#sergeant quinn

[lambcow]

Belgian: no he was a German - AN INFILTRATOR American: HE WAS AMERICAN I TALKED TO HIM FOR AN HOUR! Belgian: WHEN WE ASKED HIM TO SING THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER HE DID IT, BUT HALFWAY THROUGH HE SWITCHED TO GERMANNNNNNNNNNN!!! American: NOT TOMMY!!!!!!

[lanabenikosdoormat]

is this controversial

[onlylonelylatino]

The Batman Family & Villains by Phil Jimenez

[onionarchive]

HELLO! WELCOME TO ONIONS' OUTSTANDING OC OBSERVATION!!!

It's me!!! onion!!! this is where i will be posting all of my oc art!!!! PLEASE READ THIS!!!! IT IS VERY IMPORTANT!!!!

ok so each picture (or bundle of pictures) will be tagged by the characters in it, my oc series they are from, and the medium i used. (digital or traditional art).

If you wanna ask any questions my ask box is ALWAYS OPEN!!!

(labelled as CONTACT ONIONMEISTER)

posts are queued for 5 post a day (i have a lot) so i hope you guys stay tuned!!!! thank you all guys!!!! have fun browsing!!

(tags are on post, so if you open up my page and see a character you know you want to see.... go ahead and click!)

NOT ALL TAGS MAY HAVE CONTENT YET.

ALSO IF I EVER POST ANYTHING TWICE PLEASE TELL ME!!!!!

[hjbirthdaywishes]

January 7, 2024

Happy 75 Birthday to Steven Williams.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

How would AK!Jason go with the fact that Y/N got kidnapped by Harley Quinn’s thugs while he was busy on a mission with his Militia. Love your stories by the way!

Abducted

Hi, nonnie! Thank you! Fair warning, this gets angsty. ~2.3k words

The Arkham Knight is surrounded by the dead bodies of nine of his most trusted and skilled men. It's not a mystery how they got that way. He shot the ones that were still alive himself.

Number ten is cowering on the ground, it's pathetic, really. They were supposed to be the best of the best.

That's what he was paying them for. So why the hell aren't you in the safe house he left you in? He unloads the rest of the clip into number tens leg, voice flat as he seethes, "Where are they?"

Number ten cries out. Jason doesn't really care. "They're– Harley! Quinn's gang got 'em," number ten chokes out, shaking and sobbing and weak.

"And where, exactly, did they take them?" Jason asks, reloading his gun.

"I don't know," number ten wails, and if Jason wasn't so pissed he'd roll his eyes. But he doesn't. This is serious. You're missing, and he's on the verge of blowing Gotham to hell.

"Guess," he hisses, pressing the barrel of the gun to the man's forehead.

"I don't– they said something about a carnival," number ten chokes out.

"Anything else," The Arkham Knights asks. Number ten shakes his head vigorously. Jason pulls the trigger and watches the body slump to the floor. He turns to the rest of the men, watching as they stiffen and shift under his gaze.

He's already stalking past them, "What do you have?"

"Sir, Harley Quinn hasn't been in Gotham since the Joker died," one of the men starts. Jason wonders if they notice the way his hands clench. "But there's rumors about a separate cell of Joker apologists, fanatics trying to keep his name alive."

He grits his teeth. Fine, that's not new information. But why would they go after you? "And," he forces out, "What does that have to do with them?"

His men follow him uneasily, "GCPD flagged a shipment to ACE Chemicals that went missing a few days ago. They– it was mentioned the truck was carrying chemicals similar to the ones used in the Joker and Harley Quinn cases, sir."

If he was any less trained, any less used to the hell that is Gotham, he would have stumbled, let out choked sounds and anguish and fear.

"One of the techs has a theory it's a revenge kidnapping," one of the sergeants continues, "for taking over Joker's old hideouts last week. It looks like they used a form of the laughing gas on the sentries outside."

"They're all going to be dead by the end of the night," He snaps, gesturing towards one of the lieutenants, "Get the men to set up a parameter. No one leaves the area. And no one moves in until they're secured. Understood?"

They nod vigorously. "Bring the fear toxin," the Arkham Knight grits out. He's out of the safe house and sprinting over Gothams rooftops without another word.

He knows Gotham better than most. Knows to take a shortcut over city hall, knows to jump in three... two... one... to land perfectly on a passing train. Knows when to shoot his grappling gun for the quickest route to the abandoned fairgrounds.

His heart is racing. He can see the number tracking his pulse steadily rising. He glares at the little number on the corner of his screen with a vengeance. He doesn't get to be scared. Doesn't get to panic until you're back at the base, warm and safe in his bed.

There's bile in his throat as he stalks through the shadows of the carnival. It rises with each thug he leaves crumpled and lifeless in the dirt. He's only acting on his training now, on the drive that he has to get to you, has to save you.

He slips past decaying attractions, clenches his fists at the abandoned ACE Chemicals truck crashed into a rotted ring toss booth. He follows the laughter and taunting voices to a ripped and decrepit tent.

There's not many places to hide, but Jason's the best at what he does. He thinks he might have been born to stalk the filth of Gotham.

His eyes narrow at the sight of you. Arms tied behind your back. Bruise forming on your cheek. Dazed expression, likely a concussion. Balanced precariously on the seat of a dunk tank over a pool of neon chemicals.

His fingers twitch over his gun when one of the goons throws a ball at the target, barely missing as the others laugh.

He counts the number of Joker fanatics in the room. Thirteen men. Eight women. Six posted close enough to you where they could hit the target if he's not fast enough. Seventeen with visible guns. All with visible weapons. There's more voices outside the tent.

He eyes the woman swinging a bat covered with barbed wire a little too close to the dunk tank, too close to you. Jason wants to get you out first. There's too many variables. You could get shot. He's not fast enough.

Someone throws another baseball. It's a perfect toss. He shoots it out of the air.

"You have something of mine," The Arkham Knight drawls, stepping out of the shadows. He would smile at the way most of the room flinches at the sight of him. He would if you weren't teetering over a vat of bubbling chemicals.

One of the men steps forward. Stupid of him, really, "Finders keepers." He says it like it's a game. Like you're just some toy they picked up off the street.

Jason laughs. It's funny, that they think just because they stole you, it makes you any less his, "I'm going to give you two choices. One, you drop your weapons and leave. Two, you stay and you learn exactly what the chemicals in that vat can do."

More people leave than he expected. Huh. Guess they aren't so loyal to the clowns' legacy as they said. "I'm not scared of you," Goon number one spits. Goon number one gets a bullet in his stomach.

"You will be," The Arkham Knight murmurs. It's quick work. They're untrained, inexperienced. Half of them are high. It becomes increasingly clear with each body that hits the floor gasping that someone paid off his men to get to you.

He's pulling you off and out of the dunk tank as the last thug hits the floor, "How bad is it?" Jason's hands do not shake as he unties your wrists. (They do.) His breath does not leave his lungs when you say your head hurts. (It does.)

His eyes dart over your face and he picks you up to cradle you against his chest, "I'll have a medic look over you when we get back." He tries to sound soothing, the modulator makes it sound emotionless. You don't even acknowledge it.

He carries you out of the tent. The Joker fanatics that left are kneeling in the dirt and his men have their guns trained to kill. The Arkham Knight nods to them, "Use the Fear Toxin. Inject them with the highest dose we have. Drop the freaks still alive in the tent into the vat."

"Yes, sir," his men echo. Jason ignores the begging that starts up behind him as he carries you to the armored truck. He maneuvers you inside with him, settles you on his lap as his hand brushes the bruise on your face.

"Boss," the soldier behind the steering wheel prompts.

"Take us back to base, sergeant," The Arkham Knight says evenly, gloves still tracing your bruise. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't make any promises. The only comfort he offers is his hand gripping your waist tightly, paired with the gentle caressing of your face.

He knows it's not kind, the way he's holding you. He sees it in your eyes, even through the exhaustion and headache you're feeling, he's overbearing. He can't bring himself to care. All that matters is that you're safe in his arms.

The rest he can take care of later. It'll be simple for him and Deathstroke to pick through the rats in his ranks. Scarecrow's always in need of new test subjects, after all.

His grip tightens on you as the truck stops. The Arkham Knight picks you up easily, pushing the door open and carrying you inside the base. His soldiers are quick to move out of his way. They should be. Anyone with a brain can tell he's angry.

He's livid, at the way you hardly move, barely react to him. A medic files after him quickly as he sets you down in his personal quarters.

It's not a room he ever uses, preferring to sleep at whatever safe house you're in, but you're safer here until he can weed out the traitors. He watches you shift slightly in the chair, eyes unfocused.

Jason steps back and studies you with sharp eyes as the medic talks to you quietly, taking note of each wound and stumbled answer you give.

"Mild concussion, some scrapes and abrasions. Nothing that won't heal," the medic decides, "They shouldn't sleep for the next hour and need to be monitored for any worsening symptoms."

Jason motions them to leave. He hates to leave you alone, even for a moment, but there is one more order he needs to give. He follows the medic out the door.

A group of squad leaders stand rigid outside his quarters. Good. They should be on edge. "Make an example of any Joker or Harley Quinn sympathizers," he says, tone an unquestionable command, "Anything that's theirs, is a part of our operations by the end of the night."

He doesn't bother to stay and listen to their replies, already turning back into the room where you're waiting. Jason locks the door behind him, crossing the room in three strides and kneels at your feet.

You blink down at him. He hates the distant look in your eyes. You should be here. With him. He tugs his helmet off, "Does your head still hurt?"

You nod a little, the only proof you're really listening. He takes your hand in his brushing his thumb over your knuckles, "Say something." It's a command. It makes you jolt a little. He hates himself for it.

"I thought– they were gonna kill me," You stumble out, voice weak.

He nods, there's no pretending that's not true, "They can't kill anyone now."

He thinks you would have looked alarmed, if you didn't know what he was now. Relentless. A monster. A killer. But you do know, he's made that more than clear since the moment he got you back by his side.

You look resigned instead. Jason wishes you'd look relieved, "Do you need anything," he asks instead, reaching up to brush the bruise on your cheek. He can't help it, it's his fault that it's there.

You shake your head. He hates how quiet you're being, "Say something," he prompts again. He knows he shouldn't, knows you're in shock and you're hurt and you're tired and you're probably scared and he's not helping. But, he squeezes your hand anyway, a silent demand.

"What do you want me to say, Jason?" You breathe out, eyes finally focusing on him.

"Anything. Ask me for anything. Yell at me. Curse me out. Tell me you hate me. Hit me. Give me a bruise to match," He says almost desperately, pressing himself closer between your knees.

There's something wrong with him. He realizes that. The Arkham Knight is well aware that something inside of him is twisted, that you deserve better than this, especially after what you just went through, but he doesn't stop himself.

"I don't wanna hurt you," You murmur, "You came for me."

"I'm the reason you were there in the first place," Jason protests, both hands moving to cup your face, "I would deserve it, welcome it, if it was from you."

"I want," You start, and Jason leans forward eagerly, ready for whatever punishment you deliver, "I want to lay down. I wanna feel safe."

He falters, but doesn't move from between your legs, "You can't sleep for at least another hour."

"I know," You say quietly. Jason stares at you. You're the only thing that makes him unsure now. You always manage to knock him off center, never doing what he expects.

"Okay," he relents, scooping you up just as easily as he did in the tent. He carries you over to his bed. It's unused, perfectly made. He only ever sleeps wherever you are.

Jason carefully places you at the edge of the bed and digs through a drawer, handing you a shirt. He tugs off his armor, and frowns when you don't move.

"You don't want to sleep in that," it's not a question, and maybe he should frame it as one. Try to get nicer. But he thinks he might have forgotten how. You nod and slowly change. His eyes never leave you.

There's a few more bruises than he expected, and it makes rage coil in his chest. There's nothing he can do but crawl into bed at your side. It makes him uneasy, how little he can do for you.

He tugs you against him, he's not as gentle as he means to be.

You curl against him, fingers tangling into his shirt. He should comfort you here. Tell you it's going to be okay. Promise to protect you. He should rub your back and kiss your forehead and ease whatever pain you have in your heart.

But he's not gentle. He's not good. You're like this because of him. He holds you tighter when tears start to soak his shirt, lets you tangle your legs with his.

He doesn't manage to find the right words to say, doesn't manage to do the right thing before the hour is up, and you drift off to sleep. He doesn't think he ever will.

[meekahy]

Insomnia

Sorry it's short! It's cute and if you haven't seen Hot Fuzz, you should. Classic.

It was 3am, you tossed and turned. Quinn was fast asleep. Or you thought he was until he grabbed your hip, preventing you to turn over again. 

“Baby, stop turning. Just come here,” he mumbled into your hair as he pulled you ontop of him. He started to rub circles on your back as you laid your head on his chest.

“Quinny, I just can’t sleep,” you groaned, flicking a piece of lint off his shirt.

“I know, you have been turning over and over for hours. Why don’t we get up and watch a movie on the couch? I’ll make you some tea,” Quinn suggested as he trailed his fingers across your cheek.

“That sounds like a good idea,” you smiled. Quinn pulled himself from your grasp as he made his way into the kitchen to turn on the kettle so you could have tea.

“Honey, what kind of tea do you want?” He yelled from the kitchen.

“Hmm, maybe hibiscus peach? Or sleepytime?” you wondered as you walked over to his side and let your hand rub up and down his back. 

“Sleepytime,” Quinn confirmed, laughing, “you’ve barely slept.”

“Smart boy,” you cooed as you smiled at him. He looked so sleepy. He had a game that night and with you rustling in your sleep, he wasn’t able to sleep either.

He grabbed a mug and the tea and turned toward you while you both waited for the kettle to whistle. 

“I’m sorry you can’t get any slep because of me,” you whispered as Quinn’s arms wrapped around your waist. You slipped your arms around his shoulders in response.

“Oh, that’s okay. It just means I have more time to spend with you,” he said before placing a small kiss to the tip of your nose. You tugged on the collar of his tshirt and pulled him in for a kiss. His hands still on your waist, he deepened the kiss. After a few minutes of feeling him on your lips. You jolted, breaking the kiss as the kettle whistled loudly.

Quinn laughed at your reaction, loosening his grasp on you to tend to your tea. He poured the hot water into your cup. “Do you want honey?” he questioned, moving towards the cabinets. 

“Yes, please,” you sang as he poured drained some honey into the tea. Quinn handed you your tea and guided you into the living room. Carefully carrying your tea down the hall, you managed not to spill the hot liquid.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Quinn asked as he plopped himself on the couch, arm out, waiting for you to snuggle up next to him.

Sitting right next to him, you pondered as you sipped from your tea. “How about Hot Fuzz?” you asked.

“Oh, hell yeah,” he exclaimed as his arm snaked around your shoulders. He picked up the remote and put on Hot Fuzz. It was one of your favorite movies. You quote it a lot and hopefully knowing the storyline will get you sleepy.

“What’s the matter, Danny? Never taken a shortcut before?” Sergeant Angel asked Danny before jumping the fence and doing a flip. Danny being amazed, tried to do the same before slamming right through the fence, receiving a belly laugh from the both of you.

“God, I love this movie,” you mumbled to Quinn as you finish the last of your tea, setting the cup down on the coffee table and snuggling into Quinn’s side even more.

“Yarp,” Quinn replied making you cackle. This movie is pure gold humor. Near the end of the movie, Quinn noticed your head on his shoulder and you not laughing to the funny parts of the movie.

“Babe?” he whispered into your ear. With no response, he turned off the movie and carefully picked you up bridal style and laid you down on the bed. He climbed back into bed and pulled you close. Quinn placed a kiss on your hair before closing his eyes and falling asleep as well.

[ereardon]

In The Skies || Ch. 2

[Major John "Bucky" Egan x Reader]

Overview: On a night out in London, you meet fellow American Major John “Bucky” Egan of the 100th. As war rages on, you take a leave of absence during the spring of your third year at Oxford to sign up as a nurse on the front lines in England. Time and time again, you and Bucky find yourselves thrown together in the hospital ward as you tend to him and his teammates after missions gone awry. What happens when you find yourself falling for a man who might never return from the skies? 

Pairing: Major John “Bucky” Egan x Reader

Chapter summary: Six months after you first meet Major Egan, he shows up at the bedside of Sergeant Quinn who just happens to be your patient. Sparks fly, again.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, cursing, definitely historical inaccuracies

WC: 2.8K

Masterlist here

“Nurse? Nurse!” 

Your head shot up, legs unfolding beneath you before you even realized, carrying you down the narrow hallway of the hospital, the floors squeaking beneath your shoes, a mixture of blood and urine and saline and muddy footprints all blurring into one. 

“It’s his leg!” You skidded to a stop in front of a man writhing in pain. 

“Morphine,” you said, nodding at the girl to your right who reached into her pocket, fingers returning with a small clear vial that you grabbed, driving it into the flesh of his thigh. The man let out a shriek, followed by blissful silence as you surveyed the scene. A severe bleed and a cracked tibia. The bone hadn’t shattered through the skin but you knew it was bad just by the way it was bulging against the flesh. “Over there,” you pointed at a gap against one wall. “I’ll get the surgeon.” 

They wheeled him away and you made your way through the maze of beds and walkways, eyes wide, a few strands of hair sticking to your temples. It was hot, too hot for how early in the year it was. Early June. You should have been graduating from Oxford. Instead, you spent your days nursing soldiers back to health, sending them back to the battlefield with missing limbs and poorly patched scars and wounds on their souls that would never heal. And somehow, it felt better than any degree ever could. 

“Dr. Peters!” Your voice rang out in the dingy corridor and the surgeon turned. He was short, with tight, dark curls and a pair of glasses that teetered on the edge of his nose. 

“Nurse,” he said, “what is it?” 

“Patient, Doctor, broken tibia.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded. “Yes. I just did a visual exam, no x-ray, but I’m positive.” 

Dr. Peters eyed you. In the three months you had been stationed at Stoke Military Hospital in Devon, you hadn’t been wrong once about a patient. He knew that. The doctor sighed and put his hands in his lab coat pockets. “Alright. Show me this man.” 

***

“Y/N? Isn’t your shift done?” 

You shrugged, wiping your hands on a cloth before sticking it back in the pocket of your apron. “An hour ago, I don’t know. Still have to see Lieutenant Davies.” 

Anna raised an eyebrow. “I’ll see you at home?” 

“See you at home.” You rounded the corner and smiled. “Lieutenant Davies?” 

The gentleman on the gurney looked up with a grin. “Ma’am.” 

“How are you feeling tonight?” you asked softly, stepping closer. 

“Good as a man with one arm can be.” 

“You always keep good spirits. I like that about you.” 

“Go out with me, won’t you?” 

You laughed. “Now Lieutenant, we’ve been over this before. I don’t date patients.” 

“Won’t you make an exception?” he asked, brown eyes glittering. “Just this once? For all you know, I could be the best date you’ve ever had!” 

“Oh I bet you would be,” you said, ringing out a washcloth in a nearby basin and pressing it gently to his forehead, dragging it down the side of his face, washing his neck carefully. His soft eyes never left yours. “But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other men, now would it?” 

“Screw them,” he murmured and you laughed. “What do you say, darlin’? You and me, let’s get out of here.” 

You shook your head, dipping the washcloth once more and pressing it over his bare chest. “You’re forward, aren’t you?” 

“War taught me anything, it’s that we all die someday. Gotta make the most of every day that’s left.” 

“Amen,” you whispered, setting the rag down back in the pan. “I’m going home now. You be good, alright?” 

Davies grinned. “Aren’t I always, darlin’?” 

You chuckled, making your way down the hallway toward the doors when they burst open, a flash of night sky visible through the open doors before they swung shut. Everything in the hospital was a rush. Triage and move on. But you had long-term patients as well. Men who were there for days, weeks, even months. Ones who weren’t healthy enough to go home, and not whole enough to go back to battle. Men who had seen loss. Men who had nothing left to fight for. 

“Y/N?” A voice from your left startled you out of your thoughts. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you headed home?” 

“Just about.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” Jolene tipped her head to one side. “A patient in bed fourteen. Came in earlier today. Having a hard time sleeping. Think he just needs someone to sit with him and I’ve been here for going on twenty hours.” 

“Go home,” you insisted, practically pushing the girl out the door. “I’ll take it. What’s his name?” 

“Quinn.” She flushed. “Thank you. I owe you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” You took a look around the room, spotting the bed that Jolene had mentioned. “Hi there,” you said quietly, inching toward the bed. “Lieutenant Quinn, is it? I’m Nurse Y/N.” 

The man who looked up at you was pale, practically ghostly. He had diminutive features, a small nose that curved upward, eyes that gapped at you from the hollows of his sockets. “Sergeant,” he croaked. There was sweat beading his forehead, his upper lip, the visible bones of his collar. “You’re promoting me.” 

You smiled, grabbing for a washcloth and pressing it to his forehead gently. “Sergeant Quinn,” you replied. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not bad, ma’am.” 

“Now don’t you go lying to me,” you reprimanded him. 

“Not good,” he said after a moment. “Feel cold. And dizzy. It’s like everything in my brain is static.” 

You pulled away the washcloth and sat down on the thin cot next to his leg. Quinn looked up, eyes wide. “What brought you here, sir?” 

“Got shot in the side,” he whispered. “Running from enemy fire.” 

“Are you a pilot?” 

“No, ma’am. I just fly with them.” 

“I met a pilot once,” you said. The memories of Bucky flooded your senses. The way his touch felt against your bare skin. The bristle of his mustache as he kissed you. You shook the memory out of your mind. You had been a different person, seven months before. Back then, war hadn’t felt so real. It was tangible now. It crept into every thought, it had made its way into every atom in your body. You were no longer a girl. You were a nurse. You were part of the war effort. 

“Oh yeah?” Quinn said, teeth chattering. “Maybe I know him.” 

You smiled. “Maybe.” You reached out, brushing one hand over his cheek, thumb stroking his sullen face gently. “Jolene said you’re not sleeping. How come that is?” 

“Every time I close my eyes,” he whispered, “I see them.” 

“See who?” 

“Them,” he murmured. “All the men we lost.” 

There was a type of pain in his voice that you hadn’t known until you joined the hospital. Now it was the only tone you could hear. It saturated every word that was spoken under this roof. “You try and sleep,” you whispered, settling down into the chair next to his bed and reaching out, taking his frail hand in yours. His was dirty, but yours was caked in dried blood as well. “I’ll stay here so you’re not alone.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, I do,” you replied. “Now close your eyes.” He closed his eyes, and you did too. The next thing you knew, it was the morning and your neck was bent to one side. Your eyes opened, trying to place where you were. And then the scent hit. It was as familiar as the smell of the ocean or a new book. 

Death. 

Sergeant Quinn was asleep on the bed and you dropped his hand gently, standing up, careful not to wake him. He looked peaceful. You took a mental picture of him. That was the best you could do, you had realized. Remembering them at their best was the only way to make it through the hard days. 

The flat you shared with two other girls, both nurses, was small and tidy. You spent as little time there as possible. Not because you didn’t like it, but the only place that you felt at peace was at the hospital. Doing your part. Helping people. All of the trivial things that had mattered so much less than a year before had vanished. You stopped wearing as much makeup or caring as much about how your hair was set. You had given up pantyhose entirely. You were a different girl than you had been. 

Back at the hospital, the stench of decay and the sharp bite of stringent solutions nipped at your nose. At first it had been jarring. Now it was simply familiar. The hustle and bustle no longer felt out of the ordinary. If anything, laying down to go to sleep at night felt uncomfortable in its near silence. 

“Jolene.” You stopped the girl with one hand against her arm. She swiveled around. “How’s Sargeant Quinn?” 

She smiled. “Good. Better. Says you were the one who got him to finally rest.” 

“I tried.” 

“Few of his friends from his unit stopped by, but you should check on him. Think it would make him feel even better.” 

“I will.” You weaved around the corridors, past incoming traumas: soldiers on gurneys, soldiers limping, ones with bandages across their faces and arms and necks. Every one you gave a sympathetic look. “Sergeant Quinn,” you said, rounding the corner where his bed sat. 

Four heads turned. Three men in uniform standing in a semicircle turned and your eyes scanned them quickly before doing a double take, backtracking to the man on the far left next to Quinn’s bedside. His warm eyes flashed in recognition. 

“Y/N,” he breathed out and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

“John,” you whispered. The room, so crowded and cloying and loud, suddenly felt very still and very quiet. Just you and Major Egan standing beneath a street lamp on a bitingly cold London evening. 

He stepped forward and you saw how even over the course of half a year he had aged. Tiny crows feet in the corners of his eyes. There was a hollowness, too. He placed your hands in his. “You’re a nurse? What about Oxford?” 

“I deferred my last semester,” you replied quietly, suddenly aware of all of the eyes on the two of you. “To help.” 

He smiled, his fingers squeezing yours. “So you’re the fantastic nurse that Quinn here won’t stop yammering on about.” 

From the bed, Sergeant Quinn blushed. “Bucky, I didn’t know.” 

You shook your head. “Nothing to know, Sergeant. Major Egan and I met a few months back. Looks like you weren’t lying when you said you were in good hands.” The memory of that one night with John brought a tingle between your legs. He grinned. 

“Are you working?” Bucky asked. 

“Always,” you replied candidly. “It never stops, you know. It’s a constant revolving door of injured men.” 

His eyes darkened. “I know.” His mouth shifted into a smile. “Take a walk with me.” 

“I have some patients to check on,” you whispered. “How long are you here?” 

“Few days,” he replied. 

“Meet me for dinner.” You listed off a restaurant nearby and Bucky nodded. 

He squeezed your hand one more time before dropping it. “I’ll be there.” 

You smiled at Sargeant Quinn. “Now I’m going to have to ask you boys to leave so I can clean the Sargeant’s wounds and replace his bandages.” 

Bucky and the two other men exited the makeshift room and you felt a shiver work its way up your spine. 

You had thought you would never see Major John Egan ever again. 

***

Normally time in the hospital sped forward, like a clock that was wound too tight. But waiting for the sun to set so you could meet Bucky felt like it was taking an eternity.

You were fixing a dressing on a soldier when Jolene popped out around a corner. “Y/N?” 

“Yeah?” 

She tipped her head to the side. “Heard there was a handsome Major here earlier asking all about you.” 

You tried to hide your grin. “Gossip.” 

“I love gossip,” she replied and you laughed. “Does that mean Lieutenant Davies is on the market?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “What happened to not getting involved with patients?” 

“He’s so charming!” 

“He is,” you replied, wiping your hands on your apron and standing up straight. “They all are.” 

“So this Major?” she asked as the two of you made your way down the hall. “How well do you know him?” 

“We only met once,” you said. “Just before Christmas, at a bar in London.”

“And?” 

You grinned and hid it behind one hand, faking a yawn. “And nothing. He’s a gentleman. He’s taking me to dinner tonight.” 

Jolene shrieked and a few patients turned their heads. You shushed her but it was no use. She was practically giddy. “God, you’re lucky,” she whined. “Ask if he has a friend, why don’t you?” 

“He has a best friend who is also a Major,” you said and her eyebrows shot up. “But don’t get too attached. He’s engaged.” 

She sighed. “All the good ones are.” 

“Not all the good ones.” 

Jolene squeezed your hand. “You go have fun. I have it covered here.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes. Go!” She practically pushed you out of the door. 

***

When was the last time you had dressed up? Worn something other than a blood-soaked apron and saddle shoes? 

When was the last time you had gone on a date? 

Probably at Uni, but even then the lines were blurry. Was studying together over a tea equivalent to a date? Or a formal where everyone was required to attend? You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt the way you did that night in Bucky’s arms. 

Safe. 

You were late, hair pulling out of the messily placed pins, the neckline of your dress slightly crooked. As you whipped into the restaurant, peering around, you spotted John with a grin on his face, his eyes planted on yours. 

He stood as you approached the table and leaned over, pressing his lips to your cheek, one hand on the back of the chair, letting you settle into it before he pressed it inward. 

“Hi.” There was something so sincerely innocent about the way he said it. Almost shy. 

“What brings you to town, Major?” 

“A mission,” he replied. “Or the end of one, I guess.” 

“Sergeant Quinn. He’s quite impressed by you.” 

“He’s a good guy.” 

“He said you’re the better guy.” 

Bucky paused before lifting his glass of wine to his lips and taking a slow sip. Then, “I’ve thought a lot about you. Since that night.” 

“Had to send a fellow American off to war the only way I knew how.” 

His eyes darkened. “It was more than that, Y/N.” 

“What are you saying, Major Egan?” 

Bucky tipped his head. “I’m saying I haven’t stopped thinking about you, sweetheart. That not a day goes by where I haven’t wondered if I would ever see you again.” 

“Must have made an impression, then,” you whispered. 

His eyes were glued on yours. “Go out with me.” 

You laughed. “We’re on a date right now!” 

“Tomorrow,” he replied instantly. “And the night after that.”

“Let’s see how the date goes first,” you replied, “before we go making plans.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t need to wait to know what I already do. Which is that you’re the woman for me, Y/N.” 

“John,” you whispered, a blush creeping up your neck. “You’ve known me a total of two days. You can’t say something like that.” 

“I was five years old the first time I saw an airplane,” he replied. “And do you know what I thought?” 

“That you wanted to be a pilot.” 

He nodded. “Yes. The first time I ever saw a plane I knew that’s how I was going to spend my life. In the skies.” 

“You based your entire career, your whole life, around one glance at the sky when you were a child?” 

“I knew in my heart, with every inch of my body, that it was what I was meant to do.” He paused. “It’s how I felt when I saw you again earlier today. Something clicked. Something said this was right.” 

“You have to give me a second to process this,” you whispered. “I haven’t seen you in six months. And here you are, saying what exactly?” 

His fingertips met yours across the table. “All I know is that I knew the first time I saw a plane that it was going to change my life.” His eyes met yours. “And that’s how I feel now, looking at you.” 

Tagging some people I think may enjoy this:

@gretagerwigsmuse @gigisimsonmars @iangiemae @tgmavericklover @sunny747 @perfectprettypisces @na-ta-sh-aa @ryebecca @kmc1989 @spinning-away @yorkshirekiwi @clancycucumber230

#masters of the air#mota#john bucky egan#masters of the air series#major john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#callum turner

[faithshouseofchaos]

Ok I moved all my asks to my drafts because I worked on all of them today the one I have the most finished is werewolf Carlos and max and Leo going public with their relationship 🤭🤭 so if you want to you can send in more requests I’d like to write for a different mixtures of driver like the following anything else will be saved to my list of eventual fics I write in my docs

Nico Rosberg/Hulkenberg

Lewis Hamilton

Liam Lawson

Kimi Raikkonen (if I ever stop writing for him kill me I give you permission to kill me)

Valtteri bottas (I’ve been wanting to write something for him for ages now)

Hockey players (these are the ones I’m most comfortable with)

Luke Hughes

Jack Hughes

Quinn Hughes

Nico hischieir

Random fandoms

Spike (Buffy the vampire slayer)

Marc Marcqez (because why not)

Pato oward

Daemon Targaryen

Creagan stark

Driver OC kids

Lydia verstappn

Hadley sergeant

Liam stroll

Landon Ricciardo

Lucas and Sadie ricciardo

Anastasia leclerc

Avery button

[deconstructthesoup]

Okay, after watching several Who Framed Roger Rabbit reaction videos, clips from Dimension 20's Mentopolis, and rewatching Shipwrecked's The Case of the Gilded Lily, I believe I'm in the right headspace to do this, so let's get cracking:

In 1930s Hollywood, Priscilla Grey (Prisoner) and Skip Gallant (Skeptic) are private investigators who are trying to keep their business afloat, alongside their long-suffering secretary, Sienna Shade (Spectre). They've been working together ever since Skip took on Priscilla as a client and proved that she was being framed for a crime she didn't commit, and while they've been getting along so far, tensions are running high as business is starting to slowly dry up... until someone new walks into their office.

Dr. Percy Noble (Paranoid) is a biologist who's recently made a breakthrough in his research, but he's realized that it could lead to something incredibly dangerous, so he hid it away. He knows full well that by doing so, he's likely angered some very influential people, not to mention his boss, Jonathan Echo (Narrator). To make matters worse, he's been being followed for the past few days, and he has no idea who they are. Percy's got nowhere else to turn, and he needs the help of Grey & Gallant Investigations... and the story kicks off from there.

Priscilla and Skip's agency owes a lot of their previous notoriety to the fact that their respective twin siblings, Danielle Grey (Damsel) and Simon Gallant (Smitten), are famous movie stars and a Hollywood "It" couple... who are secretly in a lavender marriage. In reality, Simon's in an on-again, off-again relationship with Sienna's brother Colin (Cold), and Danielle's everything but legally married to Willow Chase (Witch), a singer at a club called the Swindler's Den.

The Swindler's Den is owned by a man named Oliver Teagues (Opportunist), who's got a lot of glitz and glam but is also a bit of a shady type, and doesn't do a lot for free. The only person he seems to trust is his faithful bouncer and business partner, Scully Boone (Stubborn). Scully's got a lot of rumors swirling around him about his past, though if you ask him about it, he'll punch your lights out.

There are two people out there who are both Priscilla and Skip's greatest allies and biggest obstacles---Sergeant Harry Knight (Hero), a cop who acts as their insider on the force yet is constantly worried about them getting in over their heads, and Conrad Tracy (Contrarian), a flashy reporter who always ends up writing brilliant news stories about their cases... though, he often winds up publishing stuff about the cases when they're in the middle of them, which is definitely a challenge when they need to be doing secret stuff. Harry's usually working alongside a sharp-eyed detective named Hunter Doyle (Hunted), who's well known for his impeccable survival instincts... and his jumpiness. Still, though, he's good at his job.

Over the course of their career, Priscilla and Skip have come across several criminals---some good intentioned, some bad intentioned. Among those are Stace Racket (Stranger), an art thief famous for their disguises and habit of only taking from other thieves; Chester Dunnagan (Cheated), a pickpocket who would probably be a lot more successful if it wasn't for his constant string of bad luck; and Addison Vernon (Adversary) and Zora Ray (Razor), the cutthroat ringleaders of a organization known as the Crimson Daggers and largely regarded as the power couple of the criminal underworld.

And on the flip side of things, Grey & Gallant Investigations has done several cases for the rich and wealthy, with varying results. Some of their most prolific have been Gary Quinn (Long Quiet) and Samantha Prince (Shifting Mound), who are the execs at Danielle and Simon's studio; Natalie Monroe (Nightmare) a flighty young socialite who makes a habit out of getting herself into increasingly dangerous scrapes for the thrill of it, and Titania Brightower (Tower), an old-money actress who demands power and respect from pretty much everybody. Titania's never seen without her pet cheetah Beatrice (Beast), and tailing after her is her constantly stressed and beaten-down husband, Benjamin Kells (Broken).

I still gotta figure out the story here... but I'll be damned if figuring out everything wasn't fun.

[juvenillia]

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 12: wait

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: I am German so putting something of my native language in here feels so cool, really need to write more for König (when this series is over)

also I think it's quite funny how I believed that I'd never be able to write a full on fic and now we're here - thank you for sticking with me and story

CW/TW: mentions of loss, death, injuries, petnames, jealousy, guilt, angst, hurt/comfort, violence

wordcount: 2.9k

prev | masterlist | next

The last days felt unbearable for everyone. Shortly after they arrived at the improvised base full of tents, the medics did everything to stabilize your state of condition. Ghost did literally bark at anyone who came too close to you, who didn't look like a specialist in medic care. As soon as your condition got a bit better, they flew you over the hq to initiate the needed surgery. Ghost leashed out as he got told that he wasn't allowed on the transport next to you. He had promised you and himself to not leave your side. But they had to wait to be brought to the base while you were long gone and on your way to the OR. Kyle and Johnny had to do their best to calm him. It was a hard mission, especially when they were on the edge as well.

Simon paced around the room the three men were meant to stay in. He couldn't stand still until he was able to see you again. Some nurse explained him, in a serious and nearly threatening tone, that he wasn't allowed around the infirmary before he didn't get his emotions under control. This was new for him, emotions were never something hard to handle, but you changed that. The guilt, fear, longing, desire, regret, anger, sadness. The list was long, but his nerves couldn't carry them. You made the border between Ghost and Simon melt. It made his hands tremble and his heart ache.

Nobody in this room dared to speak while waiting for news, not even Johnny tried to ease the mood. To occupied with what ifs. You only were part of this team for a short period of time, but it felt different. It felt like you were always a part of them.

Hours passed by without knowing anything. It ate them up. Johnny sat on a chair, watching Simon pace around the room. Not daring to approach him even the furthest. The only thing that was a distraction for a short time was a call with Price. Explaining the situation, they found themselves in. Kyle did the talking, while Johnny and Simon weren't able to. "Yes, sir. You're on speaker now.", he placed the phone on the table. Simon got closer, his feet tapping the ground nonstop, fidgeting with your blue box in his pocket. He didn't dare to let go. Johnny still seated at the table as well as Kyle, letting his leg bounce up and down. Desperately pushing his sweaty palms on his thighs, trying to steady them down. "Boys, listen. Skadi has been through worse. Way worse. She's gonna make it. I know what you're feeling, what you're thinking, but don't. It is no one's fault. You did what had to be done, and she'll be okay. Trust her and the medics.", Price voice was as calm and soft as ever. Johnny's leg stopped bouncing and even Simon lost a bit tension between his shoulder blades. They trusted you, still they were scared.

It took another hour before a young-looking soldier came to knock at their door. Ghost was opening it within seconds, staring at the small Private in front of him. Waiting wasn't something he was good at, not when it came to you. "Speak!", he ordered harshly, no need to mention that the poor guy was scared to bits. Kyle shoved Simon gently to the side, what earned him a deep growl. "Ignore the scary dog.", he exhaled nervous and looked as soft as possible to the young boy, who nodded hesitant. "Here to inform you, that Sergeant Quinn has made it through the surgery without any complications. She's been brought to room 317 for further medical treatment. She’s still unconscious, but visitors are allowed." Johnny nodded. "Thanks, dismissed."

Before Kyle and Johnny could even say something, Ghost started running through the hallways up to the infirmary. Ignoring any glances and shouting around him. His steps were fast and determined. His grip still tight around the blue box. "Lt!" Johnny had problems to keep up with him while Kyle didn't even try. He knew it was pointless. Simon only had one thing on his mind, seeing you. Making sure that he didn't lose you. Just when he stood in front of the door separating him from his desire, he stopped. Fear raising in his stomach, fear of the sight that would expect him inside. Johnny was the one placing a gentle hand on his arm. "C'mon, Lt.", he gently pushed the door open, and the three men entered. It was a casual hospital room. Bright whites around you, a common sickbed every one of them had seen plenty of times. What they didn't expect was the huge figure already seated at your side. Simon fists clenched. The fear replaced with fury. Who dared to take his place next to you? He wanted to yell at him, throw him out of the room. It was supposed to be his seat. The male shortly looked at them, before turning to your unconscious figure. "Your mates are here, Spatzl." [German equivalent to dovie, but with dialect], his voice was calm as he held your hand. "Who are you?", Ghost hissed while his jaw nearly locked in tension. He let go of the box in his pocket, too scared he would break it. He couldn't even focus on you. The stranger looked at them again and they were greeted with a faceless image. The loose mask covering everything besides those clear blue eyes. "Easy, big boy. I'm not your enemy.", he said calm with a chuckle. His eyes shut. Did he smile, did he yawn. Ghost couldn't tell. That's how people must feel approaching himself all the time. It was Johnny who stepped forward, cautious. "Yer the one that saved our bonnie.", Soap exclaimed a bit guarded. He heard his voice before, over the comms and the thick German accent was undeniable. "Gonna leave you to it, for now. See you later, mein Engel."[my angel], his bare and huge hand caressed your cheek before standing up. Johnny did swallow a lump, as he noticed how tall the man in front of them was. Ghost had his fists still clenched, and it got worse with every second. "And to answer your question. I'm König. When you're friends with her, than we should get along. But don't step the line.", he stated softly while slightly tilting his head down. His blue eyes met the dark ones of Ghost. A tension was created, laying thick in the air and everyone could feel it, you could cut it with a knife. They stared down each other. Their brows furrowed before König left the room with a satisfied giggle.

And it only got worse. Anytime Simon would pay you a visit, he would already be there. Seated at your bed, your hand in his. He wanted to shove him out of the room, tear him apart that he finally would stay away from you. He acted like he was someone really special. It made him sick. Even Johnny stopped the teasing and joking comments in Ghost's presence, he knew that Simon was at the edge of his limits. Why did this guy couldn't leave you alone? Johnny had to force Ghost to go to the base's gym with them. To blow off some steam, and anytime he threw his fists against the punchbag, he did image that it would be him. The thorn in his side.

Simon wasn't allowed to stay nonstop in your room while you were still unconscious, he only had a few hours per day to spent them in your presence and those few he had to share with Kyle, Johnny, and damn König. It pissed him off, the way that man was always there and pretending you were his property. Who did he think he is?!

He never said something though. Only throwing him death glares and hoping he would leave after some time. Kyle explained later that he was a colonel of KorTac, and they should better not try to pick a fight with him. Price left a note about it. The 141 and KorTac weren’t actually friends, so they should keep it at bay. That wouldn't end well for no parties. So, Ghost suppressed the urge to smash his head against the wall and tearing that ugly mask down that face. Anytime they were in a room together it was Lieutenant Ghost that stood next to your bed. Cold, distant, work brain on, but as soon as the Austrian left the room - what he gladly did to grant the 141 some peace -  Simon moved to your side. Taking your hands in his gloved ones, not averting his gaze from you. Not even for second. He didn't dare to look away, scared to miss something. A muffled groan, a twitch of your eyes or fingers. Anything that told him you were here with him. He didn't doubt that you weren't strong enough to recover, but Simon hated the waiting. He usually was patient, but not for you to wake up again. Even if the nurses told him that your conditions got better day by day, it wasn't enough for him. He needed you to open your eyes, to look at him again. To see him. To smile at him. He wanted to hear your voice again. Witnessing your laughter because of Johnny's stories. Listening of the joking arguments you and Kyle shared. Hearing you say his name again. God knows how much he wanted to hear that again. He needed it. He craved it. But he would wait, it was worth to wait for it. He knew it.

It was on the fifths day when he snapped. Johnny sat next to you at one side of the bed, while Simon on the other. Kyle next to the Scot, half asleep. Johnny told a story; he already had told you. Maybe he hoped that you'd wake up and scold him for telling the same story over and over again. Simon didn't care. His eyes lingered on you. Your usual stubbornness and strength smoothed out. Replaced with a weakness, a fragile figure he needed to protect at all costs. He stared at your face, your arms. Recognizing and memorizing every scar, dimple, freckle. Everything that made your face unique. He noticed a deep scar at your throat and some burned flesh at your right upper arm, it seemed bigger than the small spot that wasn't covered through the clothes they gave you. He took everything in and burned it in his brain. Scared that he could forget a small detail. You never talked about how you got the scars. That's something both of you wouldn't share. Stories too deep, too painful, but Simon hoped that one day, he could fight the urge to hide it. He wanted to share his story with you, he wanted you to see him as the person he was behind the mask. Behind Ghost. He made a promise to himself, that if you would let him, he wanted to tell you everything. Step by step. One thing at the right time. You already told him so much about yourself, now should be his turn.

Just in that moment the door opened, and the giant walked into the room. Simon immediately switched mentally, and Ghost let go of your hand. Staring at him through the mask. Why did he always had to interrupt your - his - peace. "Hallöchen.", [hi there], he chimed while moving to your side. Johnny stopped his story and looked at you, and then at Ghost. "Don't ya have more important things to do, colonel", he exhaled sharply while his eyes didn't move away from König's statue. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't handle how he regarded everything as a matter of course. "More important than meine Liebe, no I don't think so." [my love], he chuckled while looking down at you. His hands slowly making his way up to yours again. "Bloody ‘ell, stop touching her the whole time.", Ghost hissed. He didn't know in what relationship you two were, but he remembered that you had never mentioned him. You talked a lot about Randy and never ever about some jerk called König. Also, he did remember that one time when he tried to get his hand closer to yours, on the patio during one of your shared smokes, that you immediately pulled back and he retreated. He can't imagine that you would enjoy those hands all over you the whole time.

"Excuse me?", König stopped his movement and looked down at Ghost. "Ya heard me. Stop it." - "I told you don't step a line, big boy." König moved over where Ghost was seated and the later stood up. "Yer invadin' her space, 'nd stop callin' me that.", he snarled back. His accent grew thicker on his tongue as his anger rose. Staring in each other’s eyes while arguing about the situation. Johnny tried to calm both down, trying to talk them out, but the discussion only became more heated. Hissing, snarling at each other, mocking the opposite. Johnny was scared they could start a fist fight any second. "You don't even know her like I do." König's usual smooth tone completely gone and with that statement Ghost's patience was gone. He took a grip on the first thing reachable, his collar. "Enough!", it was Kyle who stood up now. His voice determined and rough. "Skadi needs rest, if you want to scream at each other like little kids do, do that somewhere else!", he looked furious at them and König nodded slowly, looking down at you. Ghost pulled his hands slowly back. "He's right. I'll come back later.", König left the room and let Ghost back who now had an argument with Soap.

Not so heated, no screaming at each other but still serious. Kyle shook his head while sitting down again. "We're their guests, I can't stand him either. Total arsehole. But for her sake, we need to pull ourselves together." - "I know.", Ghost knew all of that, but he couldn't bare it anymore. He couldn't work with that anymore. "Simon. If he hadn't been there...", Johnny's voice snapped him - Simon - back to the reality. It was rare that he used his first name, therefore it had quite an effect on him and the context even more. "Ya do not have to remind me." Simon's voice was calmer again, filled with guilt. His head hung low; his eyes pinned to his hands that nearly started a war. "Could you both shut up!", Kyle exhaled again, not daring to look at the two across form the bed. His eyes were pinned on you. "I can't understand what she's saying!"

With that both of them stopped immediately and turned their whole attention onto you. Your eyes were open only the slightest and your lips moved slowly, but no words escaped them. "Water, get her some water.", Johnny moved to get something to drink and a nurse while you tried the hardest to speak. Simon was too stunned, just starring at you, while Kyle took the word, "Calm down. We're all here. Don't push it too far. We're not going anywhere. " You hardly nodded in response and closed your eyes once more. Everything hurt, but seeing them around you, hearing their voices, it washed away some sorrows. You tried to move but were abruptly stopped by the jolting pain that came from your side. You wanted to take a grip on the wound that hurt, but the thing was, everything hurt. Even breathing sent jolts of pain through your body. Your mind was hazy, and you couldn’t remember a thing.  Simon stared down at you, completely overwhelmed about all the things he felt.

"Take it easy, Sergeant." A medic entered your room and shooed the men out of it.

From this moment, everything became easier. Especially for Simon. You woke up, you looked at him. You were okay. Still, you had a long way ahead, you slept almost all day. Giving your body the rest that was essential, but now that you were conscious, Simon could stay longer in your room. He sat by your side the whole time, not even daring to leave the room in case you needed something. In case you needed him, and oh lord he wished that you to need him. He placed the blue box next to you. In case you woke up and he couldn't be by your side. That you found something familiar next to you. Something that could provide you with some comfort. There were only short periods of time when you were awake, and in those you had to fight the immense pain, before your body was too exhausted and gave in, bringing you to sleep again. You still couldn’t move, speaking was hard. Simon would be by your side, telling you sweet nothings, little praises you couldn't even hear. Your head was still so hazy. But besides all the circumstances it felt like peace. Not even König could interrupt this now. To Simon's luck he was called in for an operation, that way he could spend the whole day at your side. Not Ghost.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub @illuminwtesz @killergoddess97 @kaelaiscool @spiritndrain

[jedipoodoo]

Soldier in my Dreams (Sergeant Hunter & Daughter!OC)

Notes: nothing I write is ever beta read we die like tech (but not really). Father's day, dad batch. Hunter is married to my OC, Saachi, they adopted Omega and Jasper together, and had five children after that (one son, and a set of quadruplets). Nightmares, comfort, Hunter likes being a father more than he ever did a soldier.

Hunter woke as blasterfire echoed in the corners of his mind. The frizzing of droid poppers rang faintly in his ears as he looked around the room. Smaller than the bunks on Kamino, but bigger than the crew's quarters on the Marauder. The night was a dark blue, casting the room in a hyperspace-like glow, peaceful and serene

He wasn't a soldier anymore. He was home.

The bed stirred beside him. Saachi grunted in her sleep and turned on her side, arms tucked beneath her pillow. The strap of her nightdress had slipped over her shoulder in her sleep, so Hunter tucked it back into place and leaned down to brush a kiss against her cheek. Sleep settled back over her as her breathing evened out.

Hunter heard the pitter patter of tiny feet just outside the door to the room, so he stood to answer it before the creak could wake up his wife.

Standing there, with her beloved Lala the tooka in one arm and the other rubbing sleep from her eyes, stood Poppy. The youngest of his girls, and the second youngest overall. Hairs stuck out of her little braids at off angles, giving her a fuzzy halo as she frowned up at her dad.

"Where's Momma?" she demanded, unsatisfied by his appearance.

"She's fine, she's just sleeping." Hunter knelt in front of Poppy, trying to keep her from moving into the room, "What's up, sarad'ika?"

Poppy's bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

"Wan' Momma," She insisted.

But Hunter hadn't learned nothing from his time as a Sergeant. He knew plenty of redirection tactics.

"C'mere," he scooped Poppy up into his arms, Lala and all, "Let's take a look at your brothers and sisters now, huh?"

"Quinn's snoring!" Poppy complained loudly. Hunter reminded her to be quiet.

"Is that what woke you up, then?" He chuckled, closing the door to his room.

Poppy shook her head vehemently, "I had a nightmare."

"Oh," Hunter said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Poppy shook her head again. She wrapped her arms around Lala's head tightly, and rested her head against Hunter's chest.

Sure enough, when they peeked into the girl's room, Quinn was snoring softly. Her own Tooka, Tutu, had fallen off the bed as she lay splayed over her sheets, so Hunter picked Tutu up and placed him in Quinn's arms again.

In the boy's room, Andi was sound asleep with his tooka, Pinkey, but Reed was missing from his bed. Hunter knew he couldn't have gone far, though. As he checked the older boy's bedroom, they found that Reed had crawled into Gray's bed again. Jasper was only pretending to be asleep, Hunter could see the faint glow of his datapad beneath his flimsy pillow.

"It's goodnight, Jaspa!" Poppy protested, pointing an accusing finger at her biggest brother.

"Shh," Hunter told her, hoping Reed and Gray would stay asleep. He tiptoed over to Jasper's bed. Jasper remained on his side, his back to Hunter, and too still to actually be asleep. Hunter slipped the datapad out from under Jasper's pillow and switched it off, tucking it in his back pocket.

"Good night, Jasper," He whispered, gently kissing his forehead. Jasper mumbled something unintelligible in return, muffled by a yawn.

The last bedroom, while the smallest of the rooms in the house, belonged to the oldest.

"You sleeping, 'Meega?" Poppy sounded almost disappointed.

Omega indeed was asleep, though like Jasper, her own datapad was not far out of reach. It had fallen on her face mid-message, and had typed out a random smattering of numbers and letters. Thankfully, it hadn't sent, but before Hunter could turn it off and set it back in the charging dock, he couldn't help but read a few of the messages. She was messaging Echo again. And Emerie, too. Hunter didn't know how much he trusted Emerie, but he trusted Echo, and Echo vouched for her.

Hunter's heart beat painfully in his chest. They were telling her about the Rebellion, the successes and the losses. He kept himself from reading anymore. Omega was growing up. She wasn't that innocent little child he met on Kamino anymore, she was allowed to grow up and make her own decisions, even if they might put her in danger.

Poppy leaned forward and almost fell out of Hunter's arms, reaching for Omega.

"Woah, Woah, Woah!" he hissed.

"But I wanna say goodnight!" Poppy pouted. Omega grunted, and rubbed her eyes.

"Hunter? Poppy, wha-?"

Hunter sighed, "Sorry, kid, Poppy had a bad dream, so she wanted to say goodnight. You can go back to sleep now."

Omega chuckled softly, and held out her arms, "It's alright."

Poppy launched herself into Omega's arms, knocking the wind from her lungs.

"Poppy," Hunter sighed again, running a hand over his face.

Poppy hugged Omega all the more tighter, "I love you, 'Meega."

Omega wrapped her arms around Poppy, "I love you too, ad'ika."

"Alright, you little womp rats," Hunter gently yanked Poppy out of reach from Omega so that he could give her a kiss good night, "Back to bed with both of you."

He managed to slip out of Omega's room and back into the hall before Poppy started to protest.

"Don't wanna," She insisted, "Wanna stay with 'Meega!"

"No, it's time for you to go back to your own bed, now."

"But Reed sleeps with Gray!" I wanna sleep with 'Meega!" Poppy said.

Hunter had to place a few fingers over her mouth, hushing her gently. When she was quiet again, he slowly removed his fingers. "You gotta go to bed, sarad'ika. Omega, and Momma, and everyone else is asleep now."

"Even ba'vod'u Tech?" She asked hopefully.

"Even ba'vod'u Tech," Hunter nodded, "He's tired. Papa's tired too. Aren't you tired?"

Poppy's fingers twisted tighter into the material of Hunter's shirt. He was afraid she might rip a hole in it.

"Scared." She whimpered at last, hiding ashamedly behind her tooka.

"Oh," you're scared," Hunter whispered in understanding, "From your nightmare?"

Poppy nodded.

Hunter's heart broke as he tilted his daughter's chin upwards so he could see her face. Her delicate eyes were wide with unshed tears, and her little bottom lip trembled. He would do anything if it meant any of his little ones would never feel the way that Poppy looked right now.

He sighed, and cradled her against his shoulder, "Come with me, you can sleep with me and Momma tonight."

She perked up at that. "Momma?"

"Shh," Hunter urged, "You have to be quiet. Remember, Momma's asleep now."

"I be quiet," Poppy said, and yawned promisingly.

Hunter brought her back into his room, where Saachi lay just as he had left her. He opened the window, letting in the soothing salt air and the calming sound of the distant waves wrap around them like a warm blanket. Poppy could barely lift her head from Hunter's shoulder.

"Papa?" She hummed as Hunter sat on his side of the bed.

"Yes, Poppy?" he asked. He paused, keeping Poppy against his shoulder so that he could listen to her tired, sleepy voice.

Poppy yawned again, and it nearly made Hunter yawn too.

"You keep me safe?" She asked.

Hunter smiled to himself and kissed her forehead. Not too many years ago, keeping his children safe would have required bloodshed and danger, along with almost certain death. But now, with the Clone Wars long behind them, and the Empire far from Pabu, safety meant things like watching so that they didn't fall off a rock, making sure they ate healthy, providing warm clothes during the colder months, and promising that the uncertainty of the night couldn't reach them.

He much preferred this fight.

"I will always keep you safe, sarad'ika." he whispered. Poppy's eyes fluttered closed, but hunter caught the glimpse of a satisfied smile as he lay her on the bed, nestled in between himself and Saachi.

He lay next to her, listening as Poppy's heartbeat slowed to keep time with Saachi's. His heart was slowing too, but he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes.

Poppy's arms flailed back and forth, which meant she was finally starting to settle down to sleep, but they also hit Saachi, just enough to nudge her awake.

"Mmm, nightmare?" she asked, rubbing one eye with her fingertip.

Hunter nodded, brushing Poppy's bangs from her eyes. her little eyelids twitched, as sleep claimed them, and Hunter prayed that she'd have better dreams now.

"Oh, sweet girl," Saachi sighed and kissed the back of Poppy's head, "Good thing you have your Papa to help you, huh?"

She took the elastic from the end of the braid that wasn't pinned beneath Poppy's head, and rebraided it. It was more of a habit than a necessity. Saachi loved being able to help their daughters with their hair, and both Quinn and Poppy loved how pretty the braids were.

Hunter sat up, just as the door opened with an ominous creak.

"I hadda bad dream," Andi said, rubbing at his eye with his fist.

Hunter tried not to sigh, and Saachi placed her hand on his arm.

"I got this one," she mouthed, nodding to Poppy. She met Andi at the door, scooping him up into her arms, and as Hunter finally let his eyes drift shut, he could hear Saachi humming a lullaby to their son.

[onionarchive]

[hjbirthdaywishes]

January 7, 2023

Happy 74 Birthday to Steven Williams. 

[artyandink]

we could be more | dean winchester | 8

Summary: Ivonne Rainer was practically a trained killing machine. Stripped to the bone then built back up by her father in order to become one of the best, like he was. She was forced into hunting when she was nineteen, having developed powers that couldn’t be explained. That is, until she was paid a visit by Azazel’s lackey. Her powers were gone, she needed help, and that’s when she found her father’s journal. Pointing to Sam and Dean Winchester.

SERIES MASTERLIST

THE USUAL SUSPECTS

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : ROLLING IN THE DEEP - ADELE

“Miss Ivonne Rainer.” A dude with black hair and green eyes stepped into the room, holding a case file. He was around my age, well built, and judging by the confidence, high up in the precinct. He was also, now that I mention it, sexy. “You’ve got a very chequered past, by the looks of it.” 

“I’m not playing chess, mate, so just cut to the chase.” I retorted, tapping my watch. “You’ve got 48 hours, so why not tell me your name so we can move things a bit quicker?”

”Detective Sergeant James Rhodes.” He showed me his badge. 

“Where’s the bad cop, eh?”

”With Dean Winchester. Good cop’s with Sam, and the even worse cop is with you.”

”I feel special. Flattered.” I smiled sarcastically. “Why are you holding us?”

”Your buddy Dean is being held on charges for suspicion of murder.” 

I frowned, leaning forward. “Murder?!”

”You sound genuinely surprised. You should’ve gone to acting school.”

”Who could he have murdered?” 

“We’re getting onto that.” He replied, opening a file and giving me a once over with a hint of red on his cheeks. I smirked a little, leaning back in my chair. “Let’s just look through your file first. I’ve got a lot of research on you, Ivonne. You’re 27, born in ‘79 in Jersey to Michael Rainer and Audrey Rainer neé Singer. You went to a good primary, got a score of 174 on your LSATs, an almost perfect score on your SATs and scored a full ride to Princeton on the course of economics while trying to help your younger sister Quinn battle cancer, which ultimately failed.” I gritted my teeth. “But, here’s the catch. One year after your admission, you were forced to drop out due to your father’s untimely death, a murder which was never solved. Do you want me to continue?” 

I stayed silent. 

“Tough crowd. About a month after your father’s death, you were the centre of an open and shut case eight years ago in which your brother Carter descended into insanity and killed your family by sticking knives into their throats, and also killed your mother’s unborn child. However, in defence, you shot him after he tried to do the same to you. You were proven innocent after a CCTV recording placed Carter as the killer of your sister Lily and your mother. You went off the grid, but then conveniently seven or eight years later, you were kidnapped by your boyfriend Xavier Jackson, but you broke free, wrestled for his gun and shot him twice, killing him. Your witness? Sam Winchester.” 

“You done relating my life story?” I scoffed. “I’ll admit it, you’re cute and this macho, intimidation act is as well, but if you’re aiming to take me out to dinner after this, you’re gonna have to take a step back and reassess the situation.” He looked taken aback, and I nodded. “I’ve met people like you before, Serge, and I know exactly how to deal with them.” 

“We’re here to discuss Dean Winchester.”

”And so far all you’ve done is relate something that isn’t important and check me out.” I smirked. “Get on with it, will you?”

”Why I listed every bit of your family history is because one thing doesn’t add up.” He put down the file. “How you ended up with the Winchester brothers. You have no connection to them. Your family had no contact with the Winchesters. So how did you end up with a man who’s charged with assault, murder and grave desecration and his brother?” 

“I found them.” I frowned, pulling out my dad’s journal. “Read about John, Sam and Dean Winchester, knew I had to find ‘em. I had a stalker after me. Not anymore, but Dad’s journal knew that they could help me and they did.”

”What about Tony and Karen Giles?”

”Anthony Giles was a friend of John Winchester.” I explained. “I went with Sam and Dean once they found out that he was dead, throat slit with no trace of any bad things happening in Giles’ life to make him do such a thing.”

“There you go.” Sam gave Dean and I a cup of coffee while Dean handed Sam a paper while I dried my hair with a t-shirt. I was wearing a baggy black cashmere jumper with jeans, my necklace around my neck as usual.

“Anthony Giles.” Dean stated. 

“Who’s Anthony Giles?” I asked, leaning in with my hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“He’s a Baltimore lawyer. Working late in his office, check it out.” 

I read the paper, raising an eyebrow. “Room was clean, throat was slit… but no DNA or prints.”

”Keep reading. It gets better.” 

“Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant.” Sam muttered. 

“So either someone tampered with the tapes, or…” 

“There’s an invisible killer.” 

“My favorite kind. What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?” 

“I’m not Scully. You’re Scully.” 

“No, I'm Mulder. You're a red-headed woman.” 

“You two are idiots, more like.” I sighed. “Let me dry my hair, then we’ll head out.” 

“C’mon, Beanie,” Dean laughed, “you look good with wet hair.” 

“Then again, it doesn’t feel great in cold air.” I winked. “Maybe next time.” I rifled through my box of IDs, buying my lip. “Who are we today?” 

“Insurance investigators.” 

“I’ll get my suit from the Mustang.” 

“But, if you think about it, Dean couldn’t have murdered Tony, being at my house, right?” I asked. 

“You’re right.” He nodded. “Tell me what happened next.” 

“We went to see Karen, to help her keep herself together. And boy, she was fallin’ apart.” 

Karen Giles sat on her sofa, sniffling and wiping her nose on a tissue. “Insurance. I totally forgot about the insurance.” She whispered, holding back the fifth wave of tears. 

“We're very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand.” Sam pressed on, and she nodded. I forgot to mention, we were insurance investigators. 

“Sure.” 

“So, if you could tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died.” I asked, sitting down next to her. 

“Uh, Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles and that, that he had to work late. That was it.” Karen recounted, and I nodded. 

“Do you have any idea who could have done this to him?” 

“No, like I told the police, I… I have no idea.”

”Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?” Dean asked. 

“Unusual…” 

“Yeah, like… strange?” 

“Strange?” 

“Y’know, like… weird noises, visions-“ I cleared my throat, stopping Dean. 

“He had a nightmare the day before he died.” She whispered, and Carl wrote it down on my flip notebook, and I was loosely holding the pen to give an impression that I was writing and not a magic pen. 

“What kind of a nightmare?” Sam frowned. 

“Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed, he blinked and she was gone, I mean, it was just a nightmare.” 

“Did he say what she looked like?” Dean asked. 

“What the hell difference does it make of what she looked like?!” 

“Our company’s thorough, Mrs Giles.” I smiled, stepping in to save Dean’s butt. Again. “We’d like to get a detailed description of the days prior to the incident so then we can make a good analysis. As many details as you can spare, if that’s ok.” 

“Yeah.” She nodded, calming down, while Carl wrote down ‘good job’ on the paper. “He said she was pale, and she had dark red eyes.” 

“Thank you for your time.” I gave Karen a side hug, giving her my fake calling card, but had my burner phone number. “Call me if you need anything.” 

“I told Karen to call me if she had any problems and then we set off.” 

“Doesn’t explain why you broke into Anthony Giles’ office.” He persisted.

“Okay, look, Karen called us later, said that there was some stuff that she wanted from Tony's office, but the police weren't letting her in- like, a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. She gave us the key. It wasn’t a break in.” 

“Hey. Anthony Giles' body was found right about here.” Sam gestured. 

“Throat slit so deep, part of his spinal cord was showing.” I read out, sitting at the computer. 

Dean whistled. “What do you think? Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?” 

“Yeah, maybe. I mean he did see that woman at the foot of his bed.” Sam shrugged. I found something at the printer, whipping it out. 

“Take a look at this.” I showed it to them. It had the word/thing ‘danashulps’ written all over it. “Dana Shulps.” 

“A name?” 

“A name that’s everywhere.” Dean chuckled. “Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” 

Sam checked the desk, shining his torch down. Then he breathed on it, revealing the word Dana Shulps. “Well, I think we’ve crossed over to a whole new level of weird.” 

“Tell me about it.” I typed quickly, trying to crack the password to Giles’ computer.

”Maybe Giles knew her.” Dean suggested. 

“Or it’s the name of our red-eyed mystery girl.” Sam shrugged. We went through available files, I scoured the internet, hacked into police databases, but… 

“Nada.” I grimaced. “No girl name Dana Shulps ever died a horrible death or even existed. The surname Shulps isn’t even a name.” 

“So what now?” Dean groaned. 

“I’m a few clicks away from unlocking Giles’ laptop.” I clicked my tongue. “There could be something in his personal files.” 

“How long?” Sam asked. 

“Fifteen minutes, give or take. Carl, lend a nib.” Carl started helping, while I counted down the seconds until-

There we go.

“Seriously?” Sam sighed.

 Dean’s fart noises.

”Your story checks out.” Rhodes nodded, closing the case. “But fact remains that Dean was found at Karen Giles’ murder scene.”

”Fact remains that Dean Winchester saved my life.” I frowned. “On multiple occasions, won’t specify which, and if that warrants anything, it warrants a hell lot of respect and favours. Come on, Serge. You’re smart, it’s obvious. You’re probably the type of guy to take one look at who you’re dealing with and say whether they’re guilty or not. And you’ve taken a long, hard look at Dean. At me, maybe even Sam. Give me your honest opinion. Do you think any of us are guilty?”

”No.” Rhodes admitted. “Facts don’t add up. Dean wasn’t holding a weapon when they found him. He wasn’t present at the murder of Tony Giles. No prints, no DNA, just him conveniently at the scene. But I’ve got nothing else to work with, unless something else is at play here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was because a murder isn’t that clean cut.” 

“What if it was something else?” I shrugged. 

“What are you suggesting?” 

“At the crime scene, we found two words written over and over. Dana Shulps.” I showed him the printed paper. “Help me figure out what this means. If you find Dean guilty after this, go ahead, arrest him, put him on trial and get him in prison with a lifer, but for now, consider the fact that he’s innocent.”  

James sighed, conceding. “Fine, but it has to look like I’m interrogating you.” 

“Not so much of an even worse cop, huh?” 

“I bend to reason. Now, Dana.” I wrote down the name, staring at it. 

“Best thing I’ve got is an anagram.” I shrugged, tapping a pen on the table. 

“Scramble it, then?” We both wrote down the words in different ways, switching things up, thinking, until I got something. 

“Ashland sound familiar?” I asked, and he nodded. 

“Ashland’s a street name.” A woman knocked and walked in, and she looked to be in her late forties. Her badge read ‘D. Ballard.’ 

“Detective Ballard.” Rhodes’ demeanour switched up, turning to Ballard with a smug air. Wow, that was quick. Smoother than butter. “How’re things going with Sam Winchester?” 

“Story matches Dean’s. How about Rainer?” Ballard replied. 

“We’re getting somewhere.” He smirked, glancing back at me. “Miss Rainer and I were having an intense heart to heart, but story still matches the other two’s. Though, I have to say, tough customer. Not sure Pete would be able to keep his cool for long if he had her.” 

“I doubt it too.” She nodded. “Keep at it, we can only hold ‘em for 48 hours.” She left, and Rhodes switched again, turning back to me with an easy smile. 

��How’d I do?” 

“You lie almost as well as I do.” I grinned. “Am I turning a good boy soft?” 

“Cut the bad girl act, Rainer.” Rhodes chuckled. “Yeah, I have to admit, I was checking you out, but I can look through a guise if I see one.” 

“Again, flattered.” 

“You’re a hard case to crack, aren’t you?” 

“I like to give people a challenge.” I wrote on the paper. “Get this to Dean and Sam, any way you can without being spotted. They need to know.” 

He took the paper, standing up. “I hope to God that you’re right, Rainer.” He left, leaving me to contemplate all my life decisions.

”Trust me, I hope so too.” I sighed.

Rhodes came into my room later, looking grim.  “I got you a ticket out, but Dean’s decided to confess. You might wanna come watch.” 

“Confess to what, though?” I asked, picking up my leather jacket and putting it on. 

“That’s what I wanna find out.” We went into the interrogation room, where they were setting up a camera. 

“Beanie.” Dean grinned upon seeing me. “Are you ok?”

”I’m doing fine.” I nodded.

”Your boyfriend decided to confess, sweetheart.” One detective smirked. “Speak directly to the camera, and state your name for the record.” 

Dean faced the camera, a smug smirk on his face. Wait, I know what he’s going to do. “My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius.” Here we go. “I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone. But I know who did. Or rather what did. Of course it can't be for sure, because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we're looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”

”Excuse me?” Ballard scoffed. 

“You know, Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?” Dean shrugged. “Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain't easy. You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember ‘REDRUM’. Same concept. You know, it's, uh, maybe word fragments... other times, it's anagrams. See, at first we thought this was a name, Dana Shulps. But now we think it's a street. Ashland. Whatever's going on, I'll bet you it started there.”

“You arrogant ass.” Detective Sheridan hissed. “Tony and Karen were good people, and you're making jokes.”

”I’m not joking, Ponch.”

”You murdered them in cold blood just like that girl in St. Louis!” 

“Oh, yeah. That wasn't me either. That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me.” Sheridan lost his temper, hauling Dean up by his collar and slamming him against the wall. I was going to step in when Rhodes held me back, other officers jumping in to help.

”Pete!” Ballard gasped. 

“That’s ENOUGH!” Rhodes yelled, stopping everyone. “I’ll cuff him myself, just go return to your jobs. Rainer, you stay with me.” Everyone left, leaving Dean, Rhodes and I alone. 

“Well done, you locked me up.” Dean grimaced as he looked down at the cuffs now around his wrists.  “Whatcha gonna do, gloat?”

”Ask you two if this Casper thing is real.” The answer took Dean aback, and he blinked at Rhodes, wondering why. “I talked to Rainer. The facts don’t add up, and a spirit seems most obvious when it comes to a murder with no prints or DNA.” 

“Beanie, you sly fox.” He chuckled.  “She can talk her way out of anything.”

”Long story short, yeah, it is.” I nodded. “Shifter is real too, all of the likes of it are.”

”So, Ashland?”

“Street name.” Rhodes nodded.  “Why this spirit is trying to tell us that, I’m not sure.”

”The girl died there.” Ballard stepped in, and Dean sighed, rolling his eyes and opening his mouth to speak. “Can we make this quick? I'm a little tired, it's been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all.” 

“I want to know more about the stuff you were talking about earlier.” She gulped. 

“Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up.”

”Let’s pretend for a moment that you aren’t entirely insane.” 

“Mhmm.”

”What would one of these things be doing here?”

”A vengeful spirit? Well, they're created by violent deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt 'em.” 

I noticed something on Rhodes’ wrist, and I took out, pushing up his sleeve. 

“Where did you get these?” I asked.

”These weren’t there before.” He gulped, looking freaked. Ballard pulled up her sleeve too, showing the bruises. 

“You two saw it, didn’t you?” Dean frowned. 

“How did you know?” Ballard gasped. 

“Because Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. And I'm willing to bet that if you look at Giles' autopsy photos he's got 'em too, it's got something to do with this spirit, I... I don't know what.” He paused, staring at Ballard’s stunned expression as she turned away. “I know. You think you're going crazy. But let's skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? Died, pretty soon after. You hear me?” 

“You think we’re going to die.” Rhodes breathed. 

“You need to find Sam.” Dean urged. “He can help, and so can Ivonne.”

”You’re giving up your brother.” Ballard stammered. 

“Go with Beanie. She’ll find Sam and they can help figure this out. You can arrest him if you want, or you can let him help you.” 

“Lead the way, Rainer.” Rhodes agreed, and I immediately walked out of the door, both of them following.

I knocked on Sam’s door at the motel. “Jim Rockford? It’s Tabitha from room service.” Sam opened it immediately, spotting the two behind us. “They saw it. This is James Rhodes and you know Detective Ballard.”

”Get in.” We all got inside, and Sam hugged me before turning to the other two, holding their wrists. “These showed up after you saw it?” 

“Yeah.” Rhodes nodded. 

“You know, I must be losing my mind. You're a fugitive. I should be arresting you.” Ballard shakily told us, but we shared a look. 

“Fine. Arrest Sam, then.” I shrugged. “After we save your life. For now, just trust us to do this, ok?” 

“She’s right, Diana.” Rhodes vouched, and she conceded. I gave him a thankful smile, pulling out Sam’s folder of crime scene photos and booking photos. 

“Okay, great. Now, this spirit. What did it look like?” 

“She was, um, really pale, and her throat was cut, and her eyes, they were like, this deep dark red? It appeared like she was trying to talk to me. But she couldn't. It was just... a lot of blood.” Diana stammered. 

“Alright.” I showed them the photos. “I’m gonna flick through these one by one, and you’re gonna tell me if you recognise her.” I went through the photos one by one, and then Rhodes cleared his throat when I stopped at one. 

“That’s her.” He nodded. 

“Yeah.” Diana agreed. 

“Claire Becker? Twenty eight years old, disappeared about eight or nine months ago.” Sam frowned. 

“But we don't even know her. I mean, why would she come after us?” 

“Well, before her death, she was arrested twice. For dealing heroin. You ever work narcotics?” 

“Pete, Diana and I did.” Rhodes gulped. 

“Did you bust her? Any of you?” I asked. 

“I did, but I got her a shorter sentence than she was going to get.”

“It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn't find anything. Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body.” 

“What?” Diana coughed.

“Well, we gotta salt and burn her bones. It's the only way to put her spirit to rest.” Sam explained.

”Of course it is.” 

“You guys go and have a glass of water. Keep an eye on each other. Ivy and I need to talk.” The other two went into the room behind us so Sam and I could have a chat.  

“Rhodes seems to be taking it well.” I smiled. “Ballard, not so much.” 

“I think Rhodes is taking it well cause of you.” Sam smirked, and laughed when I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think I don’t see the sparks. Dean would’ve already commented on it.” 

“He’s a man of the law.” I sighed. “I have more fake IDs than I’ve had birthdays.” 

“Maybe that’s the danger of it. Forbidden love-“ I slapped him across the head with a piece of paper. “Ow, okay, okay!” 

“You better not mention to this to Dean.” 

“I think he knows.”

We walked into an abandoned warehouse, my gun drawn just in case. 

“A firearm?” Rhodes scoffed.

“It’s licensed, so untwist your boxers.” I smirked. 

“So what exactly are we looking for?” 

“We’ll let you know once we find it.” Sam informed, then we split up, searching for a possible place to hide a body. I scaled the wall, knocking on it to try and find a bit of hollow wall that I could bust open-

“Sam!” I heard Diana yell, sounding scared. “Sam! James! IVONNE!” All three of us came running back, and we found Diana alone. 

“What happened?” I asked. “Did you see Claire?” 

“She, she was here.” 

“Did she attack you?” Sam questioned, looking around. 

“No, she was just… reaching out to me. She was over there by the window.“ There was a shelf blocking the window, so Sam and Rhodes got to work and moved it, revealing the word ‘ASHLAND SUP’. 

“I’m guessing the SUP started the word supplies.” I grinned, then followed the reflection to a wall on the other side. “Sam, did you bring the sledgehammer?” Sam held it up, so I took it and started cracking a hole the wall. I peered in, and nodded. “Yep. There’s something here.” Sam joined me and helped me tear the rest of the wall open, revealing Claire Becker’s body.

“God.” Rhodes breathed. 

“Something about this is bothering me.” Sam frowned. 

“You’re digging up a corpse.” Diana pointed out. 

“Digging them up is pretty par for the course. But why would a vengeful spirit lead us to her corpse?” We bent down to take a look, and Diana reached out, touching the necklace. 

“Does it mean something to you?” I asked. 

“That necklace. It’s rare, custom made on Carson Street.” She pulled out the same one from her neckline. “I have one just like it. Pete gave it to me.” 

“Now this all makes perfect sense.” Sam nodded, piecing it all together. 

“What does?” Rhodes frowned. “Apart from Pete killing Claire.” 

“Claire’s not a vengeful spirit, she’s a death omen.” I explained. “She’s not killing people, she’s warning them that they’ll die by the same hand she did. You see, sometimes spirits, they don't want vengeance, they want justice. Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is.“ 

“Detective, how much do you know about your partner?” Sam asked. 

“Oh my god.” Diana gasped. 

“What?” 

“About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously it was a cop. We never found out who did it. But whoever did it would need someone to fence their product.” 

“Someone like a heroin dealer. Someone like Claire.” 

“I’m going to make a phone call, find out where Dean is.” Rhodes stood up, pulling out his phone and walking to another corner. “If we’re right, he could be next.” 

“Did you bring the Mustang?” Sam asked me, and I held up my keys. 

“Yeah.” I nodded, then turned to Claire’s body. “We’ll catch him.” 

Rhodes came back, looking freaked again. “Pete just left with Dean. Said he had to be transferred and just took off. He’s not answering the radio, either.” 

“We need to cut him off.” I grimaced, cocking my gun. “He’s in a county vehicle, so we need to access the lo-jack and find the route. Let’s go!”

I was driving with my pedal to the metal, with Diana and Sam in the back and Rhodes at the front with me. 

“Tell me.” Rhodes turned to me with a smile. “How does a girl like you end up in a job like yours?” 

“What do you mean, a girl like me?” I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’re smart, quick on your feet, obviously good with a gun. You got almost perfect scores on your LSAT and SAT, got into Princeton, practically a shoo in almost anywhere. You could’ve been great on the force, instead you’re hunting the impossible.” 

“Hunting the impossible seems like a better option, in my opinion.” We reached the GPS location of the county vehicle, appearing behind Sheridan just as he was about to kill Dean. 

“Pete!” Diana yelled. “Put the gun down!”

”Diana?” Sheridan gasped. “How'd you find me?” 

“I know about Claire.” 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” 

“Put the gun down!” 

“Oh, I don't think so. You're fast. I'm pretty sure I'm faster.” 

“Why are you doing this?” She asked. 

“I didn’t do anything, Diana.” Sheridan lied, while I flicked down the safety pin on my gun. 

“It’s a little bit late for that.” 

“It wasn't my fault. Claire was trying to turn me in, I had no choice.” 

“You had a choice, Pete.” Rhodes frowned. “Instead you killed an innocent woman. Then why Tony and Karen?” 

“Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I'm sure he told Karen everything.” He reasoned. “It was a mess; I had to clean it up. I just panicked.”

“How many more people are going to die over this, Pete?” 

“There's a way out. This Dean kid's a friggin' gift. We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just, just one more dead scumbag.” 

“Hey!” Dean barked, but backed away when the gun was turned on him. I rolled my eyes, ready to pounce, but with a gun trained on Dean it wouldn’t be wise.

“No one will question it. Diana, please. I still love you.” I gave Diana a look, but she put her gun down. “Thank you. Thank you.” Sheridan turned to Dean, but then Diana quickly picked up her gun, shooting Pete in the stomach and making him fall, giving Dean time to roll out of the way. 

“Then why don’t you buy me another necklace, you ass?!” She hissed, before she was tackled herself, and Sheridan got up, instantly going for the gun, facing off Rhodes and Sam. However, Claire showed up behind Sheridan, making him turn around and gasp in horror as she smiled, giving me time to pull the trigger and shoot him in the back. He fell to the floor, more permanently this time, and Claire gave me a nod before disappearing. 

“Hell of a shot.” Rhodes breathed, glancing to me. 

“Thanks.” I smiled. We gave Diana time to mourn her partner, then she came back to us. 

“You doin' all right?” Sam asked, concerned. 

“No, not really. The death omen Claire, what happens to her now?” 

“Should be over. She should be at rest.” 

“So, what now, officers?” Dean asked. 

“Pete did confess to me. He screwed up both your cases royally. I'd say that there's a good chance that we could get your cases dismissed.” Rhodes explained. 

“You’d take care of that?” I smiled. 

“I hope so. But the St. Louis murder charges? That's another story. I can't help you. Unless... I just happened to turn my back, and you walked away. I could just tell them that the suspects escaped.” 

“You sure?” Sam blinked. 

“Yeah, they’re sure, Sam.” Dean urged. 

“No, I mean, you could lose your jobs over that.” 

“Look, we just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I'll sleep better at night.” Diana sighed. “Listen, you need to watch your back. They're gonna be looking for the three of you right now. Get out of here. I gotta radio this in.” 

“Do you know where my car is by any chance?” Dean asked. 

“It’s in an impound lot on Robertson’s.” She gave Dean a look. “No. You’re not stealing it.” 

“Of course not.” I smiled, patting the boys on the shoulder. “We’ve got my Mustang, and we’ll improvise. We’re good at that.” 

“Clearly.” Rhodes grinned, and Dean and Sam shared a look. 

“We’ll meet you at the car.” Dean smirked, dragging Sam with him. Diana had slipped off, leaving me and Rhodes. 

“This’ll be one heck of a story to tell.” 

“I bet.” I laughed, storing my gun in my arm holster. “Just leave out the part of the death omen and people won’t call you insane.” 

“That sounds best.” He chuckled. “You’re a really hard case, Rainer, you know that, right?” 

“I’ve heard. Well, I’ve better get going.” I smiled, then pulled my car keys out of my pocket. I stared at them, then raised an eyebrow. “Wait, I have my keys. If I have them, how are the boys in the-“ My focus was thrown off course by a pair of lips on mine, an arm wrapping around my waist. I dropped my keys because of the impact, forgetting about them and cupping the nape of his neck, the other arm hanging loosely around it. I could feel his smile, tilting his head-

“HAUN HAUN! YOU GOT THE GIRL, OUI OUI?!” I pulled away, turning to where Dean was. 

“DEAN WINCHESTER, I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” I yelled, then stepped back from Rhodes. “Sorry about them.” 

“Nah, you’re good.” He picked up my keys and gave them to me, kissing me again quickly and then my hand. “It’s gonna take a lot to forget you, Rainer.” 

“Don’t worry about that, Serge, nobody can forget me.” I handed him a note with my burner cell number. “Call me sometime. If I don’t pick up, I’m hunting another demon. And, uh, call me Ivy.” 

“Then call me James.” He took the note, pocketing it. “I’ll lead the cops off your trail. Just go, and don’t die, cause those two will need your help. You’re a smooth talker.” 

“I guess that solves the mystery of why I joined them in the first place.” I smiled. “See you around, James.” 

“You too, Ivy.” I walked back to the Mustang, unlocking it and getting in. 

“You boys are idiots.” 

“I like him the best.” Dean smirked. “Cool dude.” 

“Yeah, we love a rogue officer.” Sam teased. 

“Shut up, you two.” I groaned, flooring it and waving goodbye out of the window to James, who was watching me leave. 

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[grumpymirelurkqueen]

Another request for fo3. How do companions show jealousy of LW, even if they say/pretend that they are not jealous?

Hi ! I hope I understood your request correctly and didn't misinterpret it as something stupid…

I removed Sergeant RL-3, Paladin Cross and Jericho because I didn't know how to make them into a certain jealousy dynamic. I never played with them.

(sorry it took me longer, I hope you like it).

How do the fo3 companions show their jealousy of LW, and then claim that they are not :

Butch :

I like to think Butch was always jealous of you. You have a good father, even if he left you in the lurch. But you had a father who loved you, compared to him who had a mother who was physically there, but not quite with him. So yes, Butch is more envious than jealous.

When Butch started travelling with you, his envy turned to jealousy. You seemed so smart, so good at fighting and everyone talked about you. When he was in the dugout, he loved to brag about being the best shot in his group. When the supervisor asked them to get rid of the bugs. (to run away, because he was scared).

He pretended not to be. But one day you argue, as usual. A dynamic you never forget.

“ So you can't understand. You've always had what I've always dreamed of having, and yet you complain so much! ”

“ Wait… are you jealous of me ? ”

“ Yes !... No... ”

Fawkes :

Fawkes was the happiest mutant man when he met you. You shared a love of literature, poetry and science. At first he admired you for all the knowledge your father had given you. But once he felt his heart pinch. He didn't know why, but deep down he was sad to feel that way again.

Once you discussed your shared knowledge. That same twinge came back, but you were looking at him. The sad look on his disfigured face brought back memories of your shelter.

“ Fawkes all right? ”

“ What's ? Yes, yes, I'm fine. I…. I'm happy to share my research with you. It just brings back bad memories.. ”

Which is not exactly a lie…

Clover :

You're a bit of a charm for the raiders. To displease you and to displease poor Clover. She's jealous of your beauty and the lights the Raiders put on you.

She'll admit straight away that she's jealous of you. So to appease her and to take advantage of it, you tell her the truth. That you hate being at the centre of raiders.

Now clover is a trap for herself. A beautiful slave crying in the middle of a supply route. So she can plunder the local merchants.

(Poor Quinn, you have no shame in attacking this ghoul ?)

Charon :

In all his ghoulish life, he never thought he'd be jealous of a teenager who was barely a young adult. But your talent for discretion has made him more jealous. His large body doesn't allow him to be discreet; a wall of sand can barely hide him.

For some days now, Charon has been looking at you in a different way. Knowing that he speaks with his eyes, but not yet knowing how to decode them. You ask him to, so you get a simple "nothing".

Dogmeat :

That dog can't be jealous of you, can he? Oh, you took the bone he wanted. Now he's lying on the floor watching you strut around with that bone. He's drooling over that bone, don't you see? You look at him once, twice and the third time you shake the bone at him. Just a waggle of his head and tail in response. Oh, how sweet of you to give it to him.

—————————————————————

Thanks for reading !