#the years they’ve been haunted. thinks about what weapon they had to have been fighting over to take off an arm and a head relatively clean

[trollbreak]

Girl help I’m tormented and thinking abt the snake themed bitches destroying each other and exalting each other and cycling in an endless spiral into power and desolation and

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Haunt me for the drabble asks post :D

A drabble about one character watching over another (as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify.) 740 words, warning for canon-typical violence.

~

The first time, Geralt thinks it's luck. A coincidence. He’s so busy looking where they’re going that he’s forgotten to look where they’ve been, and by the time he realises his mistake the Nilfgaard spy he was sure was on their heels moments ago is… gone.

He doesn’t have time to chase shadows. They need to find food, and shelter, and clearly this town is too dangerous to stay longer than just a few hours at most.

He hurries the princess along, and by the time they reach the next city he’s managed to push the near-miss to the back of his head.

The second time is part-way through a fight with a gang of thieves. His sword is above his head and Ciri is screaming and he’s about to thrust the steel through the throat of the last bandit when there’s a gurgle from behind, right beside his ear. He swings the sword down in an arc, slicing through the bandit’s neck, spinning on the blood-sodden ground as he does. Sprawled behind him is a corpse with an arrow in the middle of its back.

The fletch is wine-red, neatly cut. There’s a scent on the air; lavender, chamomile, the lemony tang of fear.

There’d been one more, and he’d never even realised. He could have been killed - a dagger between his shoulder blades.

He suppresses a shudder, sheaths his sword, grabs Ciri’s hand and runs.

The third time he can’t ignore it. Ciri is safe. She’s with Yen, and it’s the first time since Ciri has entered Geralt’s life that he can trust she will remain safe without him by her side.

He wishes he could say the same thing about himself. Even alone he’s in danger, but he needs coin for armour and weapons.

He’s in a tavern, lurking in a corner as he waits for the alderman who posted the notice to appear, when he hears the sound of a scuffle from outside. Usually--especially this past year--he’d be content to leave well enough alone, but something makes him act.

He’s too late, again. He bursts through the front door into the yard to see a crowd gathered around a body, face pressed into the mud.

Geralt is suddenly overwhelmed with that smell again: lavender and chamomile. The tart citrus aftertaste is gone.

There’s panic swirling in his chest as he pushes the crowd out of the way to throw himself down beside the body, knees squelching in the mud. He rolls the man onto his back.

Thank the gods: he doesn’t know him. Clutched in his stiffening fingers is a fistful of long, dark hair. Geralt tugs it from his grip, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger.

“What happened?” He says, speaking down.

“He just… appeared,” says a woman, breathlessly. “The other one slit his throat.”

“The dead one had this on him,” adds a man.

A scrap of paper is thrust beneath Geralt’s nose. There’s a poorly drawn portrait of himself on it, along with a note about where he might be and the reward for his capture. He curses, then rises to his feet.

“Where did he go?” He demands. “The man who slit his throat?”

There’s a muttering from the crowd; no one seems to know.

“He dropped this.”

A teenage girl, probably no older than Ciri, extracts herself from the crush. She’s holding a hat in trembling hands. It’s made of soft brown leather with a wide brim. Half a wine-red feather sticks from the band; it’s been sliced neatly in two, as if with a blade.

Geralt takes it from her, and she steps swiftly back.

It smells of him.

He looks up, a sharp breeze coming in from across the fields, carrying with it the smell of sap and pine from the thick forest beyond.

There’s not even footprints in the mud, or a track through the tall, swaying wheat.

Geralt hesitates for a moment. The contract is worth nearly two hundred crowns; not an amount to be sniffed at. But the leather of the hat is still warm beneath his fingertips. He’s drowning in the smell of chamomile.

Without another look at the crowd of people or the cooling corpse, he grips the leather tighter and strides towards the forest, chasing a ghost.

[abigail-pent]

TLT Theory Redux: Secret Doors and Heists

gather round the fire, children, for I have finished my third reread and I have theories to spin. they are interconnected. they will also take the form of "a listicle, kind of". This is not as tightly written/cited as I hoped it would be, many thanks to tumblr for eating the first version of this post.

THEORY #1: HARROW WAS RIGHT

About what? Probably lots of things, but specifically about the secret door. You remember Harrow's "secret door theory," right? On GTN p. 303, Harrow and Palamedes are having an argument about what is going on in Canaan House. Harrow makes fun of Palamedes' idea that there is such a thing as a Lyctoral megatheorem. Pal lightly mocks Harrow's "secret door" theory, about which she says:

"But all this is more than unsustainable, Sextus. The things they've shown us would be powerful -- would bespeak impossible depth of necromantic ability -- if they were replicable. These experiments all demand a continuous flow of thanergy. They've hidden that source somewhere in the facility, and that's the true prize."

The action picks up pretty quickly after this, and you just sort of forget about Harrow's theory since Pal's theory is so quickly proven correct. It's set up to make you think these theories are competing, but they're not. Harrow and Pal are both right.

Proposition 1: An entrance to the River -- or perhaps the part of the River on the other side of the stoma -- is hidden under Canaan House.

Evidence for Proposition 1:

1A) On GTN p. 191, Teacher says, about Silas siphoning Colum in the facility: "He cannot empty anybody here, lest they become a nest for something else!" This is highly reminiscent of HTN p. 98, when Mercy says: " A Lyctor's body, empty, with its battery intact but nobody in the driver's seat? Do you know what could take up residence? Anything could get inside you -- any horrible or evil or lonely thing, any miserable revenant, or worse." These two places are described very similarly; they may well be the same.

1B) I'm missing the citation, exactly, but I'm pretty sure it's textual that the first time the Lyctors + John ran from RBs, they ran by dropping into the River. Quite possibly from Canaan House itself.

1C) Teacher. We know he hates the water (GTN p. 325), we know he was created for the "sole purpose of safeguarding the place" (GTN p. 373). Of course, the whole place is surrounded by saltwater.

1D) When Ianthe and Cytherea are fighting and Canaan House is disintegrating, "brackish water from the fountain spattered across the floor and trickled into the cracks" (GTN p. 418). It's been well established already that 'brackish' is the word used to refer to River water. It's also the word used to describe the water that emits from Colum's mini stomae when he dies (GTN p. 393). Why is the fountain water brackish when other water in Canaan House -- for example, the pool -- is saltwater? Seems like a clue!

Proposition 2: Whatever is behind the secret door is the source of John's power.

Evidence for Proposition 2:

2A) During the big confrontation with John in HTN (p. 478-479), Augustine's suspicions echo Harrow's from GTN p. 303, when she's describing the secret door theory. He says:

"You've offered us explanations for everything over the years. But -- some of them didn't hold up on examination . . . It was the power I could never get my head around, you know? I follow power back to its source, John. It's the skill you asked me to perfect. And the longer I looked at yours, the less things added up."

Leaving aside for now the fascinating question of why John would ask Augustine to cultivate this skill, he goes on to ask:

"You're God, John. But -- as the Edenites are fond of pointing out -- you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time. And then Mercy said to me -- in a moment of true Mercy vileness -- she said, What is God afraid of?"

Proposition 2.1: The source of John's power is not exactly Alecto, but is Alecto-adjacent. Alecto is from the space behind the secret door.

2.1A) Alecto is called a saltwater creature (HTN p. 328).

2.1B) The oldest parts of Canaan House are where the power emanates from (citation needed, but I’m sure it’s there). They are also the parts closest to the sea. As Teacher says (HTN p. 110): "The base of Canaan House dates back to before the Resurrection. We first built upward, to get away from the sea; then we built outward, to strive toward beauty."

2.1C) The Sleeper is identified with Alecto. Like Alecto, she carries a weapon, she sleeps in a coffin, she can’t be killed, and the River bubble crew is warned that the worst and most cataclysmic thing in the world would occur if she were ever to wake up (HTN p. 112, 185). Since the Sleeper is so clearly identified with Alecto, and is also identified as the presence that’s haunting the River bubble version of Canaan House, it suggests the connection between Alecto herself and the physical version of Canaan House.

Proposition 3: John has dammed the River underneath Canaan House by trapping the Earth Resurrection Beast there.

3A) Per HTN p. 43, we know there's one missing RB, since 9-5=4>3.

3B) Abigail thinks something is messed up in the River and it's dammed, and spirits cannot get across. On HTN p. 396-397, she says:

“A spirit can be trapped, trapped as every spirit in the River is trapped . . . I think there is a whole school of necromancy we cannot begin to touch until we acknowledge its existence – I think these centuries of pooh-poohing the idea that there is space beyond the River has stifled entire avenues of spirit magic, and I believe the Fifth House is waning entirely due to us reaching a stultified, complacent stage in our approach . . . Something has gone terribly wrong in the River, Harrow, and I wish you’d find out what.”

She’s describing a dam in the River that traps ghosts there. This is extremely consistent with what Teacher tells Harrow about what’s down in the facility (see 3E).

3C) On GTN p. 213, Cytherea suggests that "something has been lurking [in the Canaan House facility] forever", and when Harrow insists that "[A spirit] cannot sustain itself", Cytherea replies: "But what if one could?" We know that Resurrection Beasts are revenants, and a revenant is a type of spirit; and if any spirit was going to be self-sustaining, it would be an RB.

3D) HTN p. 172: "The card up the sleeve of the revenant, and the Resurrection Beast, is that it can inhabit anything it's got a connection to. Anything thanergetically connected with their death." So what killed Earth? Climate change, plus a massive nuclear fission chain reaction. Historically, early nuclear fission chain reaction tests took place underneath the ground (see, for example, the facility at the University of Chicago). So an underground or underwater facility could very well be thanergetically connected to the death of Earth.

An RB may very well be a continuous source of thanergy; and if this is the case, John may want to kill or neutralize the other RBs to keep other people from rivaling his power. Or better yet: harness the other RBs the same way Earth's RB was harnessed.

3E) On GTN p. 152, Teacher literally tells Harrow that the ten billion are haunting the facility. Harrow says she is “repeating exactly – to the word—what Teacher said to [her]”:

“Down there resides the sum of all necromantic transgression. The unperceivable howl of ten thousand million unfed ghosts who will hear each echoed footstep as defilement. They would not even be satisfied if they tore you apart. The space beyond that door is profoundly haunted in ways I cannot say, and by means you won’t understand; and you may die by violence, or you may simply lose your soul.”

For those of you following along at home: ten thousand million = 10,000 x 1,000,000 = 10,000,000,000 = 10 billion, or the exact number of people who died in the Resurrection. This is of course completely consistent with the Earth RB being down there, somewhere in or under the facility, because the revenant of a planet includes the spirits of every living thing on it when it was murdered.

Proposition 3.1: Alecto is one of the physical anchors for the Earth RB.

3.1A) HTN p. 454: “The only sure way to banish a revenant is to destroy the physical anchor it inhabits before it can escape the shell.” If John’s cavalier is the physical anchor for the Earth Resurrection Beast, which is the source of his power, then this would justify the characterization of Alecto as the “death of the Lord”: if she’s a physical anchor and she is destroyed, then so is the source of John’s power.

3.1B) She was the first Resurrection, and it’s plausible that she would be thanergetically connected to the death of Earth.

3.1C) HTN p. 495: Pyrrha notes that the stoma “must think [John] is a Resurrection Beast.” Which is a super interesting mistake for the stoma to make! But if John’s cavalier is a physical anchor for a RB, this mistake becomes more understandable.

Proposition 4: The other side of the stoma is not a trash space, and John actually can access it. He uses it as a battery for his necromancy. It’s a storage space for RBs, and now I guess for Lyctors too. (this is the most galaxy brain proposition, and evidence is slim)

4A) On HTN p. 340, John says: “It is a portal to the place I cannot touch -- somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless.” But this is the kind of shit John lies about on the reg, so take what he says and apply opposite day rules.

4B) if the other side of the stoma is related to the River Beyond, it would be to John’s advantage to keep the Fifth House scholarship from treating the River Beyond seriously (see 3B). If they don’t take it seriously as a branch of scholarship, they can’t learn anything about it, and they can’t let the RBs out from where John is keeping them.

4C) this could be why John condemns soul siphoning (GTN p. 340). If soul siphoning sends the cavalier’s soul to the other side of the stoma, and the power that floods into the empty body is from the other side of the stoma, then soul siphoning threatens John’s monopoly on use of power.

This brings me to Theory #2, born out of a delightful discussion with @mayasaura: the heist in ATN is not going to open the Tomb at all. Instead, it’s going to open the part of the River underneath Canaan House, and the goal is to free the Earth RB. After all, the Tomb has been open for seven years already.

Extant questions:

1) Mercy seemed so sure that the RBs were coming back and targeting Alecto in particular. But Alecto stayed in the Nine Houses, and didn’t get eaten by any RBs, and the Ninth House is still there. So why does Mercy think Alecto is a target, or makes the rest of them into targets? If she was lied to, what is the purpose of this lie? 

2) Why does John want Augustine to hone the skill of following power back to its source?

3) If RBs eat Lyctors and both RBs and Lyctors are in the hammer space on the other side of the stoma, then, like… hey Augustine and Ulysses… are you guys ok??

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 11: Blast from the Past (Siblings)

AO3

Prev

Swinging side by side with her father was an amazing experience. Marinette tried hard to stifle her laughter, figuring Batman wouldn’t appreciate it if word got around that the newest vigilante was a giggler. He swings to the next roof and pauses, Marinette frowning as he listens to something on his comm.

“Alright. All hands on deck. Robin, you’ll stay on the roof with Ladybird.” He instructs, Marinette frowns. Was he really sticking her younger brother on babysitting duty? And why couldn’t she go wherever it is he’s going?

“What’s happening?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“There are several crates of weapons and a few dozen armed men in a warehouse a mile out from here. You and Robin are going to stay on the roof to make sure no one leaves before the police arrive.” He instructs before turning and grappling away. Marinette frowns, but follows behind him. Does he really not think that she can handle herself? And she knows this is going to cause problems with Damian. He already doesn’t like her and now he has to stay with her. She watches as he swoops down into the warehouse and she lands silently on the roof.

“I do not appreciate this.” Robin says, stepping out of the shadows with crossed arms. Although she can’t see his eyes behind his mask, Marinette knows he’s glaring at her. She just rolls her eyes.

“I don’t either. I don’t need someone watching me 24/7. I can take care of myself.” She says, and with a sudden jolt, she realizes this is the first time he’s willingly speaking to her. The first time they’re talking and it’s to argue. Lovely.

“If you had simply stayed away, then I would have been allowed to follow Father. Instead, I am being punished for your insolence.” He adds. Is he going to lecture her the entire time Batman and the others are fighting in the warehouse, she thinks, raising an eyebrow. She starts to snark back, but a shadow moving behind him pulls her attention instead. Narrowing her eyes, she watches as a figure steps out of the shadow, a gun raised at her.

“Well well well. What do we have here?” The man asks, a smirk on his face. Marinette glances at Robin, trying to see if he recognizes the voice. She doesn’t see any recognition, so she immediately catalogues the man as an unknown threat. Chances were that he was involved with the group currently fighting in the warehouse and not an actual Batman level villain. But he still had a gun, so she wouldn’t underestimate him. Robin turns to face the man and he immediately takes the gun off Marinette, pointing it instead at Robin’s head. Marinette narrows her eyes. She may not know him very well, but he was still her little brother. And she wasn’t about to let some stupid goon threaten him. Flicking her wrist, she aims her yoyo at the man’s gun, smirking as she manages to yank it from his grasp. She catches the gun as it flies back with her yoyo, holding it carefully and trying to ignore the internal panic. She’d never held a gun before, never wanted to or had a reason to. And she really didn’t want to hold it now, but she didn’t want the man to know that she was scared of the gun, because that would give him an advantage. She just grins at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face, his shock enough so that Robin was able to knock him down without a fight. He pulls a zip tie out of his utility belt and ties the man’s hands together.

“Well that was disappointing. I was hoping for more of a fight.” Marinette teases, hoping that the tension between her and Robin would break. She watches as his lips purse slightly, not sure what the expression meant.

“I hardly think one buffoon with a gun would be much of a fight for either of us.” He finally says, and her eyes light up. Success!

“But if it was the right foe, they could surely take you down.” A new voice says, and this time Marinette can practically feel the tension rolling off of Robin.

“Slade.” He says, obviously tensing for a fight.

“Damian. I wasn’t aware you were in possession of a Miraculous.” The man, Slade, says, turning towards her. Marinette stiffens, uncomfortable by both his words and the fact that she can’t see the man’s face because of his costume.

“I’m not in possession of anything.” He says, his jaw clenched. Marinette shifts into a defensive position, desperately wishing that she had a comm. Surely the rest of the family had heard this man’s intrusion through Robin. But she wished she could hear them. Whether it was giving information about the man or reassurance that the rest of them would be there soon, she wanted to hear them.

“Tell me, little girl, how did you stumble upon one of the most powerful pieces of magic in the universe? And why haven’t I met you before?” He asks, stepping towards them. Glaring at the man, Marinette steps forward so that she’s standing in line with Robin, unwilling to cower behind her brother.

“I don’t think we run in the same circles. And I assure you, I didn’t stumble across anything. I was chosen to wield this Miraculous.” She says, shoving false confidence in her tone when all she wanted was to grab Robin and run. Slade oozed a sense of wrongness and danger. Not a combination she wanted anywhere near her or her family.

“Mmm. Perhaps not. But we’ll never know, will we. I’m going to have to ask you for that Miraculous now, dear.” He says, her eyes narrow.

“I’m not sure if that’s worked for you in the past, but it’s not going to work today. You’re not the first creep in a mask asking for my Miraculous.” She snarks, hand twitching as she analyzes him and tries to come up with a plan. Without any warning, he lunges towards them, a sword suddenly in his grasp. Marinette jumps back, going on the defense as Robin lunges forward with his own katana. Marinette flits around both of them, throwing her yoyo at Slade every time he got too close to Robin. It was obvious the man was well trained, and it was also obvious that he had little patience for the two.

“You’ve improved, but you’re still not good enough.” He hisses, lunging towards Robin, his sword aimed at the boy’s chest. Marinette lunges towards them, shoving Robin out of the way. She shrieks in pain as Slade slides his sword into her shoulder. She can’t see the man’s face, but she can just imagine his smirk. He puts his other hand on his sword, and she just knows he’s going to twist. She can’t let that happen. So instead, she jerks back, screaming as she pulls herself off the sword. Robin launches himself at Slade once again, furiously slashing at the man. Slade lifts his sword up and Marinette flicks out her yoyo, grunting in pain as she irritates her shoulder. But she’s able to wrap her yoyo around the man’s wrist. Smirking, she tugs roughly, pulling the man off balance enough so that Robin can disarm him. Just as she lets her shoulders relax, Slade yanks his arm, tugging her to him. She yelps in pain as he wraps her into a chokehold. Staring at Robin, she tries not to panic. They’re gonna come for them, right? The rest of her family? Surely they’ve beaten those goons by now. They definitely heard the problem on the roof through Robin’s comm, right?

“Unhand her.” Robin says, shifting his position now that he has two swords.

“I don’t think I will. Not for free, anyway. You want her alive for some reason.” Slade says, tightening his hold. Marinette lets out a choked breath, desperately trying to pull in enough oxygen.

“What do you want?” Robin asks, Marinette tries to shake her head, already guessing what the man wants. She’d rather die than give some psycho the power of Tikki. Not only could he destroy the world, but Paris would also be lost without the Miraculous Cure.

“Her earrings. Let me take them, and I’ll let her live….this time.” He says.

“No….don’t...not..worth it.” Marinette manages to say, just barely able to shake her head. She gags as Slade tightens his grip again, black spots dotting her vision.

“Ladybird-” Robin says, and Marinette is certain she’s hallucinating now. Because he almost sounds pained.

“Don’t.” She begs, fighting to stay conscious. As she watches him, she sees a smirk make its way onto his face. That’s good. Good. Smirking brother means….what does it mean? She’s not sure. All she knows is that suddenly, the pressure on her neck is gone. She falls to her knees, gasping for breath and wincing at the burning in her shoulder. Too much. Too much all at once. A hand on her good shoulder shakes her from her thoughts and she weakly hits at it.

“Ladybird, it’s me.” A voice says. She blinks, opening her eyes, wincing at the pain enveloping her. Looking closer at the figure, she sighs in relief, letting herself slump down. She’s safe. Arms pick her up gently and she smiles softly, tiredness hitting her as the adrenaline finally fades. Curling in closer, she mumbles into Batman’s chest.

“Thanks dad.”

---

Bruce Wayne was pissed. And the only person who could piss him off so much was himself. He’d left Damian and Marinette on the roof alone because he thought they’d be safer. He didn’t think the two would be able to get into any trouble up there. Of course he would be wrong. Of course Slade Wilson would choose tonight to come after Damian. And of course the man just had to know about the Miraculous.

Hearing his daughter’s pained screams over his son’s comm would haunt his nightmares. It’d likely become the unholy symphony over the images of Jason’s broken body and Damian’s limp form. Images that’d haunted him for years and would continue to do so until he dies. When he was young, his nightmares were just of his parents. But he had seen things much worse since becoming a father. And now he’d heard much worse. Shaking his head, he tries hard to hold onto the one bright part of the evening.

Marinette had called him dad.

It was the first time she’d called him anything other than ‘Mr. Wayne’. His heart warmed at the thought, but everything came crashing down again when he remembered. Slade Wilson was gone. He’d managed to get away while his focus was on Marinette’s wellbeing. Which means his daughter was now in even more danger. Damian had informed him of the man’s obsession with the Miraculous. It was something they’d need to talk about, but not tonight. After she passed out in his arms, he brought her back to the manor. Alfred stitched her shoulder, and Bruce brought her to her room. It wasn’t decorated yet, but he’d made sure to pick out a room for her after finding out about her. Even if she didn’t want anything to do with them after this, she’d always have a room here.

Sighing, Bruce sticks his head into Marinette’s room, just to reassure himself that she was there. That she was safe. It was something he did with each of his kids, every time they were injured. Every time he was afraid that he would lose them. The sight in front of him makes him pause and pull out his phone to take a picture. They might be mad at him for it later, but he’d curse himself forever if he let this moment slip away. All of his children were piled in Marinette’s room. The girl herself was on the bed, curled into a ball despite her injured shoulder. At the foot of her bed was Damian, his face peaceful for once. Jason, Dick and Tim were all in a pile on the floor, pillows and blankets scattered both beneath them and on top of them. They were an impossibly tangled pile of limbs, guarding their youngest sister. He smiles softly, eyes finally falling on Cass curled up in an armchair that she must’ve pulled next to Marinette’s bed. Satisfied that all were well, Bruce shuts the door gently, not wanting to risk waking any of them.

His children were together, and safe. For now.

Next

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[carrs-universe-writes]

Secret Character Sheet

“The devil is an optimist if he thinks he can make people worse than they are.” 

First name: [REDACTED]

Middle name: [REDACTED]

Last name: [REDACTED]

Nickname: [REDACTED]

Birthday: October 24st

Age: 45

Height: [REDACTED]

-

Myers Briggs: ISTJ-A

Alignment: Chaotic evil

Major Arcana: The Devil

Hogwarts house: Slytherin

RPG Class: Assassin

-

Hair color: [REDACTED]

Hair style: [REDACTED]

Eye color: [REDACTED]

Glasses: [REDACTED]

Distinguishing facial features: [REDACTED]

Most prominent body part: [REDACTED]

Body type: [REDACTED]

Makeup: [REDACTED]

Scars: [REDACTED]

Birthmarks: [REDACTED]

Tattoos: [REDACTED]

Clothes: [REDACTED]

Skin: [REDACTED]

-

Outlook: Nihilist

Mannerisms: [REDACTED]

Bad habits: [REDACTED]

What makes them laugh out loud: [REDACTED]

Love language(showing): Quality time, acts of service

Love language(receiving): Acts of service, quality time

Strongest personality trait: [REDACTED]

Weakest personality trait: [REDACTED]

Are they competitive: Yes

What is their greatest fear: [REDACTED]

When was the last time they cried: [REDACTED]

Something that haunts them: [REDACTED]

Indoors or outdoors: Outdoors

Secret habits: [REDACTED]

Pet peeves: [REDACTED]

If they could change one thing about themselves: [REDACTED]

-

How big is their bio family: [REDACTED]

Perception of bio family: [REDACTED]

Chosen family: [REDACTED]

Pets: [REDACTED]

-

What were they like as a child/teen/adolescent: [REDACTED]

Did they grow up rich or poor: [REDACTED]

Where they nurtured/neglected: [REDACTED]

Greatest achievement: [REDACTED]

First kiss: [REDACTED]

One of the worst things they’ve ever said to someone they love: [REDACTED]

Ambition: [REDACTED]

Advice they have for their younger self: [REDACTED]

A smell that reminds them on their youth: [REDACTED]

Best childhood memory: [REDACTED]

Worst childhood memory: [REDACTED]

Last time they were crushed with disappointment: [REDACTED]

What is their greatest pride: [REDACTED]

Has anyone ever saved their life: Yes

Has anyone ever endangered their life: Yes

Have they ever put themselves in mortal danger to save someone: No

Strongest childhood memory: [REDACTED]

-

Do they believe in love at first sight: No

Are they currently in a relationship: No

How do they act in a relationship: Possessive, controlling

When was the last time they had sex: A few years ago

What are they like during sex: Controlling, degrading, rough

Have they ever been in love: No

Have they ever had their heart broken: No

-

How do they respond to a physical threat: [REDACTED]

Are they more likely to fight with their fists or words: [REDACTED]

Kryptonite: [REDACTED]

What would they save from their burning house: [REDACTED]

Phobias: [REDACTED]

Weapon of choice: [REDACTED]

What living person do they despise the most: [REDACTED]

Have they ever been bullied: [REDACTED]

Where do they go when they’re angry: [REDACTED]

Do they have any enemies: [REDACTED]

-

Current job: [REDACTED]

Feelings about job: [REDACTED]

Hobbies: [REDACTED]

Educational background: [REDACTED]

Intelligence level: Very high

Any specialist training: [REDACTED]

-

Favorite animal: Snakes/Spiders

Least favorite animal: None

Place they’d most want to visit: [REDACTED]

Most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen: [REDACTED]

Favorite color: Gold/White

Favorite food: Chicken chili

Favorite work of art: [REDACTED]

-

What’s in their fridge: [REDACTED]

What’s on their bedside table: [REDACTED]

What’s in their car: [REDACTED]

What’s in their bag/wallet: [REDACTED]

What’s in their pockets: [REDACTED]

Most treasured possession: [REDACTED]

-

Religious views: [REDACTED]

What do they think Heaven is: [REDACTED]

What do they think Hell is: [REDACTED]

Are they superstitious: [REDACTED]

What would they like to be reincarnated as: [REDACTED]

How would they like to die: [REDACTED]

Spirit animal: Snake

Zodiac: Scorpio

-

What is the worst thing that can happen to a person in their eyes: [REDACTED]

Their version of ‘freedom’: [REDACTED]

Last time they lied: [REDACTED]

Views on lying: [REDACTED]

Last promise they made: [REDACTED]

Did they keep or break it: [REDACTED]

-

Eating habits: [REDACTED]

Allergies: [REDACTED]

Describe their home: [REDACTED]

Are they a minimalist or a clutter hoarder: [REDACTED]

What is the first thing they do on a weekday morning: [REDACTED]

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon: [REDACTED]

What are they usually doing on a Friday night: [REDACTED]

Soft drink of choice: [REDACTED]

Alcoholic drink of choice: [REDACTED]

-

Character archetype: The Ruler

Their hero: No one

If they could save one person(alive): No one

If they could bring one person back from the dead: No one

If they could call one person for help: No one

How someone can redeem themselves: Confession and penance

Do they believe in happy endings: No

Their idea of perfect happiness: [REDACTED]

[paterson-blue]

Shadow of the Sea: Chapter 1

Summary: Kylo is used to being alone. It's how he's survived this long, in the cold ocean depths. He can take care of himself. Other creatures--other merfolk--are dangerous; he has the scars to prove it. Humans, however, are the worst of all. But one day, Kylo finds he has no other choice but to turn to one for help. The human he meets is nothing like he expects, and all he knows is he wants more. Is he willing to pay the price?

Word Count: 4,394

Warnings: fem!AFAB!reader, plot set up, kylo ren needs a hug confirmed, non-graphic descriptions of violence & bodily harm, brief mentions of blood & wounds, very vague medical descriptions lol, minor character death (happens off screen), oh but there's also one that happens on screen but it's brief, big time ocean nostalgia from your dear author— let me know if I need to add anything else!

A/N: Thank you @paper-n-ashes for beta reading! Icon behavior tbh.

Prefer AO3? I gotcha!

Kylo prided himself on his independence—his ferocity, his ability to fight his way out of every corner. His body was scarred and battle-hardened, but that didn’t matter. It was proof he was a survivor, and it’s not like he had anyone around him to care about his appearance. Most creatures he saw took one look at his massive form and ran.

He was intimidating, all muscle, his fins torn from previous fights. While his skin was pale, his scales were an onyx color; it made blending into the ocean depths easier. He couldn’t understand why merfolk’s standard of beauty was a brightly colored tail; didn’t it make camouflaging more difficult?

He guessed most merfolk didn’t care about that. They lived in large groups, colorful and cheerful and busy amongst other plant and animal life. Not many delved into the cold, murky areas Kylo had made his home. But he’d been there as long as he could remember, and there was no sense in changing things. He wouldn’t be welcome in the warmer waters anyway. They didn’t want him, and he didn’t want them.

So he kept away, and no one dared bother him. Those that did quickly learned not to. He had killed many creatures, and while it was all in defense, his reputation still preceded him. After all, he’d once fought one of the most dangerous predators the ocean knew, and he’d won.

He’d killed a human, after they’d captured him in their net. He’d overpowered them easily, yanked them from their boat into the water; he hadn’t even flinched when their little fishing knife plunged into his side. He’d watched with a furious gaze as the air left their lungs, their pathetic struggling eventually ceasing. Then he’d calmly cut himself loose from the netting. The knife wound had scarred over, but it was just one more to add to his collection.

Yes, Kylo prided himself on his abilities. He had no fear, no weakness; he never ran from a fight.

He was running now.

He’d been foolish. He should have realized why his normal hunting grounds had been so devoid of fish for the past few days—he should have seen the signs, should have been more careful. But hunger makes you desperate; makes you stupid. He hadn’t been paying attention, too focused on the singular fish he’d found.

It seemed to happen all at once. A sudden blow to his head that left him reeling, pain shooting through his skull as he whips himself around in attempts to find his attacker. A searing burn in his side the exact moment he feels a sharp pinch at the back of his neck. His head starts to spin with confusion, the scent of his own blood in the water.

He spots a figure out of the corner of his eye, and his heart leaps into his throat. It was a human, and they had some sort of weapon pointed right at him.

Kylo doesn’t think—he just bolts. They don’t seem to follow him at first, and he doesn’t understand why until he starts to feel the first symptoms of whatever they’ve injected him with. It makes him dizzy, makes his vision start to blur as a sickening metallic taste fills his mouth.

No, he thinks. I won’t let them do this.

He pulls strength from deep within and pushes himself to swim faster, farther. He hears a muffled shout from behind, and oh, they’re pursuing him now.

He swims frantically, skirting around rocks and through kelp forests, desperately trying to lose them even though he thinks he might hear the dull thrum of a boat motor over the thudding of blood in his ears. Kriff, he was so tired. It would be so easy to let the human magic overtake him, to sink to the ocean floor.

Was this death? A dreamless sleep that crept over your senses until you had no choice but to succumb to it? Kylo doesn’t want to die, not like this. Not where they can get to him, at least.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, doesn’t even know where he is until he catches a quick glimpse of a familiar rock formation. His mind is in shambles, drugged and panicked, lacking oxygen as his gills burn with the strain of his labored breathing.

A cove. Not too far from here. Too shallow for a boat, too rocky for humans. A cave to shelter in. Go, swim, fast, now, now, go.

The voice in his head doesn’t feel like his own—it’s frantic, urgent, thoughtless. Usually he was so composed, controlled. The threat of death had turned him into nothing more than an animal; he’s never felt so small.

He ducks and weaves as he swims towards the hidden cove, trying to convince himself he’s doing it on purpose and not just fading in and out of consciousness. If he can just stay awake a little longer, if he can just make it to that kriffing cave, he can die with dignity. Alone and cold, drugged and bleeding, but away from the humans trying to hurt him.

Kylo nearly loses his speed when he breeches the shallow waters of the cove, his mind wanting to shut down now that he’s made it. He forces himself to keep going despite his nausea and lightheadedness. His lungs are screaming, muscles aching; he scrapes his tail against the rocky outcroppings as he searches frantically for the mouth of the underwater cave.

It’s here, it’s here. I know it’s here, I’ve seen it, I mapped it. Where is it?!

His hands snag against an opening, just barely big enough for him to squeeze through, and he darts into it. It’s a tight fit, and for a brief second Kylo is terrified he’ll get stuck and pass out from whatever the humans hit him with—he’ll die, trapped, never to be found.

But then, quick as a flash, he’s through to the other side. The small tunnel opens up into a larger cavern, protected from the elements and decorated with several pools of varying depths. He’d explored it once, curious, thinking it would be a nice place to hide. It was a little too close to humanity for his comfort, but then again he’d never seen this area very populated. He’d figured he’d keep it in the back of his mind for later.

Turns out later was now.

Kylo pulls himself to the edge of the main and deepest pool, looking around urgently through spotty vision. There was a pool in the corner, half hidden by rocks—it looked shallow, but just deep enough to be submerged. Exhaling fast, he hauls himself up and out of the water, coughing and choking as his body tries to adjust from using his gills to his mouth and nose to breathe. It was never an easy transition, and he hated doing it, but right now it was what he needed.

He growls to himself as he pulls his heavy body along the rough stone cave floor, his normally nimble tail a dead weight. If he wasn’t about to faint, he thinks he’d be a bit more graceful. By the time he rolls unceremoniously into the shallow pool, his palms are all scraped up and bleeding. He doesn’t care; barely feels the sting. He’s not really feeling much of anything at this point, head spinning out of control.

Laying like this on his back, head propped up against the ledge of the pool, Kylo gazes up at the jagged rock ceiling. His lungs crackle as he heaves in breaths, heart still pounding loudly. It’s hard to hear anything else, and he wonders again if his attackers are closing in on him. Does it even matter? His dying mind questions. He doesn’t have an opportunity to think of a retort before his body finally breaks, and he succumbs to the drug induced sleep.

—————————————————————

You wake to the familiar sounds of distant crashing waves, whistling wind, and calls of seagulls. After years on the island, the noise was a comfort.

You’d grown up here, in this same cottage by the sea--been raised fishing, hunting for mussels, searching through tide pools. You and your siblings would bike into town to sell your wares at the local market before heading down to the pier to watch the boats come and go. It was a simple life, sometimes a little isolated, but it was good nonetheless. You loved the island and the ocean, and held great respect for them both. If you honor them, they will honor you--at least, that’s what your mother always said.

Your siblings grew up and moved to the mainland, but still you stayed. Got yourself a little apartment in town above the local grocery, worked at the marina as a clerk, and visited your parents on the weekends. When your mother passed, your father followed just weeks later—a broken heart, everyone said. Suddenly, your beloved little slice of heaven—of home—belonged to you.

So you moved back into the cottage you grew up in, a place haunted by the ghosts of memories and the sounds of the sea. If you’re being honest with yourself, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, no matter how many times you pretend to entertain your siblings’ urging to rent the place out. Think of all the money you’d make. It’s the perfect vacation spot.

Maybe so, but you don’t care. You don’t want strangers in your home—not those tourists who come to fawn over the village, who eat up the landscape with cameras without really seeing it, who gawk at the fishermen, who laugh at the prices at the market. They would probably call your cottage quaint and cute. You could picture them tittering over your family photos on the mantle, over the door frame where heights had been marked over the years.

Tourists, who both long for and pity an isolated life on the ocean. Oh, they have it so easy here, away from the stress of the city. Oh, could you imagine living this way, barely scraping by?

No, you didn’t want them in your home, a place so sacred. You didn’t care what money you were missing out on—you got by fine with your pay from the marina, and picking up shifts at the local cafe. You loved your cottage—savored every creaky floorboard, every leaky windowsill. The drip of the bathroom faucet, the howl of the sea wind through the chimney—these were the sounds of familiarity, of safety. No one would appreciate them like you did.

Twisting around in bed, you turn your gaze towards the open window that was letting in a fresh, salty breeze. It was early, the light still dim and grey, the air a little chilly. It makes you want to curl back up under your covers, catch a couple more hours of shut-eye. It was your day off, after all; you could afford to sleep in.

Except.

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face as you remember what your yesterday brain had planned. You’d told yourself you’d get up in order to gather mussels at low tide. There were plenty of tide pools around, especially in the caved area of the cove. It was your family’s little secret—the hidden grotto was all but invisible from the outside. The only reason you even knew about it was because your brother had been too adventurous for his own good as a child, always getting into places he shouldn’t.

Mussels, clams, seaweed, probably fish in the deeper tide pools—maybe some sea urchin you could sell at the market. Your stomach growls.

Well, that’s that.

Groaning, you haul yourself up and out of bed, wincing at the cold hardwood on your bare feet. You bounce on your toes, shivering, goosebumps appearing on your skin as you pad over to close the window. Despite growing up here, you were always surprised at the temperature. You stubbornly let in the breeze at night, all bundled up under your covers, pretending when you woke it would be nice and warm.

But nope, not here; even in the dead of summer the mornings were chilly. Sometimes you dreamed that you lived on one of those big, luxurious, heated beaches—hot sun and white sand as far as the eye could see, no craggy cliffs or rocky shores. Eh. You probably wouldn’t like it much anyway, too used to your own environment.

Glancing at the clock, you quickly throw on some warm clothes, half-assing your regular morning routine before grabbing your tide-pool hunting essentials: a flashlight, knee-high waders, a large bucket, and your trusty fishing knife. You take a deep breath at the front door, bracing yourself for the chill. Just think of the feast you’ll have later. And you can reward yourself with a hot bath and long nap.

It’s not too long a distance from the cottage to the rocky shoreline, and while the low tide has revealed the tempting sand leading towards the rolling waves, you head towards the jagged outcropping to the left. Years of following the same path means it doesn’t take you long at all to find the hidden entrance and carefully make your way into the cavern.

In the middle of a sunny day, light shone in through various cracks in the ceiling, glinting off the water and creating flickering reflections against the stone walls. Sometimes you came here just to think, or to take a dip in the largest pool. The water was always warmer here, protected from the full power of the currents by the rock face.

Now, however, it was dark—only the dimmest bit of grey morning light trickled in. You flick on the flashlight, humming softly to yourself. The melody echoes off the stone walls, and you set your bucket down at the closest tide pool, readying yourself to hunker down and get to work. The beam of the light scans the various pools as you turn to get your knife from its holder, and something catches your eye. It’s not much, and honestly if you weren’t so familiar with the cave you probably wouldn’t have noticed the dark shape in the far corner pool.

At first, you do a double take, eyes sweeping over the little red-tinged puddles on the floor. Blood. You grip your knife, mind racing with possibilities. Was there someone in here with you? Surely not. No one ever came out here. Swallowing hard, you take a couple steps towards the corner, torch in one hand and knife in the other. As you get closer, your gaze tracks the diluted blood trail into the pool, and at first all you notice is the black scales and fins of a fish. The grip on your knife loosens just a little, the fear of a possible threat fading.

It's a big animal, you can tell that even as you make your way over, and you wonder idly how it got in. You knew, logically, that the cave connected to the ocean somehow, but you can't imagine the tide being so high for a fish as large as this one to find its way into the back corner. You’re focused on this conundrum as you round the ledge that’s been shielding the animal from your full view--so much so that it takes you more than a couple moments for your mind to compute just what it's seeing.

The tail is thick and muscular, decorated in obsidian scales that lead to delicate looking fins at the bottom. There were smaller, fan looking fins on the sides of the tail--they were all ripped up, as if they had been torn in previous fights. Your brain clocks all of this in seconds but doesn’t dwell, because it’s focused on the top half of the animal--creature--merman.

Merman. A fucking merman.

The ebony scales at the waist fade seamlessly into pale skin and lean muscle, revealing a long, firm torso. If you weren’t so aware of the tail, you might--might--think he could pass for human. Well, except for the webbed fingers and razor-sharp nails adorning each of his hands. He’s half submerged in the water of the pool, dark hair covering part of his face so you can’t see it.

You stand there, frozen, staring, not quite knowing what to do. You weren’t… scared; weren’t even very surprised aside from the initial shock of seeing him. You’d grown up hearing stories, traditions, tales—it was more than folklore here on the island. Some of the elders believed in merfolk more than ghosts, more than aliens, more than god.

Mr. Mackenzie told tales of mermaids luring in his shipmates as prey, drowning them. You always thought they were just stories designed to scare children away from dangerous tides—and maybe they were. But other accounts, you weren’t so sure of.

It was the wonder on Ms. Fraser’s face when she recounted the long-ago memory of swimming along sandbars with a girl who could breathe underwater. It was the quiet reverence of Mr. McDougall’s voice when he whispered about removing an old fish hook from a merman’s tail. It was the tears in Mrs. Buchanan’s eyes when she insisted merfolk rescued her husband from a fishing boat wreck.

You believed them. You always had, even if you’d done it silently, bashfully. You knew those who still made offerings to the ocean and to the beings that dwelled within the depths. Your island community believed in things not seen, but passed down through generations of storytelling. It was your history, kept alive despite first hand encounters becoming few and far between.

Except, here it was—your own little slice of history, right in front of you. If you took a couple more steps, you could reach out and touch it.

Is he breathing?

The little voice in your head brings you back down to your body, and a sudden fear overtakes you. You can’t let him die—if he was even still alive to begin with. You glance nervously at the pinkish trail of blood leading to the pool; the sight makes you reach some sort of resolve.

Hyper-aware of the claws on his hands, you kneel down beside him, hesitating only briefly before you settle your hand on his large bicep. He doesn’t stir, and your stomach twists unpleasantly. Your hand slides down to his wrist, and while you can admit you aren’t an expert on merfolk anatomy, surely you’ll be able to feel a pulse from the spidery blue veins under his pale skin.

Relief washes over you in a wave when you do, indeed, find a pulse—slow, but strong. Okay, not dead then. Still, he doesn’t move, so you take it upon yourself to move his damp hair out of his face, curling it behind his prominent ears.

He’s handsome.

You feel yourself flush, immediately chastising yourself for the thought. This was—best case scenario—a complete stranger who was wounded and in possible danger. Worst case scenario… you didn’t want to think about. Needless to say, it was no time to be thinking about his level of attractiveness.

You force yourself back into action, cupping his head as you hold your hand under his nose. His breathing is steady, and you gently lay his head back where it rested on the rock ledge. Your fingertips brush against something, and you frown as you realize he has a lump on the back of his skull—as if he’s been hit. You can only hope it hasn’t done too serious damage; it wasn’t like you could really take him to the hospital.

Your attention moves down his body, and you make yourself bypass the gills in his neck in order to properly gauge his wounds. Minor cuts and scrapes littered his skin; from the number of scars decorating his form, you figure these aren’t a big deal, no matter how nasty they look. Not compared to the gash on his side, at least.

You wince when you see it, the delicate flesh torn open and ragged. The cut makes you think it’s from some man-made weapon, and you shake your head in disbelief. Who would want to harm a merman? Around here, it would be blasphemous to do such a thing.

Blood no longer seeps from the wound; you hope that’s a good sign—and that the salt water has somewhat cleaned the area. You think it may have needed stitches, but you’re no doctor with the ability to do such a procedure. If you're being honest with yourself, it’s probably far too late for stitches anyway. The wound would be another nasty scar, likely similar to the one marring his face, but the area isn’t red with infection. That’s a good sign, right?

You sigh, feeling helpless. You want to do something for the creature. There’s only one thing you can really think of. Chewing on your bottom lip, you study his face again. He still seems unresponsive, and you can only hope he stays that way a little longer.

The short trek back up to your home feels the longest it’s ever been, and your legs and lungs are burning by the time you rush through the front door, having run the entire way. You heave in breaths as you pack some supplies into a bag. It wasn’t much, but you should be able to use the waterproof gauze and antibiotic ointment to dress the nasty-looking scrapes on his hands and chest.

You hesitate for a moment before going into your bathroom and grabbing the waterproof pillow you had in the tub. Maybe it was silly, but you hated thinking about him lying on the hard ground for fuck knows how long. You almost grab some food for him—maybe the fish currently thawing in your fridge—but you decide not to. You weren’t sure what he ate, and there was no telling when he’d wake up anyway.

Your breathing has just settled back to normal by the time you’re jogging back to the cave, careful not to slip on any of the wet grass and rocks. The sun starts to peak out of the morning clouds, letting pale beams of light warm the grey morning. The cavern is illuminated slightly better when you enter; you find you can lay the flashlight at a distance and see just fine.

The merman is still asleep, and you feel a little relieved. You aren’t exactly sure what will happen when he wakes up—for all you know, you’ll return later in the day to find him gone. As it is, you plop down next to the pool he was in and get to work patching him up the best you can.

Taking the towel you brought with you, you dab at his scrapes, trying to dry them a little before applying the ointment and then carefully using the gauze to cover the wounds. His palms are so torn up that you wrap them completely, your brows knitted the entire time. It must hurt, but still, he doesn’t stir.

Finally, you’re left with the gash in his side. You debate with yourself as to whether you should cover it or not—if you even can. The front of his torso was out of the water with the way he was laying, but that could change at any second, and any real pressure on his body would cause him to sink into the pool.

Your urge to help him wins out in the end, and you decide you’ll try to bandage it to protect it from any further irritation, despite knowing water would seep in regardless. You lean forward, extra careful not to lose your balance as you pat at his pale skin with the towel once more. It’s an awkward angle and slow work, you trying your best to be gentle with him.

You add as much ointment as you dare to the bandaging, not wanting to put too much onto an open wound, before fixing the gauze to his torso with some waterproof medical tape. There. Sure, it wasn’t going to work a miracle but at this point you weren’t sure what else to do.

He’ll be okay, you tell yourself. He’ll be okay.

You take a moment to watch the rise and fall of his chest, reassured by the movement. Your gaze again drifts to his tail in fascination—you hope that, maybe, you’ll come back later and he’ll be awake. Maybe he’ll be friendly, maybe the two of you can talk. It’s illogical, you know. This wasn’t some fairytale, this was real life. You honestly just hoped he didn’t try to rip you to shreds on sight.

It’s with this thought in mind that you shift away from him, telling yourself you can’t sit and watch him all day. You have several other pools to collect mussels from, breakfast to cook, chores to do. You’ve done enough, and you have to trust that his body will do the rest—you refuse to entertain the idea that he might not make it.

Sighing, you pull yourself further away, but then remember the pillow you’d brought along. You grab it quickly before shuffling back towards him. He’s got a large lump of seaweed shoved haphazardly under his head in what you assume was a desperate attempt to soften the rock face underneath.

His damp hair is surprisingly soft when you gently lift his head to clear the ground of debris. You can’t help but run your fingers through it gently, brushing it behind his ears, almost trying to soothe his subconscious. You settle the small foam pillow in place, and slowly let his head and neck rest against it. You hope it makes some sort of difference, though you know it might be a childish thought.

Your task finished, you force yourself away from him once more, even though you suddenly ache to continue touching him. Picking up your things, you continue on your mission of prying mussels from each tidepool. You move slower and quieter than you normally would, shooting the merman furtive glances every few seconds.

By the time you’re finished with the last pool, you can’t find an excuse to linger any longer. He was as safe as he was going to be. The only thing left to do now was wait. You spare your new charge one last lingering look, then grab your things and head back to the house.

______________________________________________________________

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[confused-stars]

you know what i want to see? i want to see class 1a shenanigans with an ouija board accidentally picking up ghostboro. They chat with him via ouija board for like a week before Aizawa gets wind of what they're doing and everything goes into chaos

It happens to Tokoyami and Shinsou first, because of course it does. Who else would be sitting in a dark, candle-lit room in the dead of night with a ouija board set up between them?

Who else would even own a ouija board but Tokoyami? It's a fancy one, too. Heavy wood and English letters burned into it, grooves painted gold. Tokoyami claimed that it was a failure the few times he's tried, but Shinsou insists that doing it with more than one person would be more likely to have results. Besides, they're both tired but can't sleep, and Dark Shadow is hyping them up.

So they end up sitting cross-legged on the carpet in Tokoyami's room, lights flickering, and they place their hands on the planchette.

"Uh... hi?" Hitoshi tries, feeling a bit dumb speaking into the air like that.

There's no response.

Tokoyami gives him an encouraging nod.

"Hey, if there's anyone here, we'd love to... have a chat?" Hitoshi feels dumber with every word. He shifts.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Tokoyami sighs, and Dark Shadow looks dejected.

Then, their hands are jerked so violently across the board that Hitoshi loses grip with one hand. He stares at the letters the ghost (?) chooses with wide eyes.

'N-I-C-E H-O-O-D-I-E'

Hitoshi is pretty sure he's dreaming or something. This is absurd.

Tokoyami's only wearing a t-shirt, so it's obvious who the ghost addressed.

"I... thanks?" Hitoshi tugs at his hoodie. It's purple and has a cat poking out of the front pocket. Cat ears adorn the hood - Midoriya and Ashido both delight in pulling it over Hitoshi's head just to coo at how adorable it is.

"Do you like cats?" Wow. He's talking to a dead person and this is what he asks. Nice going, Hitoshi.

The planchette all but flies to the 'YES' option, moving away and then coming back to it a couple times in what seems to be a sign of strong agreement or enthusiasm. Hitoshi stifles a laugh.

__

The ghost’s name is ‘Kumo’ and he uses he/him pronouns, and he is - was? - seventeen years old. He tells them that he used to be a student here, and that he’s been haunting the school for a few years now. Both boys agree that it would be a bad idea to ask him about the circumstances of his death, because that seems insensitive.

They end up just... chatting a little. About cats and heroes, and Kumo tries to give them some well-meaning fighting tips, but it’s hard for him to say anything lengthy with having to spell it all out. Tokoyami offers that he’ll look into easier means of communicating with ghosts, and Kumo seems immensely grateful.

It has to be lonely, on the other side, Hitoshi thinks. There can’t be that many ghosts haunting UA, after all.

__

The next one they involve is Midoriya, because he approaches Hitoshi about how glad he is he’s making friends in the class, and asks him about what hanging out with Tokoyami is like. Before he can stop himself, Hitoshi has already pulled him into this mess. And it’s good he did, because Midoriya is incredibly clever, and they spend hours in Tokoyami’s room - the darkness of it still seems the most appropriate for this - with a whole stack of fresh notebooks, and their resident ghost patiently answering any question they ask him. Well, most of them anyway. When Midoriya does bring up how he died, he just gives them a ‘NO’ and nothing else. Hitoshi glares at Midoriya, who mumbles an apology and moves on to another question.

__

Since the last time the class thought the dorms were haunted went less than ideal, apparently, they decide to take telling others about Kumo slow. Hitoshi isn’t sure how he feels about not telling Aizawa-sensei yet, but... well, Kumo is harmless. He’s just so happy to be finally able to talk to someone. What if the teachers decide to somehow get rid of him? Will he be all alone, then? Can ghosts even be chased away? With... an exorcism or something? When Hitoshi carefully asks, Tokoyami snorts and says something it ‘depending on the spirit in question.’ That obviously creates more questions than answers, but Hitoshi has learned to accept that. They tell Shoji, who demands proof, but is on board surprisingly quickly once they give it to him. Midoriya pulls Todoroki into this, and somehow gets Hitoshi to make another friend in the process - they’re both content sitting quietly aside while they let the others whirl around and talk a mile a minute. Well, mostly Midoriya. Uraraka, too, when she learns their secret. And then a very skeptical Iida. And then Kaminari, who is terrified at first, but who actually gets along swimmingly with Kumo. Really, before Hitoshi can blink, the entire class knows, and they’re now in possession of four separate ouija boards so that people don’t have to keep bothering Tokoyami to use his. There’s also a large poster made of several pieces of paper taped together that they’ve been writing different kanji and whole common words on so that Kumo might be able to communicate quicker.

That’s what the majority of the ‘Bakusquad’ are doing when Aizawa-sensei comes in, about a week after they made first contact.

“... do I want to know?” he asks, looking to Hitoshi who is perched on one of the couches with a fresh mug of coffee and has totally not been trying to give the others advice on how to structure the whole thing.

Hitoshi opens his mouth, then closes it again. Guilt makes his throat tighten a bit, and apparently that’s obvious enough that Aizawa-sensei squints at him. “Alright. What are you doing?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Kaminari pipes up from where he’s kneeling in the middle of the poster. “We wanted to see if people that Shinsou controls can still put together words if he tells them to! You know, since they can’t write properly and stuff.” That’s... not terrible, as far as lies go.

But this is Eraserhead, and it’s not working. Their teacher walks over to inspect the poster, brows drawn together. Hitoshi holds out his coffee, and Aizawa-sensei takes the mug without looking. “Not a bad attempt, but if you lie to me again, you’re getting detention,” he says, voice still mild enough that he doesn’t sound completely terrifying. Kaminari still looks like a deer in the headlights.

“... there’s a ghost,” Hitoshi says, earning him a disappointed look from Ashido, but a relieved one from Kirishima. Bakugou, who refused to participate but still hung around for some reason, scoffs.

“There’s... a ghost,” Aizawa-sensei repeats flatly. Hitoshi meets his eyes with a helpless shrug.

“It’s not like last time!” Ashido says quickly, “Really! We have proof. He’s been talking to us.”

Now their teacher looks a little alarmed. “... some invisible stranger’s been talking to you? And you didn’t think to tell me?”

Ah, that’s what Hitoshi was worried about.

“But if he was just invisible, the cameras would’ve picked it up, right?” Kirishima asks, “They pick up on Hagakure. If Kumo was a living person, he would’ve been noticed.”

Aizawa-sensei blinks. His face betrays nothing, but Hitoshi knows him well enough to know something Kirishima said threw him off by a mile. “... what’s his name?”

Oh. If there was a dead student, he would know about that, wouldn’t he? Maybe Kumo was one of his? Hitoshi starts to speak, but then the lights flicker. They look to Kaminari instinctively, but he’s nowhere near any power outlet, and he’s not sparking, either. Then, the big, red marker Kirishima had been holding drops from his hand to the paper. They all watch, enraptured, as the marker slowly starts to move upright and glide across the paper.

‘Hi, Shouta,’ Kumo writes, ‘Don’t be mad at them, they were going to tell you eventually soon.’

Aizawa-sensei brings a hand up to clutch at his capture weapon. His eyes are a little too wide. “Prove it,” he says, and he’s clearly trying to keep his voice even, “Prove you’re the person you say you are.”

They all look from their teacher to the writing and back. Kumo’s never been able to hold onto any random object for this long. It must be taking a lot of effort. Or... a lot of emotion? Isn’t that how it works, for ghosts? ‘In front of the kids?’ Kumo asks, and something about it sounds a little cheeky, enough that Hitoshi nearly snorts.

Aizawa-sensei doesn’t find it funny. “Shirakumo.”

‘Fine.’ The marker pauses for a long moment. ‘We had our first kiss outside the arcade. We’d forced you to eat too much candy and you were nauseous, and I felt terrible about it so I kissed you to make you feel better. You still threw up afterwards.’

Oh. Oh, well. That’s... Hitoshi suddenly wants to look anywhere but at his mentor.

Aizawa-sensei makes an odd choking sort of noise, and when Hitoshi looks back up, he’s already halfway out the door. “Nobody move,” he instructs them without looking back, “I’m getting Mic.”

[fvrxdrm]

Through the Valley

Pairing: Jesse McCree x F!Reader

Warning(s): Mentions of violence, angst

Setting: Deadlock/Pre-Blackwatch/Pre-recall

Song: Through the Valley (Ellie’s cover)

*****

When the universe was formed, the world was sculpted with rocks, and when the world was sculpted with rocks, strange beings were brought down to earth, and when strange beings were brought down to earth, sins were born, and when sins were born, dissensions were brought to light, and when dissensions were brought to light, war had clouded the visions of many beings and humanity teared itself down, one by one, with metal blades and flying arrows, and evolving into something much more minacious and powerful…

…like a gun.

So much vigor, so much anger, so much power. With one pull of a trigger, one life could be led towards heaven or hell, with no chance of escaping a baneful bullet; piercing through the skin and tearing the flesh, embedding itself deep till the person dies losing blood or be lucky enough to survive such fatal shot.

An excellent marksman’s the only one capable of doing that.

Specifically, those who know their guns by heart.

They are precise. They are rigorous. And they make every shot count. They make sure the target receives the end of their blazing weapons, and they’ll do it again and again till they’re satisfied with the bloodshed they’ve created. Their eyes would gleam with red, and blood would boil deep within their veins.

Even with one shot, those who feel agony could be standing right in front of death’s door.

There’s this marksman though, a gunslinger who seems to have held a gun since his mother gave birth to him. His accuracy cannot be matched even by those whose experiences have passed through the roof. Even with a blindfold on he still knew where to point his revolver at. He was a shit-hot at what he was doing, as they say.

Deadeye is what they call him.

People believe that the Deadeye was a curse that was passed from his ancestors to their descendants, and he happens to be their newest successor, which means he was to hold the malediction whether he liked it or not.

Truth is, it isn’t a curse.

Born by pain and abandonment, he was forced to teach himself how to survive on his own at such a young age. He worked hard to feed himself with enough food to desist from dying from an empty stomach, he rode by rivers and looked out for cacti to give himself something to drink, and most importantly, he taught himself how to pull a trigger and defend himself from nasty foes with the use of a gun he likes to call…the Peacekeeper.

After so many years of living and surviving on his own, a gang who called themselves the Deadlock Rebels took him with them and dinned him on how to rob banks and stir up ruckus in villages and towns. He was happy to have found a family who he could rely himself on even with their twisted intentions, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt rapturous.

Every blood he spilled was a trophy to be held in his hands, every eye that widened in fear had the hunger lurking beneath consume him until he became the monster that he was, every bullet that flew with the speed of light had his teeth grinding together, and every word that spread around town had him grinning with sharpened fangs.

People see him as the devil himself, only softening what was left of his heart when a kiss was pressed against his vulgar lips.

His lover was pristine and innocent, an angel in contrast to the demon he turned himself into. She had bright eyes and a scintillating smile, a touch so gentle and feather-like, a voice so small and warm, and a forgiving heart nobody deserved to earn unless she allowed it to.

Folks have wondered how on earth had she given a killer a chance and had asked the same question over and over again, but she always replied with the same answer as well;

“He was orphaned by evil and war; always have, always will be. Someone as broken as him may not be fixed, but they deserve love just as much as those who have found their place in order to help find their purpose on earth again. There are paths in front of them to help guide them in life, and what surrounds them will give them a reason to stay in the path they’ve chosen.”

Some people agree, some people don’t. But at the end of the day, it’s her belief and children look up to her and admire the goodwill she possesses even though her trust was something to be worried about. She claims she knows what she’s doing and all the world hopes that she truly does.

The heart of his lover would burn at every bruise and every wound the young man would come home with, and every word of what his gang had done would send her heart palpitating in an almost irregular speed. She feared of what was to come, and she hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t end up like the folks who have met the end of Peacekeeper’s barrel.

Years have passed and the man grew into a more ruthless killer. He had a heart of stone but it never forgot the woman who have given him an aspiration better than what they had then. He was going to be head and shoulders above, he promised. Just not now. The devil on his shoulder was still pulling him underneath. And when the day the voices in his head have stopped screaming comes, he’ll find a better home for the two of them; one where they could raise a few children of their own and make love until the sun rises in the east.

But alas, the dreams he had hoped for came to an unfortunate close…

The Deadlocks had been ambushed by soldiers of Overwatch, slowly killing the only family he’s had and taking him and his lover in to probably rot for the rest of their lives. Blue had befogged his vision, but red had risen flames inside of him.

Bullets flew from his tongue the moment he was thrown into a room flooded in black with only a poor excuse of a light hanging above him. He sat impatient, fists clenching and unclenching in fear of what they might’ve done to his girl. She could’ve been suffering from a harrowing death and nobody gave him one last chance to say what must be said before her final moments, and that was enough to untether something wilder inside of him.

He was given two options: he would be thrown into jail and be left there to rot or be given a chance to walk in the right path and leave the wrong, change himself and the world for the better.

The commander had seen something in him: a potential. The woman was right when she said he was forced into a void full of nothing but anguish at such a young age, and pity was what he felt for the gunslinger.

The power he had with his gun was nothing Reyes had ever seen. He was one with Peacekeeper; both thriving to reach the heights with ardor and strength. It would a shame if his talent was just going to be thrown into waste. So, what better way to use it than with noble purpose?

He was right. The offer was better than to slowly sink into the fires of hell. But what’s the point of throwing his hat into the ring if the woman he loves was in the opposite side of the wall? What’s the point of it all if she wasn’t going to be the shoulder he could cry on? What made it even worse was the fact that he was just going to be stuck in a goddamn loop.

Maybe dreams were only meant to be dreams…

It seemed like the world gave him a certain fate; a fate where death was something that would haunt him like a ghost whenever he was in the firing line, a fate where shadows were to be seen in his line of sight, and possibly a fate where he becomes a weapon himself and shoot down those he cared for dearly. And it scared him. But, what choice did he have? He’d rather see the world again and again, even in its darkest times, than die pathetically in his cage.

“Good choice, kid. I think you both know why you were brought here on earth in the first place.”

'Cause I walk through the valley of the shadow of death And I fear no evil because I'm blind Oh, and I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul But I know when I die my soul is damned

Jesse sang with shaky breath, fingers trembling against tattered wood, before his hands rested loosely against his guitar and sighed into the warm night air.

“We’ll be alright,” his lover said. Her calloused fingers gently grasped his metallic one and smiled sadly at him.

They both wore rings, a symbol of the love they’ve treasured and every trial they’ve come across along the way. The vows they’ve exchanged gave them a reason to stay, a reason to fight again. It was a bittersweet surrender, but it was worth it.

“Yeah, we’ll be alright.”

[80s4life]

Until We Meet Again”

Word Count: 1,353

Status: Not Requested!

A/N: This is completely off from the movie, like, it has nothing to do with the story line. It was just a little something when I got in my feels. I might make a part 2 depending on the hype and whether or not this was actually like lol.

Fandom: The Expendables 2010-2014

Relationship: Tool x Reader

Summary: When the reader has an unexpected turn of events, they realize all the things they’ve never done, and some of the things they should’ve done. Will they make it out or will they never get the chance?

Warnings: angst, regrets, blood, assumed death, Reader is shot, blood loss, violence mentioned, language, VERY SAD (I warned you)

Taglist: @snapessecretdiary ( @one-boring-person​ cuz u love expendables)

Masterlist Expendables Masterlist

{gif is not mine, credits to @hellofagirl​}

People say that, when death happens, your life flashes before your eyes, giving you a slideshow of all the good, the bad, and the downright dirty. Usually, when this happens, regrets and prideful moments occur, making you either want to keep time the way it is or change it in some way, making you burn inside. It is also common for you to die peacefully, surrounded by the ones you love, whether it be of old age or other natural causes. All the people you want, there and supporting you throughout your final hurrah.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case for you, you were not one of those people to die of natural causes or simply old age. You weren’t even surrounded by any of the people you loved. You were just a nobody, someone that was used at other people’s expense, used to kill and terminate any threats and rescue what’s stolen or held unlawfully. 

Hence your group’s name, The Expendables. Highly trained mercenaries, veterans, and weapons experts used to do as you do best.

You were on a mission with them when your worst nightmare occurred, it being thoughtfully planned and kinks worked out days prior, giving you preparation as multiple other missions had time and time again. Just like any of the jobs you took with the team.

The objective was to take down a newly popular mafia, not unusual to you, the mafia not being too strong or big of a family just yet. However, when finally on the battlefield, you, along with the rest of the team; Barney Ross, Lee Christmas, Hale Caesar, Gunnar Jensen, Toll Road, and Yin Yang, had noticed just how wrong the mission truly was.

It was a set-up, one put in place by your highly unidentified employers, sent to tear your one-of-a-kind, intelligent family apart from what it was. You weren’t very fond to your past enemies, taking them out, ruining their plans, and destroying what could’ve been years of work to put together. This had led to many menacing opponents.

Barney, your leader, had sprung to action quickly, splitting us off and protecting us, being the amazing leader he was. Something you never got to fully acknowledge at times, sometimes being so pissed, you didn’t care if you had threatened his superiority or level of expertise. Hurting his feelings immensely.

The mission had gone fairly well for a while, working hand-in-hand with one another, tag-teaming with your brothers at separate times, given your unexpected predicament and disadvantage.

This was until you had managed to unknowingly cut yourself far from the group of mercenaries, having to run from a silent assailant wielding knives. Running underneath an archway, scared and exhausted, you felt your legs, abdomen, and lungs burn as the only missions in mind now were to get to safety and come home to the one you love undeterred. 

Only time would tell if these were going to be successfully accomplished.

You duck and weave through crates and buildings, running through a small town, but quickly run out of options as you draw yourself into a massive clearing. You scream over the comms, turning your mic on, asking for help, anyone, anything.

But they were too far away, rushing as fast as they could, wanting none other than to be at your side, fighting off anything that were to threaten you. You were their sister, whether it be blood or in arms, you were family and connected as one.

You spin on your heels, looking for a way out, but find nothing. Nothing to protect you or hide away in.  Nothing to just get you out. Accepting your fate, you decide this is it, facing your pursuer now, hands above your head in an attempt of surrender. The surrender goes unanswered though, unaccepted, your attacker pulling a gun from his waist band, shooting you square in the chest, not giving you a chance. 

Walking now, the killer comes to your side, body encased in a pool of blood, seeping into your clothing. Deciding his job is done, he lowers his gun, looking you in the eyes before disappearing into the distance, concluding that a slow death was the best revenge. 

All you do is lay there, unmoving, your mic still on and blaring with the voices of your team, concern and anger lacing their tones. You do not answer however, motivating Yin Yang to track your location from his keypad, Caesar and Toll deciding that bullets weren’t enough anymore, throwing grenades and bombs instead, killing the multiples. Barney, Lee, and Gunnar finishing the last of the survivors off, the full team hurrying to get to you from all different directions.

Gunnar is the first to find you, pumping his long legs harder now as he fears the worst, knowing this situation is a close two-end street, your chances slimming by the minute. Lee and Barney file in a moment later, followed by Toll, Yin Yang, and soon, Caesar. 

All you can do is stare, lovingly, regrettably, and solemnly all at once, knowing there is so much to say but not enough time to do so. So you told them, as quickly as physically possible, the blood now rushing into your lungs and mouth. You told them what you loved most, what you had regretted saying or doing, knowing the full effect of the past now.

And, when the pain gets to its worst factor, you turn to face Barney, him knowing you the most. “The pink book,” you choke out, Barney knowing exactly what you were referring to, “Give it to Tool for me, will ya’? There’s so much I haven’t told him, and just about everything should be in there.”

“Yeah,” Barney answers, his voice fading now, tears in his eyes, “Yeah, I’ll give it to him. I know what ya’ want, and I’ll send the message. You’ve always had a better way of speakin’ than me, and I think he’d like if you came back home in one piece, Kid. Just focus on stayin’ awake for me for now though, okay?” The last of his sentence comes out choked, tears now pouring from his eyes. Tears pooling from all of the men now, knowing that your fate is nearing its end.

“I love you guys...Always know that okay? Keep it with ya’,” I say, my body now feeling immensely lighter than any high could’ve.

“Yer not dyin’ on us Y/N...Ya’ can’t!” Gunnar yells, his emotional defense kicking in as his way of coping. “Yer supposed to be here always-”

All you can do is watch, tears of your own flowing in waves down the corners of yours eyes, rounding my eye cheek bones, slipping down towards my ears, and falling in delicate puddles. They’re all falling apart, and there’s nothing anyone can do to help it. Instead, you weakly motion your hands, grabbing one of Barney’s and Gunnar’s, the rest motioning to either hold onto one another or a limb of your body, such as your knees or legs.

As your vision starts to fade, and the familiar faces of your family dim and disappear, the last face you see is one that wasn’t there. One who will never know what would’ve happened until the group returns home, your body being held within their own arms. Tool. The most talented, artistic, and loving man of my dreams, will never know the full extent of your passion for him. And now, as darkness overcomes you, your last final regret lies on him, your last tears shedding from your eyes. Closing them, seeing the darkness, and feeling the last bit of your being being lifted, no longer seeing or feeling anything. Just black.

Whoever said death was a pleasant goodbye never really understood all of what leaves with the hollow body of a once joyful, full of life person. The regrets, stories, love, and connections staying remnant within them and never truly leaving even when they are no longer visible. For even as they part, the people who knew them now are haunted and reminded of a person no one will ever see again. Never have the beauty of knowing just like they had.

That is, until they part ways as well. 

Until then, it is just a bittersweet goodbye.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

OC Interview: Fane Lavellan

Thank you for the tag @dungeons-and-dragon-age! I’ve been eyeing up this meme for a while actually, so this was perfect timing! X3

This takes place Post-Trespasser, about a month or two after, in fact. Solas brought the idea forward, and of course, Fane refused. But after some coaxing, some explanation as to why, and the promise of a whole cake, Fane agreed to humor the request. 

*THERE BE BIG THINGS REGARDING FANE HERE* 

I got carried awaaaaaay! XD

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

“I can, but it’s a lengthy list,” He sighs, “...Those who are close to me, who see as but an elf, call me Fane. Those who wish to meet cobble, call me Lavellan or Herald. Those who are blinded by reverence call me ‘He Who Flew Above’. Denizens of the Fade refer to me as, ‘Devotion’ or ‘Tenacity’. However, my true name is..” He sighs again, “...Aterian. I rarely go by it, but the truth won’t be ignored. It never can be.”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“Male. Elvhen. Dragon.” He huffs through his nose, shifting his gaze off to the side, “That’s all I’ll say on that. As for orientation, I’m...emotionally driven. If you asked me to look at another and tell you what’s attractive about them I would say, ‘Nothing.’ I don’t know them, so I feel nothing for them.“ He shrugs, turning his gaze back, but brandishes a glare, “There’s only one person who defies that response, and that’s because he knows me, without and within. More than that, is none of your business.”

Where and when were you born?

He lifts a hand, massaging a temple, “The ‘where’ is simple; Elvhenan. Specifics are lost to me, however, so you’ll have to be content with that response.” He shifts his gaze downwards, slowly crossing his arms, “As to when?” He sighs heavily, “...I have no answer for that other than: I’m roughly the same age, if not older, as Solas. Does it matter, honestly? Numbers fall through the cracks after a specific threshold is crossed.” What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

He unravels a crossed arm and guides his hand downwards, tapping the pommel of a sword he has fastened to his waist, “Sword. I use either long swords, short swords, or great swords.” He raises an eyebrow as a question is forwarded, “Shields?” He sneers a bit. “I don’t use shields. They get in the way, and anyways,” He raises his hand once more, the expanse steadily beginning to glow blue and silver before a spectral coating of scales cover the entirety, “this is better than any shield. I prefer the front lines, the place I can make sure no one breaches, and the lingering memory of what I once was makes sure I can do just that.” He dispels the scales and shakes out his hand before returning it to his crossed counterpart, “It takes energy to maintain, but I’m getting better at holding it for longer.”  Lastly, are you happy?

He blinks before his entire expression softens, two toned eyes shining with primary gold as they shift downwards, “...If you had asked that of me over twelve years ago I would have spat in your face and said, ‘Happiness doesn’t exist in this world’. But now..” He trails off, casting a sidelong glance towards one of the fortress’s entryways; a familiar voice sounding, firm, but soft, as if reprimanding a child, “...I understand what happiness is, and it’s in every corner if you allow yourself to see it.” His eyes shift back, holding a far away look and voice coming forward in a murmur, “I only wish we all could be happy; together.”

Family and Friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

His face holds a conflicted look, as if the memory is painful before speaking, “Complicated,” he says before beginning to tap a finger against his bicep, “I had a mother. She died when I was fifteen from a wasting disease, but she was the picture of serenity. Calm, guiding, measured. Hair like moonlight. Eyes like a clear autumn day. She was--” Unbranded features twist with a look of grief, eyes going dark as his voice drops, “...I’d rather not speak of her. It still hurts to. It hurts to speak of any of them,” His eyes narrow, grief stricken expression turning somewhat bitter, “...Especially those who throw all you did for them back into your face because they refused to listen when you needed them to most. Even so, I still wish for her happiness. Cullen better be treating her right,” That bitter turns outright malicious, dark eyes going darker as another question is meekly asked, “Father? I have no father. I only had a monster that haunted my childhood, tore my token of devotion apart, and then stalked me in my dreams. So, no. I have nothing to say about that concept.”

Have you ever ran away from home?

He chuckles, “Many, many times,” He throws most of his weight into one side, tilting his head back as if thinking, counting, “I can’t even remember the amount of times I fled into the forests, to be honest. All I know is that it happened weekly, maybe even daily,” He brings his head back, snowy hair moving with the action to brush the tops of his cheekbones, “Why do you look so surprised?” he asks, snorting a bit at the meek response of, ‘Why so often?’, “Because I refused to endure being treated like a beast every hour of the day merely because I believed differently, or rather, not at all.” He sighs within the next moment, “...I wasn’t any better than the Dalish, though. I lashed out, I spat in their face, dragged their heritage through the dirt, inflicted harm from the smallest of things...” He squeezes his arms, eyes narrowing into a glare, but seeming to see through everything, “...The past repeats. An infernal spiral that will never slow.” Would you consider marriage or having children?

“Marriage? Children?” He blinks, pale visage suddenly going flush before he snarls, “Why do I need to answer those questions?!” The blush deepens and he responds despite his displeased expression, muttering and biting the inside of his cheek, “...Damned keen eyed elves. They know, don’t they? I swear if Abelas fucking ran that mouth of his, I’ll--” He sighs heavily, letting his head fall limp a bit in defeat, “...Yes. To both. The latter is already taken care of, as everyone situated in the Crossroads knows, but...” Pointed ears are now a deep shade of red, “...marriage is...on hold. War time isn’t an ideal summer wedding.” His voice drops, eyes shimmering as if he was before the person his heart yearned for, “...The sky deserves a venue better than a garden of death and deceit.” Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“There were those in the Inquisition who I didn’t exactly see eye to eye with,” he started before shaking his head, “but I didn’t hate anyone. Everyone is entitled to their own views and what they find important.” He scowls a bit, tapping his bicep once again with a finger, “...Even if they didn’t extend the same kindness to me in the beginning. ‘Do you believe in the Maker?’ ‘Do you believe you’re chosen?’ ‘You need to use the people’s faith. It gives them hope.’” He mocks before snorting harshly, “No. No, I don’t. Oh, that suddenly makes me trash? Ohhh. How terrible.” He scoffs. “Disgusting.” Which friend knows everything about you?

“Solas,” He says within a heart beat before clearing his throat, shifting his gaze away sheepishly, “He knows me without and within.” Emerald and gold blaze as the orbs go wide, the blush of roses coming back in full force, “Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t mean--! Fuck! You better wipe that shit eating grin off your face, elf, or I swear I’ll do it for you!” He growls in frustation, throwing his hands in the air, “Why did I agree to this? What fucking dragon entertains an interview!? This is worst than the courts in Arlathan used to be! And that’s saying something!”

Asked by Fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

”I am literate. Sometimes to a fault, in fact,” He smiles a bit, “Poetry is my niche; a lingering memory of my mother. So, I speak cryptically at times,” He snorts, amused, “Although, I guess that isn’t much of a surprise since the Elvhen language is riddled in verse rather than practical application. Still, even some of the ancients left have a hard time deciphering my words,” He shrugs, smile turning into a smirk, “They never expected a dragon to be able to talk, I guess. Well, ta-dah.”  The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

A somber expression flits across his visage and eyes, “...That, eventually, I would hurt the one person I never wanted to.” The corner of his mouth twitches, holding both bitterness and grief; a painful duo, “...And retribution came just as swiftly, but it--” He sighs, shaking his head in defeat before muttering under his breath, “Observe and accept. Observe that what came to pass was uncontrollable, and accept that it had to happen for your path to continue, for your soul to be complete.” What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

His face blanks, mouth going into a hard line before a sigh exits through his nose slowly, “...That I don’t have tail.” He snarls, blank expression twisting in warning, “Laugh, elf. Do it.” He nods in the next second when no sounds of amusement come forth, expression going stoic once more, “That’s what I thought. You try living centuries in one form and then transitioning. See what happens.” Do you have mental health or physical issues?

He nods, sighing tiredly. “Like my names, I have a lot.” A hand motions to his body lazily, “My entire body is littered in scars, inflicted through crude experiments by an abomination that sought power like so many others,” He expression sours, jaw working back a forth, “They’ve calmed over the years, but the memories are not so kind.” He sighs, trying to calm himself and lifts his left hand; the Anchor glowing faintly and his eyes watch it, “I have an illness, or rather, sensitivity to any Fade born essence. That, too, has calmed and I’m grateful for that. As for my mind..” He trails off, grimacing a bit as if suddenly in pain, “...Visualize the Void, and there’s your answer. Black walls with crimson torches, seats empty, but somehow wanting for memories to take their seats. However, those occupants never come, burnt to ash by fury’s flame. That’s my mind in a nutshell.” What is your current main goal?

He raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips, “Mm, as of right now, I’m busy helping Solas unlock the eluvians that he couldn’t while I was away,” He flexes his marked hand, watching it with a look of determination in his eyes, “That’ll take time, but after, my people, my kin will have their skies back. I won’t let this power be squandered, and I won’t let the key that I’ve been entrusted with fall into the wrong hands.” His face hardens further, “For if that key rusts, the locks break and the sky will blacken as surely as the earth will redden.”

Choices

Drink or food?

“Drinks.” He says with ease, shrugging, “Food is comforting, especially sweets, but a glass of rum or ale, or a cup of chamomile tea really pounds the word ‘relaxation’ into my head.” Cats or dogs?

He smiles, warmth caressing its edges, “You’ve seen Nislean wandering about the halls, laying on the window sills and curling up in front of the fire,” He hums suddenly, crossing his arms again, “Which reminds me, I need to go out of the Crossroads for milk. I’ll be getting more than five bottles this time.” Optimist or pessimist?

“Depends on who you ask,” He shrugs, seeming unbothered, “I’m neither from a personal standpoint. I try to see the bright spots, but shadows can be very persistent.”   Sassy or sarcastic?

He snorts, “Ask Fen’harel,” his voice is light upon the title, playfully mocking in its deepness, “He knows all about that side. Although, he would label it, ‘insufferable’. I would call myself dryly sarcastic, though.”

Have You Ever

Been caught sneaking out?

He purses his lips, “Hmm. Not that I can recall,” he says slowly before his brows jumped and his eyes lit up with memory, “Oh! Wait. There was that one time where I was with Solas and Mythal in a...courtyard, I think?” He shrugs before shrugging, “Doesn’t matter. But, I tried to slip away, tail and all, and I...may have shattered one or two or three eluvians trying to get to the balcony.” He somewhat wistfully, smirking, “Elgar’nan got fucking stuck in a far off settlement for a week, though. Completely worth getting my horn chewed off by a wolf.” Broken a bone?

“Surprisingly, no.” He huffs in amusement, “Wonder of wonders, truthfully.” Received flowers?

“I have,” He scowls, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust, “but I always throw them into the fire. Most are from suitors, those who don’t know what the fuck ‘taken’ means.” Ghosted someone?

His face tightens, completely deadpan, “...No?”, he says, voice raising in question a bit, “At least I don’t believe so. But, then again...oh.” He blanks further, “...Oh. I understand the term now. You mortals are forever twisting the languages, aren’t you? I can’t keep up, but the answer is still no.” Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“Maybe once or twice, but I don’t ‘laugh’ per say.” He huffs through his nose deliberately, “I do that; a puff of air. Some habits are never truly able to be broken. No matter the form.”

Tagging: @oxygenforthewicked @blueheaded @little-lightning-lavellan @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine and anyone else that’d like to play! (no pressure, of course!)

[astarryon]

Amends

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and weapons, slight language, short fight scene, etc.

Summary: The last thing you expect to find when you come home is the most important ghost from your haunted past.

A/N: Not really sure where this one came from, just something I dreamed up after watching the first episode of TFATWS! Let me know what y’all think!

Masterlist

It’s the sharp, cloying scent of cologne that tips you off.

You don’t think much of it at first, initially having caught the trail of it down the hall from your apartment door. Automatically, you assume it belongs to one of your neighbors, or even one of the guests they’ve invited over for the night. Nothing to harbor any sort of significant concern over.

That changes the instant you reach your front door.

It’s locked. In addition to that, the hall light is off, and from what you can see there’s only darkness to be seen beyond the bottom crack of the door. For all intents and purposes, as far as you can tell, everything is exactly how you’d left it upon leaving your home earlier in the evening. But the closer you’d walked to your door, the more concentrated the scent had become –– to the point that it’s now the only thing your sharpened senses can focus on.

You didn’t used to be like this. Paranoid. Always instantly assuming the worst, to note something as simple as the smell of cologne hanging in the air and immediately jump to the conclusion that it meant someone had finally come to put an end to you. There’d been a time, once, when you trusted easily and laughed with everyone. When you would make conversations with strangers as you passed them by on the street, when you could spend ages soaking in the sun with your eyes closed with no worry of whether you’d open them to find a knife buried in your chest or a bullet lodged in your skull.

But you hadn’t been that way in a very, very long time. And as you crack the door to your apartment open, reaching for the knife hidden at your hip as the cologne’s stench only grows stronger, you can’t help but wonder if that isn’t as much a blessing as it is a curse.

Your apartment is dark, but that doesn’t make much difference to you. You’ve got the space memorized like the back of your hand, know where each corner is and where every weapon is placed –– home court advantage. Stepping inside and closing the door as softly as you can, you make sure to keep your back to the wall, clutching the handle of your knife ever tighter. You might know your way around, but you’ve been intentionally dulling your senses, your reflexes, in an effort to bury the past and leave it behind you. You’re not entirely sure where the intruder is in your home, and you’ll be damned before you let them get the drop on you before you’ve put up a proper fight.

And then you hear it. A creak in the floor boards with the shifting of body weight, just to your right. In your chest, your heart thumps so forcefully that you’re positive its bound to explode right through your ribcage, and you know you don’t have much time, but that doesn’t stop you from slipping your eyes closed for the single spare second you do have and steeling yourself for what’s sure to come before opening them again, sliding your gaze just over your shoulder to assess the present threat.

Your mouth instantly runs dry the moment you lay eyes on him.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says softly, but your reflexes kick in the moment he speaks and before you can blink, you launch at him in a flurry of fists and panic.

That face. How many hours have you spent trying to convince yourself you would never see that face again, never have that bone chilling, bloodcurdling voice rasping in your ear? How much time have you spent nervously glancing over your shoulder, moving from apartment to apartment because something in your gut told you he was on your trail? You didn’t want to believe it, had always tried to reassure yourself that he was gone –– that all of Hydra was gone –– but you’d never quite managed to convince yourself.

And, given that you’d just walked into your apartment to find the Winter Soldier staring back at you, that was apparently for good reason.

He blocks the first hit you throw at him easily, sidestepping out of its way. The second manages to clip him on the jaw, though it doesn’t succeed in knocking him back as it would on any normal person. He opens his mouth to speak again, but you don’t give him the chance to get a word out before you send a kick flying toward his face. He’s forced to duck and roll, which in turn gives you an opening to launch another kick, but he reaches out with a hand and clamps a vice like grip around your ankle.

All it takes is one decisive tug for him to put you flat on your back.

“Stop,” he snaps, reaching to knock the knife from your grip. Funny, that. In your panic to land a hit on him, you hadn’t even thought to make use of it. “Stop fighting. I’m not here to hurt you.”

It’s the second time the words fall from his mouth, but as with the first, they don’t leave much of an impression.

The Winter Soldier looks just the same as the last time you’d been in his presence, save for shorter hair and a clean shaven face. His skin is still pale as a sheet, turned ghostly in the few slivers of moonlight that manage to creep their way through the blinds hanging in the window. His eyes are still ice, a shade of blue that makes you grind your teeth and sets your nerves on edge. He’s got that same melancholy about him that had been there the first time you’d seen him, though now you knew better than to sympathize with it, to trust it.

Making that mistake years ago had cost you your life as you knew it.

“Get off me,” you command, struggling hard.

It’s no use –– his grip is much too strong. You won’t be going anywhere until he wants you to.

“Please stop,” he tries, an odd desperation in his words.

“Get off me!” you yell again, kicking with your legs like a helpless child.

The Winter Soldier clamps the hand not preoccupied with pinning your wrists above your head over your mouth, waiting for your muffled screams and swears to die down before trying to speak again.

“Look, this is simple,” he sighs tiredly, inexplicable sadness shining in his eyes. “I will let go of you as soon as you calm down. Alright? All I want is to have a conversation.”

You want to call bullshit, but his hand over your mouth still robs you of your voice. You aren’t sure what game he’s playing, but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving you with much of a choice but to participate. And… well, technically up to this point, every move he’s made has been defensive. Perhaps playing along wouldn’t necessarily be the worst course of action.

He removes his touch from your body as soon as you nod and go still, making it clear that you have no intention to repeat your flurry of attacks from before. Part of you is tempted to make an attempt to pull one over on him, strike and get up and leave as fast as you can, but you know it would be in vain. He’s faster than you, always has been. It wouldn’t take more than a passing second for him to get his hand around your throat and squeeze.

The two of you sit together in silence for a few awkward minutes, trading nothing but ragged, adrenaline spiked breaths and charged stares between you. Just when you’re sure his ploy for peace had been nothing more than a cheap trick to allow him time to catch his breath before finishing the job and killing you, he opens his mouth, then closes it again, and repeats this sequence of actions two more times before actually giving a voice to his words.

“My name is James,” he tells you, casting his eyes down to the floor. “I’m… I’m not who I used to be.”

“You’re not?” you seethe, barely managing to keep your volume level in check. “You sure look the same.”

“I’m not,” the Winter Soldier –– or, James, as he’d introduced himself –– insisted. “Not at all.”

“That’s funny,” you spit, hands trembling where you’ve forced them to remain down at your sides. If you squeeze your fists any tighter, you’ll be sure to snap a bone. “Because I remember you. You and all the little lessons you made sure to incorporate into your training.”

“That wasn’t me,” James mutters lowly, jaw working hard enough that the grind of his teeth was audible.

“Oh, wasn’t it, though?” you hiss, flashes of red anger lacing your vision. “You weren’t the one who dislocated my arm and then forced me to spar without resetting it? You weren’t the one who taught me to lie by holding a blade to my throat and pressing the knife harder against my skin every time you saw a shift in my expression? Neither of those were you?”

“No,” he mumbles, but you hardly hear it, and you don’t care to.

You aren’t done with him. Not yet.

“Then you also must not be the one responsible for the deaths of my family,” you throw at him, the tang of iron souring the back of your tongue. “The one who took my parents away from me with the squeeze of a trigger? The same one who happens to be the whole reason that Hydra managed to get their hands on me in the first place? You knew what it was like, to be taken and turned into a monster, a–– a machine for them to build to suit their needs and use whenever they felt like they didn’t have enough power, but you didn’t care. You could have stopped that from happening to me, but you didn’t.”

“That wasn’t me,” James snaps, raising his hoarse voice at you for the first time all evening. The sudden outburst is so jarring it takes you aback, forcing a pause in the functions of your brain. All you can do is continue gazing upon the quiet anger which slowly boils into James’ features. “You were with Hydra for twenty years before Steve blew their cover, I was with them for seventy. Seven decades, doing the work of the people I enlisted in the world war to stop in the first place. Knowing that, do you honestly think the things I did were at all my own decisions?”

You cross your arms, swallowing hard as your gaze switches from his contorted expression to the floor. You don’t want to hear this. All these years hiding, trying to get back to some semblance of normal and carve out as much of a life as you could for yourself, it hadn’t been the faces of the Hydra operatives that haunted your nightmares each time you closed your eyes to fall asleep. It had been one with eyes blue as ice and twenty times colder, no compassion, compunction, or remorse to be found at all within their depths. One with a gaze deader than any of the corpses he’d been responsible for making.

That face was his.

“So why are you here then?” you sigh, still staring at the floor. You can’t trust yourself with anything else, not right now. Actually looking up at him holds the potential to yield very dangerous results. “To finish the job? I’m not stupid, I know none of the other agents are left. But if you think I’m just going to sit here all quiet and make killing me easier on you––”

“Oh, you people and your assumptions,” James mutters blackly under his breath, reaching a gloved hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “That is not why I’m here. Which I might have been able to tell you if you’d just let me get a word in edgewise.”

“You mean like you used to let me?” you scoff, rolling your eyes to the ceiling and doing your damnedest not to give into the rage rising in your chest. “You’ll have to forgive me for not buying that, considering the entirety of our past and all.”

“Christ,” he gripes, more to himself than to you, “and Raynor says I’m paranoid.” The name isn’t one you recognize, but to James its significance is clear. Speaking it seems to serve as a reminder to him, and he exhales deeply and loosens his shoulders in response to it. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he almost appeared to be counting himself down to his next sentence –– like it was so important he needed to work his way up to it. “I’m here… because…”

You blink, tilting your head to the side as you await his explanation. Actively refraining from attempting any guesses. Not exactly a challenge. If he truly didn’t come here to kill you, then his motive was a complete mystery.

Ages pass before he finally works up the nerve to say what he’s been meaning to.

“I’m here,” he sighs, carefully enunciating each word like he’s afraid they’ll break if he doesn’t pay them enough care, “because I am no longer the Winter Soldier. I am… I am James Bucky Barnes, and you are part of my effort to make amends.”

His words are small, crafted with the brittleness of glass and about ten times as fragile. They’re spoken so resolutely that you’re positive this isn’t the first instance in which he’s uttered them to another human, but they seem… choked, for lack of a better description. Judging by his grimace, they clearly don’t come easily, either.

You’re entirely unsure what to make of them.

“You don’t have to say anything,” James assures you, clasping his hands together in a manner that almost looks meek. “I don’t expect… What I’m trying to say is that it’s not transactional, this apology. There isn’t anything I want from you, or anything I’m looking to take. Just… My doctor, she had me write out a list of names of people to confront, and some to apologize to. That’s the one yours is on.”

You hear the words coming out of his mouth. What’s more, you understand them in a conceptual sense. But for some reason your brain lags in correlating the words and their meanings, in properly contextualizing them in accordance with his soft tone and the sincere regret in his eyes. Of all the nights you’d spent living in fear of this exact moment, that your mentor of once upon a time would one day appear to quietly finish you off, the last thing you’d ever expected to be met with instead was this.

Whatever this was, exactly.

You scan his body head to toe once more, searching more carefully this time. Dressed in all black as he was, it made it slightly more difficult to be certain, but you don’t see any telltale signs of a gun hiding anywhere beneath his clothing. That didn’t mean there wasn’t one, nor did it mean there was no knife strapped to his arm or tucked away in his boot, but you could spy no evidence.

So, no weapons. No yelling, other than to cut through your assumptions of violence. No hissed warnings or threats. No apparent sign he’s looking for a fight. Each of your senses scream at you to ignore all of this, to put no trust at all into the meaningless words of a man, a machine, who had only ever served to bring strife and suffering into your life. Even in spite of the realization that he’s likely unarmed, you still find yourself tempted to attack and flee before he inevitably makes his move.

But then…

“Why?”

The question catches each of you by surprise. James, because he clearly hadn’t expected much of a response, and if he got one, he didn’t think it would be simple as a posed curiosity, and you, because you hadn’t truly meant to ask the question aloud.

“Why…?” James echoes, brow furrowing in confusion. Certainly a sight to behold. Time away from existing as the Winter Soldier had evidently made his face that much more expressive.

Strange, that there could be so much to read in that face, yet so little at the same time.

You open your mouth to speak, carefully sifting through words in your mind before deciding upon the proper combination to convey your meaning. “Why would you want to do something like that?”

James squints in confusion. “Apologize?” he reiterates, gears in his head visibly turning a mile a minute.

“You had to know what I would think,” you explain, “seeing you after all this time. You say you have a list? Well, I can’t be the only one who instantly jumped to the worst case scenario. Why would you… why would you want to put yourself through something like that? A slideshow of the people you hurt? That’s painful, James.”

“No more painful than all the things I did to them,” James sighs, shoulders deflating. “To you. And anyway, it wasn’t me who did all those things. It was someone else’s will, I was just… I was just the tool. That’s not something I can change, and I can’t bring back all the people Hydra used me to kill. But I can apologize for it, because I am sorry. Just like I’m sorry for my part in what happened to you.”

You can see it more clearly, now. The human in him. Before, he’d been cold. Mechanic. Void of any and all emotion as far as the eye could see. That had made it easy to hate him, all those days he’d made you fight, spar, endure endless physical and emotional pain until you learned to be the tool Hydra wanted you to be. In your pain, your rage, your fear that all you would know for the rest of your existence were dark rooms and metal walls, the Winter Soldier had been the one to incur your wrath.

But this man was not the one you’d known. This man was different. This was a man whose eyes glimmered with remorse so bright it looked like unshed tears. This was a man with a face so expressive it was hard to believe you’d known its features for decades. A man who only wanted to talk, because if he’d had a more sinister motive in coming here, you would surely be dead by now.

Just as he’d told you moments ago, this man was not the Winter Soldier.

“Does it help?” you question, unable to force your words above a whisper. “Seeking people out, apologizing like this.”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” James tells you, blue eyes wandering back to the floor. The light of the moon peeking through your window casts them an odd tone of silver. “It doesn’t take the hurt away, not for me or for them. But it helps to say it out loud, that I’m not that person anymore. Not everyone believes it, but all of this isn’t for them. It’s for me.”

“To what end?” you ask, words coming out harsher than you mean them to. “What’s the point, then?”

James shrugs a shoulder, head shaking. “My doctor says closure,” he supplies, reaching up almost nervously to scratch at the back of his neck with a gloved hand. “Making amends helps process difficult situations. It’s not easy, but I figure it’s as good a shot as I’ve got to move on from all of this.”

All James was looking for was a way to move on. Wasn’t that the same thing you’d been trying to do these past few years, when you laid down to sleep at night and did your best to push all the faces of the people you’d hurt at Hydra’s direction out of your mind? You certainly wouldn’t consider yourself the same person you’d been back then. Was it really fair of you to condemn James to his past in the way you’d been trying so hard to escape yours?

“I’ve been at this a long time, James,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Trying to move on from my past, trying to… forget. So far, it hasn’t worked out.”

“Forgetting isn’t the point,” James responds carefully, analyzing your face with marked carefulness. “You’ll never be able to forget. The past will always be there. It’s not something you can run from.” He pauses then, and the next time he speaks it sounds as if he’s been struck hard by a sudden epiphany. “But you can come to terms with all of it,” he goes on, “if you try. And you really gotta try, ‘cause otherwise all that bad will still be waiting for you when you wake up in the morning. Take it from someone who knows.”

And you don’t really know what to say to that. You’re not really sure what you can say. James’ certainty is tangible. You can feel it in his words, the way they tickle your brain like ribbons and set your mind rolling down a path you don’t altogether recognize. You want to ask him about it, make him elaborate further on all that he’s said, pick each and every one of his sentences apart until you understand the methods and reasonings for what he’s doing so you can know for sure if it will work for you the same it clearly seems to be working for him.

But he’s clearing his throat and running a hand through his dark hair before you get the chance.

“Like I said,” James tells you. “I’m very sorry for the hurt and the pain my actions have caused you. I can’t take it back, and I can’t change the past. All I can do now is try to be someone better. I hope… I hope you understand.”

And then he’s gone, out the front door so quickly you don’t realize until it shuts behind him.

You scan through your dark apartment, taking note of all your surroundings. James has left no sign of his presence, hasn’t disturbed a single one of your belongings. Even his footsteps over the floor on his way out had been remarkably silent –– though that, you supposed, was characteristic of his capabilities. Here and gone in an instant, fluid as a ghost.

The realization that you’d only been aware of his presence before entering your apartment because he’d wanted you to be strikes you dumb.

He hadn’t come here to cause you harm, hadn’t shown up at your home to kill you, rid himself and the rest of the world of the living reminder of the dark things which had gone on in the Hydra base –– though, doing so would have required such little effort on his part. No, James… James’ reason for seeking you out had been exactly what he’d told you.

Making amends, in an attempt to forgive himself for the things which others surely couldn’t. Perhaps that had been your mistake all these years. Rather than beating the past out of your mind with a stick, refusing to acknowledge it for everything you’re worth… maybe trying something else was the correct way to go.

Surely taking a page out of James’ book couldn’t hurt.

Your body took charge through no accord of your own, and before you realized it, you were standing in your kitchen beneath the glow of a single light staring down at a blank sheet of paper, fingers turning the pen in your grasp over and over again in your palm.

Names. You needed to write down names. But doing that would require you to actively delve into your past, and you weren’t sure that was something you could handle much of tonight. But there was one name which immediately sprang to mind, one repeating itself over and over in your head like a mantra. Sighing, you uncapped the pen and touched its point to paper, hastily scrawling out a single name before setting it back down on the counter.

James Bucky Barnes.

A list of names to make amends, half to confront, half to apologize.

You’d been on his. It only makes sense that he’d be on yours, too.

[reginaofdoctorwho]

ok so i started this as a draft days ago and barely remember where i was going with this idea but i tried to fill it out a little more. basically it’s just that anytime Curt says he misses being a spy he misses being a spy with Owen or the spy he was with Owen. so probably everything is what everyone knows already

Curt ties being a spy with Owen. completely, intrinsically, whatever, okay?? in Spy Again Curt says “Owen would want me to do this”, and lists

hop in a jet and fly again

grow a spine again

do my best not to cry again

wear a suit and tie again

drink martinis and drive again

get by again

feel like a real important guy again

as what he’s going to do as a spy. let’s check off what happens before Owen’s reveal (i’m trying to include some)

hop in a jet and fly again

grow a spine again

do my best not to cry again (i’m trying to be nice here he’s probably doing his best despite what happens)

wear a suit and tie again (literally part of the mission)

drink martinis and drive again (he’s sobering up)

get by again (barely my dude)

feel like a real important guy again

which, decent, but our dude is also having gay flashbacks, messing up a very simple and clear mission, and mistakes flirting for fighting (to quote my friend “Amelie” “he’s,,, so bad at pretending to be straight”) this all being with him having been one of the greatest spies, to the point of recognition years after he retired.

and post Owen’s reveal

hop in a jet and fly again (we’re going to count whatever that in

grow a spine again

do my best not to cry again

wear a suit and tie again (i mean he doesn’t need it??)

drink martinis and drive again (ok i don’t know maybe?? he does shots before and THEN chases Owen and then he’s drinking whiskey when he meets with Tatiana)

get by again

feel like a real important guy again (look at him at the end

more below the cut because this is already long and it’s going to be even longer

Okay, to be more in depth, (this’ll sound like a lot of my other posts) at the beginning Curt Mega is truly a great spy. yes, he was captured by Oleg, but the entire interaction with him Curt is still in control. he mocks Oleg, breaks his fingers, hits the bat back at him, all while holding a conversation (and flirting) with Owen. he’s confident the entire time, he’s willing to go against plans and is overconfident to a fault. While Cynthia is somewhat rude and pays more attention to Owen in the beginning (”finally someone who knows what the hell they’re doing!”) but i think she’d treat him the same as Curt if he ever did decide to work for her. it’s partially a “bring in new talent” and partially a “keep the old talent from being overconfident” thing. i don’t think it’s an actual mark on what pre-fall Curt was like as an agent. but either way, their record was six minutes to get out of a building presumably set to explode (or implode. fuck if i know) and they were still both confident and eager to lower the time even more. and they would have accomplished it, if not for Owen falling. what i’m saying is pre-canon Curt was a very effective agent, was good at his job, and was likely almost never out of his depth.

in Spy Again, he’s talking about becoming a spy again, but he links this to Owen, believing that being a spy again would enable him to work past Owen’s death (”but maybe this time’ll be different, it might be what I need”). he’s haunted by the “memories” not “memory”, which could be taken as any time he and Owen worked together, not just when he died. he wants to be a spy, but even stating that and the things he misses about being a spy (above lists) starts to remind him of Owen (”and i know just where i’m goin’, me and my partner Owen!”). he sees himself post-fall, with his beard, alcoholism, and trying and failing to improve (”i do what i can, try to make a plan, to be a better man, but nothing seems to stick”) and again relates it to Owen (”Owen please, if you could see what’s become of me, what would you think?”). Curt decides Owen would want him to be a spy again (”i once was a spy. i think you’d want me to spy again”) and repeats it to make it stick (”Owen would want me to do this”), and that is what truly starts him off again. or so it would seem.

in his first mission back, Curt can’t start again. he has to talk himself into doing his job again (”looks like that someone has to be me. you came here to do this, so do the job, stop acting like a little pussy”), and then mostly rides along on what Tatiana does anyway (”i second that motion!) a far cry from the beginning Curt who did his job eagerly. and we are again reminded that Curt was a great spy when Sergio recognizes Curt on sight and says “is that Agent Curt Mega? ... i can’t believe this, the most famous spy in the world busting my arms deal. hey, would you mind signing something...” followed by DMA immediately being able to disarm Curt with ease, showing the contrast. Curt does recognize the baked goods are the way to hurt Sergio, but also loses the bomb to Tatiana

Curt is, at this point, still waiting [in a way] for a partner. it is not implied in the beginning that he and Owen worked together every mission, rather the opposite in fact (“MI6 didn’t tell me you were on this mission”), but he still seems to almost expect a partner, and goes off what Tatiana says even though they’re not working together, and they both train their weapons on the baked goods.

Cynthia points out that he’s been on an early retirement for four years, which Curt is very quick to correct as a grieving period. his hands shake during Cynthia’s drill, he fumbles the gun, and he has none of the grace or style of the beginning. when Cynthia mentions Owen and Curt’s alcoholism (”i remember when i got the call that Owen died and you lived, i screamed into Susan’s neck for fifteen seconds, then i locked it up and moved on. you on the other hand, you drank yourself to rock bottom...”) Curt doesn’t even look at her. when she poisons him, he’s still able to repeat back (in essence) what she said, showing that the spy of the past is still there, deep down.

Eyes on the Prize II is the (i think) first time we see Gay Flashback-Owen. he is notably not slipping and dying, as would likely be going through Curt’s head if he were haunted by that specific memory alone (going back to the “haunted by any memory of Owen”) thing i mentioned, but is instead also saying “keep your eyes on the prize” with the ensemble, again lining up Owen with Curt’s idea of being a spy.

during the casino scene Curt is clumsy with his acting, and is trying to get information from Tatiana (it’s all very awkward. “make it a white russian, hold the vodka, please, thank you so much” “excellent choice. one vodka martini bone dry, and one glass of cream”), but as soon as another person joins it (Dick Big), the relationship between them turns from enemies trying to get information from the other to an uneasy team (”i’m hardly alone, the woman and i were just about to-”), with Curt even giving a russian toast, and although Tatiana definitely notices when Curt is given a gun by the dealer, she politely declines to mention it, and when Curt offers her his arm while Dick is off finding a waiter, she smiles. and while it could be argued that it is just them working undercover, this did feel more genuine than when they are alone and back in their assumed positions (”besides, without that horrible face fungus, what will i have to yank?” “we are talking about fighting, right?”) Tatiana also recognizes that Curt is alone in more ways than one, both without backup and without anyone he can trust fully. in the short time they’ve been together, they already are close enough to friends that Tati apologizes for bringing him to DMA

despite the two of them being on opposite sides during this encounter, they are already beginning to act as partners/friends, and Curt takes her betrayal more personally than he should have

i’d also like to take this moment to point out that DMA almost instinctively stabs the Nazi henchman for saying “seems his noggin’s a bit dense!” of Curt

during Torture Tango, it seems like he’s having a natural reaction to getting tortured. Curt is nervous, he’s afraid, he’s ready to die (”you sick bastard, why don’t you just kill me already?”/”i can’t deny that i’m gonna die”). but this is NOT how the torture scene at the beginning went, even before he knew Owen was there. at the beginning scene Curt is arrogant, throwing Oleg’s words back at him, breaking his fingers, keeping a cool tone and staying in control the whole time. this time he barely talks to the DMA, he doesn’t fight back, he just accepts it. also, he sings “i once was a spy but i won’t be a spy again” and “thought i could say goodbye, but i can’t lie i wanna be a spy again” despite the fact that he is a spy again. he says he wants to be a spy again, but he already is a spy again, what he’s missing is Owen. he was once a spy with a partner he loved and could trust completely, and the partner felt the same way about him. that is what i believe enabled him to be such a good spy, he had someone who knew everything about him, being gay included, and he was able to act more confidently as a result. what he misses is less of the “go get the girl and go save the world” and more seeing his partner even for short periods and having the confidence that comes from being known. also, curt is on the verge of death and is still thinking of Owen (”doesn’t even matter if i killed my best friend”)

back to Tatiana, who’s having her own crisis. “is Mega my enemy do i let him die? i’ve got to think about my family ‘cause no one’s looking out for me...” she, at this point, has not interacted with Curt beyond the arms deal, the casino, and betraying him to von Nazi and DMA. despite this she still sees him as a possible ally, and ultimately does decide to betray von Nazi and DMA for him (to his understandable confusion). when she unties him, he only calms down when she holds her arm out to him, but he becomes so distracted by it and Gay Flashback-Owen that he doesn’t notice DMA is waking up until he’s already been shot.  i’d also like to point out that Gay Flashback-Owen is doing the same arm out pose Tatiana is doing while holding Curt’s arm

end of act 1. can i get a wahoo?

when Curt is with Barb, he acknowledges that he’s fucked things up, but still catches himself on saying he is a [great] spy again ”i was, i am, supposed to be the best”

i think during the gala he is trying to be the Curt from the past while ignoring why he was that way. he insists on going rogue, he confidently (and foolishly) announces that he is a spy, the prince will be assassinated, and that the Russians and Americans know, despite the fact that it doesn’t seem like a good idea if thought about at all. With blowing up the facility at the beginning there was some merit to it. they had been seen, they stole the plans and possibly wished to muddle why they were there, the facility might have had more plans they didn’t know about and they were already on a time limit. they also had a limit on the tech items they had (no rocket shoes :’( ).

when Tatiana rescues him again and takes him to his mother’s safe house, who mentions a “constant parade of drinking buddies, for poker or wrestling or whatever you boys do in the rumpus room” and while we could make an argument about Curt trying to move on after the fall, i think this youtube comment on the video is a fucking treasure and i will forever remember it.

i’d also like to point out now that Tatiana is truly the only character that i believe could “replace” Owen for Curt. he needs someone in his life who can know even the parts he hides from those closest to him, someone on equal footing with him, someone who doesn’t idolize him, and someone who works well with him. he can’t tell his mother, because she wants grandchildren, she wants a daughter-in-law, she wants to plan a wedding. it can’t be Cynthia, she’s his boss, it’s set during the Lavender Scare when he could lose his job for being gay. it can’t be Barb, who has an intense crush on him, and even when she does act in a platonic way, she is willing to risk her job based on the fact that it’s him (in an almost awestruck way). Tatiana is unimpressed with Curt when they first meet, they become friends quickly, work together to stop von Nazi and DMA, they are both spies at the top of the field, and she accepts him (”you’re cool with me?” “till the end!” “cool :)”). also, i think it’s interesting that Tatiana believes she is saving someone (her family) by leaving them behind, while Curt believed he killed someone (Owen his lover) by leaving them behind. just kinda parallels i think

before Doing This, Curt says he is is afraid that “[he’ll] never be the spy [he] once was” and that he believes he shouldn’t need anyone else. when Tatiana says he’ll get everyone who cares about him killed with his line of thinking he says the line “i already have.” explains about Owen, and adds “and that was back when I was the old Curt”.

during One More Shot, Curt acknowledges that he tried to get past missing Owen by trying not to need anyone else, which was wrong (“i used to think i could do this by myself i was fine, i didn't need any help“). this is him starting to take his friendship with Tati and being able to use it to see that while he cannot work alone, he doesn’t need one specific person to make him the man he is.

this of course promptly goes out the window when DMA is revealed to be Owen

however, Curt still calls Tatiana “partner” before going after Owen.

when he does go after Owen (One Step Ahead), he still thinks of Owen as the man from 1957 (”what happened to the man i knew?”). when Owen begins to explain, Curt tries to remind him of what they did “together. two of the greatest spies to ever live”. once again associating him and Owen together with being a spy

also, once Owen is dead (idk if i hope for real or not) again, Curt does make a change for the better. he’s able to be fairly confident around Cynthia, he tries to be enthusiastic about Barb’s tech/data analysis merge, he is able to talk about his “ex lover returned from the grave” with Tatiana. i do find it interesting though that he does not tell her about the other facilities, again taking it upon himself to fix it, and only telling her “give me a ring if you’re ever stateside”.

in a final moment, Curt is able to move on from Owen, and acknowledge “i once was a spy, i’ll always be a spy” with or without Owen.

[glassessence]

PGR - OC

I got so inspired by everyone’s creativity that I created my own OC ^^” Even though she’s a member of the Purifying Force, I hope she’ll still be received warmly. Special thanks to @punishing-gray-raven-ocs​ for their detailed posts about character creation that really made me think about Lydias! 

Warning: I may have gone a bit overboard with the detail. It’s a long read! Also, I threw in a not-so-subtle reference to the most traumatic Memory Rescue mission lmao. So proceed with caution, I guess HAHA

Name                          Lydias: Umbral

Type                            Offensive Support-type Construct

Service time              1 year

Psychological age    24

Activation date         15 March

Height                         167 cm

Weight                        59 kg

Vital fluid type          O

Faction                        Purifying Force

Rank                            A

Weapon                      Chakrams (preferred) /  Gun

Damage type             70% Dark, 30% Physical

Lydias is a support-type Construct modelled after Watanabe’s Astral frame. She has extreme stealth capabilities and excels at tracking, making her ideal for the execution of rogue and infected Constructs.

Her missions mostly involve infiltration and spying, although she’s also been deployed on assassination missions. Those orders come straight from Nikola and their records are kept top-secret, inaccessible even to Bianca.

Her frame is designed for long-range sniping and comes equipped with visual accuracy enhancements and superb calculative powers. However, Lydias prefers to engage her targets in close combat. Killing Constructs from afar feels cruel and cold, like they really are meaningless machines instead of former comrades.

She truly believes in the good of the Purifying Force, but hates the things she has to do. She doesn’t feel like she belongs, but also can’t see a future for herself anywhere else.

Her fighting style is very graceful, featuring a lot of spins and flips that are reminiscent of a dance. Her signature move is called “Blade Dance.”

B A C K G R O U N D 

Lydias was born to a wealthy family in Babylonia. Her mother joined the war effort as a Commandant shortly after she was born and is known as the leader of the elite task force, Cybele. Since then, Lydias has always wanted to follow in her mother’s famous footsteps.

Originally a Commandant of the Black Wolves, a certain incident caused her to give up the position and apply for reconstruction. Despite having low compatibility for Tantalum-193, her application was approved after negotiations with Nikola. Following her surgery, she was transferred to the Purifying Force.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Shows affection through actions rather than words. Bakes cakes for the humans of Babylonia in her free time

Philosophical, often ponders on the nature of humans and of the war

Likes to make dirty jokes and tease others

Obedient to a fault because she doesn’t trust her own judgement

Comes across as cold, but is just awkward with introductions

Doesn't think very highly of herself. Ignores it when other Constructs call her "traitorous hunting dog" but secretly thinks they're right

Loves the sea and the fathomless depths yet to be explored. Likes to go swimming at every opportunity

Prefers to work alone, but overprotective of her comrades when in a team. Frequently throws herself in harm’s way to shield her teammates. Knows it’s not good, but is too haunted by her past

Trusts easily, but is very guarded with her heart

Knows how to dance a lot of old-school styles like ballroom and ballet, but is too shy to ask anyone to practice with her

S E C R E T S

Has memorised a lot of poetry from before the Punishing Virus outbreak

Gets intensely lonely and jealous when seeing close squad camaraderie like Gray Raven’s

Avoids Kamui because he reminds her of someone she’s lost

Has spied on Watanabe extensively under Babylonian orders and is deeply fascinated by him

Doesn’t trust Nikola, but is unable to disobey his commands

Secretly harbours doubts about Babylonia’s mission to reclaim Earth

Has obtained special permission to download the data of the Black Wolves and often reads the records to keep them alive in her heart

V O I C E   L I N E S

“Team leader? No, I refuse. You’re making a grave mistake.”

“I’m not suited for protecting people.”

“My opinion on the Forsaken? They’re hardworking, loyal, and--Nevermind. We seem to share a similar goal.”

“The Black Wolves? Where did you hear of that name?! Don’t mention it again!”

“I baked a cake today. Would you like some?”

“Yes, I can dance. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others…”

“I can teach you to dance. Privately, if you’d like. Haha, just kidding.”

“Becoming a Construct was a decision I made rashly. I don’t necessarily regret it, but…”

“Are we really doing the right thing? This endless war… All these years… What have we really achieved?”

INTERLUDE

D U S K F A L L

A voice cracked over the intercom. “...dant…Com...ant...Commandant, do you hear me?!”

Lydias blinked. The urgency in his voice caught her off guard. Ferdinand kept his cool even in the most dire of situations. Something was very wrong. “Tell me, Ferdie.” Static. “Ferds? Come through!” Nothing. Communications had been poor ever since they’d entered this area, but they’d managed until now. For it to suddenly fail like that… it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Shit,” she said, turning to the other two Constructs with her. “On guard, guys. Something’s coming and comms are down.”

Ilya grimaced. “Sure it’s not one of Ferdinand’s pranks again?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Flora offered, even as she tightened her grip on her lance. “Pesky little bastard would find it hilarious.” Lydias said nothing. She was too tense. There was a taste in the air, a metallic tang that churned in her belly. Sweat dripped into her eye. Suddenly, a hand slapped her on the back. “Relax, Commandant,” Ilya chuckled. “We’ll protect you like always. No need to be so scared all the time.”

Something in her loosened, just a bit. “Shouldn’t I be the one protecting you?” she retorted, trying to project confidence. “You guys with your fragile little M.I.N.Ds?” Flora laughed, a deep-belly rumble that Lydias loved. The knot in her stomach unravelled some more. “You do that, Commandant,” Flora said. “We’ll just twirl our pointy sticks at the bad guys.”

Lydias was just about to say something snarky when she caught movement in the corner of her eye. She swirled, gun at the ready. There was still no word from Ferdinand. “I’m sensing a large Corrupted force in our perimeter,” Ilya reported. His voice had lost its casual lilt. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

Lydias cursed. “How’s that Memory retrieval coming along?”

“Slowly,” Ilya replied unhappily. Flora clicked her tongue. The Corrupted were visible now. They weren’t like anything Lydias had seen before. They carried advanced weapons - chainsaws and spears and bows - and seemed to be organised into phalanxes. Dread coiled in her belly. “We’ve been ambushed,” she breathed in horror. “Ferdinand tried to warn us. They must have blocked off comms.”

“Well, shit,” Flora grunted. The Corrupted army was within gunshot range now. “When the fuck did they get so smart?”

“Someone must be leading them,” Ilya said. “How did the information leak?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lydias said. “We need to retreat. Now.” A bullet flew by her head, burning the shell of her ear as it passed. Her heart hammered. “Back off,” Flora growled. She twirled her spear, eyes flashing as she impaled the Corrupted soldier. Beside her, Ilya stepped forward, fast as a flash, and stabbed one through the neck. Lydias fired off three shots, watching in grim satisfaction as two buried themselves in the heads of two infected Constructs.

The scene descended into chaos just as Ferdinand’s broken voice sounded in her ear. “...n...way! Comm...ant!”

-----------

Flora stumbled back. She was breathing heavily. Vital fluid leaked steadily from several places, staining her coat a rich purple. Ilya was behind her, grimacing. His left arm was gone, torn away at the shoulder. Sparks flew from the exposed wires within. Beside them, Lydias swayed unsteadily. She clutched at her stomach. Red blood seeped through her fingers. All their attempts to break through had failed. Things were looking more hopeless by the minute. 

“Commandant,” Ilya said, voice strained. “Turn off my pain receptors.” Flora nodded. “Same here.” Lydias coughed wetly. Her vision was growing dim. “It’s dangerous,” she admitted, wishing she could shut off her own terrible pain. “But there’s no other choice.” She authorised the command. Her team’s face relaxed immediately. She met their determined gazes and nodded. “We’re all gonna go home. Together.”

Ilya smiled. Flora grinned. But there was a sadness in their faces Lydias didn’t want to acknowledge. Her connection with Ferdinand was still blocked. He could be dead for all she knew. She turned away from the thought. Just survive, Lydias. And take the Wolves home.

Together, the Black Wolves rose. Ilya with his dagger and Flora with her spear. Unseen by Lydias, they nodded to each other. An agreement, a pact. A promise. Renewed, they threw themselves at the Corrupted like cornered animals. Slowly, inch by painful inch, an exit was being forced open. Corrupted weapons dug into their bodies, but they pushed on. 

Lydias fought beside them, swinging her chakrams haphazardly. Her gun had run out of ammo long ago. She stumbled, half-blind, and almost skewered herself on the end of a Corrupted sword. She could hardly think straight; blood loss was making her weak. Suddenly, a voice crackled in her mind. “Commandant!” Ferdinand’s voice tumbled through her hazy thoughts. “The signal jammer is gone. What’s your status?!”

Her heart soared, bringing with it a brief burst of clarity. “Ferdie! It’s an ambush. We need support!”

“I’ve already informed Babylonia,” he said urgently. “Reinforcement is on the way. I’m coming to you, Commandant. Just hold on!” His signal blinked to life, moving rapidly towards their location. Lydias smiled grimly. Ferdinand was on his way. Support was coming. Surely, they would be okay. They would make it out of this. She just had to hold on for a little longer. 

Flora’s signal pulsed unsteadily and Ilya’s grew fainter with every breath. Lydias clung with desperation to the unstable M.I.N.Ds of her Wolves. I will protect you.

-----------

“Coming through!” A ray of energy tore through the Corrupted wave. Lydias spied Ferdinand’s face through the sea of blades. She almost wept with relief. “Retreat,” she said hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious. “Black Wolves, retreat!”

On cue, Ilya and Flora rushed through the tunnel, half-carrying Lydias with them. Between one ferocious breath and the next, they’d broken through the Corrupted circle. She tumbled bonelessly into Ferdinand’s open arms. He took a brief moment to survey her and paled. “The meeting point isn’t far,” he said. “Support will be there.” He picked up Lydias and turned to run, but Ilya and Flora didn’t follow. 

“Sorry, but this is the end of the road for me,” Flora said wryly. “Didn’t think it’d end like this.” She spat out a wad of purple fluid. “At least these fuckers will go down with me.”

“And you get the privilege of dying by my side,” Ilya said primly, readjusting his grip on his dagger. Flora laughed, an edge of sadness in her voice. “Yeah, old man, I guess I do.”

Lydias stirred in Ferdinand’s arms. “No,” she said, forcing herself to meet their gazes. “I won’t allow it.” 

“Unfortunately, Commandant,” Ilya said. “This time it’s not up to you.” He raised his remaining hand in a salute. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Go on,” Flora growled. “We’ll make sure nobody pursues you.”

Ferdinand pursed his lips, but nodded tightly. Lydias fought in his grip. She hardly even felt the pain. “No!” she screamed, or tried to. It was hard to tell where her voice was. “Don’t! I forbid it! That’s an order!” He started running. She watched helplessly as the distance grew. “Stop! Go back, we have to help them! Stop!”

In the fading light, Ilya fell and was immediately consumed by a horde of Corrupted hands. His signal weakened then blinked out. A scream tore itself from her throat. She thrashed in Ferdinand’s grip and felt his hold on her loosen. White-hot pain shot through her body as she tumbled to the ground. Mad with grief, she crawled forward desperately, mind blank except for the desire to be with her Wolves. 

Strong arms lifted her up. Ferdinand’s lively voice was dull. “Please don’t do this, Lydias.” 

“Let go, Ferdie,” she said angrily. “We have to--” Flora’s signal flickered out. Lydias felt her spirit break. “No,” she cried. “Please, no.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Words abandoned her. The world seemed to shrink, compacting to a single thought: she had failed. 

-----------

She woke to white light. Something beeped steadily beside her. Tubes ran from her body to several machines like the tentacles of some deep sea creature. Her entire body hurt. Immediately, she reached for the Black Wolves, but their signals were absent, leaving her mind uncomfortably empty. Panic settled like ice in her veins. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. 

Surely, they had recalled their consciousnesses. Surely, she’d simply woken up early. And where was Ferdie? Gasping, Lydias stood, dragging her broken body to the wall of windows. She brought a fist to the cool glass. Nikola watched her from the other side. “Where are they,” she croaked. “What happened?”

He shook his head sympathetically. “They didn’t recall their consciousness. According to our records, Ilya and Flora died protecting you from pursuit. Ferdinand was infected.” His eyes were grave. “He guarded you until reinforcements arrived.”

She didn’t know if she could bear the answer, but she asked anyway. “And then?”

Nikola studied her for a long moment before giving in. “And then the Punishing Virus took over his M.I.N.D. He escaped because we prioritised your survival.” A desperate hope sparked to life within her. “So he’s still alive? Then there’s still a chance! Please, let me find him!”

“You know it doesn’t work like that.” 

“Please,” she begged. “Please.”

He turned away from her. “The Purifying Force has already been sent after him. I’m sorry, Lydias.”

-----------

Three weeks later

“Are you sure?” Nikola asked, studying her with intensity. “Your chances of success are only 47%.”

Lydias stared at him blankly. “I’m sure.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow it. Commandants are valuable to Babylonia. Perhaps even more than Constructs. Few possess the will and compatibility to stabilize M.I.N.Ds. Someone as experienced as you is not expendable.”

“Then I quit being a Commandant. I refuse to lead another squad.” She looked away. “I couldn’t protect any of them. Not a single one.” Her voice broke. “I’m not… I don’t think I can--I just can’t.”

Nikola considered her with some pity. “What do you want then, Lydias?”

“You know what I want. I’m not afraid of dying.”

“I know you’re not afraid, but it seems to me like you seek it.”

She said nothing. Nikola sighed. “I’d rather not lose you completely. You have experience and ability. The Black Wolves were specifically chosen for that mission for your competence. Aife will increase our combat power significantly against the Corrupted.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s unfortunate, but these things happen at war.”

“Say whatever you want,” Lydias said stubbornly. “But this is my final decision.”

“Fine,” Nikola said. “Your attempt at redemption is admirable. I’ll grant your request, but if you survive, you’ll work directly under me. Is that acceptable?”

“Perfectly.”

INTERLUDE HIDDEN CHAPTER

F A D I N G   L I G H T

Flora: Fairfrost - Voice Log 

*sounds of fighting* I hope this reaches you, Commandant. I don’t think I’m gonna last much longer and… *grunting* I just wanna say goodbye. The old man’s already gone. I felt his signal die out a while ago. He went down taking a blade for me, can you believe it? Even though I’m the Attacker Construct. *panting* You know what his last words to me were? “It hurts.” As if our pain receptors weren’t turned off. I know what he means though. *blades clashing* After all, we all wanna go back home with you. But life’s a bit unfair, eh? For once, I don’t mind. Protecting your back… it almost makes me feel like a hero. That ain’t something you experience every day, y’know? *metal tearing* I guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. For being someone worthy of love. *crash, wet coughing* It’s been my honour and privilege to have been one of your Wolves, Commandant. You’ll remember me, won’t you?

-----------

Ferdinand: Aegis - Voice Log 

Lydias… This will probably be my last communication with you. I never would have thought this would be how it ends, but… Well, I’m just glad that I get to spend my final moments with you. I can feel my M.I.N.D. slipping, but Babylonia will be here any second now. They’ll take care of you, the way I wish I could. *sigh* Ah, there are so many things I want to say. I have nothing to lose anymore, so I hope you’re ready to listen. *deep breath* I love you. The way you laugh at my jokes and tease me. The way you can talk about anything. Your smile, your lips. I love the way you kiss me. And of course, I love our late night activities… Such as you trying to teach me to dance. *short laughter* Were you expecting me to say something else, Commandant? You--*grunt, glitching* Looks like my time is running out. I should go, but promise me one thing, Lydias. Promise me you’ll keep your heart open, so that someone else can love you as you deserve. I--You--*glitches*

DATA CORRUPTED.

[apocalypseornaw]

Always be Yours- 12

Word Count: 6,134

Story Summary: follows Dean and the Reader through season 9 into season 10

Chapter Summary: Kevin makes his ghostly presence known and that leads to a rescue mission. You finally get tired of the boys not talking.

Warnings: the usual. Blood, fighting, cursing, talk of sex

You stepped out the shower and dried off then dressed before going in search of Dean and Sam. The phistaco case had a couple close calls and you were all a little spent but it was nice to be working together again, it was nice to be home in the bunker but the animosity between the two of them was chokingly strong and you couldn’t fix it. No matter how much you wanted to, you knew they had to get there.

You stepped out into the hall and headed to your shared room with Dean first but when it was empty you headed to the kitchen. You were about to step around the corner when you heard Sam say “Just once be honest with me, you didn’t save me for me. You did it for you” you stopped and knew you should just walk back to the room and wait for Dean but that little voice inside your head said to listen so you leaned back against the wall. Dean’s voice broke through the silence “What are you talkin about?” you could hear it in his voice, the guilt and the pain. No matter how much you cared about Sam you hated to hear Dean sound like that. 

“I was ready to die. I should have died, but you..you didn’t want to be alone. And that’s what this all boils down to. You can’t stand the thought of being alone..I’ll give you this much..you’re willing to do the sacrificing as long as you’re not the one being hurt” in all the time you’d known him you’d never really gotten pissed off at Sam. Yeah when he was hooked on demon blood he was a problem but you knew a lot of that had simply been the addiction. Then when he was soulless he was a douche but now he was just saying things to hurt. You started to let your presence known until Dean said “All right you want me to be honest?” you knew whatever was about to go down between them had to so you remained unseen and silent as Dean continued “If the situation was reversed and I was dying, you’d do the same thing.”

Your stomach fell when Sam said “No Dean, I wouldn’t. Same circumstances I wouldn’t” Dean didn’t say anything so Sam sighed “I’m gonna get to bed” fuck you were about to get caught eavesdropping. Your room that still held most of your weaponry was closest so you ducked into it and waited until you heard Sam walk by and his door close before stepping out. You glanced towards his room and saw the small amount of light from his tv so you walked slowly towards the kitchen.

You stepped around the corner and Dean glanced up from where he was sitting at the table “Hey baby” you breathed and he nodded “Hey sweetheart. Did you hear any of that?” you started to lie, you really did but you couldn’t not in that moment. “Yeah but Dean I think he’s just still hurt” you tried and he shook his head “Come here” you walked over and climbed into his lap letting him pull you against his chest “Maybe he’s right and not just about him. Even Crowley called me out on the fact that I’m putting a target on your back for Abaddon but I still don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone. I can’t stand the thought of losing you or Sam”

You tried to pull back to look up at him but he held you in place so you simply kissed his neck since that was the only thing you could reach “You’re not going to lose me Dean. For what it matters I don’t think you’ll lose Sam either it’s just going to take time. Now that we’re all back here I’ll try talking to him about it more so maybe I can get through to him, make him see?” He kissed the top of your head with a sigh “Can we go to bed? I’d much rather feel you next to me than think about this any more”

You nodded “I like that plan actually” he let you climb out of his lap then took the hand you held out. When he stood he pulled you against him for a kiss. It started innocently enough but when you felt his hands curve across your ass you smiled into the kiss “I thought you wanted to go to sleep” he pulled back and shrugged “I said go to bed not what we can do once we get to bed” you shook your head with a laugh and grabbed his hand “Well what are we waiting for in that case?” 

------

You laid there a few hours later your bare body pressed against Dean’s as his fingers trailed along your spine. You knew he was watching you without turning over to look at him. You’d find him doing that even more often than before. “You’re not weak for not wanting to be alone” you whispered into the dark and his fingers stopped their rhythmic motions “What?” he questioned so you turned over pulling the sheet up around your breasts to keep some sense of modesty while you spoke because if given the chance Dean would take the distraction.

“Everyone’s lonely in this life Dean, even people who aren’t as complicated as we are. I think sometimes the point in life is finding your person or people that chase the lonely away and hold tight to them with everything you have. It takes more strength to fight for those you love than to walk away” he half smiled then tugged you over on top of him so you were effectively straddling his bare waist “How the hell can you be this amazing and want someone like me?”

You lightly grazed your nails across his chest smiling when he closed his eyes and swallowed hard at the action “Whatever happens with the mark and with Abaddon, I’m yours Dean” he opened his eyes and god it felt like he was looking into your soul itself when he said “And I’ll always be yours but if she targets you..” you cut him off by catching his lips in a gentle kiss “Then I’ll fight the bitch with everything I’ve got” you started kissing down his jaw causing him to roll his hips up into yours and you groaned when you felt how hard he was again. “Now who’s using sex to sidestep an argument?” he teased with a laugh that turned into a sigh of your name when you started kissing across his chest. “Are you asking me to stop?” you questioned glancing up at him. He licked his lips before shaking his head profusely “Hell no” you grinned and let the sheet fall away.

-------

You were half asleep around three the following morning when you got a sudden chill. You sat up and glanced around. When you reached to turn the bedside lamp on you could see your breath and heard what sounded like whispering from the hallway. “Um Dean?” he sat up and his eyes flew to the flickering lamp. “Shit”

You quickly climbed out of bed pulling pants on under the shirt you slept in before grabbing one of the sawed off shotguns from Dean’s stack of weapons. You chunked it to him then grabbed the other one.

You stepped out into the hall and motioned towards the garage so he took the other direction. You slowly crept around each corner checking the noises and mentally cursing the flickering electricity. When you got to the garage you flicked the lights on for the lower level and stepped inside. You went over the lower and upper level to no avail except for the lights flickering off and on. When you walked by your jeep the radio came to life but the moment you touched the door handle it shut off.

You decided to head back towards the library when you heard Dean call out for Sam followed by Sam calling out for Dean so you picked up your pace, still carefully checking every corner you went around. You slid around the corner in the map room in enough time to see Dean blast the spirit before it hit Sam. “Well” you spoke getting both of their attention on you before Dean nodded “Yup,bunker’s haunted”

------

You walked into the kitchen as Dean was questioning “How is this possible? This is supposed to be the safest place on the planet” “Nothing could’ve got in” you replied, taking the cup of coffee he offered you before walking over to the table to start helping Sam make more salt rounds. Sam nodded in agreement with you “Like Y/N said, the bunker is warded and sigiled from top to bottom. There’s no way something came in from the outside” “Ok, so whoever’s haunting us died here” Dean reasoned you were concentrating on filling the shell in front of you and only half involved in their conversation “What, dead man of letters?” Sam asked.

“Doesn’t track. We’re the first people to occupy this place in fifty years. Why would a ghost wait so long to get it’s spook on?” Dean argued so you glanced up and offered “Must have been a more recent death” “No” Dean said shaking his head. 

“How can you be so sure?” Sam asked and Dean pointed at you “Me and Y/N burnt his body ourselves” he looked towards you “Sweetheart it can’t be him” “Dean we’ve cremated people and they’ve still managed to haunt. What if he’s tied to something of his that’s still here?” Dean sighed “Baby, I’m telling you this ghost. It’s not Kevin” time the name left Dean’s mouth the coffee maker started beeping like a prize had just been won on a game show. “Kev?” you asked and one of the coffee cups exploded.

“I think it’s a better possibility than you thought Dean” Sam stated motioning at the mess before he glanced over his shoulder at you. “Call his name again” “Kev?” you spoke lightly standing up as you walked towards the coffee maker and it started beeping again. “What do we do?” you asked looking at Dean who looked just as lost as you felt.

------

You decided to go back to the garage since your radio had acted up to try to see if Kevin may feel chatty there. You were also giving Sam and Dean a chance to talk in hopes that maybe they actually would.

You walked into the darkened garage and slowly walked up to your jeep. You touched the handle and was hoping the radio would do something but nothing happened. You sat there for the better part of a half hour trying. You finally took a deep breath before saying “Kev, I don’t know if you can hear me but I am so sorry. God that falls so flat but I am. Me and Dean we let that angel in not knowing much about him to save Sam. We kept the truth from you, from Sam and from Cas. I should’ve helped to protect you. I should’ve stayed at your side that day. I should’ve done something. Now you’re gone, Cas is fighting other angels..Sam and Dean..they barely talk. Everything’s gotten so fucked up and I have no clue what to do. I should’ve saved you. We should’ve done more. You didn’t choose this life like we did. You were a kid and you lost everything but still chose to help fight in whatever way you could. You were the one who deserved to make it out of this alive more than any of us” you slowly climbed out the jeep then headed back down to the lower level.

------

Once you were back in the main part of the bunker you headed towards the kitchen and found Dean alone which wasn’t really a surprise. You froze at the door when you heard him say “It was my fault. There’s nothing I can do to make it right and I am so sorry” you stepped around the corner as the lights started to flicker. Dean had his hand covering his eyes and didn’t see you or the lights. Before you could say anything Sam ran into the room behind you “Did you see that?” Dean looked from you to Sam so you said “Yeah..the lights”

You spun around when you heard Kevin’s voice “No, this is not happening. I did not spend months struggling to break through the veil just to get stuck listening to Dean Winchester having a self pity session” your eyes widened when he became visible. You cut your eyes at the boys and both of their attention was on Kevin as well. “Didn’t hear enough of those when I was alive and now Y/N is starting in on them too” “Kevin?” Dean called out and Kevin’s eyes flew up to look at the three of you “You can see me?”

Kevin’s form started flickering so Sam cautioned “Take it easy. You may not hold this form for long ok? It takes a while” “Then we should talk fast” Kevin reasoned but Dean interrupted “Wait..wait why aren’t you in heaven? If anybody deserves a pass to paradise..” but Kevin cut him off “I couldn’t. I can’t” his form flickered but his voice stayed strong as he continued “No one can. Heaven’s closed for business”  his form flickered back in “Everyone’s died since the angels fell are just stuck inside the veil, waiting”

You swallowed hard at that thought. What had Metatron done? “How bad?” you asked quietly and Kevin replied “DMV line times infinity bad” “What can we do?” you questioned trying to think of any way to help not only Kevin but all the trapped souls. “I need a favor, a big one”

“Name it” Sam replied and Kevin looked towards Dean as he said “Find my mother” “Crowley only told you she was alive to mess with you” Dean cautioned but you were guessing Kevin had found something out important enough to give him the juice to cross back over and that feeling was confirmed when he said “I’m not going off his word.I have my own sources. It’s crowded in the veil. All of us are stuck near the sites of our deaths but I’ve been able to pass messages spirit to spirit. I made contact with another new arrival. She said she saw my mom just a week ago, alive”

You cut your eyes at Dean as he said “So this spirit that you’re playing ghost telephone with,I mean what do you even know about her?” “Her name’s Candy. Says she’s in a forest in Wichita” “Candy?” Dean questioned and Sam added “That’s all you got?”

Kevin looked towards you as he spoke “Long distance communication within the veil..it’s not ideal. That’s why I need you to go there,summon her. See what else she knows. You and Dean both say you want to make it right? This is how” his form flickered again so you spoke before he could disappear “Of course we’ll do it Kev”

------

“Well there’s the trestle” you announced pointing up ahead of you, Dean and Sam. Sam nodded “Candy said her spirit was stuck nearby” “She died here?” Dean asked and you shrugged “Yeah, I guess so” “What the hell got her? A bear?” he added and you tried not to laugh when Sam said “I’m still stuck on the fact that we’re trying to summon a ghost named Candy”

You shook your head “Both of you stop with the half jokes!” Dean winked at you and Sam shot you a small smirk. You were helping Dean unload his bag when Sam said “You know just because Kevin heard his mom is alive..” “We owe it to the kid to try” you and Dean both spoke then stared at each other for a second before going back to setting everything up.

“What’d you two bring anyways?” Sam asked so Dean replied “She’s only been dead a week so we figured she could use as much help as she could get so..” Sam turned around about the time Dean was pulling the coffee maker out the bag and you were hanging a radio on a tree. “Really?” Sam asked and Dean shrugged “Whatever works”

------

The three of you had been sitting for hours with no contact from Candy. It was overcast and raining.You were getting cold and Dean was getting a little grumpy. “You feel that? I think I felt a chill” Sam said and Dean scoffed “Yeah that’s cause it’s cold” you shivered despite yourself and Sam scooted a little closer to you so you smiled and leaned against his shoulder while Dean pulled his phone out. You weren’t sure who he was calling until he said “Crowley? It’s Dean. Call me when you get this”

“Really Dean?” you cut your eyes up at Sam when he spoke and Dean turned to look at the two of you “What?” Sam motioned to Dean’s phone “That’s your third unanswered voicemail. Ever think he’s just not that into you” “Well he is our last confirmed link to Ms Tran. Yes he is a flaming douche but at least we know he’s real which is more than we can say for this Candy no show” Dean reasoned finishing off his beer before reaching into his jacket pocket and holding out a pair of his thick gloves to you. “Thank you” you smiled, slipping them onto your hands. Dean nodded “Figured you’d get cold and you forgot to bring your own gloves”

The radio you’d hung up in the tree glowered to life. Sam and Dean both rose to walk towards it so you followed hoping it was Candy so you could actually find Ms Tran for Kevin.

------

Candy recounted that she along with Ms Tran and a few others were trapped in boxes. From the description she gave it was storage units they were trapped in. She described her captors and one of them was clearly Crowley. When Crowley stopped coming leaving her with the other man she figured it upped her chances of escape but he caught up with her at the trestle.

------

With no other option the three of you decided to check the nearest storage facilities out after changing into your fed suits. You sat in the backseat of baby listening while Sam said “There are three storage facilities nearby. The closest one is a mile up the road. Oh and I dug up some stuff on Candy” you leaned up across the seat as he continued “turns out she was the kept woman of a powerful congressman. Gossip blog said he worshipped the ground she walked on,literally. He uh..foot fetish” well you weren’t one to judge but a foot fetish? To each their own.

Dean nodded “So Crowley was holding the beloved tootsies of a powerful politician” “And the beloved mother of a powerful prophet” you added with a shrug “Human leverage is a bitch”

“Why kill Candy though?” Dean pondered and Sam shrugged “She made a break for it. Maybe Crowley wanted to make an example?” “Or the guy left in charge couldn’t handle his shit. Crowley wanted them alive. Kill em you lose your leverage” you chimed in and Dean nodded in agreement.

“Crowley’s still the one that put them in the cells in the first place” Sam reminded and you nodded “Yeah I know Sam. I don’t like that little gremlin either but we got to talk this shit out to work the case” “Being businesslike” Dean added and you could tell you’d missed something from the look they shared but ignored it.

------

Dean held the door leading into the office of the storage facility open for you so you stepped inside then Sam grabbed the door so he could walk. “Let me guess, five foot five, pasty white .Black rimmed hipster glasses just like the last place” so far none of the other facilities had paid off.

You shook your head then hit the bell sitting on top of the desk. Movement in the office caught your eye and Dean smirked at you and Sam when the guy stood up “Nailed it” you cut your eyes at him and he winked at you as the guy walked around the corner “Can I help you?” You pulled your badge out as Dean did the introduction of “Agents Nicks, McVie and Monroe. We need to take a look at your rental records” the guy stammered “Uh my manager’s not here. I really don’t think I should” You cut him off by saying “Get the records!” he stared at you for a second then nodded “Yes ma’am” then called over his shoulder “Barry! Bring out the rental binder!”

Barry of course fit the bill of being 5’5, pasty white with black rimmed hipster glasses. You saw Sam and Dean share a smirk. Sam walked over to look at the dry erase board on the wall so when “Del” sat the binder down in front of you with a smile and said “There you are ma’am” You opened it and Dean looked over your shoulder while you flipped the pages 

Sam noticed something on the board because he called you and Dean over so you handed the binder to Dean before both of you walked towards him. He pointed up the board “Check it out. Corridor Q. Three adjacent units separate from the others. I mean Candy said there were three hostages, right?” “Yeah” you nodded and reached for the binder in Dean’s hands flipping it to the Q section while he held it. He read over your shoulder once you got it to the right page “Says it’s all leased by the same guy a D. Webster” “Wait, as in like Daniel Webster?” Sam questioned and Dean rolled his eyes “Well I know a lame Crowley in joke when I see one”

Good ol Del was eavesdropping from the counter and asked “Did you guys say D Webster?” “Yeah. You seen him?” you asked walking back across the floor and feeling both Sam and Dean follow your movements. Del seemed to get a little nervous “No I just uh I know his name from the records. He’s leasing another unit on the other side of the facility” he realized all three of you were waiting for him to say what unit so he added “ I could show you?” Dean smiled “Yeah, that’d be great” Del grabbed the keys so Dean turned to look at you “Go with Sam and check out corridor Q. I’ll go with Del the funky homosapien” “Have fun” you whispered and he tilted his head with a smirk before walking out.

Sam looked back at you “Q it is?” you nodded and waved a hand towards the door “Lead the way Samuel”

------

You followed Sam through the hall leading into the corridor. You wanted to ask him about the issues between him and Dean but knew mid case was not the time. When you got to the first unit he nodded towards the key slot “You got this or want me to do it?” you rolled your eyes at him then pulled his kit out his jacket pocket “Sit back and watch a pro Sammy” within a few seconds you were pulling the door up.

You ducked down and gasped when you saw a very alive Ms Tran. “Ms Tran!” Sam whispered because she was already cowering down in a protective stance. “Hey hey hey! It’s us! It’s Y/N and Sam” you spoke softly both of you squatting down next to her. When she met your eyes you felt an overwhelming guilt at not only the fact that you would have to tell her Kevin was dead but god if you and Dean would’ve believed Kevin maybe you could’ve reunited them before he died.

You were studying her wrist and ankle restraints to see how to pick the lock when the door suddenly shut back. “Son of a bitch” you muttered and Sam ran over to it. “Sam? Please tell me it just fell?” you asked but he shook his head after trying it “No. We’re stuck” you leaned back on your heels then spotted the camera “They saw us the moment we walked in” Sam followed your line of sight and cursed “And Dean’s alone”

------

You were not panicking. Nope not in the least. Or that’s what you were telling yourself while you and Sam worked to get Ms Tran free. You checked her wrists and ankles for any open wounds before she told Sam “There’s an electrical wire, leads to the control panel” you followed him across the room to the panel and held the flashlight for him. He popped open the panel then glanced back at you “This may take a while” Ms Tran took the multi-tool out of his hand and waved him back.  

“We have to unplug the ground wire first. If this is standard U.S. color coding, it should be the green one” “Ok” you nodded watching her as she started working and explained “Helping Kevin with his engineering-club assignments, I picked up a thing or two. I’m sure he insisted but I trust neither of you were foolish enough to bring Kevin along on this mission. That you left him in a safe place?” Sam glanced at you before answering “Of course”

She nodded “Good. Now all we have to do is get this door open,get the hell out of here and you will bring me to my son” You cut your eyes at Sam and nodded. He was feeling the same guilt you were. He covered Ms Tran’s hand with his “Listen. Ms Tran..” she looked up at him then looked at you and fuck you felt your heart break for her when she realized. She only let that tough exterior slip for a moment then you saw when she steadied herself and repeated “You will take me to my son” “Yes ma’am” you replied so she nodded and went back to work.

------

The moment she got the door open you nodded to Sam “Go! Get to Dean. I’ve got her” he nodded then ran off so you nodded to Ms Tran. You and her walked to the other side of the facility. You were waiting for an all clear text from Sam and when it came you breathed a sigh of relief. “Ok. You’re up”

You walked into the unit they were in and Del the demon scoffed at Dean “Your little whore of a hunter?” you glared at him then smiled “Nope. Someone so much more scarier than I am” then Ms Tran walked in behind you and Sam handed her the demon blade. “Do the honors Ms Tran” Dean told her so she took the blade and said “With pleasure” then plunged the blade into Del’s heart. After he fell dead she handed the blade back to Dean then said “Take me to my son” and walked back out of the unit.

You noticed not only the blood near Dean's eye but on his neck as well. You reached out to cup the side of his face “Are you ok?” he nodded then turned to kiss your palm lightly “I’m fine sweetheart. Takes a lot more to hurt me”

------

The ride back to the bunker you sat in the backseat with Ms Tran. You weren’t sure what to say to her so you remained silent unless she spoke to you. You’d gotten her fresh clothes, some decent food and had stopped long enough for her to get a little sleep. 

When Dean pulled up to the bunker he glanced back at you “Show her in. We’ll round him up” you nodded and watched him and Sam head inside before looking back to Ms Tran. “Ready to see him?” she smiled sadly “Please”

------

You led her down the stairs but stopped in the map room to let her go first when you saw Kevin was visible in the library. You quietly stepped around them to follow Dean and Sam into the kitchen so they’d have a little privacy. 

You looked over your shoulder when you stepped into the room then looked back at the two of them “I can’t imagine” Dean nodded “It’s got to be hard” Sam remained silent but you saw the way he looked at Dean. Maybe he was starting to see Dean’s point too?

------

After some consideration Ms Tran decided to go through Kevin’s things to find his father’s ring which both of them were sure was his tie.

You stood next to Dean while he explained the risks of taking Kevin home. You could feel tears threatening to spill from your own eyes when she said “He’s my son.It’s my job to keep him safe for as long as I can” 

-------

While Kevin said a goodbye to Sam and Dean you stood with Ms Tran on the stairs. “If you need anything or have any questions..my phone is always on. I am so sorry we failed him” She gently touched your hand and when you finally met her eyes she said “He wouldn’t have lived that long without all of you. You were his family too, just promise me who is responsible will die for it” “I promise you” 

You walked over to stand next to Dean and Kevin smiled at you before looking at the boys “Hey, before I go. Will you two promise me something?” you were curious but remained silent as they said “Yeah” “Anything” Kevin’s eyes flickered to you again before he said “Can you two..get over it?” they looked confused so he explained “Dudes just cause you couldn’t see me doesn’t mean I couldn’t see you. The drama, the fighting..it’s stupid” you saw Dean glance towards Sam and swallowed hard as Kevin added “My mom’s taking home a ghost. You two you’re both still here” Sam was the first to speak “Of course. Promise” “Yeah” Dean agreed.

Kevin nodded “Good..and Y/N if you ever need a break from them” You half laughed “I’ll come visit. Bye Kev” “Bye”

You felt Dean’s hand come out to grasp yours as you watched Kevin and Ms Tran go up the stairs then out the door. “Well that was..” Dean started but cut himself off when he realized Sam had already walked out the room. “I’m tired of this” you muttered and moved to follow Sam but Dean stopped you by pulling you back to him “Y/N just don’t” you shook your head and pulled away from  “No. Now I’ve waited and waited for the two of you to figure this out. I haven’t wanted to get in between my best friend and my boyfriend but if the two of you really expect me to continue living here, hunting with you two then you need to get on the same page” 

He knew you well enough to know when you were past the point of arguing with. When your mind was set on something it was best just to let you go. He threw up his hands and said “Go for it then. I’ll be in our room” You stepped back to him and left a quick kiss on his lips before turning to follow Sam down the hall.

------

You stopped for a second before knocking on Sam’s door. When he didn’t answer the first time you tried again using the knock the two of you used to use at Bobby’s as kids. “I’m coming” he called out before opening the door a few seconds later.

“So you weren’t asleep just purposely avoiding Dean yet again” You accused the moment he opened the door. He sighed and leaned his arm over on the doorframe “Did you just come to yell at me” You were already pushing past him into his room as you said “No, I came to talk and this is once you are going to willingly listen to me” He much like Dean didn’t try to argue instead he simply walked into the room and sat down at the small table. Once he was seated he waved a hand as if to say “Go ahead”

You took a breath then said “Why aren’t you mad at me?” “We already talked about that..” he started but you cut him off. “Shut up! I normally don’t talk so damn harsh to you and Dean but fuck John stunted the shit out of your emotional growth. I’m lucky I had Lena and Bobby for most of my life” you stared at him waiting for him to interrupt again so when he didn’t you continued your rant “I was there at the hospital Sam. I got there right after they approached Dean about donating your organs. Do you know how that felt just to me? To hear they had no hope for my best friend? To see you like that? So broken and hurt in that bad? It tore my heart out. Gadreel passed himself off as Ezekiel, an angel mind you Cas knew and therefore vouched for. We had the choice to let him possess you and save your life or to let you die. Dean asked me before he said yes..did he tell you that?”

“No” Sam replied barely above a whisper.

You let out a harsh laugh “That doesn’t surprise me. That man has a habit of taking on the weight of the world just to keep those around him from having to. Sam he asked me. The moment Gadreel offered the deal Dean looked to me and you know what? I nodded. I agreed. I not only agreed to let him possess you but I agreed to lie. I came here to help cover up that lie and I did many times. Whether you or Dean want to see it I am just as responsible as either of you are yet neither of you have shown the least amount of animosity towards me. I’ve told Dean and now I’m telling you. If you and him want me here and hunting with you two I need you and him to try to get on the same page. We both love you Sam even if he can’t always put the words right. We did what we did because neither of us could let you go. If you’re going to continue hating him, hate me too” you turned to walk out but stopped with your hand on the doorknob to add “Kev’s right, both of you are still here..right now. How would either of you feel if something happened on the next hunt and one of you died? Would you want to leave it like this?” 

You opened the door to step into the hall but felt Sam’s hand grab your shoulder “Y/N..Wait” you turned towards him with an expectant look “Yeah?” he sighed “You’re right” you smiled and said “Of course I am. I’m always right” he shook his head with a laugh “You and Dean are a perfect match you know that? I’ll talk to him in the morning...really talk” “All I ask..thank you Sam” you reached up to hug him then kissed his cheek “Goodnight” “Night Y/N”

------

You heard his door shut behind you but you were feeling better than you had in weeks about the current predicament. You had to at least get them talking normally again and working through everything.

You opened the door to yours and Dean’s shared room and smiled at the sight before you. Dean had kicked his boots off but was laying across the bed with his headphones on and his arms crossed over his chest. Since his eyes were closed you shut the door easily then kicked your own boots off before walking over to the bed. You considered just changing for bed and crawling in next to him but instead you climbed onto the bed and straddled his waist. His hands came to your hips even before a lazy smile slipped onto his face. 

When he opened his eyes you reached up to gently pull the headphones off of him and laid them on the side table. “Did you get through bitching at Sammy?” he asked so you shrugged “I really wouldn’t call it bitching but yeah” he nodded then raised an eyebrow “Am I next?” you laughed and rested your hands on his chest “No for the simple fact you had to listen to me about the situation the entire time we were on the road but I do have one request of you” “Which is?” he questioned so you moved one hand down to push up the right sleeve of his shirt. You didn’t miss the slight flinch when your fingertips grazed across the mark but you were betting on it being more so the fact of you touching it than actual pain “Stop trying to carry everything by yourself. Ok?” 

He stared into your eyes for a few moments then slowly nodded “I’ll try” “All I ask” you replied before leaning down to catch his lips in a gentle but lingering kiss. When you pulled away he smirked “Can clothes come off now?” you rolled your eyes then smiled “You’re such a sweet talker Dean”

Tags: @facadeformyrealblog @akshi8278

[watchtower-feed]

Shoulds and Coulds

SSA AU ✧ Damian Wayne ✧ Timer

Notes: This is my favorite trope hybrid. Does a lot of emotional damage. I also wanted to move away from Y/N-centric narrative and try the soulmate’s POV.

Words: 3,615

          When you live in a world full of superheroes, there are worst things than meta human villains, invading aliens, and psychotic clowns. One of them is having a soulmate.

          Some say it’s better because your other half is easier to find, but they’re not the one who has a hero or a villain for a soulmate. You do

     Damian Wayne was raised to believe in destiny. That it’s his fate to one day lead the League of Assassins and continue to change the world for the better. Talia would talk of his future feats while massaging the glowing numbers on his arm. As a young boy, he’s noticed how his mother would always avoid looking at his timer.

     But destiny proved to have its own plans when Slade attacked the League and murdered his grandfather in front of him. His mother safely stole him away and brought him to his father. When she whispered her bittersweet goodbye, she kissed his timer for a long time. And it was the last time he ever saw her.

     His father and Alfred dedicated a grave to Talia in the family cemetery, a few meters away from Bruce’s own parents. There was no body beneath the ground but Damian had no trouble shedding tears on the gravestone etched with her name.

     Damian Wayne was then raised in a family where his choices decided his fate and those around him. Every split decision in a fight could lead to injury or death. Every word uttered turned arguments into thirst for blood. There's no way of knowing what will happen until it does.

     Every action he makes, consequences follow. Nothing is given freely and nothing is asked of him. Suddenly, he no longer has a clear destiny.

     But when he looks at the changing numbers on his arm, the inevitable countdown that comforts his loneliness, he’s still sure of one thing. No matter what happens, what turns he takes, or mistakes he makes, he has you.

     It’s the last day of summer before Damian goes back to high school for his senior year. He’s spending it much like every other night with his brothers: in costume.

     “Just a few more minutes,” Dick grins at him while he peers at Damian’s covered arm, making his youngest brother rub it under his sleeve and hide it from Dick with a scowl.

     Jason snorts through the comms and Damian can hear him breathing loud and the wind trailing behind him, “Do you think-- it’s going to be-- a damsel-- in distress?”

     “We’re out and about and Ivy is busy turning the Narrows into her new garden. Of course, she’s going to be a damsel. She’ll probably be trapped in Ivy’s vines and Damian’s going to be the one who’ll cut her down and save her.” Dick swoons towards Damian who harshly shoves him away and jumps off the rooftop to leave his eldest brother behind.

     Tim’s voice filters in his ear as he glides over rooftops, “Or it could be a bad guy. Probably out looting and taking advantage of the chaos just like these guys.” They all hear Tim grunt as he kicks and punches.

     Damian groans and glares at the night sky. They’re damage control while Batman handles Ivy by himself. From what they’ve been hearing through his comm, Ivy’s trying to find new territory after the mayor sold her greenhouse to an out-of-town developer.

     “You’re always such a party pooper, Tim.”

     “At least I’m not narrating R-rated romance novels.”

     “Hey! Those are quality gol--”

     Damian stops in an alley and turns off his comms. He hides in the shadows. Stands still in the darkness, holding his breath before releasing it through his shaky lips. He loosens the collar of his tunic and breathes out of his mouth slowly.

     Finally, he rolls up his sleeve and the glowing red numbers light up his face.

     9 minutes.

     He remembers his mother kissing the last digit after she said goodbye. After expressing her distaste for his link all his life, why did she kiss it so gently? What did it mean? Why did she look so sad? Was she worried? Scared?

     Damian Wayne has grown up waiting for the day when his timer would stop, when all the waiting would stop, when all the uncertainty and guesswork would finally come to an end.

     “Robin!”

     His comms are overridden and Batman’s voice blares through. “There’s another stray headed to your location.”

     “On it.”

     Damian’s running. Heading toward the screaming.

     “Damian, how many more minutes?”

     “Dick, focus!”

     It’s too late. Damian’s already staring at his still exposed wrist.

      7 minutes. 

     When he reaches the chaos, he sees a monster shaped like a bulb with its vines swinging wildly around, smashing into buildings and wrapped tightly around civilians.

     Dick’s words suddenly haunt him and he wonders if his soulmate is one of them. His eyes roam each victim. Damian wills himself to focus. There’s still a lot of time.

     He unsheathes his katana and cuts away at the animated vines. He catches each civilian as they fall and takes extra care when he lets them down onto the ground. An ambulance arrives when he lays down the last victim. The medics pour out and attend to them. He steals one last look at his wrist.

     2 mins.

     Damian turns his full attention to the monster. He cleans his katana on his sleeve and charges forward. He hacks and slashes at each vine it sends his way. But one vine hits him and sends him flying back. He braces himself for the impact and hits the windshield of a car.

     He groans, back aching, and notices the moving numbers on his arm.

    36 seconds.

     The monster is advancing. Damian grits his teeth. His lips are quivering. He grips the hilt of his weapon and waits. With the monster just a few feet away, Damian yells in frustration and leaps. He comes down to its side and slashes the monster’s head off.

     Its limbs flail in the air without an entity controlling it and one of the larger vines whips around and slams Damian against a building.

     His head smashes against the brick wall and his body slides down to the ground. He feels warm blood drip down his face. It slowly covers his eyes and he sneaks one last look at his wrist.

     3 seconds.

     He feels a gloved hand wipe off the blood on his face and pull on his eyelids. When his eye opens, he hears the three continuous beeps while locking eyes with you.

     “Are you okay? Do you know where you are?” Robin is staring at you through his mask while you flash light into his eye. His pupil constricts and then dilates when you move away the flashlight. “Talk to me, Robin. I need to know if you’ve got a concussion. Do you remember where you are?”

     You watch him blink both eyes and slowly his mouth moves, “Gotham.” You give him a long look before you finally release the breath you’ve been holding.

     Robin is your soulmate. After 27 years of waiting, you finally meet him. But work comes first.

     Your hands move and part his hair to look at the wound. It’s a small gash but it’s going to need stitches. For now, you need to stop the bleeding.

     Damian’s hand covers yours and he brings it down to his face. You watch him stare at the now faded mark on your wrist and slowly he brings it closer to his lips before pressing a kiss against the faded string of numbers.

✧ ✧ ✧

     “Y/N, how many casualties?”

     You’re still not used to having Batman addressing you by name. You clear your throat and stare at thepiece of paper you brought with you to avoid looking at any of them. “7 DOAs and 12 in critical condition but quarantined. Hospital records show that 42 are already in recovery.”

     “Red Robin, how many missing persons reports?”

     “23 but there’s no more ground to cover.”

     “Where else can we look? The rest of the area is still ground zero, Bruce.”

     Batman glares at Jason. He’s still not used to having his name mentioned in front of you. But it’s not like you want to be here. You want to help but you’d rather be out there in an ambulance, reporting to doctors. You’re only here because of Damian.

     He nudges your shoulder with his and waits for you to turn to him. You hide half of your face behind your paper and give your soulmate a deep frown. Damian replies with a quick smile before turning his full attention back to Batman.

     “--still some debris here. Red Robin, Batgirl, and I will look into it. The rest of you take the rest of the night off.”

     Dick and Jason are already getting ready to argue with Bruce when Damian tugs on your hand and leads you to the elevator shaft. When he closes the door, you slump against the scaffolding and sigh. You’re exhausted. It’s another long night in Gotham as usual.

     Damian’s tall form stands next to you, leaning against your shoulder, sending electricity up and down your spine. He’s bowing his head in thought. You eye him curiously and watch his brows meet at the center.

     “You’re sneaking out, aren’t you?”

     Only his eyes turn to you and he smirks. It doesn’t take much for you to decipher what he’s thinking. All you have to do is look and everything is written plainly on his face. Even when his family is around, the stoic demeanor he wears with them is very telling of what calculations he’s making and what he plans to do next.

     You smirk back. “Where to?”

     The shaft doors open automatically when it reaches the top. Damian places his wide palm on the small of your back and guides you out of the secret door. He stops by the wall and leans on it to cage you in with his arms. “If you’re tired, beloved, we’ll stay in.”

     He leans down and kisses you. His lips are chapped from the cold night but his breath is warm like the sun. You find yourself inhaling and tasting all of him without another thought. He pushes you back against the wall with his body molding into your curves. Your breath hitches when his leg presses against your crotch. You push him back gently.

     “Let’s… Let’s sneak out…”

     Damian hasn’t turned 18 yet and you’re ten years older than him. You’ve found it so easy to just lose yourself in his touch, his warmth, his taste. But you have principles. Your rules. Boundaries you’re not willing to cross. He clenches his teeth like an animal baring his fangs.

     Damian doesn’t understand these rules. You’re soulmates. You shouldn’t be bound by such trivial legal matters.

     You slink away but hold his hand. You pull him away from the wall and toward the garage. “Come on. Lives to be saved, my boy wonder.”

     But he tries to be good. Tries to be as good as you. Good enough for you. So he respects your rules, the high standards you’ve set for yourself. Just like how you never try to talk him into a more honest life, knowing that being Robin is what makes him him.

     But destiny is nothing like karma. It plays by its own rules.

     It’s the early morning of Damian’s birthday when Alfred hears the house phone ringing. Damian and his siblings walk in from the cave while Alfred answers it. The boys are loud but exhausted, stretching their limbs and rolling their shoulders to shake away the fight from the night.

     “You excited for the big day, buddy?”

     “Kids finally gonna lose his V card. What do you think?”

     “Takes a special kind of stupid to lose it in an alley, Todd.”

     Tim’s the only one who notices Alfred’s stiff posture and desperate grip on the phone’s receiver. “Alfred?” The others stop and watch Alfred slowly turn to them, gaping, the receiver slowly slips from his grip. “What’s wrong?”

     He’s staring at Damian. His voice breaks when he utters your name.

     They break every speed limit and run every red light on the way to Gotham General Hospital. The emergency room is in chaos and the lobby is filled with people all waiting to see the victims of the accident. The wailing and the sobbing is forcing Damian to hide his head between his knees so he can think.

     The hospital didn’t call Wayne manor. One of your colleagues did. He was about to clock out but as soon as he saw you on the gurney, head bashed in with blood all over your face and in your hair, his knees went weak. He and a few of the other nurses knew you were involved with Damian Wayne and someone had to tell him.

     Four hours ago, a building collapsed near the hospital parking lot where the ambulances are parked. You and your colleagues were headed home when it happened. They’re only letting immediate family members in and no one in Damian’s family is listed as your emergency contact.

     “Is anybody in there with her?”

     “We can’t divulge that kind of information, sir.”

     “We’re her only family in Gotham!”

     “Unless you’re listed in her contacts, we can’t let you in.”

     “Check again! We should be in there--”

     “Stop!”

     Damian shouts in the waiting room, making all the chatter and buzzing cease. He stares at Bruce, Dick, and Jason before marching toward them and grabbing his brothers by the collar. “Just stop. Let them do their job.”

     You’ve told Damian enough stories about the hospital and the different types of behavior the nurses had to deal with. You don’t blame them because it’s their loved ones in question but you just wish they’d understand that wasting the nurses’ time helps no one.

     Damian lets go of his brothers and waits for them to take a seat. Bruce looks at his son. “I thought she would put one of us as her contact.”

      Damian’s mouth stretches into  a line, “I knew she didn’t. Y/N was sure I’d be the first to respond if something happens. She believed in me.”

     “Thank you,” the nurse says to him. “I’ll call you as soon as Y/N’s ready for visitors.”

     Damian nods at her and sits down with his brothers. He did the right thing but he feels sick to his stomach. He suddenly gags and Cass is quick enough to shove a trash can under his head. His retching echoes in the still quiet room.

     By the time they’re called them in, the waiting room is half empty and Damian’s birthday is almost over. They stand in front of your hospital room door with Damian’s hand on the handle. He’s staring at the timer’s faded mark on his wrist.

     His siblings turn to each other but neither rushes him in. Bruce gently places his hand on his son’s shoulder. After a sharp intake of breath, Damian finally turns the handle.

     The artificial light is glaring hard at your heavily bandaged head. Your open mouth is covered by a nebulizer and IV packs hung beside your bed.

     “Why…” Dick’s voice is breaking and almost a whisper. “Why does she need so many?”

     Bruce purses his lips when he answers, “The building collapsed from neglect over the years but the Joker was using one of the empty apartments for storage.”

     “What was in it?” Tim asks, making Jason elbow him and shush the rest of them.

     “Do you really think this is the time?” he nudges his head toward Damian who’s standing right next to your bed and holding your free hand.

     Damian has tuned them out the moment he saw you. He lowers himself and lays his chin near your shoulder. He watches your chest rise and fall and hopes your eyelids would open.

     “Y/N. Please.”

     It’s almost sunrise when you finally wake up. The room is quiet but the repeated beeping of machines helps stir you into consciousness. You blink and wait for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. You’re in a hospital room crowded with hunched sleeping forms littered about.

     You feel someone’s fingers intertwined with yours and your eyes land on a small mop of black hair lying on your bed. Instinctively, you reach out and ruffle it out, the tips of his hair feel familiar on your fingers. The boy wakes slowly and then his eyes widen as he stares at you.

     “Y/N.”

     He stands up quickly and hovers over you, unsure of how close he could get but you can see that he wants to embrace you. Slowly, the others start waking. The two eldest men quickly run out and you can hear them calling for a doctor.

     You unclasp the tube from your mouth with one hand and release it from your mouth with a pop. You cough a few times and the boy gently helps you sit up and rubs your back until your breathing eases. You turn to him, curious.

     “I feel like… I should know you.”

     The others are halfway up at this point. Your words made them stop. They all watch Damian’s eyes stare deeply into yours with his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle.

     “What do you mean?”

     You stare at him, studying his face and trying to place where you’ve seen him. “You’re… Damian Wayne, aren’t you?”

     You feel Damian’s fingers let go of your hand and his body takes an involuntary step back.

     The doctor comes in and realizes what he’s walked into.  He asks to speak to you alone. Everyone slowly filters out and crowds the hallway in front of your room.

     Tim’s the first one who approaches Damian, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s just retrograde amnesia. There’s a good chance Y/N will get her memories back.”

     Damian looks at his brother before he nods to him.

     “What if she doesn’t?”

     “Jason.”

     “No, seriously. What if.”

     Damian glares at Jason who’s not letting up. The others aren’t intervening because it’s one of those rare moments where Jason could be right. “You gotta be ready for the worst here, kid. What are you going to do?”

     Damian turns away from him and peers into your room. Even in your condition, you look as bright as you always have to him. Suddenly, you catch Damian looking at you. He quickly tenses and stands up.

     “Are you running away?” Jason blocks his path, acting like a real brother even though he isn’t. “Aren’t you her soulmate, huh, Damian Wayne?”

     “That name doesn’t mean anything to her right now!”

     The doctor steps out into the hallway, forcing the boys to shut their mouths and glare at each other. He coughs and turns to Damian. “Excuse me. Y/N’s asking for you.”

     Damian stares at him but doesn’t move. Jason slowly pushes both of his shoulders toward the door. You see him and make a small wave.

      “We’ll wait out here,” Jason whispers to him before gently pushing him into the room and closing the door behind Damian.

     You wait as he slowly walks up to you. “So, Fred tells me you’re my soulmate.”

     Damian stops just a foot away from your bed. It takes a moment but his demeanor changes. He presses the soles of his feet firmly on the ground and it lets him look you in the eyes with more ease. “I am.”

     He says it with such intensity that makes you turn away when you feel a warm blush coating your cheeks. You try to cover them with your hands and breathe out a shaky laugh. “Wow. I mean-- just wow. How long have we been…”

     “9 months.”

     You feel your cheeks heat up even more. You press your palms on your face, trying to hide yourself. “Phew… 9 months. And I actually-- But you’re not even 18 yet. Gosh.”

     Damian’s hands touch yours, making you flinch. He slowly pulls your hands away. You open your eyes and find his face so close to you. “I’m 18 now. It was my birthday yesterday,” he whispers, his warm breath blowing on your face, a familiar feeling that makes your fingers itch to reach out and touch the back of his neck.

     “Oh… Happy birthday, Damian.”

     Damian’s gaze drops to your lips but they look back up just as quickly. When he looks into your eyes, dilated and roaming his face, he remembers the first time you met. He can almost hear those three beeps.

     “Hey…” You watch big tears drop from his eyes. When you wipe them he seems shocked they’re there. “Come here.” You pull him close, making him climb onto your bed and curl up beside you. He rests his head on your shoulder and you hold him tighter when he shakes. “It’s okay,” you rub his head and your fingers untangle his unkept hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

     “Why…” he chokes out. “Why aren’t you questioning any of this? Why do you believe it so easily? Your timer’s run out. There’s no way to know if I’m really your soulmate.”

     You sneak a look at his arm and touch his faded marks. “I think… my soulmate wouldn’t be the type of person who would take advantage of an amnesiac.”

     Damian lifts his head and looks at you. “You’re too…”

     “Gullible?” you laugh.

     “Good.”

     You go still. “Does that mean I changed?”

     He looks at you. Your head is completely wrapped with bandages but your eyes still gleam when you watch him, pupils roaming to look for little tells hiding beneath his face. That small hidden smirk on your lips that slowly emerges when you finally piece something together, a mystery he didn’t know you were unravelling.

    Damian looks at you and all he sees is his beloved.

     “No,” he answers. “You’re still you.”

     You smile at him, “See? If I fell for you once then I’ll do it again. Especially now that you’re legal.”

     Damian snorts when he laughs. Unable to control it he hides his face on your shoulder, making you laugh along with him.

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧  

[carrs-universe-writes]

James Donovan Character Sheet

“I think it is safe to say that while the South is hardly Christ-centered, it is most certainly Christ-haunted.”

First name: James

Middle name: Paul

Last name: Donovan

Nickname: Jimmy

Birthday: September 15th

Age: 32

Height: 6′0

-

Myers Briggs: ISTJ-A

Alignment: Lawful Good

Major Arcana: The Hierophant

Hogwarts house: Gryffindor

RPG Class: Templar

-

Hair color: Light brown

Hair style: Very short

Eye color: Dark brown

Glasses: No

Distinguishing facial features: Full, scruffy beard

Most prominent body part: Smile/lips

Body type: Heavyset and strong

Makeup: Never

Scars: A lot of scars on his hands an arms from working on a ranch

Birthmarks: A few moles on his arms and shoulders

Tattoos: None

Clothes: Flannels tucked into boot-cut jeans with cowboy boots

Skin: Sunburned

-

Outlook: Realist

Mannerisms: Humming/whistling/singing gospel songs under his breath

Bad habits: Chewing tobacco

What makes them laugh out loud: His younger siblings

Love language(showing): Quality time, acts of service

Love language(receiving): Acts of service, words of affirmation

Strongest personality trait: Tenacity

Weakest personality trait: Patience

Are they competitive: Yes

What is their greatest fear: Disappointing his siblings

When was the last time they cried: The last time he argued with his dad

Something that haunts them: His father’s sermons

Indoors or outdoors: Outdoors

Secret habits: Singing to the animals on his father’s ranch

Pet peeves: Egotistical people

If they could change one thing about themselves: He’d be more faithful

-

How big is their bio family: Very big, he has 5 younger siblings and a lot of cousins

Perception of bio family: He’s pretty close to his siblings and cousins, and he has a decent relationship with his mom, but he and his father have a tense relationship.

Chosen family: His dog

Pets: A hunting dog named Venice

-

What were they like as a child/teen/adolescent: Hard working and quiet, trying his best to be the model son

Did they grow up rich or poor: Comfortable

Where they nurtured/neglected: Neglected

Greatest achievement: Winning a hometown rodeo in high-school

First kiss: His first girlfriend in high school

One of the worst things they’ve ever said to someone they love: He told his father he wished he wasn’t his father and that he was anyone else’s son

Ambition: Taking over his father’s ranch

Advice they have for their younger self: “Hard work isn’t something to avoid.”

A smell that reminds them on their youth: Manure

Best childhood memory: His father teaching him how to ride a horse

Worst childhood memory: Getting bucked off a horse and breaking his arm and his father blaming him

Last time they were crushed with disappointment: The last time he argued with his father

What is their greatest pride: Raising and training his own rodeo horse

Has anyone ever saved their life: Yes

Has anyone ever endangered their life: No

Have they ever put themselves in mortal danger to save someone: Yes

Strongest childhood memory: Coming up with games to distract his siblings and get them out of the house while his parents argued

-

Do they believe in love at first sight: No

Are they currently in a relationship: No

How do they act in a relationship: Loyal, trusting, goofy

When was the last time they had sex: A few years ago

What are they like during sex: Awkward, attentive, loving

Have they ever been in love: Yes

Have they ever had their heart broken: Yes

-

How do they respond to a physical threat: He gets up and gets ready for a fight

Are they more likely to fight with their fists or words: Fists

Kryptonite: His siblings

What would they save from their burning house: His family photo album

Phobias: The ocean and deep water

Weapon of choice: A hunting rifle or hunting knife

What living person do they despise the most: His father

Have they ever been bullied: Yes

Where do they go when they’re angry: For a horse ride

Do they have any enemies: No

-

Current job: Ranch hand

Feelings about job: He loves his job and the ranch, but wishes he didn’t have to work for his father

Hobbies: Rodeo, hunting, singing

Educational background: GED

Intelligence level: Decent

Any specialist training: Some rodeo training

-

Favorite animal: Horses

Least favorite animal: Sharks

Place they’d most want to visit: Alaska

Most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen: A waterfall he found while camping

Favorite color: Forest green

Favorite food: Steak

Favorite work of art: He doesn’t like art too much

-

What’s in their fridge: Beer and leftovers

What’s on their bedside table: A bible and a lamp

What’s in their car: Tools and ranch equipment

What’s in their bag/wallet: Cash and their ID

What’s in their pockets: Random things he’s picked up

Most treasured possession: His rodeo trophy from high school

-

Religious views: Christian

What do they think Heaven is: A place where you get to live happily as your true self

What do they think Hell is: Absolute nothingness

Are they superstitious: A little

What would they like to be reincarnated as: A horse

How would they like to die: Of old age

Spirit animal: Horse

Zodiac: Virgo

-

What is the worst thing that can happen to a person in their eyes: Cutting them off from the people they love

Their version of ‘freedom’: Being out on an evening horse ride

Last time they lied: When talked to his dad last and he told him he was going to church every Sunday

Views on lying: He doesn’t like lying, but thinks it’s necessary sometimes for other people’s sake

Last promise they made: He promised his mom he’d stay safe on his camping trip

Did they keep or break it: ...uh...He tried to keep it? I don’t think he really anticipated Leo to be honest. I think he was planning for bears. Not a serial killer

-

Eating habits: He doesn’t eat super healthy, mostly red meat and fast food

Allergies: Latex

Describe their home: Small and homey, decorated with mostly sentimental clutter and family photos

Are they a minimalist or a clutter hoarder: Sentimental hoarder

What is the first thing they do on a weekday morning: Go to work

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon: Feel guilty about not going to church

What are they usually doing on a Friday night: Go home to relax with Venice and a beer

Soft drink of choice: Root beer

Alcoholic drink of choice: Beer or whiskey

-

Character archetype: the Rebel

Their hero: His father

If they could save one person(alive): Any of his siblings

If they could bring one person back from the dead: No one

If they could call one person for help: Any of his siblings

How someone can redeem themselves: Hard work

Do they believe in happy endings: Not really

Their idea of perfect happiness: Living on their father’s ranch with someone he loves and some kids