “Speaking of, how did you get here with all those people and cars in the streets?”

“I--” Crossing your arms over your chest, you contemplated how to tell your brother that you’d simply flown over the rooftops like a bird. “I...met a wizard.”

Seokjin choked on his spit. “A what?”

You broke eye contact with an awkward clearing of your throat. “A wizard.”

“Y/n.” His tone turned stern like the elder sibling he was. “A wizard? Seriously? You should know better how dangerous they can be.”

Staring down at the toe of your shoe that you dug into the wooden floorboards, you shrugged half-heartedly. “I know, but he saved me, Seokjin.”

Jin released a haggard, deep sigh and you could see his shoulders slump out of the corner of your eye. “Yes well, be more careful next time, alright? It could have been someone dangerous, like you-know-who. Or the Wi--”

Ring!

Both you and Seokjin snapped your heads back to the front of the store just in time to see a man meander through. He had a dark blue hat pulled down low over his eyes and a walking cane clutched in one of his hands. And when the bottom of his long coat brushed across the floor as he approached the front counter, Jin wiped his hands on the front of his apron.

“Hello!” He called to the man looking at the sweets beneath the glass case, an inquisitive expression on his face. Your brother’s hand squeezed your shoulder once as he walked past you towards the front.

This conversation isn’t over. It said. Don’t think I’ll forget.

Well, you’d take that for the dismissal that it was.

Your home was dark, quiet, once the front door was shut behind you.

The hat shop was attached to the bottom of your house, but only you had the key to get upstairs to where you lived. And with the sun long set beneath the skyline and the moon in its place, everyone had gone home. Which left you.

Alone.

Like always.

You knew that if you told Seokjin how lonely you truly felt, how you hated being alone, he wouldn’t hesitate to open his doors for you. But he had enough problems on his own plate and you didn’t want to intrude on him and his fiancé anyway. They’d just recently gotten engaged, so you didn’t even want to think about how awkward it would be if you moved in with them.

Friends weren’t something that you had aplenty of either. If any at all. Not that you were too shy to make any, you just didn’t know how. Living in a city surrounded by people all the time was actually very lonely. And making connections beyond the work relationships you had with your employees was excruciatingly difficult.

So you’d just forced yourself to suck it up. To deal with the aching longing you had deep in your gut.

A sigh escaped your lips as you dropped your bag onto the floor of your bedroom. However, just as you were about to start undressing to change into your pajamas, you felt the fluttering of a breeze brushing against your skin. Frowning, you turned to look questioningly at your open bedroom window. Because you could have sworn that you’d closed it that morning. You never left it open when you weren’t home.

As another gentle gush of wind played with the curtains on either side of the window, you hurried over to slide it shut.

“You really should keep that locked.”

That wasn’t your voice.

With a gasp, you whirled around and pressed yourself back against the glass of the window. Your heart leapt to your throat the second that you caught sight of the man standing in the center of your bedroom. Where you’d just been not only a few seconds ago.

You didn’t recognize him. Had never seen him before. And either he could feel the fear that flooded your veins like white hot fire, or he could tell by the expression on your face, because his dark green eyes flickered.

“Wh--who--” You couldn’t even get the sentence out past your trembling mouth. So you snapped it shut and glanced to the opened door behind him, the one that would lead back out into the hallway by the staircase. Maybe you could make it if you were quick enough.

“Don’t even think about it, little dove.” His voice, while not as deep as you would have expected, was still intimidating all the same. Even with the amused way the words left his mouth. And either he’d read your mind, or you were just ridiculously obvious with your thoughts. “You wouldn’t make it very far, and you’d just piss me off. And you don’t want to piss me off, do you, Dove?”

Swallowing, you shook your head slowly. Watched as the man ran a hand through his neat blond hair. And when he smiled, his eyes scrunched up in the corners. Though it did well to make him appear less threatening, you didn’t believe it for a second.

“What do you want?” God, you silently cursed yourself for not turning the lights on in your room. Because the dark made it so much worse. Made him look like a demon apparating out of thin air.

He didn’t answer. Not right away. Just crossed the room like he owned it and you were the trespasser. Watched the way you pressed yourself further back against the window like it could somehow save you. Even if it was still open, you wouldn’t have been able to survive the three story drop to the ground. But that fact didn’t stop you from trying to pull up the latch anyway.

“You’re not at all what I expected.” He slowed in his approach, head tilting to the side like he was analysing a wild animal. And it seemed as if he were talking to himself, like you weren’t even there. “But that doesn’t matter.”

Just as your fingers lifted the latch on the window, he crossed the remaining feet separating you in a flash and slammed his hand down on yours. A shock of pain shot up through your arm, tearing a gasp from your lips.

“I told you not to piss me off.” The man tutted. He was close enough to look down at you, eyes raking your face as if in search of something. Close enough for his scent to wash over you and threaten to drown you in the pure heaviness to it. Like the pollution that filled the air outside, or the ache of loneliness that would sometimes pang deep within your chest. And when his full lips turned up into a smirk, you swallowed. Hard.

“It seems you’re no good with directions, but no matter.” His free hand came up to grab your chin between his fingers hard enough to dig into your skin. Slamming your eyes shut, you weren’t sure what he was going to do. Kill you maybe. Probably. Most likely.

But what you didn’t expect, was for him to lean forward and press his lips to your forehead in a kiss. Your eyes widened at the softness of his mouth, a stark contrast to the painful grip he had on you, and couldn’t help the confusion that took root in your heart. Especially with the invisible static that drifted off the man in waves.

It was familiar, almost, to the wizard from the alleyway. But not quite. Tinted with a wrongness that raised the hair on the back of your neck.

And when he pulled away with one last squeeze of your chin, his words echoed through your mind like he’d planted them there.

“You really should have let yourself get killed in that alley. How unfortunate for you. But no matter, give Taehyung my regards.”

Your eyes shot open, only to find your room empty.

Or maybe that was just because your world went dark.

Something felt off.

Even with your eyes still closed and your mind barely conscious, you felt it.

Like everything was slow, groggy. Not quite right.

With a groan, you peeled your heavy eyes open and stared blankly at the bottom of your dresser. It didn’t register at first that your cheek was pressed to the wooden floor of your bedroom until a few more moments of empty blinking. Of forcing your eyes back open when they threatened to close.

God, you were so tired.

And the last thing you remembered was hazy, blurry like a well-forgotten dream. No matter how hard you tried to recall the events that lead up to you sprawled across the floor like a dog, you failed. Slipped through your fingers just before you closed your hand around the memories.

Another groan had you shifting to try and sit up properly. Your muscles ached, joints ached, everything ached. And the pounding headache that threatened to turn your brain to mush wasn’t helping.

“What…” The word came out as nothing more than a barely-there whisper, tongue dry and stuck to the roof of your mouth like you’d eaten sand. It wasn’t until you stood up that you caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of your eye.

A scream bubbled up in your throat, but left just as quickly in a whoosh of hot air. Because staring back at you through the reflection in the mirror above your desk, was an old woman. Her face was wrinkled with crows feet and laugh lines, drooping like the flesh was barely hanging on. And she stood hunched over as if she were unable to fully stand up. Though it wasn’t the way her grey hair stiffened around her shoulders that had your stomach dropping.

No.

It was her eyes that caught your attention and refused to let go.

Because they were your eyes. When you blinked, the old woman blinked like a mirror.

It couldn’t...you couldn’t…

With a shaking hand, you slowly lifted your fingers to your face and the old woman echoed the movement.

“Holy shit.” You croaked. And yet again, the old woman did the same.

You were...her...but how…?

Grimacing to fight off the panic that tightened your throat, you closed your eyes in an attempt to think back on how the hell you’d ended up that way. But…

Nothing.

Only a bodiless voice that whispered through your memory on a loop that you could barely hear.

“But no matter, give Taehyung my regards.”

“Tae...hyung?” Your tongue tasted his name like it was something foreign. And you felt a brief flicker of alarm at having said his name aloud. The wizard who lived in the castle whose parents told the children about to scare them from sneaking out of the house.

Your eyes snapped back open in fear. There was a lot of power in a name. But when you met your own gaze in the mirror once again, you blew out a small sigh of relief at your bedroom being empty. However…

...maybe..?

Were you supposed to find him? To have him undo whatever curse had been casted upon you. Was that right? Was that why his name kept repeating on a loop that you couldn’t silence? But he was dangerous, would more than likely outright slit your throat before offering you a favor. Then again, you’d seen no proof to those rumors, so maybe they weren’t true.

Or maybe you were just trying to fool yourself into going off in search of him.

But you couldn’t continue to live life as an old woman. Hell, your lifespan had more than likely been sliced down to almost nothing now. So, it was either die by the sudden onslaught of old age or take your chances with a dark wizard.

What choice did you really have?

The city of Market Chipping wasn’t grand like the Capital. Nor was it as pretty to look at. But you still felt an ache within your chest as you stared down at it from your spot on top of a hill. You’d never left the city before, never had a reason to. And with the tall grass brushing against the exposed skin of your ankles beneath your dress, you felt a certain sadness that you never would have expected.

Shaking your head of the thoughts, you gave one last lingering look to the city and turned your back on it. On everything you had ever known. Hopefully Seokjin would take the note you’d left to be delivered without question. He knew you well, would more than likely believe the lie you wove about wanting to set off on an adventure. With luck, he wouldn’t worry.

But that was unlikely.

The sooner you found Taehyung and convinced him to undo whatever curse had been put upon you that you couldn’t remember, the sooner you could return home. If you survived, that was.

“I will.” You weren’t sure who you were trying to assure: yourself, or the miles of empty grassland around you.

The area beyond Market Chipping was mountainous, filled with tall hills and rocks that sprawled amongst the grass that you never saw within the city. You had a plan in mind, at least the base of one. And while you shuffled along as quickly as your aged body could move--which wasn’t very much at all--you tried to figure out how you were going to find a person who didn’t want to be found.

It was well known that Taehyung moved around alot, given his home of choice. But he’d been within the area yesterday morning, so that had to count for something, right? He couldn't have wandered off very far. At least that’s what you were aiming for.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been walking for. It was difficult to tell time when you didn’t have a watch on you. The only things you’d thought to bring with you was some food and a blanket stuffed into your bag. You’d packed light in hope of not needing to be gone long.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, you hadn’t come across another living being for hours. Not since you’d hitched a ride on the back of a farmer’s wagon up one of the trails. So you were bored, and incredibly exhausted. Such an old body got tired a lot quicker than you were used to. Despite that fact, you had to convince yourself to stop and take a break.

Which was exactly how you found yourself lying back in a spot on the grass, arms stretched out and eyes closed. You hadn’t meant to drift off to sleep, to take a nap right out in the open where anyone could find you. But your breath evened out before you realized it and the sounds of the wind brushing the grass lulled you to sleep.

Psh!

You awoke with a start.

Eyes shooting open, you mentally cursed yourself when you saw that the sun had set. Just how long had you been asleep for? And what, exactly, had woken you?

Slowly sitting up, you cast your gaze around the surroundings that you were able to see beneath the light of the full moon. There were no lanterns, no street lamps that far out into the wilderness, so you weren’t able to make out much.

Psh!

The high pitched whistle of steam had your head snapping to the right. Your eyes narrowed in an attempt to see with the lack of light to no avail. Holding your breath, you refused to move lest you miss whatever it was that you’d heard. Until movement caught your eye near the edge of one of the taller cliffsides.

“That’s convenient.” You mumbled, scrambling to your feet as quickly as you could. Perhaps your luck was beginning to turn around because right before you was the very thing that you’d been searching for.

The castle was huge, bigger than the tallest building in Market Chipping. But it didn’t look like a building, nor did it appear to be a castle. It was stuck somewhere in the middle, with a metal and steel structure that held itself together in a plethora of different shapes. Three legs stuck out of the bottom as it slowly propelled itself in your direction. And steam wafted from two gigantic metal chimneys at the stop of the monstrous castle.

Even though it must have been extremely heavy, the ground barely shook upon impact. And as it slowed to a stop a few meters away, you sucked in a deep breath. Maybe you were getting a little in over your head. Hell, it wasn’t too late to turn back and head home, even if you were in the body of an old woman. Surely that would be better than death at the hands of a dark wizard.

Right?

No, no. You couldn’t turn back now. You refused to be a coward. Besides, you’d think of it as karma from praying for an adventure so many times.

With a loud burst of steam, the castle lowered itself from its great, towering height and closer to the ground. Despite the darkness surrounding you, the door that led inside could be seen almost as clear as day. You took another deep breath. And shuffled forward.

When you came upon the three stepped porch that led up to the door, you grabbed onto the metal railing before you could doubt yourself again. Climbing stairs, even as little as three, was enough to leave you puffing for breath.

And as the heels of your shoes tapped across the wooden porch, and your hand reached out towards the doorknob, you grabbed on.

And swung the door open.

Tagging: @chimchimsauce @naajix @adoreyoukoo @ihaveakoreanseoul @btsarmysvtcarat @red--aren @micchikari @worldwidemochiguy @taebaelou @stardust-and-ashes @callmeyourstarrynight @ddaeng-whispers @kpopgirlbtssvt @byebyebycycle @busangloss @futuristicpinklemur @pjmlylyn @krystle1990 @parkchimchiminie @missseoulite @wannabesoftstanhaha​ @hxsxxk-180294 @leilalago​ @doodlesandthings​ @btsxarii​ @thedarkwinterrose​ @saxpam24​ @kawaiikiwithefruit​ @someonewhowannadielol​ @starrytae​ @lume0801​

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

General Hux x Female Reader/Kylo Ren x Female Reader

A/N: I have been in a world of writers block and my brain decided nothing I’ve been writing is any good 😬 but I’m hoping I’m over that now. I better be.

Warnings: mention of interrogation, RC is bound, some gore mention, imprisonment and a brief mention not many people would get unless they’ve read Bloodline or done some research into Leia.

Word Count: 4489

Masterlist

Read Chapter 18 here on AO3.

The white rushing lights did nothing to calm you, the pilot wouldn’t speak and you had no idea where you were going. Removing the helmet and dumping it at your feet, you sobbed silently, replaying the look on your husband's face over and over again. The way he stumbled, falling to the floor his eyes wide as the enormity of what he’d done came crashing down on him.

On one hand you wanted him to suffer, to feel the heartbreak of your loss and on the other you wanted to reassure him. But there had been no time, you had no idea Kylo was going to save you. He risked everything to send you to the ends of the Galaxy, to get you away from your sentence but you didn’t understand why? He just condoned the use of a new weapon on your home planet, in front of you taking and destroying everything you’d ever loved. To replace it with your freedom?

But you were alive, the shock of it numbed you knowing that you shouldn’t be here, you should be in the trash compactor instead of that poor trooper. You finally cried yourself into exhaustion dozing off in your seat but you had no idea for how long before the ship dropped out of hyperspace, jolting you back awake.

You could see a lush planet, the TIE glided into the atmosphere, all you could see were trees, massive trunks and wide leaves spanning the distance below you, but no buildings.

Proximity alarms exploded all round you, shattering the quiet and making your heart almost leap out of your chest. The gun controls lit up and you hesitantly put your hands on them, you had no idea how they worked or what you were even shooting at. You were terrified, the screaming whine of the alarms split your mind in two and you desperately wished you were anywhere else. The ship jolted, dragging a soft scream from your constricted chest and you gripped onto your seat as the TIE began to spin. You closed your eyes not wanting to see the flash of blue and green as the whole ship spiralled towards its doom, wishing this ride would end soon or you were going to be sick.

Panic wound its way through your body making you hold your breath in the hope the pilot would regain control of the ship. Another blast made the control panel in your face explode and you screamed in pure fear, trying to shield yourself from the sparks and heat that threatened to burn you.

The TIE crashed, ploughing into the soft ground and gauging the earth as it carved a path through the large trees until finally rolling to a stop. The chassis ticked loudly, the durasteel cooling after the intense heat it had endured, the viewport had shattered over you, earth and flora had made its way into the cockpit and you tried to turn and check on the pilot but the harness trapped you. Fighting against your straps you began to sweat, the humidity of the planet creeping up on you in the clumsy trooper armour, it was almost too much but you knew you had to get out as the heat increased. The sound of flames licking their way towards you made you renew your efforts to escape, finally releasing the catch on your harness you managed to start climbing out. A hand grabbed the collar of your armour, hauling you with strength and throwing you onto the spongy ground. You coughed, struggling to catch a breath, squinting against the bright light as it filtered through the green leaves. The TIE exploded behind your saviour, making him a silhouette against the flames, his outfit ruffling in the heated breeze that rushed over you both. The barrel of the blaster rested on your breastplate and you cried out in fear.

“Don’t shoot!!” You managed to choke out.

“Why shouldn’t I?” You’d heard that voice before. It would forever be ingrained in your memory.

“Because you’re Commander Poe Dameron.”

A noise dragged his attention behind him, the pilot had managed to free himself from the wreckage before it exploded and was stumbling through the undergrowth. Poe moved to aim with his blaster.

“No wait!” You shouted. The pilot was severely injured, half his helmet had been blown away revealing burned skin and a bloodshot gaze, he was holding his arm and it could have been broken or dislocated. His red eye fixed on you.

“Did we reach our coordinates?” He rasped. You didn’t want to answer, you knew what was coming.

“Hey pal, you look pretty banged up there. How about you put your blaster down and we can get you some help?” Poe called out, his brow furrowed with deep lines.

“Did we…?” He coughed, his body shaking from the effort.

“Yes!” You sobbed loudly and watched with horror as the pilot reached for his blaster.

“Buddy! That’s not a good idea!” Shouted Poe raising his arm but he wasn’t quick enough, the pilot pulled his blaster free and shot himself. You screamed loudly, knowing that image was going to be stuck in your mind for a long time. Your body went limp, letting Poe drag you roughly, hauling you away from the death and destruction that seemed to follow you. Is this what the Galaxy was like? All death and endings? This war was ripping the very fabric of everything, so many lives lost and you blamed the Resistance. Your hurt had stemmed from their actions, their disregard for anything except themselves and their need to stop the Galaxy falling under the rule of the First Order. Your thoughts faded away as your mind tried to close itself off, you were in enemy hands now and Kylo had put you here.

You turned to see the door open and Commander Dameron strode in, he was looking at a datapad and holding a piece of bread that he was chewing on. His foot kicked the door and it closed behind him with a loud hiss. He settled himself opposite you, still not acknowledging you even when you moved, making your shackles clank loudly against the chair. You waited expectantly for him to say something, instead he took a large bite of the bread tutting when the crumbs littered his shirt. You watched in disbelief as he brushed himself down before picking up the datapad again, the screen reflecting in his eyes.

“Are these really necessary?” You asked, wincing at the loudness of your voice and noise of the chain links as they fed through the chair.

“Yep.”

“Oh, you do speak then.” To your annoyance he shrugged and flicked through the pad some more. “Are you going to interrogate me?” When he refused to answer you sat back and crossed your arms with a sigh. You should have known he was going to be insufferable from the gleeful tone and glint in his eye you’d seen previously. That holo-image from the datastick will forever be imprinted in your memory and it made you dislike him intensely. You watched as he shoved the last bit of bread in his mouth, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in your stomach not remembering the last time you ate or drank anything. You thought back to your last meal, the prisoner rations weren’t exactly mouthwatering, but you’d eat some right now.

Your expression fell as you recalled the way Armitage had sagged against the wall, his expression one of shock and your heart pounded wildly. You had nearly broken the cover that Kylo had gone to great lengths to provide, the need to rush to Hux had been overpowering even though he had just uttered those devastating words in your cell, telling you your life was about to end. You had convinced yourself he had no choice, he had been backed into a corner as much as you had, forced to make these decisions he shouldn’t have been making. You frowned again at the noise of the chains when you went to blot your eyes, the noise alerting Poe to your change of emotion and he studied you with interest.

“Are you hungry?” You looked at your hands in your lap not wanting to let him know you were absolutely starving but also not sure how much longer you could keep yourself upright if you didn’t eat. “I’ll get you something.” It wasn’t until he disappeared that you realised he’d left his datapad on the table. You sat up slightly, seeing there were no cameras, no two way mirrors, no droids, nothing to say anyone was watching you. The chains clinked when you reached for it, your fingertips brushing the corner but not even enough to move it, a growl of frustration left you and you tried again. The pain of the chains cutting into your wrist did nothing to dissuade you, but the sound of the door reopening made you slump back in your seat.

“Ten out of ten for effort.” He stated calmly, sliding a tray of bread, fruit and water in front of you.

You grimaced to yourself, shaking your head.

“That was a test.”

“If you like,” he replied nonchalantly. You looked at the food, your mouth watering and your stomach heaved at the sight of it wanting you to eat it but your pride made you not reach for it. Poe wasn’t watching you, his gaze once more looking at the datapad with curiosity and you found yourself wondering what he was looking at. Information on you? Reports on the destruction of Arkanis? Maybe they had a whole file on you and Hux and he was flicking through your wedding holographs. Did you even have holographs? You honestly couldn’t remember. You frowned as you realised they hadn’t even asked your name, after the incident with the pilot you had been dragged back here and that was it.

“Why am I still alive?” You blurted out.

“I do the questions around here,” he mumbled. His brow dragged down at something on the screen and he huffed with annoyance.

“Maybe you should try asking me some?” No response. You fidgeted, hating the way he was making you feel. Awareness prickled down your arms knowing this must be a Resistance approved technique for interrogation and you hated it. You felt exposed, vulnerable, completely at this man’s mercy as he paid you no mind and yet, you felt yourself wanting to get his attention.

“What?” You jumped at his loud exclamation of surprise, dread pooling in your belly, what he was looking at was clearly not good news. “You’re such a cheat Finn!” He snarled, slamming the pad down and rubbing his face. You watched the curls bounce back to his forehead after his fingers had left them trying to figure out what was happening. “Are you going to eat that?” He asked, dragging your attention back to the food. ”Fresh food doesn’t come to us often. Don’t waste it.”

“What did you do? Steal it from a First Order supply ship?” You were trying to be sarcastic, but the look he gave you told you everything you needed to know. “Oh, of course. It’s what you people do.” He cocked an eyebrow and rested his chin on his upturned hand, finally paying you the attention you seemed to want.

“You people?” He inquired. You shook your head, suddenly wishing he would stop staring at you with those rich brown eyes. “You should eat.” He stated forcefully and you found yourself complying. Your bound hand reached for the bread, taking a chunk off and carefully putting it into your mouth. You tried to hold back the tears at the taste, it was glorious, so fresh and soft it reminded you of eating in Armitage’s quarters, sharing food on the Finalizer…you looked up at the ceiling trying to stem the flow of more tears knowing that you were now being watched closely. “You ok?” Poe asked softly.

“Oh sure. I’m perfect,” gripping the bread tightly you ground your teeth together in an effort to contain what was bubbling up inside you but it was useless. “I was sentenced to death, my homeworld was blown up, my husband…my husband…” you swallowed. Trying to force the emotion away but it just came back up your throat with more force. “That poor pilot didn’t even know what hit him!” You sobbed, remembering that awful scene that no doubt was laying forgotten on the jungle floor. “And Kylo risked everything to get me out, Armitage’s face…oh Armitage!” The sobs were heavy on your chest, forcing their way out between your words. “And now I’m here, with you.” You finished with venom. Poe looked at you with a stony expression clearly not wanting to stop your flow of words. “You! You started this whole thing! Placing that datastick in my chest I had no idea what it was? How dare you! I didn’t do this! I am no spy! My allegiance is to the First Order!” You were shouting, your bound hands pointing aggressively at him across the table as your face twisted with hatred. “I will not answer your stupid non questions, I won’t play this game.”

“That’s ok,” he said calmly, picking up the datapad and smirking. “You already gave me most of what I wanted.”

“I hate you!” You screamed loudly, ripping your throat as he sauntered past you. “Let me out! Just kill me! Don’t leave me here alone!” Fresh sobs spilled over and the chains settled loudly as you slumped in your seat. A fit of rage made you swipe the tray off the table with a loud cry, the cup bouncing loudly and spilling its contents, the bread was thrown with force and it exploded against the far wall. You screamed again, pulling heavily on your chains until your body decided that was enough. “Please don’t leave me here alone,” you whispered.

You had no idea how long you were imprisoned for, but everyday Poe would come and sit in your small room. You lay on the bed, your back to him every time, refusing to speak or move and yet whenever he left, the door hissing closed behind him you found yourself turning, wishing he’d come back. When you were alone the feelings that filled you were the worst, the hatred at yourself, the loss of your planet, the grief at the end of your marriage. You had searched your room for anything sharp to end your suffering, to quiet the thoughts that shouted loudly into the silence of your mind but there was nothing.

You had fallen asleep in the corner of your room, probably sobbed yourself to sleep like you normally did but you didn’t have time to crawl into your bed before Poe was entering your makeshift prison. He paused, seeing you in a different position had thrown him slightly even though he covered the surprise well.

“Is the bed not good enough anymore?” He asked with a hint of amusement, placing your usual tray of food down but you already felt the barriers slipping back into place and you refused to acknowledge he’d said anything at all. Your gaze grew fuzzy and your eyes lost focus, mentally drawing yourself inwards so you wouldn’t have to deal with his chatter or hesitant questions. You heard him sigh as he sat down in his usual seat. “You can’t ignore me forever.” I can. “Would you like to play a game?” No. “There’s a version of Sabacc I can access, you can help me against Finn and Rey. I swear they cheat.”

Rey.

That name made you stir from your reverie.

Rey.

That jedi, the one who had scarred Kylo, killed Snoke, helped destroy Starkiller, obliterated the First Order fleet.

That Rey.

“Rey.” Poe paused when you spat her name. “I hope she knows the…trouble she caused us.” It was the most you’d spoken since that stint in the interrogation room, your voice was raspy from disuse and you found yourself getting up for the water. You were lost in memories that all blended together, the voices and sounds trickling through your mind but the finer details were smudged. Poe’s mouth was open, no longer containing the surprise he felt at the change in you.

“You caused us trouble too,” he countered and you looked up to give him a scathing glance. “Anyway, I have someone who wants to meet you.”

“Is it Rey? Because I might scratch her eyes out,” you spat. “Don’t forget my chains,” you snapped sarcastically, holding up your hands up waving them slightly. He moved, gathering his datapad and leather jacket.

“It’s not Rey. I’ll be back later.” He said in a rush before leaving the room. You grabbed the bread, chewing it quickly knowing that you were going to need your strength. The only other person who would want to talk to you would be someone you’d never met in person before but someone you knew. Yes, you’d like to talk to her.

You paced in your small space until you were exhausted, your body not used to the increased movement meant you tired quickly and you found yourself eating everything on the tray before Poe returned.

The hours all bled into one another until he entered with another tray and you grabbed it off him, eating whatever hot food this was not caring at the bland taste. You eyed him when he leaned his arms on the back of the chair, facing you. His leg spread either side of the chair in a relaxed position as he leaned forward. You took him in, really studied him like you were seeing him for the first time. He was well built, tanned, his curls an unruly mess on top of his head. He wore a white shirt, the collar upturned and the buttons undone allowing a glimpse at his chest, his leather trousers were tight and tucked into his boots. A blaster was strapped to his thigh, the holster sat low on his hips, his knee jigged slightly and you sighed between mouthfuls.

“Got something to say, Dameron?”

“Well I was appreciating you seem to have your appetite back and didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Just spit it out.” He spread his hands.

“Well, she would like to talk to you today if you’re up for it.” You put your fork down and took a sip of water as you thought over what he’d said. Clearing your throat slightly before pushing your now empty tray away.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said, holding out your wrists ready to be cuffed.

“You promise to behave?” He asked dryly.

“I’m sure if I misbehave I’ll get shot,” you retorted. He approached, wrapping the cuffs around your wrists and checking they weren’t too tight before clipping them shut.

“We’re not the First Order,” he replied softly. “You could have a place here.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you mumbled.

“I’m sure you’ll feel differently soon enough.” You followed him obediently, his hand firmly gripping your cuffs as he led you out of the room and you got to see the base properly for the first time.

It wasn’t what you expected at all, a CR90 Corvette class ship was settled in a huge cave, providing a sheltered hideout for the Resistance. Large power lines were fed from the ship to consoles that dotted the clear space near the grounded ship. As you looked curiously around you could see makeshift beds, all placed haphazardly along the vast cave wall, sectioned off to offer some sort of privacy. Some had workbenches and storage crates with the small beds and it hit you that this was all the Resistance had. Then why could you not defeat them?

They had been beaten down, the New Republic was gone so they lost their backing and the main bulk of their fleet, half of the Resistance had been wiped out at the Battle of Crait and yet here they were. Surviving like the bottom feeders of the Galaxy they were. It astounded you, maybe even awed you that they were still having some sort of sway in this war. Your lip curled as you followed Poe over the uneven ground, how could these people offer the Galaxy something better than the First Order? Surely they couldn’t, they could barely feed themselves resorting to stealing and sneaky tactics, how could they offer the Galaxy stability and equal standing?

You were led aboard the Corvette, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed you from the cavern. If Kylo refused to end the Resistance then you would try and open eyes this side of the battle. All you knew was the Galaxy was ripping apart and it was time to stop.

You let Poe manoeuvre you into a chair, the room was white and pristine containing two chairs and a table, he took your bindings off and you rubbed your wrists out of habit. The door opened behind you but you kept your eyes trained on the surface of the table not wanting to look upon the woman who had entered the room. You heard her dismiss Poe before settling in the vacant chair opposite you, the silence that followed was mutual, her dark eyes studied you as she leaned on the table, her hands clasped together. You let her scrutinise you, did she know?

“Are you just going to sit there Princess?” You asked softly, breaking the silence. Her posture straightened giving you the reaction you desired.

“It’s been a while since anyone used my royal title, I go by General now,” her voice was calm and steady when she spoke.

“I apologise it’s force of habit,” you confessed softly, now letting your eyes rise to settle on her. She looked tired, her face lined, her dark hair greying in its delicate Alderaan style. Her eyes were dark and familiar, but softer in their appearance than what you were used to looking at and realisation trickled gently down your spine. “I know who you are, Princess Organa but do you know who I am?”

“Lady Hux, married to General Armitage Hux of the First Order.”

“He got promoted to Grand Marshal…” you corrected her with a frown.

“And demoted back to General, albeit recently.” The news shocked you, making you realise that Kylo had indeed taken everything from you both.

“He promoted Pryde,” you whispered, noting Leia bowed her head in acknowledgment. You sneered in disgust, your heart pounding at the idea of Armitage having to answer to such a foul man. A man who was capable of terrible things with his bare hands. You tried to bring yourself back to your situation, you couldn’t help Hux now, only yourself. “Kylo knows where you are,” you stated.

“He has other battles to fight at the moment,” she commented like the news didn’t shock her.

“With your Jedi,” you spat. Leia’s dark eyes pierced you, her posture never faltering for a moment.

“I feel you don’t like me very much,” she observed and you wished you didn’t have to spell it out for her. You sucked in a breath, it was slightly exhilarating knowing something the great leader of the Resistance did not.

“Our families have history, but you probably paid no heed to the ripples your actions would have caused.”

“I am well aware of…”

“Are you?” You demanded cutting her words short. “My aunt was Carise Sindian.” You took a moment to enjoy the micro expressions that flew across Leia’s face, the realisation as she worked out the finer details of your statement. “You stripped her of her royal standing and so her family was ostracised, I was lucky to land the husband I did but, his father did know my father. Favour for a favour,” you looked back down at your hands. In your mind's eye you replayed the moment Arkanis was destroyed, the red light forever tormenting your nightmares. “None of that matters now,” you said softly.

“You are still a part of Arkanis. The part that lives.”

“I don’t want to be all that’s left.” This wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to go, you came into this with confidence but here you were fighting back tears, the thought of Arkanis was still raw and painful, a loss you were sure you’d never recover from. Leia leaned forward like she wanted to reach for you in comfort.

“I was there, watching when Alderaan was destroyed. I know the strength of the hurt you feel.”

“That is where our similarities end, Your Highness.” She withdrew, a blank mask falling across her face. “Do you think you can do it?” You asked, trying to distract yourself.

“Do what?” You smirked hoping it would cover the shine of tears in your eyes.

“Win. I saw your setup out there, hoping a few criminals and relics of the old days are enough to go against the might of the First Order.” She regarded you with a firm look as though you were a petulant child and it aggravated you.

”We are doing our best,” she replied.

“And what happens when you win? If you blow the First Order from the Galaxy what happens next?” You leaned forward, catching a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes. You took her silence as her answer and continued. “So you don’t have a plan? The First Order has a plan, to offer aid, to control the crime and chaos that spreads across the Galaxy. To stop children starving in the streets, can you offer the Galaxy that, Leia?” Now she leaned forward an almost triumphant look on her face when she replied.

“What do these people get in return for such selfless acts? Military occupation. Enlisted into mining camps, the children pulled off the streets away from families to become stormtroopers…”

“Troopers with full bellies!” You shot back and she shook her head.

“How can you be so blind?” She snapped.

“I am not the one who’s blind! You refuse to see that the First Order wishes to bring equality to the Galaxy. Killing the rotten bureaucracy and petty politics!”

“They seek control! And with control comes corruption!” She almost shouted. “I have seen what power does to people. The Empire made the same promises that the First Order are and Palpatine didn’t follow through on any of them! He ruled with an iron fist taking more lives than he saved…” you stood. Rage at her words making you go against your better judgement.

“Kylo is not Palpatine!” You shouted, slamming your hand onto the table. Leia sat back slowly, an unreadable expression on her face.

“How can you be so sure?” She asked quietly, her eyes boring into yours in almost a challenge as though she had already made up her mind about the Supreme Leader.

“Because he saved me.”

[waiting4inspiration]

Darkness before Dawn VIII: Manifestation

Summary: You agree to let Malla manifest, knowing that it would be a good idea to have someone like her on your side. Charlotte wants to find out who her father really is. 

Warnings: angst, strong language, mentions of sex and fooling around, mentions of arranged marriage, mentions of bastard children, horror themes, magical elements

Word Count: 2,859

Darkness before Dawn Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

“No. I refuse,” Dominic sternly says as he paces the floor in front of you, shaking his head as he runs his hands over his face. 

After telling Geralt and Jaskier everything that Malla said and what she suggested, Jaskier mentioned that before deciding anything, you should tell your father and your aunt, Ida about it. And you had to admit that he’s right. 

Your father has done everything in his power to protect you, hired a Witcher and called for his sister. He has to know what’s going on and be included in every decision involving your protection. 

Ida dropped everything to come to Eronia to help you. She voluntarily tired herself out to make the protective spots keeping the spirit away from you and is currently doing her best to find out what she can about dark magick to try and locate the witch so the curse can be broken. 

Not including any of them wouldn’t be fair. 

“Dominic, having a ghost on our side could help us find out things we can’t,” Ida mentions from across the room, arms folded over her chest and her shoulder against the wall, supporting her as she leans. Your mother always told you that it is unladylike. “She said she could help us and we need all the help we can get.”

Your father turns to look at her, staring in shock as he breathes out a long sigh. “I am not going to allow my daughter to give part of her life force to a spirit,” he rambles, looking between you, Geralt and Ida. “How do we know if we can trust her?”

“I trust her,” you speak, making everyone turn to look at you. 

You haven’t moved from the circle by your painting, too afraid of his words, the spirit’s words that he’ll be waiting for you to step out. Even though you’re sure that with Geralt and Ida, you’d be able to cross your room and get to your bed, but you’re too scared to try. 

“She refuses to touch me unless I give her permission even though she was standing right in front of me. She’s not like the one tormenting me,” you state, your fingers touching the bandage around your forearm. Ida says that tomorrow, you’ll be able to take them off and let the wound breathe. “I-I want to do it.”

Dominic shakes his head and takes a few steps towards you. “(Y/n)-”

“He’s afraid of her just as he’s afraid of Geralt and Ida,” you mention, lowering her gaze to your hands in your lap. You left that part out when you told Geralt what happened. 

Your words make Geralt and Ida perk up in interest and Jaskier to look between both of them. “What?” Geralt questions. 

His voice pulls your gaze away from your hands - it has that effect on you - and you give a small nod. “He said that he wanted what he came for, and that there wasn’t anyone here to stop him. No Witcher with his silver swords, no Mage with her magick. No Malla. She can stop him from harming me when I’m not in a circle.”

“How?” Jaskier questions before anyone can speak. 

“She’s a ghost. Spirits can interact with each other just as we can,” Geralt explains, glancing over to Ida who nods an agreement. 

Dominic sighs as he shakes his head. Again. He’s fought wars before, won most of them. But this seems like a losing battle trying to prevent you from giving some of your life force, which is basically your soul, to a ghost. “Having someone like her would be beneficial to us,” Geralt states, noticing Dominic’s reluctance and your eagerness to do this. 

You have the Witcher on your side. 

“Fine. How do we summon her?” Dominic asks, looking to his sister who only shrugs her shoulder. 

Your eye catches Malla standing by the fireplace again, a gentle smile on her face and a small nod in her head. Like a bow of acknowledgment. “She’s already here,” you whisper, standing from your seat and taking a step closer to the edge of the circle. 

They all follow your gaze, unaware that Malla begins to walk towards you. “You have decided?” she questions. 

You nod. 

Malla sighs in relief, her kind smile never fades as she stands a few feet in front of you. She holds out her hands in front of her. “You’ll have to be outside the circle, I’m afraid,” she states, knowing that you’re scared to do just that. 

Nonetheless, you take a step forward. “What must I do?” you ask, slowly lifting your hands and keeping them above hers. 

“Nothing. You may feel tired at the end, but it’s nothing rest can’t fix. I promise, you’ll feel just as you feel right now after you rest,” she explains, making you nod and look down at her hands. “Whenever you are ready, princess.”

She’s calm, no need for rush in her voice. Not like your main spirit. And you know, should you change your mind, she will understand. You can see it in her eyes. 

Still, you look over to Geralt for assurance. He steps forward to make sure you know he’ll protect you no matter what happens. That you’re safe, as long as he’s there. 

And you trust him. 

Turning your head back to Malla, you nod your head and place your hands in hers. They’re cold, though you don’t know why you’re surprised at that. She curls her finger around your hands and takes in a deep breath. That’s when you start to feel as if something is pulling at something deep down inside you. 

Your mouth falls open, like you want to scream, but it’s not like that. All you can do is breathe out heavily and shift on your feet when it feels as if the floor sways beneath your feet. 

To Geralt, Jaskier, Dominic, and Ida, they begin to see a figure taking form in front of you. It starts off as a flicker, but they start to make out the outline of a person. Then they start to see more detail, the dress she wears, how long her hair is, any jewelry she wears, and how she has your hands in hers. Next, they see color, the dark red of her dress with small embroidered shapes on the hems, the honey color of her hair, and the bruise on her neck that portrays how her life was taken from her.

It’s as if a human stands in front of you and they just appeared out of thin air. 

Malla suddenly lets go of your hands, making you stumble back and gasp in surprise. But Geralt is close enough to catch you before you fall. He scoops you into his arms, takes note of the paleness of your tired face and quickly carries you to the bed, leaving the other three people staring at the newer one. 

Geralt places you on the bed, reaches up to stroke your forehead as you turn your head towards him. Giving him a weak smile as he places his hands over yours that lie on your stomach, he smiles in return before looking over to Malla. “What did you do to her?”

“She’ll be fine, Witcher. She just needs to rest,” Malla gently says, not wishing to alarm anyone or make them think she has other motives now that she is manifested. “She’ll be perfectly well before sunrise,” she mentions, turning her gaze to the window to see that the sun has already set. “I told her that doing this would allow me to communicate with you what I know without her having to speak for me and waste time. And I have much to tell you.”

Uza thought that she could keep the secret that Charlotte isn’t the King’s daughter to herself until her dying day. She didn’t think that a witch would ruin everything she worked for to get her first daughter into a seat of power, knowing that it’s something she couldn’t have if Dominic knew the truth. She was right. 

Now, everything has changed since the night of the curse. She wasn’t scared for Charlotte because she knew that she wouldn’t be affected by it. She already knew you would be the one receiving the curse. 

She had to tell the truth that night to Dominic. She had to tell him that Charlotte’s father is a stable boy from her home kingdom, that she was conceived before their marriage was even arranged. 

Hearing the door open and close with a shrill call of her name, she knows without looking that Charlotte has walked in. “What is it?” she questions, turning around to look at her, only to find a broken look on her face. “What happened?”

Charlotte chuckles and shakes her head as she steps forward. “As if you didn’t expect this to happen. People are calling me a bastard. The Bastard. People in the city, people in the castle, everywhere,” she complains, throwing her hands up in anger as Uza steps forward. “And now, I want to know who my father really is. My real father,” she demands. 

Uza stares at her in shock, her eyes wide and her hands folded in front of her. This is just like when she had to tell Dominic the truth. There’s the same look in her eye, the same want for the truth. Something Uza is sure she learned from Dominic. 

She gives a sigh, turns to walk towards a chair in the room, and clears her throat to begin explaining. “It was before I was supposed to marry the new King of Eronia. My mother...caught me in a vulgar affair with the stable boy,” she starts, sitting down in a chair and lifting her gaze up to Charlotte. “To spare any embarrassment to the family, my father married me off to King Dominic of Eronia. The day of the wedding, I found out I was carrying you,” she adds, ending her explanation there. 

It’s short and to the point. Simple. It’s all Charlotte needs to know. 

Charlotte gives a small nod as she drops her gaze to the ground and steps forward, closer to her mother. “Did you at least love him? My real father?” she softly questions, only looking up at her when she sits in the chair in front of her. 

“No,” Uza whispers, her answer makes her daughter’s head drop between her shoulders again, shamed. “He was just someone to have fun with.”

Shaking her head to herself, Charlotte glances to the side as she hears those people calling her that name in her mind. “So I really am a bastard,” she whispers, her hands folding in her lap as she fights back the tears growing in her eyes. 

Uza leans forward to place her hand over Charlotte’s. “No, you are a princess, Charlotte-”

“No, I’m not,” Charlotte snaps, pulling her hands out from under her mother’s and stands to her feet again. “I’m your bastard child who’s only a princess because of a lie. If the King wanted, he could strip me of my title right now and send me to live on the streets like a true bastard,” she states, taking a few steps backward away from her mother as she shakes her head, afraid that what she said might just happen. 

Uza stands and tries to reach out to her daughter to calm her. “Your father wouldn’t-”

“You mean the King. He is not my father,” she cuts her off again, silencing Uza for a moment longer than she thought. 

Realizing she’s right, that Dominic is too occupied with you at the moment to cast anyone out of the royal family and take away titles and rights, she gives a defeated sigh. “I will talk to him. And I will make sure that you are no longer called a Bastard,” Uza states, stepping in front of her daughter and placing her hands either side of her face, she leans forward to kiss her forehead. 

Malla told everyone what she had been doing while you decided if you wanted to help her manifest. She told them how she asked around everywhere in the spirit realm about this malicious spirit haunting you. The look on her face, however, tells them that it’s not really any good news. 

“His real name died with him. He now goes by the name ‘Kurst’, and many are afraid of him,” Malla explains, sitting on the bed by your feet. You try to keep your tiredness at bay, wanting to hear what she has to say, wanting to know about this man tormenting you. “He’s powerful. And he’s the only one in the realm of the dead with no indication as to how he died which is a sign that he was involved with dark magick when he was alive. Those that would talk to me, told me that he has been trying to get back.”

Her last words confuse everyone, including you. But you don’t have the strength to ask what she means by that. You know that someone else will ask.

“Get back? What does that mean?” Dominic questions, leaning forward in his seat as he keeps a strong stare on the ghost. 

You breathe out a tired sigh and let your eyes flutter shut for a second, telling yourself that you’ll just rest them for a moment. But when Malla looks over at you, she knows that you won’t wake until morning. She’s happy that you’re finally giving in to rest. You need to. “It means that he’s trying to come back to the world of the living.”

That shocks everyone. 

Geralt’s eyes fall to your bandaged arm and he realizes something that no one has yet questioned. “He’s touched her before. Does that mean he’s pulled some of her life force out of her?” he questions and it only unsettles Dominic more. 

Malla sighs and glances down to your arm. “It is possible.”

“If he draws all of it out of her, what will he be capable of?” 

“That’s enough,” Dominic snaps, the rise in his voice makes you stir turn around to face away from them with a small whine leaving your lips. 

But still, Geralt looks to Malla for the answer to his question. 

She sighs, lowers her gaze to the ground and shakes her head. “I don’t know. Nothing like that has ever happened before,” she whispers, slowly looking up at Geralt again. “It’s not a very good feeling pulling out a part of a human’s soul for us ghosts. It feels worse the guilt of killing someone,” she mentions, glancing down to her hands as she recalls the feeling of when you gave her permission to touch you. 

“But if someone has killed before, they would be used to that guilt,” Jaskier mentions, pulling Malla’s attention to him. 

She gets a thought, almost as if his words sparked a memory in her mind from when she was still alive. Shaking her head to push it aside, she looks back at Geralt before glancing down to you again. “I can ask around some more and try and find people who will talk,” she states, looking back at the group who nod their head in approval, thanks, or appreciation. “Is there anything else you wish for me to find out? The spirit realm can hold a lot of answers and secrets.”

It’s quiet for a moment, everyone looks at each other, waiting for one of them to speak. 

“The witch that cursed her,” Dominic speaks, breaking the silence and standing from his seat. “She had a personal vendetta against me. Can you find out who she is?” he begs, earning a friendly smile from Malla as if it would not hinder her main quest. 

She nods her head and stands from the bed. “I can try,” she whispers, looking back down to you. “She’s lucky to have people like you that care so much about her,” she states, looking to them again. 

Ida steps forward and rests her hand on Dominic’s shoulder. “We should let her rest now,” she says, nodding to you as you breathe out a deep breath.

“I shall return when I find out something,” Malla speaks before she disappears. 

Dominic walks closer to you, strokes your head gently before leaning down to kiss your forehead. You shift before settling down again, nuzzling your face into your pillow and humming to your pillow as your father pulls away to walk out of the room, followed by Ida. 

Jaskier looks over to Geralt who steps forward to you and sits beside you. Smiling to himself, he silently walks towards the door and closes it behind him. 

Looking around the room, Geralt notices that he’s alone with you. He strokes your arm with the back of his hand before he reaches up to push a piece of hair away from your face. He thinks about the conversation he had with Jaskier. He does like you. He is getting attached to you. And it’s not like the time with Yennefer.

Like my work? Support me HERE!!!

Permanent Tags- @cassindeansass​ @simsadventures​ @fandomfic-galore​ @belovedcherry​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @what-just-happened-bro​ @patton-fielder​ @geekandbooknerd​ @lonewolf471​ @rainbowkisses31​ @moonie-flower101​ @p8tn0lish​ @rinkashirikitateku​ @readsalot73​ @louisolos​ @petlaufeyson​ @bangtan-serendipity​ @aworldwideapart​ @mythicalbullshit​ @ateliefloresdaprimavera​ @xbuckxnastyx​ @madithemagicalfangirl​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @shannygoatgruff​ @a--1--1--3​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @mblaqgi​ @tephi101​ @coconutqueen21​

Geralt Tags - @carlya65​ @whitewolfandthefox​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @bitchwhytho​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @thefifthmaraud3r​ @fabiola-betancourt​ @cookies186​ @ntlmundy​ @tsukikistune​ @alwayshave-faith​ @momc95​ @shondlenoodle​ @secretsthathauntus​

[desperationandgin]

Strawberry Wine - Chapter 13

Title: Strawberry wine

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Claire attempts to find Jamie while the war rages on and eventually ends.

A/N: Thank you so much for everyone’s patience while I finished this story! At one point I wasn’t going to, but I had an incredible support team that cheered me on. Without all of my betas, I would be nothing. The gorgeous mood board is by @veryfaintveryhuman​ and I am SO GRATEFUL. It’s beautiful, thank you!

Chapter 13: Like Leaves in the Fall

When the war ended and the fighting was over, I had no idea whether or not Jamie was alive.

What I did know, as I took stock on a train to Scotland, was that my uncle was dead, and I was alone.

Losing Lamb had been a blow to my heart, but I didn’t have the luxury of time to process the grief and sorrow while in the midst of saving lives. The telegram I’d received simply said he’d died in his sleep, and within the span of a single sentence, my last piece of family was gone. No more messy-but-organized flat to visit in the wake of my uncle’s retirement. No one to lean on as I recounted the horrors of war. When I woke from the nightmares, there would be no one to smooth my hair until I was calm. I had no one left in the world who loved me.

I had no one to help find the other half of me.

After losing contact with Jamie, each letter I’d sent to Lallybroch remained unanswered; nothing was ever returned. All of my letters were simply gone into the void—the same place prayers went to die when no deity bothered to listen.

Everything had gone to hell in July 1943. The night I left with a trio of Americans to help an understaffed unit five miles away.

I’d been sure the order from the commanding officer had been to leave in the morning at first light, but I was, of course, outranked by the soldiers escorting me. We’d left an hour after sunset and hadn’t been on the road more than eight minutes before there was an ambush, gunfire, and a fireball of explosion. I never could remember anything that happened after the initial blast. When I’d woken up, I was told I’d been in and out of consciousness for two days, and in that time, had been taken by truck to a field hospital twenty miles east of my own unit. Travel between the two camps had since become a blown-out, impassable mess, with no other way to get back. I wrote to Jamie as soon as I could, but with everything so chaotic, I felt before I knew that something was wrong.

I wrote each Sunday for a year to the last address I had for him, even if it was the final, bleary-eyed thing I did before collapsing that night. Some weeks it was only a sentence. Something simple.

I miss you.

Other weeks I poured my soul out to him, weeping over the paper until the ink was so blurred that even if he received it, he wouldn’t have been able to make out half the words. I began writing to Lallybroch, and my alarm ran deeper when there was no response from anyone at all. I had the phone number and attempted to call when I had the rare chance, but the operator could never connect. I felt helpless, and so I threw myself into helping others, trying to send as many boys and men home to their families as I could.

The last letter I’d sent was posted a month before the end of the war (though I hadn’t known it at the time) and was the first I’d written in a long, long while. I’d mailed it to Lallybroch, for no other reason than because I had no idea where else Jamie might be in the world.

I asked you to promise something impossible. I won’t ever believe you broke that vow to me, James Fraser. Not until I see proof with my own eyes.

You are not gone.

If you were, I couldn’t exist. So you must be out there, somewhere.

Now, the war was over. In the life we’d dreamed, we would have been settled with children by now. At least one or two. All of those nights dreaming felt like distant memories; plans two young lovers made before they’d ever stepped into the reality of the world.

How had we ever believed that our fantasies were untouchable?

I was going back to Lallybroch in the hope of discovering what happened to the Frasers. My heart ached for Jamie to walk out of the front door, healthy and whole, surprised to see me but eager to explain. Even knowing that wouldn’t be the case, I couldn’t have anticipated reaching his home only to find…nothing.

I knew something was wrong the moment I pulled into the drive. There was no smoke rising from the chimneys, there were no chickens roaming the yard. Getting out of the car (Lamb’s; now mine), I could see that the fields in the distance hadn’t been plowed, there were no animals grazing. I stumbled my way to the front door, recognizing the curling orange foreclosure notice for what it was before I could even make out the words.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…”

It felt as if someone had wrapped their hands around my heart and squeezed. I touched the fading paper and realized it’d been there for some time, then turned to sink slowly onto the front steps. I couldn’t fathom what had happened to cause Brian Fraser to lose the home his ancestors built in the name of love, and my mind raced with possibilities. The main question was where everyone had gone, and I knew my answers wouldn’t be found by sitting still. I left the property and drove into Broch Mordha, parking on the street and walking until I found the quaint little bookshop Jamie and I had enjoyed ducking into once or twice.

“Hello?”

A creaky old voice responded, and the proprietor, Mr. Gowan, made his way around the corner. I remembered him, a retired solicitor with a love of literature, and the way he smiled at me seemed to indicate he recalled me as well.

“Miss Beauchamp, was it? Oh aye, to be sure,” he answered for himself. “I hardly thought I would see ye here again with the Frasers gone from the land.”

It seemed we were cutting right to the chase, and I was eager to avoid small talk. “What happened? I haven’t heard anything in...years.” It hurt to say it aloud, to acknowledge that all of the time I was supposed to have with Jamie was slipping by.

Ned Gowan’s eyes went the sort of soft that meant he was to be the bearer of bad news.

It was in that dusty little shop that I learned of Brian Fraser’s death. He’d been at the plow when he collapsed. A stroke rendered him unable to speak or make final arrangements before he died, and so Jenny had been left to find a way to stay afloat—during a war, no less—on her own. She’d done the best she could, letting go of the farmhands who couldn’t go to war, first, then selling off livestock. Eventually, the burden became too much, and she’d been forced to take what she could stuff in a trunk and leave the rest behind.

“Do you know where she went?” I asked, my voice thick with unshed tears.

Ned reached over, patting my hand softly. “That, I cannae be sure of. I ken she stayed with the MacNabs for a spell after her father died, though she isna there now.”

“Do you know what happened to Jamie? Did he come back?”

At my questions, Ned simply squeezed my hand and shook his head. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

For a moment, I simply held onto him, attempting to come to terms with the fact that Jamie had never returned home while my stomach tried to force its way up my throat.

The end of the day saw me no further than the start. The elderly Mrs. MacNab, while kind, hadn’t kept up with Jenny. With the mouths of children and grandchildren alike to feed and keep track of in a small, two-bedroom home, she’d lost the forwarding address. She assured me that when Jenny left she had at least seemed to have a plan, though she had no idea where Jamie’s sister might have gone.

In the days that followed, I spoke to various locals and realized that no one else knew, either.

I hit the final wall in trying to track down Jenny when I couldn’t locate her cousin, Jared. Leaving Paris had likely been the safest decision for him, but with everyone moving constantly during the war, nothing was familiar anymore. No one was where they were supposed to be.

I didn’t know where to go, and so, I went back to Lallybroch.

It was dark when I arrived, but the path to the river hadn’t faded from my memory. I knew, even in the faint moonlight, which branches to shove aside and could almost imagine Jamie ahead of me. As I broke into the clearing and the sound of water blended with the evening insects, I realized I’d been holding my breath with some sort of final hope that he would be there, reaching his hand out for me.

When I finally exhaled, it was on a sob as I sank to my knees.

He was truly gone.

Likely dead and buried somewhere I would never know. The war had chewed us all up and spat us back out in pieces, scattered and lost. I ached and cried, not only for Jamie, but for Jenny, Ian, and Brian, too. So much had been taken from us, and I wept for it all. I had no idea how long I laid there even after the tears stopped, curled in on myself in the mud. When I finally rose, I sat on the bank of the river, slightly damp, and watched the sky turn pink with the dawn of a new day.

I had to find a home on my own now.

Alone.

Over time, I slowly pieced together a life that was more or less what I’d told Jamie I wanted to do the first night we’d met. I took my skills as a nurse to places with little access to medical care, did what I could, and stayed as long as I felt necessary before moving on. My life hardly felt the way I’d thought it once would; I enjoyed helping others, and the call to take care of those in need was enough to motivate me each day. But I felt as if I were a spectator, watching the weeks, months, and years pass by in slow motion.

When my travels took me to North America, I eventually caught wind of a hospital in Boston looking to hire a dozen or so nurses. I’d thought about it for a long while, whether or not I should stop someplace and finally settle. I’d never longed for something permanent before, not until Jamie had put it into my head that we could have a life together, at Lallybroch.

Boston was about as far from the Scottish Highlands as anyplace else; an entire ocean stretched between what I yearned for and what I wound up with. I put all of my time and energy into the job, and even made a friend or two as I tried to put the war and life before it behind me.

But Jamie’s ghost wouldn’t go so easily.

He guided most of my decisions, the voice in my head that battled my doubts. When I debated whether or not to apply for a head nursing position, the voice in my head that whispered you’re just as capable as any other person at this hospital sounded suspiciously like Jamie, and I decided to try. He became my backbone when I stepped into an interview room full of men. When I was offered the job, I couldn’t deny my happiness at the accomplishment, and my colleagues at the hospital celebrated me in a way that was kind and genuine. But as I marked the time passing and settled into my career, I knew I had come to a point where I needed to let Jamie go.

Moving through life with a constant ache hurt too badly, and I’d never let myself accept that he was truly gone. If I was going to say goodbye to him, it needed to be done properly. That was why, five years after last receiving a letter from him, I took a trip to Scotland to leave a message in a bottle.

3rd of September, 1949. Come find me, Jamie.

When that fateful day finally arrived, I watched the sunrise from the front steps of Lallybroch for what I knew would be the last time. The sky was blue and birds were chirping, apathetic to my sorrow as I walked the property. I found the old, rusted truck that had taken us everywhere that summer, the back-half of it gone. We’d carved promises into one another in the bed of that truck, made love and held one another while we gazed at the stars. Looking down, I pressed my thumb against the faded scar before walking toward the front of the home. It still looked as sturdy as ever, but with no life within, the entire structure seemed dull, as if even the stones had given up.

I decided to make my way to the river through the woods knowing that if Jamie had found my note, that’s where he would think to look for me. I paused for a moment to gaze back at the house, finding his bedroom window. There was only broken glass now, and I closed my eyes, a quiet tear rolling down my cheek. I could still picture the first time I’d ever seen him perfectly: shirtless in a kilt, a bale of hay slung over his shoulder as easily as if it had been a bag of feathers. It wasn’t fair, that we’d only had a summer, that my soul had tangled itself with his in a way that was forever knotted. I would say goodbye today, but I couldn’t fathom finding another love like this in my lifetime.

To be frank, I didn’t know if I believed another love like his existed.

Looking up at the window again, I remembered that first night we made love, how warm it’d been. I’d stood in the window naked while we talked, welcoming the evening breeze as we’d made plans to escape to the water.

My only warning that the world was about to tilt on its axis was the soft crunch of gravel underfoot behind me. It was light enough that I didn’t bother to turn and see what made the sound. And then, suddenly, I felt as though I were in free fall.

“...Sassenach?”

The word (my name on his lips), unheard in years, made my heart skip before every ounce of air left my lungs. I turned my body slowly, but stared down for a moment before finally raising my head, afraid that I’d heard nothing at all.

He was there, standing straight and tall, staring at me in slack-jawed surprise.

Jamie was alive and whole, and it was the last thought I had before the world went black.

[cas-huggybear]

God’s most beloved

A/N: this is just a random story I wrote. It’s about Lucier and his fall, his time in the cage and his relationship with his family. And why he tortured Sam Winchester.

He was God’s favorite.

He loved him and siblings deeply.

It hadn't been his fault. The mark, his father had given him, it poisoned his mind.

God had acted irresponsible and foolish, putting such a burden on his most beloved child. He should have known that an object of such power would be too much, even for an archangel.

Then God created men.

Of course Lucifer became jealous of mankind because he loved his father more than anything, and he believed so did his father.

But he was wrong.

God showed more concern fore those creatures than him.

He could not comprehend how such weak and foolish beings even deserved to exist.

So he wanted to set humanity free; to show them that there is more than blind obedience and that free will exists. He would free their minds of the illusion his father created, show them how wrong their beloved God was.

So he seduced her, Eve, the woman. Not because she was weaker than Adam, it had been the contrary. He found more pride in seducing the stronger one, to humiliate his father even more.

He laughed when he saw Adam eating the apple out of Eve's hand, greedily biting and chewing, the sweet juices dripping down his chin.      

And he laughed when he twisted Lilith's human soul, creating the first of the demons.

But then his family turned against him, coldly banishing him from heaven.

And he should have known the angel's blind devotion to their father wasn't something to be quickly overruled.

But the devotion in those who followed him burned hot and the war that came was terrible.

Heaven was shattered, and the descendants of Adam and Eve were terrified, cowering on earth below every time a deafening rumble from above rang in their fragile ears.

When he remembers the war, which divided heaven forever, all he can see is his brothers and sisters.

Angels, slain. Their wings ripped out on the base, terrible, gaping holes where beautiful, divine feathers should be.

Angels, broken and battered.

And he knew, what burns hot, fades even faster. By the time it wasn't utter love and admiration he saw in their eyes. Instead, he saw doubt and grief, slowly turning to anger and hatred. Towards him.

And in his terrible wrath he smote those who doubted him, smote his own people.

After that there were whispers in his own garrison. Whispers, that he had become insane, driven to madness by having to kill his own siblings.

And if he would have been honest to himself, he secretly knew those voices were right. But he was known for his pride and so he refused to believe so.

Perhaps he was insane, but for a different reason. The Mark. The Mark to seal away his father's sister, the Mark that held too much power for him to bear. He had to lose it. And he found a way. The foolish human Cain, tricked and deceived by the Morningstar now bore the Mark, making it widely known. Making him the first human to commit the most terrible crime: murder. He slaughtered his own brother Abel with the jawbone of a mere cow. Lucifer laughed as he saw the despair in father's eyes as it happened.

But he was afraid, afraid because he knew there was still no going back now.

Then it happened.

His father gave the orders. Lucifer followed out of pride, his beloved brother Michael followed as always out of obedience.

There was a time when he secretly used to be jealous of his brother. What a perfect soldier he was. He knew he could never be like him, and the doubt wormed its way up to his heart. But father's strong, soothing hand on his shoulder and gentle words of assurance had simply made the doubt vanish.

The first thing the oldest archangel had noticed while entering the imposing throne room, was Michael's place, – at father's right. The place where he used to stand, assisting father, deliberating with him.

Tall, proud and in golden armor, sword in his mighty hand, Michael did not look at Lucifer when he entered. His piercing blue gaze was fixated right above his brother's head, not acknowledging him. Lucifer couldn't help but grin at his brother's stubbornness.

A choir of whispers surrounded him, hundreds of angel's bearing witness in the throne room.

There was a time those whispers were full of worship and adoration – adoration for him, the Morningstar. But instead of soft, quiet whispers, words of fondness and devotion, those whispers were now cruel and harsh, piercing like the ice-cold wind of earth below.

Insane... evil... traitor... unholy... MONSTER!

He growled and turned around, facing the brutal voices. How could they. They were his family. How dared they insult him that way. After all he was the first and most powerful archangel, Lucifer Morningstar, the bringer of dawn and (he used to be) God's most beloved.

And who were they? Low, meaningless angels, talking about him like he was insane, when in truth they were the blind, little sheep.

He smiled. Pathetic, he thought, as he looked into their faces, expressions full of terror. He snapped his fingers, a dozen angels disintegrating. The unharmed angels cried out in horror, cowering under his fiery blue stare and he delighted in their fear.

“LUCIFER!”

There he was. His brother finally looked him in the eye. Lucifer grinned at him too.

“You will pay for this.”, Michael's voice sounded, threateningly low, but his older brother was not impressed.

They met in the middle of the white throne room, surrounded by angels and marble-pillars.

It happened fast. Michael raised his sword. The proud, strong archangel Michael, but most of all his dear brother, was fighting him.

They had fought before, before all of it happened. They had fought about every mild inconvenience, driving father and his siblings mad. But back then, there was always some sort of playfulness, even cheer in their eyes. And if he hurt Michael in a serious manner, or the other way around, the brothers would always apologize, hug and laugh it off, not seeing the content smile on their father's face afterwards.

But not now.

Now, it was Michael's intent to end him. His hits showed no mercy, relentlessly battling him, channeling all his strength. His mighty sword coming down on his and the look on his face, grim and cold, showing no emotion.

Lucifer knew his brothers and sisters were watching them, they cried out in horror every time one of them was hit.

The two beautiful brothers were fighting hard and relentlessly, divine swords crashing together in loud, metallic rings.

But Lucifer knew he was still a better fighter, more powerful. He was the first archangel, angel, older than his brother and he would win.

Or so he thought. He had underestimated his brother's grim determination, underestimated Michael's will to turn against him.

At first he thought there was a chance of talking to his stubborn brother, but every time he attempted to speak, his brother's eyes would glow, bright and blue, and his celestial energy would force Lucifer back.

Still the Morningstar believed he would win that terrible battle.

And Lucifer was furious. How could his brother do that to him? How could father do this to him? He loved them, he loved all of his family.

They were both bleeding now, grace shining bright through their bodies.

Father's voice rumbled through heaven's throne room, commanding them to halt in their action. They both stopped, Michael out of obedience, Lucifer out of old habit.

Father's accusations numbed him but at the same time...

There it was.

The flame inside of him, burning bright and red through his eyes and Michael's look of utter disturbance when he saw his brother's blue eyes turn red for the first time fueled his unstoppable rage even more.

With proud strides the Morningstar made his way over to father's throne.

The angels screamed as they saw him raise his sword at father, and then he screamed when  Michael roughly yanked him backwards.

By his wings.

The most sensitive and most holy part of an angel's body. The most intimate. He could feel feathers ripping out, blood spilling, the small bones crushed under Michael's merciless grip.

With a roar he turned around with the intention of causing Michael as much pain as he experienced.

But then it happened. For a split second he could see Michael's facade crumble when he heard father's command. He could see the real Michael, not the cold soldier but his little brother, staring up at him in dread. Even for Michael father's choice of punishment sounded cruel.

Lucifer stared at his brother, awaiting his reaction.

A choir of terrified angel voices followed them again and when he saw the clouds dividing, the distant green of earth so contrary to the white marble of the throne room, he knew it was the end.

Michael's expression shifted back to grim and determined.

For the last time Lucifer allowed himself to look at his brothers.

Gabriel. Tears were streaming down his little brothers face, arms around a little fledgling who had buried his face in Gabriel's side.

Raphael stared at him without emotion, looking at him as if watching the clouds in heaven.

But Lucifer couldn't look at father. Not after this. He despised him.

And in this moment he swore his revenge would be terrible.

With gleaming red eyes he turned his face to look at Michael. The cold breeze from the opening rustled his and Michael's feathers.

He grinned at his brother, his face a mocking grimace.

“What are you waiting for, brother?”, he spat.

With another violent pull Michael yanked him forward once again and he could hear his bones break. The pain emerging from his wing was almost unbearable.

Lucifer wanted to stop his brother from dragging him, tried hitting him with his bare hands, kicking him, clawing at him, anything to protect his wings, but his hands did not affect Michael and he knew, it was father who protected his brother against his attacks.

He stumbled after his little brother, cursing him, cursing father and the entirety of heaven.

When his other wing broke, the angels started crying but he simply laughed.

“You are a monster, Lucifer.”, his brother's cold voice hurting him more than his grip on his wings.

With those words Michael let his white, bloodstained wings go and violently kicked him, hard, in the back, right between his destroyed wings.

Then he fell, accompanied by his sibling's cries.

What he mostly remembers from the fall is pain and the smell of his burning wings. Once he reached a certain speed, he was nothing but a ball of fire.

His broken wings were flapping useless above him, burning.

He tried to do anything to slow himself, tried to lift his once strong wings, but the broken bones did not allow him to.

It is said the scream that erupted from Lucifer's throat that moment shook not only heaven, but hell and earth as well.

And mankind was terrified once they caught sight of the archangel, falling in a fiery mess, and heard his terrible cry.  

The moment he collided with earth's rough surface, he wished he had lost consciousness.

Instead, he hit the surface with a shattering thud.

Only then, everything went black.

When he woke up again, he found himself behind strong, warded metal bars., His father's print clear on them.

He knew father had meant to bind him, to not release him upon the earth, threatening his oh so beloved creation.

The millennia he spent imprisoned in the cage had their fair share on him. Healing was hard, all alone in the darkness with no help.

His wings...

His beautiful wings were destroyed. The once alabaster white feathers, with sprinkles of pure gold at the feather's ends were now black and stunted – burned.

And he wept for them, wept alone in the darkness of the sickening cage, wept for his despair and repudiation.

Once he used to laugh at his father's poor creativity, locking him up just like he did to his sister.

Once he used to laugh at the screams of the doomed souls, suffering.

After a while he stopped. He became... considerate, quiet.

Over hundreds of years he took the time of the solitude to heal himself.

And finally his wings were restored to their former glory, as well as the rest of his body.

But not his mind. It was broken and no grace, no divine power could repair it. There was nothing but a storm of dark clouds, full of hatred, disdain and rage.

So he was left with himself. Thinking, planning, listening.

And how he learned to loathe his father and all his creation.

The once beautiful archangel Lucifer Morningstar, God's most beloved child, was now the Devil.

Twisted, sick and evil, he waited.

A whisper. Promises from Azazel, one of his princes. Promises for him. He hoped Azazel wouldn't fail – otherwise not even the bars of the damned cage would save the demon from his wrath.

Then, he felt a low rumble, vibrating through the cage.

Then another. And another.

He could sense her coming. His first creation. Lilith. After all she was bound to him.

Her words were the sweetest music in his ears.

Music, of the 66 seals being broken, music of heaven's armies failing.

And finally he laughed again and all of hell heard him and cheered.

Lucifer would walk the earth and be their salvation.

With the last seal breaking, the fire in him burned again, after a long time.

He was free again.

Finally he was going to get his revenge.

And it would be so sweet.

He smiled. He would destroy the one thing that brought him his doom – humanity.

And he would find such pleasure in destroying his father’s most beloved creation.

Lucifer would destroy mankind the same way his father had destroyed him.

He was surprised at how easy it was to possess his first vessel. How easily manipulated humans still were.

Thousands of years after their creation and they were just as weak and pathetic as the day they first opened their eyes.

The suffering they would endure once he had raised hell would be terrible, and he hoped that father, wherever he was, would see the mistake he made.

He knew his brother's garrison was after him, but he had other, more important concerns.

For example convincing Sam Winchester to be his vessel – it was his destiny after all. The same way it was Sam's idiotic brother's destiny to be Michael's vessel.

But the brothers were... stronger and more resistant than usual, their brotherly love painfully reminding him of what he and Michael once used to have.

He did not worry though, they were just humans after all and he was, well, the Devil.

Then, the one thing he always tried to avoid happened.

His little brother, Gabriel got in his way, and he couldn't understand why he would care for those pagans. Lesser beings, not half as worth as his little brother himself, far beneath him.

So he left his little Gabriel the choice – him or Michael, to evaluate whether he was worthy of being a part of his new kingdom.

And oh how he wished his little brother would have picked him, how his foolish little brother would see that he was the right choice.

But Gabriel was blind and so he had to end him.

He simply couldn't show any more weakness. Now it was about his main goal, and to reach it. He would turn against his family for it, like they once turned on him. He had tried but his brother had left him no choice.

And so he had turned around, piercing his brother's own blade right through his heart, watching the life leave his eyes, shining bright and blue through them.

He cried and wept for his little brother but it had to be. There was no way he could allow any form of resistance in his kingdom.

The world would be his, only his.

But of course his other brother couldn’t let that happen.

Lucifer still loved Michael. Even now, after what Michael had done to him. Even after his last words to him had stung terribly.

So he tried talking to him, get him to understand that he wasn’t evil. (Just) simply misunderstood.

But his stupid, prideful, stubborn brother wouldn’t listen to him. He was just as blind as Gabriel was.

So they had to fight and he knew he would win. He was the Morningstar after all.

And his kingdom would rise.

But then, this miserable human and his imbecile brother damaged his plans.

When Sam Winchester accepted to be his vessel, he knew he should have locked him far away in his mind before, but it was so much fun watching the younger Winchester suffer.

Watching it tear him apart that he wasn’t strong enough to overpower him, to watch innocent people die at his own hands.

And how he enjoyed beating up the pitiful other one, Dean, making him suffer at his Sammy’s hand.

But he underestimated them, and he cursed himself for it.

His stupid vessel took control, and it grabbed Michael, dragging both of them with him.

And then he was there again.

The one place he wished to never be again, the one place he feared.

He had wished to never having to look at the iron bars, how they seemingly got closer with every breath he took.

But this time he wasn’t alone.

And even if he couldn’t get his revenge on father, he knew ways nobody else knew of, to make the person suffer who brought him back to the hell hole.

A smile crept up his face.

He would break Sam Winchester.

[ct7567329]

Mine: Wolffe x Reader

Request: Yandere ~~~~ "Wolffe! What are you doing?" Plo screamed across the battlefield as Wolffe just stood there motionless. The fact that he hasn't gotten shot down was a miracle. Guess that's thanks to the droids' bad aim. Plo's yelling didn't get Wolffe's attention; he still stood there, staring at the girl of his dreams. This girl just so happened to be you. You were kneeling on the ground, tying a bandage around one of the troopers who who shot in the arm. A simple maneuver, its purpose simply being to cut off blood flow to prevent blood loss, but every time Wolffe saw you do this, it was like watching you perform the galaxy's hardest surgery. Everything you did was perfect and with grace in his eyes. He wanted you. No, he needed you. He had an idea.

Wolffe finally started blasting. His blasts were reckless, like him, but they missed everything, which was unlike him. Despite missing the droid, he marched towards him. This was the plan. He ignored the commands to fall back from Plo, and kept charging. The only thing that could stop him from pushing forward was a shot from the clankers good enough to knock him out, which is exactly what happened. You saw the whole thing play out from across the battlefield. Since you were attending to other men, you commed Boost to inform him what happened. Moments later, Boost was at Wolffe's side, wondering why he would do what he did.

"Kriff!" he exclaimed the second he came to, making eye contact with Boost.

Boost exhaled and shook his head, "Commander, what the kriff were you doing?!"

"Clearly not thinking this out throughly," Wolffe groaned, throwing his head back into the bed, "is (y/n) here?"

Boost rolled his eyes and left the room, leaving Wolffe in the care of a medical droid. It wasn't ideal, but he started talking to the droid, knowing it doesn't have a brain to remember any of it, "It was a great idea in the moment. All I had to do is get injured on the battlefield and then should would have to help me! Right? Nope! Boost came over to help me! Sorry vod, but I would have rather risked dying and waited longer for her to come over! Now I'm stuck here with a stupid droid!"

"I am trained in over three hun-"

"Shut up," Wolffe interrupted the droid, attempting to get out of the bed. The medical droid was there to catch Wolffe as he stumbled before maintaining his balance. The droid informed Wolffe that he wasn't ready to leave the medical bay, but the last thing he was worried about was a droid's opinion.

Wolffe went back to the 104th barracks where his armor was freshly polished, laying on his bunk. Across the room, he got a glare from Sinker. This made Wolffe pray to maker Sinker wouldn't come over to him. His prayer went unanswered as Sinker approached him and started reaming Wolffe for his reckless behavior. Deep down, he knew the newly named ARC was angry at him out of brotherly love, but he was just too upset his plan failed to realize that.

The doors to the barracks opened, revealing you and Boost laughing together. This made Wolffe angry, real angry.

"Boost, get over here, now!" he commanded, angry boiling in his blood.

Boost hugged you goodbye and went over to his commander, "Yes sir?"

"Stay away," he growled through his teeth. This was a new level of fury no one in the 104th has experienced before.

Boost gave Wolffe a confused look, "With all due respect sir, you called me over here."

Wolffe grabbed the closest thing he could find, which ended up being a DC-17 pistol, and threw it as hard as he could against the floor, "I mean from (Y/N), trooper!"

It was rare that a clone called another clone, trooper, and that could easily be told by the reaction of all the men in the room. Silence over took the barracks to the point that Wolffe could hear Boost swallow.

"Yeah," he smirked, "I'd be scared too."

The only thing going through Boost's mind was the fact that he was happy Wolffe wasn't a Jedi. That night, Wolffe laid in his bed, his eyes wide open as he stared at the ceiling. Everything reminded him of you, even the ceiling. The ceiling was up, so are the stars, you're a star to him.

He threw his legs over the side of his bed and got up, slowly leaving the barracks, making sure not to wake any of his sleeping brothers.

The halls of the Jedi Cruiser were dead silent. Wolffe loved this. It allowed him to bask in his emotions without disturbance. He approached your private quarters and ran his fingers down the door. He craved being in there with you, holding you. As his fingers slowly trailed down the door, he let his mind wander. The things he wanted to do with you kept piling up. Throughout the months of you being an assistant field medic, he built up this fantasy in his head. Without thinking, he pounded his fist on the door, angry he didn't have you.

The pound on the door started you. You groaned and got out of bed, curious to what was on the other side of the door. When you opened the door there was nothing there. You peered your head out of the door and looked down the hall. Nothing. You shrugged, figuring it was just the dream and went back to bed.

Wolffe stood in a supply closed he quickly migrated to after banging on your door. After a few minutes, he figured it would be safe for him to walk out without being spotted by you. He was angry at himself for two reasons. One, the fact he probably woke you up. Two, the fact that he craves your attention yet isn't willing to do something about it.

A few weeks passed and the 104th just finished a mission on Ryloth. The battalion stayed a little longer to aid in clean up. While distributing first aid supplies to the civilians,  Wolffe heard some food supply boxes fall over not too far from him. He excused himself and walked over to the source of the sound.

To his horror, he found the love of his life locking lips with one of his men.

"Boost," Wolffe sternly said between his teeth, "you are needed in the supply lines." Wolffe didn't acknowledge the incident at the moment.  

Boost gave him a glare and walked away, leaving you with Wolffe. Wolffe was silent, but his expression spoke a thousand words. He was furious.

"What?" you asked, attempting to walk past him.  He instantly put his hand on your shoulder and started walking towards you, making you slowly go back to where you and Boost were before Wolffe came around.

Wolffe pushed both your shoulders against the sand wall with some force.

"Trooper," you commanded, unsure of what he was even thinking.

He pressed his index and middle finger against his lips and pushed his body closer to you. "Say no more," he groaned huskily, his forehead now touching yours.

"Wolf-"

"I said say no more," he sputtered, pulling you further away from everyone. "Ever since you came into this war you've done some pretty bad things. How dare you?"

You slapped his hands off of you, "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Wolffe laughed, "I'm in love with you, (Y/N). And I'm going to make you in love with me."

"Wolffe, I-"

He crashed his lips into yours. He wasn't going to let Boost get any idea that he could steal you from him. You've always been his, he just never told you. The kiss was full of angst and love. You could feel the anger radiate off his lips as his passionate kissed you.

You ripped your head away from his, "Excuse me Commander?"

"I'm gonna make you mine, cyare," he grinned, kissing your forehead before going back to his duties.

TAG LIST: @smellssharpies @ganondorf_has_greasy_balls @lightning-wolffe @jedi-dreea @hannahhessica113 @obiorbenkenobi

[angst-fairygodmother]

Tinsel: All Aglow (A Light Fingers Christmas Special 2/2)

Read Chapter 1 here: First Christmas A/N: We go from happy Christmas fluff to angsty sort of plot relevant stuff. But still kind of soft? Word Count: 2314 Content Warnings: discussion of childhood poverty, social workers, implied/referenced child abuse and neglect (past), references to drugs Cross-posted to AO3: here

“Hey, Y/N,” Klaus asked after the others had left, having stuck around to help with clean up the party and have the chance to get to know you better. “You look really familiar. Have we met before?”

“What?” you asked, frowning in confusion, at the same time Diego did with a seemingly affronted tone, one you knew was a cover for his insecurity at being reminded of your colorful acquaintances.

“Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do. I’d recognize that adorable face anywhere. It’s the eyes I think…I just can’t figure out where from…”

You grimaced. You could think of a lot of places a junkie might know you from: pawn shops, back alleys, sketchy clubs, your fence’s house, to name just a few. Luckily Eudora was long gone, so reference to your illegal activities wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it came up, but honestly you didn’t want to be reminded of them tonight of all nights, not after the evening had gone so well up until now. 

“The mausoleum!” he suddenly shouted with a snap of his fingers.

“What?” Diego asked with real confusion now. 

Klaus turned excitedly to Diego. “Remember, I swore you and Ben to secrecy because Dad would have been so pissed? The girl, the one that glowed and kept me company when Dad locked me up, and helped hold the ghosts at bay?”

“I always thought you were making that up. Or that it was a friendly ghost that made the others back off somehow. I never…You’re telling me it was Y/N?”

He turned back to you for confirmation. You studied Klaus, the pinch of your eyebrows as you concentrated creating that cute little furrow that was of Diego’s favorite quirks of yours. 

“Oh!” you cried suddenly, remembering. 

You had snuck into one of the creepy old buildings in the graveyard near your family’s home to hide from the woman discussing “removal.” You were just making yourself comfortable in one of the cubbies, meant for coffins and just tall enough to sit in, when the doors were thrown wide and a boy about your age had stumbled in. 

“Three hours,” a voice which later haunted your nightmares had barked. “Maybe by then you will have learned that death is to be controlled, not feared.”

The boy was crying. You felt terrible. So you made yourself glow, though it was hard without much to draw from, and poked your head out of your hiding spot. He screamed and started crying more. It took quite a bit to calm him down and explain that you weren’t a ghost or a monster, and then he’d explained that he could see ghosts but they terrified him and his father was unhappy with him because of it. 

“Your dad is a bully, and when he comes back, I’ll kick him,” you offered your new friend. 

While he hadn’t accepted that offer, he had the one to come back again in case he was ever thrown in there again, and to shed a little light while he was there (even though it made you feel sleepy and sick to keep it up for so long. It wasn’t like your new friend needed to know that, and he needed your power more than enough to make it worthwhile). 

It was no surprise, really, that you hadn’t recognized Klaus. He looked extremely different from his childhood self. It wasn’t a bad look by any means, but it certainly wasn’t the round-cheeked, freckle-faced and crying boy you had known. And it had been so long ago, a friendship that had ended when you were about seven, after one incident where you'd nearly been caught and he had been more scared of what his father might do to you than he was of the dark and the ghosts. He had insisted that he never wanted to see you again, and not knowing yet how to fight for the things that mattered, you had let him push you away.  

“Huh,” you finally said, acknowledging the accusation. “Small world.”

“You knew Klaus? Why didn’t you say anything?” Diego asked, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. 

“To be honest, I didn’t realize...I sort of forgot,” you said, hoping to brush the whole thing aside. “I try not to think about...roughly ages four to nine. It wasn’t a good time to be me.”

Diego raised an eyebrow and you knew he wouldn’t let it go, so you sighed.

“Look. It was after Dad died. Mom wasn’t doing well emotionally, and money was tight. Apparently when your kids constantly show up to school with no breakfast in them and no lunch, and their jeans are held together with strips of duct tape because a roll of that is cheaper than trying to get new clothes, it raises questions about parental fitness. There were a lot of social workers in and out of my life, and I spent a lot of time running away. Can we not talk about this on Christmas?” you asked quickly, your voice tight, before turning to Diego’s brother. “Where are you staying tonight Klaus? Our couch is available if you don’t already have a place.”

“I’d love to crash at yours, if my brother doesn’t mind,” Klaus said, offering you a hesitant smile. 

“He doesn’t,” you replied determinedly, and both brothers glanced at each other over your head, a silent conversation about your sudden terseness and the ways they might be able to help. 

~

Later that night, the three of you sat around the apartment, earlier tension forgotten. Your back rested against Diego's shins from your seat on the floor, head falling on his knees as you threw it back in laughter from some story Klaus was telling about when they were children and he and Diego had started some sort of prank war with Ben (secretly supported by Five or Vanya or maybe both, Diego had said he suspected). It made you happy to hear about the good times, that they had still found ways to be children despite their harsh upbringing. 

“The way he stuck to the honey in his mattress was so worth having mine taken away for a month,” Klaus concluded, laughing and oblivious to the horror widening your eyes. 

Diego’s fingers combed unconsciously through your hair, massaging your scalp. You started to feel calmer with each pass, matching your breathing to his movements. The physical contact grounded you, reminding you that, despite everything, you had both made it through and made it here. 

“It couldn’t have all been like that though...right?” you asked hesitantly. “There must have been just average days where you got to be normal kids?”

“We were allowed to have fun on Saturdays,” Diego was quick to assure you.

“For a whole half hour!” Klaus chimed in, still laughing, false cheerfulness radiating a sharp sting of bitterness. “And on special occasions, Mom made chocolate chip pancakes.” He paused, seeming to listen to something. “Yeah. I think Ben’s funeral was the last time we had any.”

“Oh.” 

You sighed, leaning as far into Diego as possible, as if he could give you strength, or you could give him back the peace he had been robbed of pretty much from birth.

“I used to envy you, growing up,” you admitted. “I thought if I had been adopted things would have been better. But really I just wouldn’t have known how bad they were. There really wasn’t a not shitty end of the deal, was there?”

Silence fell over the three of you, uncomfortable and awkward. 

“It’s okay though,” Klaus said eventually, shifting nervously and picking at his nails. “We survived it, figured out to be functioning - semi-functioning - adults. And never have to go back.”

“Right,” Diego said and you felt his body shift as he nodded at his brother. “It’s just a thing in our pasts. Everyone’s got...stuff.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “I guess.”

“Hey is there any of that roast left? I’m starving,” Klaus said, standing to climb over the back of the couch and wander toward the kitchen. 

You stared after him, unsure if he was serious or just trying to lighten the mood. When you shifted your gaze to Diego questioningly, he just shrugged.

“It should be in the container with the blue lid,” he told Klaus, waving vaguely at the fridge.

~

The three of you talked (one might even have dared to call it bonded) long into the night. It was past midnight when Diego finally bowed out, practically asleep on the couch already before he stumbled off to bed. You took his spot, sitting cross-legged and facing Klaus at the other end of the couch, and the pair of you continued to talk for at least another hour.

“Y/N, you should sleep,” Klaus eventually suggested. “You look exhausted, and it’s no surprise, with everything you did today, and putting up with my brother all the time to boot.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you sighed. “I’ll go grab you some stuff to sleep and be right back.”

Quietly you slipped past the screen into the darkened bedroom area and frowned, scolding yourself internally for not doing this before Diego was in bed. He was a light sleeper and got so little of it on a regular basis, and though you could adjust the light to not wake him, it was an imperfect solution. Trying not to disturb your sleeping husband (the word still felt weird and wonderful to wrap your head around and you couldn’t help but smile), you lit your hand with a faint glow and dug through the bins beneath your bed to find your spare bedding. 

“You really don't have to worry about it, Y/N,” Klaus whispered, having followed you to the doorway, trying to wave off your efforts. “The couch alone is better than I've had lately. I can just use my coat as a blanket.”

“Absolutely not,” you hissed back determinedly. “You are a guest in my home. I want you to be comfortable, not just 'good enough.'”

He opened his mouth to protest and you held up a finger warningly. 

“Klaus, be smarter than Diego, and know that you can’t argue with me and win. Especially not over something as simple as me finding the spare bedding.”

His mouth shut with a dramatic popping sound that made you tense as Diego stirred in the bed.

“Go wait in the living room before you wake him up,” you asked, “please? He’s tired enough as it is most days.”

You felt more than saw Klaus’s eyes as he studied you for a moment before nodding and, shockingly, doing as he was told. A few minutes later, you emerged once more, handing Klaus a pile of bedding. 

“Blanket, light sheet, pillow,” you said, patting the pile. “I can grab another blanket if you need, if this won’t be warm enough. I have like a hundred of them.”

“No, this will be fine,” he said sincerely. “I sleep warm anyway. I think it’s the nightmares. Or the drugs.”

“Riiight. Are you sure you’re good? You don’t need anything else? Glass of water? More food? Cup of tea?”

He laughed, reaching out to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Relax, Y/N. I appreciate it, but I’m fine. If I need a drink, I’ll raid the kitchen later. I have everything I need. More than I deserve.”

“That’s not--” he put a finger to your lips dramatically, stopping you short as you squinted in confusion at him, going cross-eyed to try and look at the offending digit.

“Don’t try to argue it. It’s a lifetime of a feeling. But I appreciate you trying. And everything you’ve done, then and now.”

You cocked your head softly. “You know, that offer to kick your father remains on the table.”

He grinned.

“But maybe we should table that discussion for tomorrow, it’s getting late. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Actually, I’ll be gone then,” Klaus said in a tone clearly meant to be reassuring. “Before you wake up, if my brother’s smart enough to take a day off or learn that there’s no reason in general to get up with the crack of dawn. Especially with a beautiful woman in his bed.” He shot you an exaggerated wink.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You don’t have to, Klaus. You can stay for a while. Days, weeks, whatever.”

“You’re sweet. But you don’t really want me around.”

“Of course I do,” you insisted, frowning at how casually he said such a thing. “We do. You’re family.”

“I don’t think anyone with the last name of Hargreeves really knows what that means.”

“Actually, I took your brother’s name when we got married so…” you shrugged.

Klaus laughed and you smiled. 

“I’m serious though,” you pushed. “Diego will never admit it because he’s stubborn and dumb, but he cares about you, and worries. And I think he misses you.”

Suddenly, Klaus’s long arms were wrapped around you, hugging you fiercely. There were tears in his voice when he next spoke. 

“Thank you, Y/N. That means...a lot. And hey, take care of him, will you? He’s gonna get himself killed otherwise.”

“Of course I will, Klaus,” you said, hugging him back. “I do kinda love him.”

The pair of you pulled away to share a smile, and somewhere deep inside, you felt the stirrings of your ancient friendship awakening from hibernation. After a moment, you shook yourself.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get some sleep. And if you happen to stick around, I’ll make pancakes in the morning. See if I can’t scrounge up some chocolate chips?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Y/N. I’ll think about it.”

You chuckled, before flicking off most (leaving the one above the sink to help ease his fear of the dark) of the lights. “Goodnight, Klaus.”

[meridiansdominoes]

Brothers

OK I WAS IN AN ANGSTY MOOD AND I STARTED WROTE SOMETHING SHORT ABOUT JESSE AND MAUL SO HERE

I don't know if we'll find out why Maul let Jesse live in an upcoming episode, or if it'll turn out that it literally means nothing, but I kept seeing posts on tumblr about why Maul didn't just kill him and decided to write something

or I guess you could read it on ao3 too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902564

Warnings for mind-torture! 

Maul tears through his mind like a rancor through flimsi, smashing aside Jesse’s weak protests with terrifying ease. His presence burns. Like someone’s set a white-hot coal on the top of his head and is just letting it burn its way down, deeper and deeper into his brain. It’s a bright, piercing agony that Jesse can’t get away from, no matter how much he struggles against the Mandalorian forcing his arms behind his back. 

The Sith wrenches his mind wide open and starts picking away at Jesse’s memories. Jesse cries out, because every time Maul grabs at something, it sends a fresh lightning bolt of pain through his entire nervous system and leaves him shuddering, gasping for air and jerking to try and throw himself backwards, distance himself from torture. They don’t let him move. 

His memories of Commander Tano, of the child she was and the warrior that she’s become, are laid out for the Zabrak to see. There is a moment where Jesse, in one last desperate attempt to protect her, rallies what remains of his fragile mind and grabs onto a memory at random, struggling to pull it away from Maul: Commander Tano, sparring fiercely against General Skywalker in the Resolute’s hanger as Torrent Company cheers and calls out commentary—Jesse shoves out mentally, teeth clenched so hard that his jaw hurts, and somehow manages to slow the Sith’s invading will. It doesn’t do much, but for an instant, Maul pauses.

“Be still,” he says softly—gently, like he’s trying to sooth Jesse into compliance. The tone sends a shiver down Jesse’s spine.

And then Maul’s mind slams into Jesse’s with the force of a falling meteorite, and Jesse howls as mental blades tear the rest of his willpower to shreds.

He loses track of things after that. Maul denies him any semblance of control, and it burns, it hurts and Jesse can’t get away. 

He stops trying to fight, after a while. It doesn’t do any good, just makes the pain shift from glaring red to white-hot and he can’t stop little helpless whimpers from falling from his lips. If it goes on for hours or mere seconds he can’t say, because Maul takes his mind apart and pulls out what he needs, memory fragments sending shards of fire through Jesse’s brain as they’re misplaced and every sensation of time is lost.  

It’s nothing short of violation. Jesse feels used, like everything that Maul touches in his mind is suddenly contaminated, covered in dark sludge that dull the light of fond memories. 

He barely even notices when Maul stops because his head is throbbing, too full of pain and sharp edges for him to even see two feet in front of him. No one is holding him anymore—they don’t need to, he can’t even move. The trembles racing down his spine make him hurt enough as it is, he doesn’t dare rise from where he’s slumped on his knees.  

 His temples ache. He can’t even bring himself to react when a pistol is shoved up against his chin, only groans in agony, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Sir,” the Mandalorian says, waiting for the order to kill him, and Jesse knows he’s about to die. Know it with such certainty that it shuts him down, and he lets his weight sag, head bowing in resignation regardless of the gun underneath him. 

He closes his eyes and tries to think of something better. Tries to think of Kix (gone, disappeared off the face of the galaxy and no one cares enough to search, no one knows where he is—), of Rex, of Vaughn, of Sterling, of his brothers, because he had wanted to go out surrounded by them instead of here, on his knees in front of a kriffing Sith with enemies all around him—

“Wait.”

Maul’s voice sends cold terror through Jesse’s body. He cracks his eyes open to peer at the red-black blur in front of him and moans when an invisible force approaches his mind again. Jesse pants desperately for air, panicking as it looms closer. He can’t. He won’t survive this again. He can’t he can’t it hurts—   

“N-no, stop—!”

Jesse writhes, fingers scrabbling across the smooth metal beneath him, seeking purchase even though there’s none to be found. It does no good. Maul forces his way into Jesse’s mind again without resistance. Jesse goes limp, shivering helplessly on the floor and wishing for death. He can’t stop it, can’t fight. Maul’s presence still burns, but the sensation is a little more subdued this time.

What more could Maul possibly want? He already has Jesse’s memories of Commander Tano. There’s nothing more for him to take.

Maul’s presence gives off a vague sense of curiosity that makes Jesse let out a horrified groan. The Sith reaches for memories again. Jesse jerks as they flash in front of his eyes—

Umbara, drowning in horror as he stands to be executed and Kix points a rifle at him. 79’s, downing shots with the rest of Torrent, laughing too hard, surrounded by brothers and safety. Ringo Vinda, awful and numb as Tup guns down a Jedi. Saleucami, joking with Rex as they’re reunited after the Captain’s brief excursion. Umbara again, mind screaming in denial as Hardcase orders them to leave, dragging the explosives with him and Jesse knows that it’s a one-way trip and Hardcase is going to die—

Maul’s presence recoils slightly at the last one. A groan is torn from Jesse’s throat as Maul retracts, too fast too forceful Force it’s like someone’s pulling nails from his head. Jesse gets a brief flash of an image that he’s never seen before—of a Zabrak, not Maul, eyes flashing, tattoos gold where Maul’s are red and—what—?

Maul leaves him. Jesse is shaking. He curls himself up on the floor and tries to make himself as small as he can, fingers clutching helplessly at his skull in a futile attempt to protect it. He chokes for air, each breath dragging audibly against his lungs. The sound is painfully loud in the silence of the tunnel.          

“Just kill me already,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “Just kill me. What else do you want?”

A hand settles at the back of his skull. Not for the purpose of comfort, just… there. Jesse freezes.

“Tragic,” Maul says softly. “So loyal, so fierce. And yet… the time fast approaches when it will be used against you.”

Jesse imagines twisting and sinking his teeth into the Sith’s hand. The idea is tempting, but he still hurts too much to try. 

“I had brothers once,” Maul says. Jesse swallows, trying to decide if he’s imagining the fragile grief echoing through those words. Maul lets go of him, steps back. Jesse waits for a lightsaber to slash through him, for the Mandalorians to finally finish the job, but no one moves. 

“Get him up. He will accompany me to the throne room,” Maul announces. 

“Sir,” a Mandalorian acknowledges. Jesse pants through his teeth and struggles to stay conscious as they tug him to his knees again, too kriffing fast his head swims and his vision blurs. Kriff.   

Later, when Jesse has collected his wits a little more, when he’s shoved to kneel next to an ornate throne, when there are binders tight around his wrists, he struggles to comprehend what he’d heard. 

I had brothers once. 

Commander Tano shows up, with Bo-Katan and Rex in tow. Jesse thinks that surely, now he’ll die. But Maul releases him. Jesse is broken, barely able to stand by himself, a painful drumbeat pounding through his head, and he half expects to get cut down before Rex can reach him—Rex, whose face goes terrifyingly blank when he sees Jesse, eyes dark like he’s already expecting Jesse to die and mentally preparing himself to lose someone else.

“There you go, back to your brothers,” Maul croons, and for an instant, Jesse gets it. 

I had brothers once. 

He stumbles into Rex’s arms and grunts out an apology to the Commander, who’s eyes narrow as she looks him over. 

“Rex, get him out of here,” she orders, turning back to the Sith. Rex doesn’t need to be told twice. Jesse can feel the Captain’s hands trembling on his shoulders. They make their way through hallways in silence save Jesse’s labored breathing. Once they’re a good distance away, Rex guides Jesse to sit down, back against the wall, and runs his hands over Jesse’s body, checking him over for injuries. He won’t find anything but bruises. Jesse isn’t injured in the way they usually see. 

“Force, Jesse,” Rex mutters shakily. “Kriffing—I thought—”

He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Jesse knows what he would have thought. Jesse himself has thought it many times, and it normally doesn’t end like this. He offers Rex a weak grin. 

“Takes more than a kriffing horn-head to get rid of me, sir,” he rasps, and Rex fakes an eye roll, pulling Jesse in for a hug. Jesse is one of the last surviving members of the original Torrent Company, and he can’t help but think that it would have destroyed Rex had Jesse died at Maul’s hand. 

They’ve lost far too many brothers in this war. Jesse thinks of Maul again, shuffling through the memories of Jesse’s brothers curiously and then—

I had brothers once. 

Jesse doesn’t know how to interpret that, exactly. Maul has killed clones before. The sudden bout of empathy doesn’t make of lick of sense, but Jesse is alive anyway, holding on tight to Rex, his brother, and he’s so relieved that he almost forgets his pain. 

It’s an odd thing, to be grateful towards your torturer. Jesse feels it more for Rex’s sake than his own. 

An explosion rocks the building. Rex lets go of Jesse, expression hardening. 

“We’re getting you to medical, and then I’ve got to get out there,” he states, looking Jesse over again. “You alright?”

Jesse almost laughs. It’s hard to even think right now. But he’ll be alright. He has to be alright, because there’s no place for broken soldiers in this army. 

“Yeah,” he says, and does not think of Maul, does not think of the gold-black Zabrak in Maul’s head or the way he’d placed a gentle hand on Jesse’s neck and whispered of twisted loyalty. “Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

[out-of-jams]

Howl’s Moving Castle || Teaser || kth

↠ Howl’s Moving Castle ↞ Part of my Ghibli Yandere Series!

It was an accident: offending the witch. But she didn’t take it lightly, cursing you to age into an old hag overnight. With no way to reverse the spell, you took it upon yourself to hunt down the only person who may have been able to help. But the self-absorbed wizard who lived hidden away in the moving castle wouldn’t be so easy to convince.

Especially when it came to letting you go.

✐ Pairing: Kim Taehyung/Reader

✐ Warnings/Genre: Horror. Soft Yandere!Taehyung. Howl!Taehyung. Dark themes. Kidnapping. Obsessive behavior. Death of minor characters. Magic. Manipulation. Mature themes. Unhealthy relationships. Light violence. Smut. Some fluff. Explicit language. 18+

Comment below if you’d like to be tagged upon release!

In, through. Pull. Around.

In, through. Pull. Around.

The steel needle twisting around your fingertips did so without a second thought. Pushed through the heavy material to stitch together fabric until it resembled something wearable. Your eyes were glazed over as your mind wandered away from your task. Sewing was simple, so-much-so that you could look away from the hat in your hands and still thread it together. It came from the experience of owning a hat shop for most of your life.

“Is that Taehyung’s castle?”

The excitable titering of women’s voices brought you out of your trance-like state and left you blinking down at the half-sewn brown hat in your hands.

“It can’t be.”

You let the grasp you had on the needle falter in order to send a glance at the gaggle of women gathered at the window to the left. Through an archway they stood, with their bright colored dresses and overly large skirts. One of them tapped against the glass windowpane facing the street like the rest of them weren’t already looking.

And you couldn’t help the curiosity that had your head turning back to stare out of the window in front of you. Placed in the wall right above your cluttered work desk. You squinted in an attempt to see through the smog lingering in the air outside to the rolling green hills in the distance. Past the tops of buildings cramping the streets.

You could just barely see it, the giant machine that seemed to almost float across the ground it walked on. Even at its distance you could tell it was big, taller than the top of the highest building in the city. But you’d never seen it up close. No one had and lived to tell the tale of it.

The sight wasn’t common, but it wasn’t quite rare either. The monstrous mechanical structure that just barely resembled a castle had roamed the land for years. Ventured from town to town, city to city, never stopping in one place. Where it went and what it did, you hadn’t a clue. You’d only seen it a total of three times throughout your life.

But never close enough to get a glimpse of the wizard who was rumored to dwell within it. So evil and so powerful that no one dared to go near.

As it disappeared into the fog, you sighed. Turned back to the needle lying between your fingers with distaste. You didn’t hate what you did with your life, making hats day in and day out. But you didn’t like it either. Never had. But you’d been forced into taking over the shop when your father passed away years ago. It was boring, the routine, and you couldn’t help your craving for something more.

For adventure.

“I heard that the last man who saw Taehyung’s face disappeared. Vanished right into thin air.”

You shook your head to snap yourself out of your thoughts and went back to work.

In, through. Pull. Around.

In, through. Pull. Aro--

“I heard that he looks like a monster.”

“A monster? Don’t be ridiculous, Lotty. I heard that he’s quite handsome and likes to go into towns to seduce women to take as his own. Then he kills them afterwards.”

The needle fell from your fingers to dangle in between your legs by the threat still attached to the fabric. Frustrated at the lack of ability to focus due to the obnoxious women not working, you dropped the unfinished hat onto your work table. And pushed back your wooden stool to stand up.

The four women didn’t turn at your movement, didn’t even acknowledge your presence there. While they loved to gossip up a storm, they were good at what they did. So you didn’t berate them for their lack of work. Just grabbed your bag and slipped out the room and down the stairs. Maybe a few moments to yourself would do you well. You’d been stuck up in that stuffy shop for hours and taking a quick break wouldn’t hurt. Especially when you could barely focus on your work anyway.

The door to the shop closed tightly behind you and you took a moment to pull out a piece of cloth from your bag. Slipping it over your nose, you adjusted the thin straps of the face mask behind your ears until it sat perfectly. It wasn’t safe to step outside without one because the smog in the city was unhealthy to breathe in. Polluted by the airships that flew above your head and cast streaks of black smoke through the sky. From the four-wheeled cars that prowled the cobblestone streets like cats, puffing unbreathable air through the Square.

You hitched your bag higher up onto your shoulder as you took off at a sedated pace. There was a large amount of people crowding the streets, more so than what was usual in a city as large as that one. Perhaps it had something to do with the military parading through the roads on their way to the king’s castle as they returned from wherever they’d been. Taking up space like they owned the place. Like the citizens of Market Chipping actually wanted them there.

No one did. Not when your land of Ingary had been at war with the neighboring kingdom of Strangia for longer than you’d been alive. No one knew why exactly you were at odds with one another. Some debated that it had to do with stolen land, others insisted that the king of Strangia had done something to slight your own king. Whatever it was turned the land into a warzone.

“Hey, watch it!” A sharp elbow found its way into your side. And you stumbled back, a grunt falling from your throat as a short, middle aged man shoved past you with a glare.

He held a flag in his hand with the emblem of the royal family embroidered into it. Either he was on his way to protest the military parading through the city, or he was going to embrace them. While a majority of the people hated the presence of soldiers in Market Chipping, took to the streets to scream at them until they left. Some of the population praised them, welcomed them with open arms like they didn’t leave a trail of dead bodies and burned cities in their wake.

Because wherever the military went, death was soon to follow after.

You knew the main roads would’ve been packed from end to end with people and you didn’t feel like dealing with crowds. With more elbows forcing their way into the grooves of your ribs. So you took a shortcut through one of the alleyways closest towards your shop. They wouldn’t be as congested seeing as how almost all of the citizens poured themselves out into the streets for a reason.

So your journey was quiet. And your shoes scuffed at the ground as you wandered through the mazes between the buildings. The sounds of military vehicles driving through the streets that you could occasionally see through the gaps between buildings filled the silence. Along with shouts from the people pouring out of homes and hanging halfway out of the windows. Who sat on their balconies with heavy frowns on their faces.

A pair of single-manned airships flew above your head with the flag of the king following behind, attached to the backs of the machines to catch the air. You were close to your destination. Just needed to walk through a few more twisted alleyways until you made it.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

You didn’t stop when the deep growl hit your eardrums. Kept walking in hopes that whoever had tried to talk to you would take the hint and leave you alone.

“Hey!” A rough hand grabbed at the bag hanging from your shoulder and pulled you backwards. And you tripped over your own feet in an attempt to stay upright. “I’m talking to you!”

With another tug, you were sent careening back into someone’s chest. The stench of cigarettes and whiskey hit you like a wall and had you sending a glare over your shoulder. A man towered above you with a blue rimmed hat pulled down low across his forehead. But you could still see the dark eyes that glimmered beneath like a snake.

“You lost, little mouse?” His lips, chapped and thin, pulled up into a smirk that spelled nothing but trouble. The navy blue military blazer on his back didn’t bring you relief. Quite the opposite really. Especially when the backdoor to a pub hanging open behind him spilled out another man that came stumbling to his side.

Caged you in like an animal.

“Let go.” Your jaw clenched as you attempted to pull away from the hand that held onto your bag like a leash.

“What do we have here, Reny? Why don’t you let us help you find your way?” The second man had a dark caterpillar that sat atop his lip in the form of a mustache. He leaned down to fan his heated beer stained breath across your face and it was only the facemask that prevented you from smelling it. “And we’ll only ask for one thing in return. How’s that sound?”

The first man let go of your bag to watch you stumble backwards with an amused flash in his eyes. You bit your lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering. But it did nothing to prevent the fear from flooding your veins and taking hold of your throat.

“I’m not interested. Let me pass, please.” You hoped that they weren’t able to hear how loud your heart was beating.

They were bigger than you, stronger than you. And you didn’t know what they’d do if they got their hands on you. Weren’t sure how far you’d make it if you had to run. The closest main street was farther than you would have liked, to the point where you could barely hear the roar of the crowd.

The second man took a few steps closer towards you. “Aw, don’t be like that sweeth--”

“Are you deaf?” That voice didn’t come from either of the men in front of you. It brushed through your ears with its rich baritone and had you straightening where you stood, tense muscles unconsciously relaxing. Especially when an arm around itself around your shoulders to settle with a comforting weight, bringing with it warmth that heated your skin. “Or are you just stupid?”

The first thing you saw was a slender hand decorated with a plethora of multicolored rings as it casually adjusted the bag hanging haphazardly from your shoulder. And you followed it up, and up until your eyes landed on who it was attached to.

And felt a tiny gasp escape your lips.

[azwriting]

Off the Grid (Two Sides of the Same Coin, Din Djarin x Fem!Reader) - Chapter One

A/N: I’m back bitches!!! Okay this took longer than necessary to write, but I had some serious writers block. This is a slow start but it will start picking up soon, so without further ado, here is chapter one! Enjoy and if you want to be added to the Taglist, let me know! :)

Summary: While traveling to evade the Guild, the Mandalorian meets the Reaper, the hooded figure with a deeply buried past.

Warning(s): Canon typical violence, me finishing this at 2 in the morning,

Word Count: 5062

Through the thick visor of his helmet, Mando shot one glance back to the small quiet village, eyes searching for the tiny green body amongst the crowd of joyful children. The child stood before the group of children who all gawked at him in amazement, no one had ever seen such a creature let alone something so… delightful. He would never dare to admit it out loud but the child’s small cooes had his heart wrenching each and every time. The Mandalorian could not help but hope that after this raiders problem was handled that him and the boy could find peace here, at least for awhile. Turning away from the village surrounded by spiked barricades, Mando focused on following Cara’s foot strides. The sun would set soon, enfolding Sorgan in a blanket of dark skies and bright stars. When they would return to the small Krill farm the raiders would be hot on their tail, but before they could provoke the ruthless thieves, Cara insisted on making a stop first.

The two were silent as they trudged through the forest, eyes locked straight ahead in search of something. The Mandalorian was unsure what they were looking for, Cara choosing to be extremely vague as to what this imperative detour was for. The only clue he had was Cara’s drifting eyes, the way she would glance down at her comlink and then to the swirling orange of the sky that seeped in through the tree coverage. A small smirk worked its way onto the woman’s face as her comlink beeped with a new message, the trees brustling as a shadow of a ship flew over head. Mando’s lips parted underneath the mask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the sight. Who was arriving? Before he could voice his puzzlement, Cara looked back over her shoulder. “Have you heard of the Reaper?” Mando scoffed at her question, the voice modulator deepening the sound. He was mildly offended by her uncertainty, everyone in the Outer Rim had heard of the Reaper…

The hooded figure, who since the fall of the Empire had been materializing on different systems across the galaxy, aiding the people. No one was positive as to why they had been deemed “The Reaper”, some whispered stories spoke of how they reaped havoc and death onto the remaining ex-Imperials, while others spoke of how wherever they went prosperity followed, life blossoming once again like a ripe harvest. The story of the Reaper had spread across the outer systems like wildfire, igniting hope in the downtrodden and dread into the scattered Imps. Some saw the figure as an angel sent from the Maker, a guardian who brought rebirth to previously controlled planets, while others found them to be just a story told to fuel the New Republic. Mando did not fall into either category, but he had seen enough horrors to know there were no such things as angels. Remarkably though, during his hunts he had never stumbled upon the hooded guardian, not yet at least.

He nodded curtly, “Yes, why do you ask?” Cara only offered him a small smirk, nodding her head for him to continue following. Mando sighed, slinking after her unsure as to where this was going, even more unsure if he liked where it was going.

 “There’s only two of us and a bunch of barely trained farmers, I figured we could use some extra muscle.” Cara explained, both coming to a halt in a clearing where a beat up light freighter had landed. Instinctively Mando’s hand fell to rest on top of his blaster that was holstered to his hip, curious as to who the help was that Cara had called in. She approached the left side of the belly of the ship, the Mandalorian cautiously stepping forward to stand beside the former shocktrooper.

“Who are they?” His voice was rough, even to him, as his eyes stayed locked on the closed ramp. Cara eyes drifted over catching sight of the hand hovering above his blaster, a snicker escaping her sly smile. 

“Relax, we can trust them.” Although her voice and demeanor showcased no sign as to why he should not believe her, skepticism still rolled off of the beskar steel in crashing waves. Mando tilted his head over at her, “That doesn’t answer my question.” With a loud sigh and the roll of her eyes, Cara crossed her arms turning to face him.

 “I don’t know much, we met in Rebellion.” An eyebrow rose beneath the helmet, another shocktrooper? “After Endor, instead of sticking around to enforce peace she left, went to enforce her own.” Mando nodded once absorbing the vague information. The Reaper was a former Rebel, he should have figured. “That’s all you got?”

“Yeah… well, she’s got an older brother. Both were refugees from the Clone Wars before they joined the Rebellion.” A refugee from the Clone Wars, he swallowed thickly recalling all the other planets the droids had laid waste to. Mando hummed in acknowledgement, turning back to face the freighter. He supposed that was enough, he knew even less of Cara and trusted her to help. And if this woman really was the Reaper, the guardian angel, than they would be in good hands.

The ramp of the ship hissed to life and lowered down. His hand still hovered above his blaster though, visor examining the soft smile Cara wore. “I got to say Dune, this doesn’t sound like early retirement to me.” He heard the taunting voice call before the ramp had completely lowered and Cara laughed stepping closer to the edge. Mando first saw mud caked boots, then a black belt with a blaster holstered on each hip, black armor secured around a torso, and then finally a black hood obscuring the face of the Reaper. Her head tilted in his direction, but all he could see was the shadow of a face, no clear outline of any distinct features. For all he knew she was not even looking at him, but as he inhaled slowly, her body seemed to stiffen. Her head remained tilted in his direction, the rest of her still, and Mando could feel her eyes observing him. Fingerless gloves drifted down to graze across the handle of her blaster, exposing the first real piece of her skin to him.

“Hanging out with Mandalorians now?” The woman’s voice was softer than he expected as she addressed Cara, her hidden face never straying from his. The former shocktrooper eyed the two, both in a silent stand-off, hands ready to whip out their blasters in a matter of seconds. 

A snort of amusement sounded from Cara, “I knew you two would get along.” The Reaper finally released Mando from her stare, wandering over to Cara’s side. The hood creeped back a few inches revealing a large smile as the two women clasped hands. “How are you? Still getting yourself into trouble?” 

A chuckle escaped the hood, her hand tightening around Cara’s, “Please, I thrive in trouble.” Mando studied the interaction from the security of his helmet, perplexed by the bond on display before him. The story of the Reaper had always seemed so distant, like the whispers of a dream, it never occurred to him that she existed, let alone had a past. The whistle of the wind as it flowed through the surrounding trees brought the Mandalorian out of his thoughts. He looked to the sky, the evening dusk beginning to fade. They had to move and now.

Mando cleared his throat, the vibrations emitting from his throat rattled his helmet slightly. The two women broke apart from their reunion and pivoted to look at him. He could sense the tension emanating from the Reaper and in return he only rolled his shoulders, a silent challenge being proposed between the two. If she wanted to come at him, she could try all she wanted to. “Hey,” A hand grasped the faded white fabric enclosed around the woman’s arm, “He’s a friend.” The hood glanced back over to Cara and let out a loud defeated sigh. Yanking her arm free from Cara, the hood silently trudged over to Mando. He watched her cautiously as her dominant hand shot out, empty. 

“(Y/N).” He could see the faintest shadow of her lips moving as she uttered her name. The Reaper had a name, a name other than the mantle she adopted, unlike him. He still had a name, but it was another thing hidden, no longer spoken. It was a part of the creed, he was no longer that scared boy, he was a Mandalorian.

(Y/N) watched through the cover of her hood as the helmet nodded once in acceptance, before silently shaking her hand. The worn leather was rough against her bare fingertips, but the detail was lost in the overall overpowering sight of the quiet Mandalorian standing rigid before her. She had never met one before during her travels, but she had heard stories of them since her youth. Stories of the great warriors who waged wars against old orders during the Old Republic. In more recent times she knew of the Siege of Mandalore and how the people had been purged and forced into hiding. It made (Y/N) shudder from the familiarity. She could not stop the thought that arose in the back of her mind, just how similar the two were, a fact no one else beside her would ever know. Despite the heroic stories, the helmet was still unnerving, bringing back memories she desperately tried to suppress. Although (Y/N) was aware that if she attempted to bury everything, the more likely it was to resurface, but she could not fight it. Old habits die hard.

They released each other’s hands, but their heads stayed locked straight ahead, neither one truly sure if the other was staring as intently behind their respective masks. They were. “Got yourself a real talker here, don’t you Dune?” (Y/N) joked, maneuvering to the side to see both of the fighters. 

“Yeah you could say that.” Cara shrugged moving closer and she had to bite back a smirk. 

“This is the one you trained a whole village of farmers to take on raiders with? Interesting to say the least.” (Y/N) quipped back and Cara punched her padded shoulder lightly, eyes lifting to the darkening sky. It was almost time. (Y/N) read the serious shift in her friend, hidden eyes flickering between Cara and the bounty hunter. “So what’s the plan?”

Night had swallowed Sorgan whole as the three warriors converged around the raiders camp. Cara and the Mandalorian made quick work of taking out the two raiders posted out by a fire on the side of the tent, while (Y/N) quietly approached the side entrance. Inside were multiple crates filled with a glowing blue liquid, some still containing the small blue krill swimming around. She had never tried Spotchka but this certainly did not make her want to. She was disgusted by the fact that these raiders had been stealing this village’s only source of income to use and profit for themselves. In her own vengeance, her sole driving force, she often forgot there were other beings capable of causing pain in this galaxy, besides the Imps. (Y/N) had dedicated her life to bringing the Empire crumbling down, and the last five years destroying any remnants of the Empire, something the New Republic seemed to turn a blind eye to. If it was not affecting the core systems, they seemed to not care. Their ignorance or blatant lack of consideration had covered (Y/N)’s hands in blood. She felt no sense of guilt though, not for ex-Imperials, not after what they had done to the galaxy, to her people.

Cara and the Mandalorian slipped into the tent, blasters drawn and raised in defense until they caught sight of just her. “Nice of you to join.” (Y/N) whispered as the holstered their blasters. Cara only rolled her eyes as she peered over and into one of the crates filled with Spotchka while Mando stuck an explosive to one of the support beams. As the circle lit depicting that it was armed, he turned to the two women and nodded. The three stepped towards the exit when (Y/N) felt her nerves prick beneath her attire, stopping her dead in her tracks. Her arm shot out, gently grazing across the cold beskar steel of the man’s armor. Through the veil of her hood, she looked to her side where the hunter had stopped, observing her.

 “What?” He hissed, voice low and modulated. It was the first time she had heard him speak and if they were not in the situation they currently were, she would have dwelled on the fact. Especially that his voice sounded… nice.

(Y/N) nodded her towards the exit where incoming voices were heard, her hand dropping from the bitter cold of the armor. He let out a barely audible sigh and stepped into a fighting stance, while Cara moved to hide by the side of the entrance. Two raiders strolled in unassumingly and before they comprehend the sight of a Mandalorian and a black hooded figure standing in front of them, Cara striked. She plowed her fist through the first raiders face, kicking the second one back. Mando sprung quick, taking the second one, while more raiders piled in hearing the commotion. 

Two of them charged towards (Y/N) but she ducked, spinning around to kick one down, knocking his head against the edge of a crate. She jabbed her elbow into the remaining one, but he was bigger than the other one and he retaliated faster than she could process, earning her a fist to the face. (Y/N) stumbled back tasting the familiar tang of blood on her tongue, no doubt coming from her lips, eyes narrowing at the raider before her. 

“Big mistake.” She mumbled, grabbing fists full of his tunic. She slammed her head against his, dismissing the pain radiating from her own head, before she launched herself over his body. As she landed behind him, her arm secured tightly around his neck, (Y/N) yanked him to the ground. With a loud slam, he was knocked unconscious.

A groan from her side did not allow her to dwell too long on the fact. The bounty hunter was being attacked by another raider, who had gotten him down to the ground. Instinct took over and before she could fully think it through, (Y/N) rushed over and tackled the raider down to the ground. Her knuckles collided against his face a couple times before he fell unconscious beneath her. With a heavy exhale, (Y/N) stood up and her eyes automatically fell to the helmet beside her. “I had that.” His deep voice was broken up by the deep breaths he was taking. She studied the dark visor that was turned in her direction, unsure if he was angry with her for helping. 

“I know.” She answered, because she did. Of course a Mandalorian could handle their own in a fight, but she was programmed to help, it was in her nature. Before Mando could answer, a red blast flew past them.

They flung themselves down to the ground, hiding behind boxes of supplies, Cara doing the same across from them. She watched as his leather gloves plucked his blaster from his side and raised it to the guards. Another shot sped past them, damaging the wall behind them. Mando perked at that, helmet turning back to the wall, then to Cara, and lastly to her. (Y/N) nodded and despite both of their faces obscured to the standard eye, they both understood.

 He fired a few blasts into the wall and looked over to Cara, “Come on, I’ll cover you!” The ex-shocktrooper nodded and booked across the small space, bursting through the damaged wall. (Y/N) was hot on her trail and the Mandalorian on hers. The tent exploded behind them, erupting into thick hot flames as the trio tumbled out onto the ground.

Heaving in gulps of air, the tree looked back to the destroyed tent. “I hope the plan worked.” (Y/N) chuckled lightly at Cara’s words, trying to push herself off the ground, but bright red lights caught her attention. Hidden in the bushes just beyond them, was an old AT-ST rising with its red eyes glaring down at them.

 “Go. Go!” Mando shouted, everyone staggering to their feet. (Y/N) spun on her heel and ran, her feet barely touching the ground before lifting again. She was faster than the other two, but they pushed on trying to keep up. 

“You didn’t mention anything about an AT-ST!” She shouted over her shoulder, lungs burning as they raced back towards the village. How had these simple minded raiders even acquired Imperial equipment? Most who found old Imperial wreckage just scavenged them for parts to sell.

 “Surprise!” Cara called back over the sound of a blast. (Y/N) could only smirk, despite the circumstances she had grown to feel more alive when in the middle of a shoot out. Especially when it came to helping those who could not fend for themselves.

Running down a narrow strip of marshy land, (Y/N) slid down behind the barricade surrounding the small village. As she pressed her back against the barricade and removed her blaster from her hip, she could feel multiple eyes trained on her, even a blaster or two. “Don’t worry, she’s here to help.” Mando’s voice carried across the barrier. She could hear a few relieved sighs and felt eyes lifting back to the forest edge. Her eyes found the Beskar steel once again, the moonlight casting a glow onto it. He was perched down beside her and (Y/N) could only nod in gratitude. He did the same before hidden eyes focused back on the trees, where red eyes seeped through.

(Y/N)’s hand closed around her blaster, removing it from the holster, and readying it for the inevitable. This was not her first shoot out and it would certainly not be her last, but her blasters never sat comfortably in her hands. No she would prefer another weapon. The AT-ST came to a stop at the edge of the ponds, flashing its bright white light as it scanned the area instead. Everyone ducked and (Y/N) could feel the apprehension in the air. These people were frightened, they were simply just farmers who focused on their harvests, but in desperate times they had chosen to rise and defend their land. It was very amarable of them, she noted.

A small hut exploded behind her and (Y/N) jumped back to the present, raising her blaster in defense. Emerging from the fog beneath the AT-ST were more raiders, charging towards the small civilization. She wasted no time aiming her blaster at any of the raiders she could find, taking down quite a few. Her focus was broken when out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) saw Cara rush down the narrow strip of land towards the raiders, carrying an Amban rifle, the Mandalorians. What was she doing? Her attention was broken away as a raider jumped over the barricade and crashed into her.

(Y/N) sat up with alarm, eyes falling onto the growling raider in front of her, hands frantically searching for her blaster. Her dominant hand clasped tightly around the first thing she found, staggering slightly as she stood up. She quickly looked over to find a piece of wood that had been sharpened into a spear. (Y/N) almost laughed, now this she could use. Twirling the spear in her hand, she lunged forward before the raider could even attack, driving the sharpened edge straight through his sternum. He groaned in protest before falling slack to the dirt as she removed the spear. Behind her, more of the villagers had converged on the other side of the barrier attacking the other raiders. (Y/N) smirked slightly, before sprinting out to join them, spear in hand.

As the AT-ST fell into the deepened pond, the remaining raiders, with no more cover, retreated back into the woods. The villagers all collectively let out a sigh of relief and began cheering for their victory. (Y/N) sighed, smiling to herself in the security of her hood as she trudged down the narrow strip of land, attempting to regain her breath. “Need a hand?” She questioned, looking down at Cara and Mando who were partially submerged in a krill pond. Cara chuckled and extended a hand out which (Y/N) grabbed. As she pulled her friend from the water, Mando made his own way out. 

“You good?” Cara asked observing her as the bounty hunter stood watching. 

“Oh yeah, but it seems like I missed out on the real fun.” She noted eyeing the water dripping from their clothes. They both groaned and (Y/N) watched as the bounty hunter rung the water out of his cloak. Her head turned back to Cara and she let a small smile make its way into her exposed lips, “Well I think my job here is done.” 

“You’re leaving already?” Cara questioned eyebrows furrowing. (Y/N) nodded slowly, she never liked to dwell too long on a planet after helping, there were always more places that needed help across the galaxy. She never wanted to become comfortable and settle, not yet at least.

Cara shook her head, “No stay for the night, you can leave in the morning. No one needs help for the night.” (Y/N) sighed, handing the ex-shocktrooper the spear she had been using, eyes discreetly drifting over the still Mandalorian.

 “I think it’s best if I do. They’ve got enough on their hands here, they don’t need to take in anyone else.” 

The spear was shoved back into her hands, “It’s one night.”

“Please stay.” Another voice called. (Y/N) and Cara’s heads turned to find one of the native woman observing them from the other end of the ponds. Her lips parted but she could not find the words to insist that she must go. “Please you helped us, and we’ve heard the stories of how you help others. Let us help you.” The woman smiled warmly and (Y/N) groaned lowly to herself, before nodding in resignation. One night would not hurt. As she followed the woman towards the barn, Cara and the Mando silently following, (Y/N) perked as a feeling overcame her. As she drew nearer to the village, the feeling intensified, causing her to release a low gulp. It was familiar and yet foreign, something she had not felt in a long time, not at this magnitude. Passing the celebrating and drained farmers, her eyes could not help but survey them all, confusion etched onto her hidden face.

Warm sunlight and children’s laughter greeted (Y/N) as her eyes fluttered open. Her eyes squinted up to the blue sky, thankful for the black veil shielding her eyes. “Good Morning.” A voice chortled from her side. (Y/N) turned in the stiff chair to find Cara sitting in another chair on the opposite side of the barn, drinking a cup of Spotchka, the Mandalorian standing right above her. She hummed half heartedly in acknowledgement, sitting up in the chair, tired eyes falling to the group of smiling children playing just beyond the barn. She absorbed the sweet innocence of the children as they danced around and laughed, their carefree attitude infectious just from watching. A part of her wanted to miss that blissful ignorance but it had not been a part of her life for long, making it difficult to do so. She continued to watch the local children as she fully awoke, but something caught her eye. It was as if the children were circling around something, something small. (Y/N)’s eyes fell onto the middle of the circle and nearly bugged beneath her hood. Before she could form a coherent thought, she rose from her seat and stumbled down the steps and towards the group of children.

Mando stiffened as he watched (Y/N) approach the group of children, fear rising in his chest. He did not think twice before following after her, unsure what her intentions were. After the events that took place last night he was unsure what to think of the Reaper. He knew she was an ally, she helped people not hurt them, but there was an odd cloud that hung around her. She was agile, all quick reflexes, faster than he’d seen anyone move before. He had seen a brief glimpse of it inside the raiders camp and then again as she fought off the raiders outside of the village. Her fighting style was unique unlike anything he’d seen, especially from a Rebel. Cara was all heavy blows and tackles, going from the obvious, while (Y/N) was... evasive. She was light as a feather dancing around the battlefield, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He tried to approach Cara about the subject in the early hours of dawn, but the former Rebel only knew so much, “Everyone has their secrets, Mando.”

The local children seemed to scatter at the incoming black hood, the sight more frightening than his helmet. All but one seemed to run away, in fact it seemed like the child with his big eyes wandered towards her. (Y/N) stopped in her tracks and looked down at the small green creature before kneeling down. The child cooed softly, his head tilting as he inspected the black hood. Mando hovered over the two of them but they both seemed to ignore his presence, too enthralled in each other. The child’s small arms reached out for her and (Y/N) carefully lifted him and brought him into her embrace. Mando fidgeted above them, confused by what was happening. Why was the boy so curious? A little green claw lifted to grasp the black fabric that hid her face and (Y/N)’s hand rose to meet his, pushing back the hood. Mando sprung to life at that, his leather gloved hand enclosing around hers and the boy’s. “Stop, you don’t have to.” He was unsure why she wore the hood in the first place, but he imagined she did not want others to see her. It was better to be faceless when creating enemies with Imps or the Guild.

(Y/N)’s face did not deter from the child’s as she spoke. “It’s okay, I haven’t sworn a creed like you.” Her voice was soft and low, as if she was whispering something while in a trance. Against his better judgment, he released her hand and returned to silently observing this odd phenomenon. Slowly, (Y/N)’s bare hand pulled back the black hood, letting it slide down and rest on her back. Mando swallowed thickly, helmet tilting to observe the face of the Reaper. Never had he stumbled upon a face that he could not see before, a face not hidden by a creed. He was not sure what to expect and he felt a bubble rise in his chest. Was this how others felt around him?

(Y/N) was young, her face smooth and bright, despite for the split bottom lip she adorned. Gentle eyes were brought out by white paint that had been carefully applied around her eyes, like a warrior. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a tan strip of fabric woven into it. He was not sure what he had expected, but the sight below him was not it. He understood now why the Reaper had been deemed a guardian angel, but he had a feeling they had not seen her face when deciding that.

The child hummed in contentment, pressing both of his tiny claws to her cheeks. (Y/N) let a small giggle fall from her lips, eyes watering in the process. Still holding the child, her eyes drifted up to him and Mando clenched his jaw. He could see the tears that gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill over, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Is he yours?” Mando nodded stiffly, watching as the child ogled at her, a smile on his face. The child was always happy, especially since being brought around the children of Sorgan, but he had never witnessed this amount of joy on the tiny green face. (Y/N) did not say anything but instead rose back to her feet, clutching the child close to her. Her expressive eyes fell back onto him and now that she was bare to the world, Mando discreetly had to remind himself that his helmet was still secured on. “When you leave here, I want to come with you.” 

Shock cause his mouth to fall open beneath the mask as he tried to process her sudden confession. He was puzzled by the sudden change. Last night she was desperate to leave and return to her “reaping”, but now she wanted to put it on hold?

 “Why?” The child made another soft sound and (Y/N)’s eyes flickered down smiling at him. It was a sight to see, the two forming a strange bond so quickly. 

“I’m a good fighter I could be of use hiding from the Guild and I could help with him.” The bounty hunter contemplated her request. Her overnight change had to be because of the child and he was not exactly put off by it. She was indeed a good fighter, that could prove to be of good use as he tried to protect the child from the Guild and the ex-Imperials who wanted him. And watching the child cling to her so suddenly, the dread he had felt when thinking about leaving here with him only seemed to shift now to the dread of leaving here with him, without her. 

“Fine.” He sighed watching her smile widen. He was starting to wish she would put the hood back on. (Y/N) shifted the child into her one arm, while the other one extended out to him. Arching an eyebrow, Mando accepted the handshake, silently pondering if he was going to regret this decision.

Taglist:

@emma-frxst

@silverlambcaptain