#by the time that happened he completely shed his accent and never told anyone he's Jewish

[ineffablecrisp]

Do I or do I not want to make Tom Kazansky a Soviet immigrant

[whitexwingedxdoves]

Scream.

Part One: Bonding. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Not explored in this chapter), Platonic Peter Parker x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warning: Im not sure there is one for this chapter haha. Summary: All you wanted out of your interview at Life Foundation was a job, you didn’t expect to become an experiment. A/N: I’m very excited about this, its gonna be a fair few chapters. I just love Symbiote’s hahaha. Just note everything that is in bold, is the Scream.

Master list of chapters

You sat, shaking your leg as you sat in the waiting room of a rather large building. Nervously watching the people pass by. It’s just an interview. You thought to yourself even though deep down you knew it was true. It wasn’t just an interview, it was the interview for your dream job. You had worked your whole life to get to this point, here at Life Foundation. You brushed down your skirt in some attempt to ease yourself. You peered up at the TV’s that hung from the walls in the waiting room, the news was on reporting on the reunion between Steve Rogers and James Barnes. You watched for a moment allowing the information about their friendship soak into your brain until the presence of a powerful man broke your concentration. “Incredible isn’t it.” He announced, his hands buried in the pockets of his pants. Carlton Drake, though his eyes seemed darker, like he hadn’t slept in a long time. His skin seemed clammy even from the distance you stood from him you noticed something was off with him. You pushed yourself up from the seat and pushed your handbag over your shoulder. “I’m not one for a reunion story” you laughed, nerves spilling out of your words. He responded with a laugh and hung his head. Peering at you under his brow bone he simply shook his head. “No, the way they perfectly preserved those men so they could exist today.” You scrunched your face out of pure embarrassment for even thinking a brilliant mind like Carlton Drake would be referring to the fuzzy friendship story. “I take it you’re Y/N” he added pulling one of his hands out of his pockets and offering a hand out for you too shake. You nodded and accepted the invitation, you were right... he was clammy.

During the interview you could feel he was acting a little out of the ordinary but you thought little of it, after all, all you knew of this man was whatever the news told you. You answered every question he threw at you with ease and confidence.  He told you about multiple projects his team was working on and told you, you would make the perfect fit in one particular project but he didn’t go into any detail . You didn’t notice that under his desk he held a glass cylinder tube and in it was a yellow and orange substance that slowly crept out when he held open the lid. You didn’t notice the way it climbed its way into your handbag that was on the floor and you definitely didn’t notice his amused smirk as he watched his plan unfold before him. Before you knew it, your interview was over, he shook your hand and told you, he would be in touch very soon with the outcome. The entire journey home your stomach felt tight, you couldn’t think about anything else as you clutched your phone in your hands, staring at the screen hoping and praying it would ring. Later that night in your apartment, you laid in bed though you couldn’t sleep a wink. Your mind was racing, predicting because he didn’t ring you that day, you hadn’t got the job even though you tried to rationalise it, he’s a busy man after all. You didn’t notice the orange and yellow sludge make its way from your bag and across your room, climbing up your sheets and onto your bed and just like that it was on your skin, seeping through almost immediately and the parts that didn’t, reached your face and entered you through your nostrils. You had no time to react, the sensation paralysed you for a moment, like lighting had struck your body though it wasn’t painful, in fact it was the exact opposite. Once you gained control of your muscles again, you started to pant, the sense of relaxation ran through your body, like you felt whole for the first time in your life and your eyes fluttered shut.

-

The next day you were woke by the sound of your phone ringing, it didn’t take long for you to realise and scramble to grab the phone to answer it. When you did you heard the voice of a women on the other end, claiming you had indeed got the job and Carlton would like to meet with you to congratulate you and get working right away. You couldn’t believe your luck, you jotted down the exact location you needed to go and the smile wouldn’t leave your features as you hung up the phone. You looked around your room in disbelief and let out a small excited squeal. You couldn’t ignore the thirst that dried your throat and with that information you pulled yourself out of the bed, ignoring the sheets that seemed to be soaked with sweat and made your way to the kitchen. You filled up a clean glass with water and gulped down the glass but it didn’t quench your thirst so you repeated your actions a few times until the thirst died down a little. You didn’t waste any time getting changed, getting ready to meet with Carlton.  

You gave your cab driver the address and sat back into your seat for the journey and watched as the city of San Francisco turn into a blur. You thought about what happened to you last night, the way your body tensed, it was strange, nothing like that had ever happened before. You shook the thought out of your head dismissing it as a vivid dream, you didn’t want to ruin today with pointless thoughts. As you came to a stop in the cab, you passed the driver the money and left the cab. You looked around, your skin started to clam up as you noticed you were in a air field, now confused you looked hoping to see someone or something. While you ventured deeper into the air field, towards a large metal shed, you began to wonder if the cab driver had got the address wrong some how, that’s when you sensed something come from behind you. You turned your head and nothing, you stopped for a second with the puzzled look etched on your face until Carlton Drake and two other men appeared from the large metal building. “Y/N!” he smiled, noticing your clammy skin only made his smile shine a little brighter. He came closer and gave you a small hug. You had no idea how to react as he pulled away from you, the confusion still glued onto your features. He laughed at your expression and looked around at the location he picked. “I know, a little weird for a meeting but it holds purpose. I promise.” He announced, gesturing for you to follow him around the corner.

Instantly you was greeted by a large jet and a few more workers standing around, talking to one and other. It didn’t ease your confusion as you followed Carlton toward the jet. You listened as he explained your role in the company would not be required here in San Francisco but instead you’d be flown to New York for the offices there, how your belongings would be flown out to you. You was speechless as you got lost in his words, he explained how he had accommodation ready for you which he thought you’d find very comfortable. You simply nodded as he stood to the side, making way for you to get onto the private jet. He ended his speech explaining once you arrive at the New York offices your role would be explained to you. Completely speechless, you turned to Carlton as you stood on the first step, he just laughed and said You’re welcome.

-

You sat back in the jet, attempting to relax despite being far too high in the air for your liking. You looked out the window and admired how small the world looked from up here. You saw the city of  New York in the distance, knowing you’re close now you closed your eyes and took a deep breath but it was cut short when you felt some sort of turbulence on the plane and instantly you started to panic, your breathing became short as the jet never seemed to steady, instead it got worse as if something was hitting the plane over and over again. Hold tight. A voice appeared in your head, not one you recognised. It definitely wasn’t yours nor was it the voice of anyone you knew, it sounded slightly distorted and was only causing you to stress more, though you did exactly what the voice said. Grasping onto your chair you closed your eyes and braced for impact. Just when you thought you were reaching your end, you felt something take over your entire body. It was someone or something had taken control over your movements as you got up from the chair and kicked out the emergency door and jumped out. You couldn’t believe what was happening it was a complete out of body experience as you felt from the jet, out of pure fear you blacked out mid air.

You woke up shortly after, standing on the ground just outside of New York city. The voice came back again, She has awaken. The voice in your head mocked. What the hell is happening. We have arrived at our destination. The voice laughed before you felt yourself kneeling in front of a body of water showing your reflection, it wasn’t you not anymore, what looked back at you was a distorted face, it looked evil, your skin no longer smooth and soft instead it gave a shine almost as if it was slimy and... the colour was now the darkest black you had ever seen with yellow accents highlighting your figure.  Your hair not the dull brown colour it once was no instead it flowed long and full of life, different shades of orange and yellow clashing together. You where no longer human. We are Scream. As you stared at your reflection you could feel your eyes welling up and it wasn’t long until the water showed your true self, as you watched the foreign slime sunk back into your skin, you hair morphing back to its usual self. “Oh my god” you heard a voice from behind you, you quickly spun around on your knees and your eyes met with a boy. He wore a red suit but his face looked similar to the reflection you had just witnessed but you could tell this boy wasn’t the host of something alien... no you had seen him on the news, they called him Spider-man. You didn’t get to respond before you completely blacked out.

-

Peter carried you in his arms as he reached the new Avengers compound. He knew he couldn’t take you to a hospital, you didn’t need a medical doctor, you needed a scientist... you needed Banner. Panicked as he jogged through the halls, holding onto you tightly but effortlessly, he finally reached a medical room and placed you on one of the beds.

“Friday, tell Bruce I need him asap!”

“Yes Peter”

The boy watched you for moment, confused what had just taken place. Just like that, Banner came into the room almost out of breathe as he looked at the young boy.

“What is it Pet...” That’s when he saw you, almost lifeless on the bed. He immediately came to your bed side and checked for a pulse. “W- what happened, who is this?” he questioned the teen, Peter seemed a little out of it too but everyone’s focus shifted as Tony Stark entered the room.

“What’s the problem here?” he asked Banner. He got no response, all he had to do was look at Peter to get him to cave.

“I saw a plane crashing, I just went to help and when I got there, she was there... but she wasn’t her, she was something else.” his words where fast and panicked but Tony held his hand up and just like that he was quiet again.

“What do you mean, she was something else?” He watched as Banner kept checking your pulse and timing it, checking for any cuts or scratches. Both men watched as a small graze on your forehead vanished, leaving your skin untouched. The both watched in disbelief. “Come on kid, what do you mean?” Tony asked snapping his fingers at the boy but keeping his eyes on you.

“I – I don’t know, she looked... I can’t describe it. Her skin was shiny, her hair was completely different, like she had shapeshifted into something. She had two voices. I-I” he couldn’t continue and Tony knew that, he turned to him and nodded, his hand now on the boys shoulder.

“Okay kid, go home. We’ll let you know what we find out.” He demanded and just like that, Peter left the room, his head slung low.

“Run some tests.” Was all Tony said as he left the room, confused by the scenario.

[wanderinginksplot]

Nobody Listens to Kix

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Case 00627: Scorch

Kix glanced up at the familiar sound of the medbay doors opening, frowning as he saw two commando troopers walking in. Their distinctively styled helmets gave an air of uniformity, but the designs painted on them spoke of very different personalities.

The commando wearing the helmet marked with red, jagged lines - almost suggesting a handprint - was half-supporting, half-dragging another commando with a simple, gray-green helmet painted with white and yellow details. Kix studied both new arrivals, but couldn't find any visible injuries on either.

"What happened here?" Kix asked, already starting toward the men.

"Scorch here blew himself up," the red-painted commando answered, with a motion of his helmet that clearly said he was rolling his eyes. "Di'kut."

"I did not!" the injured Scorch said defensively, turning to address Kix. "I had a minor disagreement with a wall."

"Yeah?" the red-painted commando asked, "What were the arguments?"

"Whether or not the blast from a thermal detonator plus my own fabulous aim would make the wall go 'boom'," Scorch replied, clearly grinning under his helmet.

"Congratulations on winning your argument, sir," Kix said dryly, already promising himself to blow up the Resolute and everyone inside before he would let Scorch and Hardcase meet. "Let's shed the armor and see how much damage that wall's rebuttal caused."

The two commandos completed their half-walk, half-drag journey to the first bunk in the medbay and Scorch leaned up against the mattress, stifling a pained groan. The red-painted one, obviously fed up with his brother's antics, unceremoniously lifted and deposited Scorch on the bed.

"Come on, Sev!" the commando complained loudly. "You know I'm injured and delicate."

"It doesn't count as an injury if you've always been stupid," Sev told him. "I'm going to report back to Boss."

"You're going to leave me here, alone and hurt?" Scorch asked dramatically. His only reply was the medbay door closing behind Sev. He shook his head and told the door, "Well, that was rude."

The door seemed unsympathetic.

Kix cleared his throat, wondering if he should crank the scanner high enough to scan for brain injuries, when Scorch turned back to him. He pulled off his gray and white commando helmet, grinned, and stuck out a hand. "Scorch."

"I gathered," Kix replied. "I'm Kix."

"Good, I'm in the right place," Scorch said, heaving an exaggerated sigh of relief as he began stripping off the rest of his armor. "But what is the best medic in the GAR doing attached to the 501st?"

"The best medic," Kix repeated skeptically, scanning the now de-armored commando.

"Oh, yeah. I've heard the stories," Scorch told him, eyes wide and sincere, though they sparkled with an edge of barely there mischief. "Granted, mostly from the pilot on the way here, but still."

"Troopers like to talk. And as for why the 501st…" Kix let some of his constant fond exasperation come through, "no one gets in more trouble or hurts themselves in stranger ways than them."

"And you like to treat them," Scorch summed up, the look on his face more intense than the situation called for. Kix was on-edge before the commando spoke again. "Makes you feel powerful, doesn't it? Makes you feel like you're better than them, more than just a regular trooper."

"Makes me feel like I've got one more living brother," Kix corrected sharply.

Scorch raised his hands in a gesture speaking of an innocence that his sparkling eyes belied. "Hey, I had to make sure you weren't one of those power-trip troopers."

Kix shook his head and silently went to gather the supplies he would need to treat his patient, unwilling to continue an insulting conversation. However, since the commando had started it… He turned to meet Scorch's eyes. "If we're asking uncomfortable questions, let me ask one."

Scorch made a beckoning gesture with his less-injured hand, as if he were inviting Kix to continue.

"Why do you sound different from every other trooper, but look exactly like the rest of us?" It was something he had been wondering since Scorch took off his helmet, but he had been too polite to ask. At least, until the commando had accused him of treating men for the ego boost. As if it did wonders for his ego to be vomited on, covered in blood, to need to help his brothers to the 'fresher, to hold their hands as they took their last breath-

"I'm an excellent mimic," Scorch answered, using Kix's own inflection. Kix stared at him steadily until he continued in his normal offbeat voice. "Sometimes, a situation calls for a voice to be different so we don't sound like normal clone troopers, no matter how much we look like them. Delta Squad is full of differences. Boss has a thicker accent than most native Mandalorians, Fixer has worked to speak the most pure Basic, and Sev's vocal cords are damaged. Me, I just talk this way because I want to."

"Yeah, you can never meet Hardcase," Kix muttered to himself, fighting a shudder at the ridiculous accent the 501st trooper would be sure to put on as a result.

"What was that?" Scorch asked.

"I said, oh excellent mimic, that you've bruised your ribs, pulled a hamstring, and most of the left side of your body will be covered in bruises for the next few weeks, maybe less if you can take a couple of days to rest up." Kix frowned down at the datapad showing the scanner's results. "You managed not to break anything, which is - frankly - a miracle."

"Commando armor," Scorch told him with a sharp rap on his chestplate, wincing as the movement strained his injuries.

"Bruised. Ribs." Kix repeated, biting the end off each word so that the commando would be sure to understand him. "I'll issue you some pain meds, but the most you can do to improve your recovery time is to sleep as much as possible and stay hydrated. Most importantly-"

Kix cut himself short as the medbay door opened and Scorch instinctively turned to see the new arrivals, hissing in pain at the twisting motion. "-don't twist or move your body in unusual ways," Kix finished, giving a perfunctory salute to the commando sergeant who stepped up to the bed.

"How is the patient?" the sergeant asked. Despite Scorch's overly casual manner, Kix had to admit that the commando had given an accurate description of his squadmates and their voices. This one with the thick Mando'a accent must be Boss.

With a shrug to answer the sergeant's question, Kix told him, "Not much I can do, actually."

"Told you those thermal dets would kill you some day," the rough-voiced Sev said to Scorch with no small amount of satisfaction.

"What? No," Kix told him, nettled by the idea that a patient of his could die from such minor injuries. "Scorch is covered in bruises and he pulled a few muscles. Nothing life-threatening, but they aren't injuries I can do much for. I'm issuing pain meds, but he could stand a few days of bed rest, sir."

Boss nodded while Scorch looked horrified. "I can't stay on bed rest!"

The last commando, the non-accented Fixer, sounded irritated by his squadmate. "Six-Two, you can't just choose which orders to follow. If Three-Eight says you're on bed rest, that's where you'll be unless you want a court-martial."

Scorch looked pleadingly at Kix. "I could die from my injuries, right, Kix? Even Fixer wouldn't try to boss around a dying brother."

"Er... " Kix trailed off, glancing around at the group of commandos. "Bruises have a notoriously low fatality rate, Scorch."

"I think his vocal cords may have been damaged," Sev observed. "Could you order a total lack of speaking for the foreseeable future? For medical reasons?"

"We'd make it worth your while," Fixer wheedled.

"Is it too late to say I don't want any visitors?" Scorch asked, though even that sounded like a joke.

"We probably should leave," Boss agreed, cutting through Sev and Fixer's gloating with a simple reminder of, "Lots of reports to write."

"Ugh. Really, sir? For a self-inflicted injury?"

"I was having a good day, Boss."

Before he left, Boss patted Scorch gently on the shoulder. "I'm glad you're okay, Scorch. Rest up or we'll leave you behind on our next mission."

"Kix?" Kix glanced over at the commando sergeant, one brow lifting in silent question. "Make sure he rests. Sedate him or strap him down if you need to."

With one last threatening look in Scorch's direction, Boss left the medbay. Kix silently held out the pain meds for Scorch, passing him a cup of water at the proper time.

"You're good to sleep now," Kix told the commando. "If the pain gets bad again, let me know and I'll increase your dosage."

Scorch nodded and had just settled back against the pillow when the medbay door opened and Kix's heart nearly stopped. He walked briskly to the front of the medbay, making small pushing motions at the new arrival. "Hardcase, get out of here. You're fine."

"You don't even know what's wrong yet," Hardcase pouted.

"Hardcase?" Scorch asked, sitting up with a manic interest gleaming in his eyes.

"Yeah?" Hardcase asked, leaning to peer around Kix's shoulder. "Whoa, a commando! I heard you guys get to deal with more explosives than anyone!"

"You ever juggled thermal detonators?" Scorch asked, giving Kix an innocent shrug when the medic glared.

"No!" Hardcase said, pushing past Kix to perch by Scorch's bedside, wearing a look of utter fascination.

In only moments, the two were swapping stories, each trying to outdo the other while both seemed impressed by the other's exploits. Kix groaned. Force willing, he wouldn't have much to do with Scorch after this, but he already expected a wild number of injuries in Hardcase's near future.

---

A/N - First off, I want to apologize to... well, just everyone. For those who are not familiar with Republic Commando, you're probably a bit confused about who these guys are and why they're here. I read a fic featuring the characters in a minor role and proceeded to inhale everything I could find with them in it. For those who are familiar with Republic Commando, I would like to apologize for any errors in characterization, background, etc. Sidebar: if you know of a good fic featuring Delta Squad, please share the name of it with me!

Please reblog this work! It helps me grow my readership!

[sams-sass]

You found me

GIF not mine

This will become a series if you guys like it! 

Read Part Two, Three, Four, Five and the Epilogue: 

Part Two  

Part Three 

Part Four

Part Five

Epilogue

Summary: Reader is taken hostage by Crowley and he forces her to be someone she never knew she was. 

Warnings: Language, violence, torture, angst

Characters: You, Crowley, Roweena, Dean, Sam, Cas

Pairings: None yet, eventual Sam x Reader.

You woke with a quick, loud breath that filled your lungs. Your head pounded. Your eyes felt like they were made of sand. You felt cold and dirty. All of your muscles ached and your feet and hands felt numb. Where were you? You raised your hand to rub your forehead and hear the jangling sound of chains. Alert filled your mind and you quickly sat up looking around frantically. It looked like a basement. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling illuminating some of the room. Concrete floors and walls with small windows that were covered in chipping black paint. Both of your hands and feet were chained to the floor. Panic consumed you as your breathing quickened and a cold sweat covered your skin. Your stomach felt sour and your hands began to shake. How did you get here? You looked over your body once more, you were still in the clothes you wore out with your friend. When was that? Last night? Is it still night? How long have you been here? What happened?

48 hours earlier

You busted into your house on Friday night. You quickly shed all your clothes leaving a trail into your bedroom. You just needed a night out. A night where you didn’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. Where you could smile and actually feel it touch your eyes. You pulled on new underwear as well as you favorite skirt that hid the little roll below your belly button nicely. You grabbed your push up bra and slipped on a crop top that showed off the girls nicely. Checking your makeup in the mirror, you added more blush and swiped on some lipstick. Determining your hair was good enough after running your fingers through it, you slid your feet into a pair of black boots. You looked in the mirror and shrugged “good enough” you thought to yourself. Your phone buzzed, grabbing it you saw the text from your best friend.

“Lets get it!” She said.

“On my way, whoever gets there first has to have a drink waiting for the other.” You typed back.

“I’m already here, I’ll order you a drink.” Grabbing your purse you flew out the door and practically ran to the bar. When you walked in the smell of beer hit your nose. Finding your friend you sat down on the bar stool, she grabbed your hand and sent you a wide smile. You took a long sip from your drink and let the cold alcohol warm your insides.  

The beginning of the night passed pretty uneventfully, you and your friend laughed and drank for what felt like hours. A man approached you, there was something about him that you didn’t like. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but he seemed untrustworthy. You always had a really good read on people, you could almost always guess what they were feeling, thinking, experiencing. This guy…was just blank.

“Hello.” He said in an accent. British? Irish? You couldn’t quite tell. He was staring at you. His eyes peering into yours with some unknown feeling. Desperation, maybe?

“Hi.” Your friend said with a shy smile. Shit. She was drunk, and she got chatty with just about anyone when she was drunk.

“I think you and I need to talk.” He said to you completely ignoring your friend.

“I don’t think we do.” You said. His eyes narrowed and you suddenly felt vulnerable. Exposed. You sat up straighter and tried to give him your most confident glare.

“Very well, Y/N.” How did he know your name? Maybe he heard your friend say it? Something was wrong. He walked away and you stood up abruptly.

“I need to leave.” You said to your friend. She looked up at you while the straw from her drink was still in her mouth.

“No, come on! That guy was just creepy, don’t let it get to you.” She pleaded, pulling on your arm lightly.

“Sorry, hun. I gotta get out of here.” You gave her a hug and wished her safe passage home. She nodded and told you to text her when you got home. You quickly dashed out of the bar glancing back at the man who approached you to make sure he was still there and not following you. His back was to you and you quickly walked into the night. You were almost home, you could see your house. Relief washed through you as you reached your hand into your bag for your keys. Your head was down for maybe a second and when you looked up, he was in front of you. You gasped and tried to turn.

“Sorry, love.” He grabbed your arm and snapped his fingers and then everything was black.

Present time

You remembered the bar. Him approaching you and wanting to talk. Him knowing your name.

“Oh my god.” You said out loud to the empty room. You reached your hand to your chest and began to cry. Bending your legs into your chest, you put your forehead on your knees and tried to breathe through it all. You stayed like that for some amount of time until you heard noises. Picking your head up you listened closely. The door opened and the man from the bar walked in.

“Please know that I did not want to do chain you up, but I do not know how powerful you are. My name is Crowley and I need your help. If you help me, you can leave and you will never see me again.” What was he talking about? Help him with what? Powerful?

“I don’t understand. What do you need my help with?” You said, feeling the rawness in your voice.

“I need you to track someone for me and then tell me what they are planning to do to me.” He said his face blank, you still couldn’t feel anything from him and it was really starting to bother you.

“I really don’t understand what you want me to do. I don’t know how to track people.” You shook your head, you were so confused.

“Of course you can.” He said with a nod of his head. He walked over to you and you quickly scooted back to the wall and curled yourself into a ball. He raised his hands in the air to show you he wasn’t going to hurt you and placed a photograph on the floor.

“I’ll leave you to it. If you need help, I’m just a scream away.” With that, he walked out the heavy door and he was gone again. You waited until you couldn’t hear anything and moved over to the photograph. You picked it up and looked at it. It was a woman, she had red curly hair and strong cheek bones. She had on heavy eye makeup and lipstick.

“Who are you?” You questioned the picture. You ran your fingers lightly over the picture and closed your eyes. Sighing heavily you put the picture down and crossed your legs in front of you. Your skin was numb from the cold. You felt dirty and uncomfortable. Your stomach groaned and you put a hand over it trying to forget about your hunger. You should not have focused on your body, your sudden awareness of your thirst was almost unbearable. Taking breaths you tried to forget about it, but you couldn’t now. You were so thirsty. The door burst open again and your head shot up.

“How did we do?” Crowley said.

“Please, may I just have some water? I am so thirsty.” You pleaded with him almost getting on to your knees.

“Depends, how did we do?” He said, clearly getting angry. You stared at him.

“I looked at the picture. She’s pretty.” You said just wanting to tell him anything. “Please I need water.”

“Pretty?!” His voice shot up an octave. “I know she is pretty! Where is she? What is she planning? That’s what I asked!” He was yelling. You cowered away from him. You were so confused. How could you possibly tell him where this woman was and what she was planning?

“Why do you think I can do these things? Why do you think I can find this woman just from her picture?” You were trying to remain calm, but your panic was evident in your voice.

“Because, my dear, you are one of the most powerful creatures on this planet. You can find someone no matter how many warding’s they put up. No matter how many spells they cast. You my dear can tell me exactly what she is thinking, feeling, planning. You are the last empath alive.” He said walking closer to you.

“You have the wrong person. I am just a girl. I can’t do anything special. I grew up normal and have always been just normal. I work a normal job and live a normal life. Please, let me go, I can’t do what you are asking me to.” You were begging now. On your knees, hands clasped together in front of you. There were tears in your eyes and you were staring at him.

“I can get it out of you.” He promised.

“What?” Your voice was breathy. He grabbed you and slammed you against the wall. Your head hit the wall and a shout of pain left your lips. He snapped his fingers again and now your arms were splayed out wide chained to the wall. Your feet were now free and there was a bar around your waist.

“No! Don’t leave me like this! I am not what you think I am! I am just a normal person. Please. Please. Please. Let me go. Please…” Your voice trailed off as you kept saying “please” over and over again, your head falling. Crowley walked out and slammed the door.

You woke again to the door opening. You lifted your head to look at Crowley, he was holding a cup in his hands. Your mouth instantly began to water at the prospect of something to drink.

“I brought you something to drink.” He said with a wicked grin.

“Thank you.” You said not wanting to anger him further. He walked over to you and placed his hand on the back of your head pulling back slightly. The liquid entered your mouth and you instantly knew it wasn’t water. Your eyes widened and you tried to turn your head, but Crowley’s grip tightened on in your hair.

“Drink.” He commanded. You really had no other choice to be honest. You gulped at the liquid that did actually end up quenching your thirst. “I read about your kind. Empaths, your supposed to be extinct. As in gone, so why are you alive? What makes you so special?” There was clear hate in his voice.

“I am not this thing you think I am. I have never heard of an empa-“ You were cut off by your breath catching in your throat. Your head lolled back and a light began to emit from your fingers. Your body began to buzz and a scream tore from your throat. Your head fell forward again and your body went still. Crowley stood there thinking he added too much hemlock to the potion. He glanced at the cup then back to you. Your head picked up and your eyes were a shining violet.

“What the hell did you do to me?” You almost screamed. He stepped towards you and released you from your chains. You fell to the floor in front of him.

“I unleashed you.” He smiled. He grabbed the photo and handed it to you once more. “Now, tell me where she is.” You took the photo and once again ran your fingers over the face, closing your eyes. Almost instantly you were in what looked like a hotel room, you looked around confused as to how you could possibly be here. You glanced out the window and gasped at the sight. You were looking directly at the space needle. Then you heard a voice and you turned around.

“Potens est autem videtis me quia ego servus tuus.” She spoke over an old book. It was her for sure, she had a book laid out a long with herbs, bones, and what looked like blood.

“Seattle. She’s in Seattle.” You said to Crowley.

“What is she planning?”

“She’s speaking in Latin I think…and she has a book an old book. I see blood and bones.” You began to describe what you were seeing.

“I don’t care what you see!” Crowley spat. “What do you feel?”

“I don’t feel anything!” You glanced at her once again and then you felt it. Hate. It poured out of every bone in her body. “Wait, I feel hate. Strong hate for a family member. I feel excited, like I know something good is about to happen. I feel heat? Like I’m standing too close to a fire. I feel trapped. I feel alone.” You said quickly.

“Thank you.” Crowley said to you. Just then her eyes snapped to yours and you knew she knew. You gasped and closed your eyes. When you opened them again you were back with Crowley.

“She knows about me.” You said.

“Bloody hell.” Was all Crowley said back.

 Roweena sat in front of the book of the damned speaking in Latin. She had the whole plan ready, she would finally get rid of Fergus once and for all. She would trick him and then trap him, cage him at the bottom of the deepest pit of hell.

“See me powerful one I am your servant” she spoke in Latin over the book. Excitement filled her body as well as the burning hate that always sat in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, she felt a presence. A out of place soul. Roweena looked directly at the place where she felt the light coming from and then it was gone.

“Bullocks.” She said. She grabbed her phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Yeah?” Said the voice.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Roweena?”

“I need you and your brothers help. My son is trying to kill me…again.”

“What would you like us to do?”

“Find him. I think he’s working with someone very powerful. Someone who probably doesn’t want to be with him.”

“No.”

“I will owe you.”

“Rowe-“ Roweena looked down at the phone. “Roweena” Dean said “Fine we will find him”

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

“Grand. I’ll be waiting.”

 “What the hell, Dean?” Sam said. “Why did you tell her yes?”

“You heard her. He is holding someone powerful hostage, that does not sound like a good thing to me.” Sam sighed and ran his hand down his face.

“Fine. Where do we start?”

“I’ll call Cass.” Dean said.

About a half hour later the boys summoned Crowley to the bunker.

“You boys know I have a phone, right?” He mocked.

“Who are you holding?” Sam asked him, his jaw set.

“Ah, mother.”

“Yeah, mother.” Dean spat. “Who are you holding?”

“Would you like to meet her? She is quite swell.” Crowley offered.

“Um…yes.” Dean said.

“Too bad. She has served her purpose, I will be rid of her soon.” Crowley said. All three men audibly groaned.

You were in the basement, chained again. Crowley hadn’t been by in a while and you decided to test out these new powers. You focused on his face and closed your eyes. Suddenly you found yourself in a large room surrounded by books. It looked like a library, but different. You heard noises and walked in their direction. Crowley was chained to a table with three men standing around him. One had short brown hair and green eyes, he felt PISSED. There was also a man in a trench coat and a suit. He had short dark brown hair and the bluest eyes you had ever seen. You couldn’t get a feel off of him, just like that night in the bar with Crowley.

“What are you up to, Crowley?” This man asked, his voice was deep.

“Nothing.” Crowley lied.

“Bullshit.” The third man spoke. You looked at him now. He had long brown hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. He had a pointed nose and strong jaw. He was tall. Like…tall tall. He felt pissed too, but there was something else there…the need to prove himself. You walked over to him and touched his shoulder.

“Help me.” You whispered and sent him mental images of where you were trapped.

“Sam?” The man with the green eyes asked, clearly worried. You took your hand off his shoulder and Sam quickly blinked and looked shocked. He grabbed green eyes and blue eyes and dragged them into the hallway.

“What happened?” Green eyes asked.

“I don’t know, Dean. One moment I was just standing there and then I felt this…presence and I heard a woman whisper “help me” and then I saw all these images of a basement.”

“Who the hell does Crowley have?”

“No idea, but it felt powerful. Extremely powerful.” Sam said. Then he bust back into the room and rammed Crowley against the wall. You didn’t know if you could help, but you wanted to try. You walked over to Crowley and touched his shoulder.

“Tell him.” You said. Nothing happened. Ok, one limitation.

“Moose, I know you wanna save the girl. She is rather pretty, but she’s mine now.” He said staring into Sam’s eyes.

“Sam!” Dean yelled. “Cas has got an idea.” Sam let go of Crowley and walked into the hallway with the two men. That’s when it hit you. You touched Crowley’s shoulder again and searched his mind. That’s when you saw the front of the building. You raced towards Sam once again.

“I might be able to track her power.” Cas said. You reached up and touched Sam’s shoulder again sending him the image of the building.

“Holy hell. This is absolutely insane.” Sam said looking around for you.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I know where she is!” Sam said already running towards the door. Dean grabbed Crowley and him and Cas escorted him towards the door as well.

You shot yourself back into your body and waited. You dozed off a few times and woke to the sound of the door swinging open again. Sam walked in and his eyes fell on you for the first time.

“Oh my god.” He said. He ran towards you and started undoing your chains catching you before you fell to the ground. He gathered you into his arms and picked you up bridal style.

“You found me.” You choked out. “Thank you.” And the last thing you remember before blackness overtook you once again is looking up into Sam’s dimpled smile.

[ziracona]

please bless me with all of your dbd headcanons even just a crumb would satisfy me,,,,, lmao. Fr tho ur hcs are godly pls give me all of them especially for og 4 and wraif

Thank you!! I’m glad you like my hot takes!

Let’s see, og4.

Jake grows facial hair pretty easy (that part is just canon). Usually he either lets it grow and ignores it till it gets long, or stays cleanshaven, but the in-between stage is physically painful for everyone else at the campfire bc you wake up and see rugged 2day scruffy woodsman stretch and he sees you staring and goes, “What?” Looking thoroughly unimpressed and Meg sheds a tear and Claudette pretends to not be looking and stares at her journal and Dwight gets heart palpitations it’s just bad for the whole group. When he shaves he’s an edgy dumbass and does it with a sharpened hunk of metal he made into a knife for himself and Dwight saw him shaving once and had to go sit down.

Jake has a soft spot for many of the survivors he’s known longer (honestly at this point, he’s pretty attached to the lot of them though), but especially the ones who work really hard at protecting other survivors. Double points if you’re younger than him. He would kill for Claudette, and take a bullet meant for Quentin, but would not convey this to them at all. Jake puts almost zero effort into making sure people knows he likes them. The people he has a soft spot for especially are also not always the ones he prefers to spend time with. While they’re survivors he spends less time with personally, Jake respects Feng Min for being the snarky little gremlin she is, and Tapp’s dedication to his job even here. Weirdly, while the people he likes often aren’t aware of affection, the ones he respects but isn’t as close to usually are aware of the respect. Jake also thinks he doesn’t like having friends and spending time not alone, but he does.

If asked point blank his thoughts on a survivor he likes, he’d probably just shrug or say, “They contribute to the team,” or “She works hard,” or “He’s fine,” because Jake just be like that. He had a hard time getting close to anyone initially because of how he grew up. Jake’s very guarded. He’s used to people manipulating and using each other, which makes keeping anything vulnerable close to his chest just necessary as he sees it. Boy doesn’t trust easy. Or open up. Ya need a can opener. Boy also does not like getting pushed around. Least favorite killers (aside from Nightmare) are probably Doctor and Ghostface, because he cannot stand being forced to do things or used. He’d rather take a chainsaw to the back than have someone lord power over him. He’s also got a looong memory, so if you fuck him over, he is not the kind to forget and forgive. He is the kind to resent and remember. Not that he never forgives people, but boy would have to really believe whatever happened was regretted and the person wasn’t like that anymore to let something that made him very angry go. He’s quiet angry though. Bide your time and get vengeance kinda angry. Would never let someone push him around. If a killer tried to fuck with him, he’d do everything in his power to kill them.

While Jake is tough and likes to hike just to be out and moving, and enjoys toughing it out, Meg enjoys being outside more as a fun thing than a wildnerness lifestyle thing. She has a lot of energy, and even in the realm, all that adhd can be a bitch. It would be easy to focus on the shitty stuff happening and drown in that, so she likes to keep moving, like she has since she was a kid and started running. Meg loves hard, and if she cares about you, she’ll make sure you know it. Not good at shutting up or realizing if she’s been going on for too long, girl has passion for everything.

Meg talks a big game, but does not have as much confidence as she pretends to have. She has abandonment issues, but they’re less, ‘my dad abandoned me’ and more ‘everyone but my mom, from him to grade school friends, hasn’t stuck around,’ so she does worry about that and coming on too strong, which she is aware she often does, but she can’t get herself to turn down the power settings on herself even when she tries. She’s never been good at making friends, so all of this in the realm is kinda new to her, since no one can leave. Meg would tell almost no one those things about herself. She cares hard though, and will try to distract other people from realm despair any way she can, because it’s what she needs and she assumes what they must need too. And to be fair, she ain’t wrong. Good at cultivating activities and drinks loving her friends juice.

Big goofball. BIG goofball. Also big gay. Well, bi af, but w a pretty strong preference for the ladies. She is simple of heart. Sees a girl, loses ability to think. Bonded with Nea over this problem. High int, low wisdom, big dumbass. Her weaknesses include girls’ eyes, voices, accents, freckles, scars, stomachs, legs, ass, titties, hair, hair dye, laughs, hands, eye contact, and cute accessories. Not great at expressing her feelings when she catches them, but tries hard. Actually pretty good at romancing once she gets into the groove. It’s just getting there she sucks at. Loyal as hell. Will go to bat for her friends and would rather die than betray them.

Meg has a real temper, especially when she feels like something being done to her or someone else is unjust/unfair, and will always try to fix those things even when it’s hopeless. Can and will weaponize her anger extremely effectively. Ridiculous memory for pop culture, shit memory for homework and things she was supposed to be doing. Memelord, but with some class.

Idk if this is because I identified with Claudette really strongly when I first started playing dbd or not, but I have always seen her as Asexual & Panromantic. Attracted to kindness. 

She gets overwhelmed fairly easily, but has been improving that by necessity since arriving in the realm, and can tap into the mom-friend override to fix problems for people who aren’t her. Has a hard time telling when people are teasing her/joking, but everyone knows this so they take it easier on her than each other.

Like Meg, had no friends before this, so it’s exciting and new, and a little scary, but mostly really good. She worries about other people a lot, and doesn’t always know how to help, but she tries. Very relieved Dwight volunteered to be team leader.

Enjoys recording things and studying. Would be fascinated by the Entity’s world if she wasn’t always being killed. Seems small and weak and easy to take down, but she has the strength of will to kill God herself if backed into a corner, especially when fighting for someone she loves. Sweet does not mean she will not fight back, and since being in the realm, and getting over her initial freezing up at the sight of horrifying murderers, she has worked extremely hard to be brave and take an active roll protecting people whenever she can. She is still terrified a lot, but has learned to push through that to help her friends and herself.

Loves animals, including ones a lot of people don’t like (bugs, snakes, rats, etc) and would and has definitely tried to snag a scorpion and a cockroach from trials to study before, and tried to befriend the realm rats now that they exist. Tries to get Jake to show her how to get birds to like you but does know how to ask him right.

Nervous about interpersonal relationships and unsure of herself. Really likes everyone but horrible at telling how other people feel. Feels like she always comes off wrong and can’t put words to things well even when she understands them super well. Does her best 24/7. Incredibly smart and talented. Knowledgeable about her passions. Is always thinking 4th dimensionally and has saved the team many a time by pulling off wild bullshit that makes sense kind of just barely but no one else would have thought of.

Dwight was a loser and kind of a douche growing up, kind of selfish and entitled and weak, but is no longer that person after a few years in the realm. He works hard to make good on his promises to look out for everyone, and cares about them very genuinely. Great at thinking on his feet and sounding like he knows more than he does, wonderful at regulating tasks to people efficiently, and not a bad strategist. 

Being the kind of person now who would not have liked the person he was a few years ago causes a little cognitive dissonance and self-doubt, but he’s trying. Genuinely enjoys hearing about people’s days and interests even when he’s completely lost. 

Not a fan of heights. If the fear of heights was not vastly overpowered by fear of sharp object, he would actively avoid the old ironworks in trials, but alas.

Used to play video games a lot. Thought he was good at them. Was not. Was definitely not.

Self-improvement king. Works hard and is a really decent dude. A very good sport. Used to be an asshole, so now that he’s nice he’s pretty damn forgiving if other people put in the work to improve too (my boy’s no hypocrite). Has mellowed out a lot and is pretty chill and nice but the damn fool will break his own heart by taking things people say the wrong way, or things they mean as a joke literally, if it’s something he thinks is true about himself, and will totally miss context and vocal inflection and just be like, “I know but I’m trying TuT.”

Big gay but in denial and confused

Just at this point really does want people to get to go home and be ok. Loves hearing stories and listening to his friends talk at the campfire because it makes him feel like things might be okay. Get the same result just by being near his friends, especially the other og3 who have been with him forever. If they’re all still there, things have to turn out okay someday. :’ ) Has never really told them that, because he’s supposed to be the leader, and thinks they’d feel less secure if they knew he depends on being able to sleep close to them at night to feel like he’ll be okay himself. Not in a they’d judge me way, but in a I really don’t want to let them down way. He wants them to think he’s got a handle on things even when he really doesn’t.

I was gonna do Philip too but I got this this morning and this post is already ridiculously long TuT, so here you go. Plus one mini Philip one.

Philip feels responsible for the young man he saw his boss kill the day the Entity got him. He knows that he killed scores of people unknowingly for Azarov, and those weigh, but he thinks sometimes late at night that if he could have just saved that one, it might have been enough to make him feel absolved someday for all the other deaths on his head. He remembers his face very well, and how terrified he was, and the moment of confusion and relief, and almost gratefulness when Philip let him go. He thinks over and over that if he’d just talked to him–assumed something was up, and gotten him to be quiet. Seen Azarov in time and stopped him. So many little things, and the young man would have lived. Even if the others were things he was completely blind to, he feels like that one is especially his fault, and that he could have stopped it. That one really haunts him.

[ejzah]

A/N: So, here’s part 17. This one is pretty Densi focused.

***

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 17

“Deeks, there is nothing in the law that states we have to allow a detainee a phone call,” Sam told Deeks, his arms crossed as they sat across from each other.

What had started out as a simple discussion about twenty minutes before, had evolved into a tense disagreement. He’d thought Sam was finally beginning to respect his opinion at least a little bit, but the last case had proven him wrong.

Sam and Callen had arrested a man, David Williams, after Eric and Nell found evidence linking hm with a domestic terrorism plot. Deeks was mildly horrified when they brought him into the boat shed, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the upper arm.

Although Williams eventually confessed to the location of the terrorist ring, it still didn’t sit well with Deeks.

“I realize that, Sam, but it’s the principle. You denied him a call, you didn’t get him medical help, and threatened to stick him in a jail cell with a convicted killer,” Deeks countered. “I’m supposed to be a legal liaison. What the hell am I doing here if I just stand by and say nothing?”

“Deeks, you’re new here. Sometimes you have to slant the law a little bit to get the right results. Williams wasn’t in danger of bleeding out and I was never going to act on my threats. He just needed to believe I would.”

Deeks pressed his lips together, beyond frustrated. He’d held back for the past several weeks as he watched and learned how the team operated. Technically, a lot of what they did skirted the law. It wasn’t exactly illegal, but it certainly wasn’t best practice and in the right situation a lawyer could make a case against them in his opinion.

“What if he presses charges?” Deeks asked.

“I think he has more serious things to worry about,” Callen pointed out lightly. “Like denying that he was part of a group that planned to blow up a shopping mall.”

Sam stood and patted him on the shoulder, effectively ending the conversation. He probably didn’t mean to be condescending, but it made Deeks feel like a little kid.

“Deeks, once you’re here for a while, you’ll realize that many times the end result justify the means,” he explained. Deeks glanced over at Kensi, but she remained silent.

After they left the room, Kensi sat down next to him, nudging him with her shoulder.

“You going to be ok?” she asked quietly. He sighed and rubbed at his hair, trying to find a way to explain the mounting frustration he felt.

“Sometimes it just feels like I’ve replaced one failed system for another,” he said.

“Don’t let Sam hear you say that,” she joked. When he didn’t laugh, she gently rubbed his back. “Is there anything I can do, babe?” That did make him smile a little.

“I don’t think so. I guess I just have to figure out what my purpose in being here is. And what maniacal plans Hetty has for me.”

“Mm, I don’t think Hetty has anything too evil planned for you. She likes you, you know.”

“Even when she calls me cheeky?”

“Especially then,” Kensi said emphatically. “I think you have her completely charmed.” Her hand drifted a little lower on his back, effectively pushing his concerns to the back of his mind.

“And do I have anyone else charmed?” he teased. Kensi blushed and glanced away.

“You’re getting there.”

“You realize you called me, ‘babe’ a minute ago, right?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said, making the weird cackling sound that he’d come to associate with embarrassment.

“Yes, you did. Admit it, you have a pet name for me.”

“You are utterly ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

“We have work to do,” she countered, grabbing a random stack of files which they’d completed the day before. He grabbed them, setting to the side, and linked their fingers. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, it didn’t protest or pull away.

“Say it. Say you love it,” he persisted. She was adorable when she got flustered.

“Oh my god, you are so annoying.”

“That’s still not a no.”

“You know, I was going to invite you over for dinner tonight, but I’ve changed my mind,” she said, retrieving her hand and crossing her arms.

“Wait, you were going to let me into casa de Kensi?” he asked. “I’ve been dying to know if you’re as messy there as you are here and at my place.”

“First of all, I don’t even know what that accent was supposed to be. Secondly, you’re already on thin ice, if you’re not careful you might lose more privileges,” she warned.

Turning on his best pleading expression, which he found worked remarkably well on his tough as nails girlfriend, he looked directly into her eyes.

“Please reconsider. I promise to be on my best behavior. I won’t even mention any dirty dishes or unfolded piles of clothes I happen to see.”

Kensi pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes. He saw her start to waver and leaned a little closer, staring more intensely into her eyes. After a minute she sighed.

“Fine.” She held up a finger. “But since you find my lifestyle so amusing, you can wash all my laundry and dishes. And you can’t have your cleaning lady do it for you.”

“Sure,” he said without hesitation.

“For a month,” she added.

“Doable. You know, cleaning isn’t nearly as bad as you think it is.” Evading her elbow, he added, “Are there any other, ahem, tasks you want me to take care of? Maybe I can bake you some muffins?” He lowered his voice suggestively.

He smirked up at her as she looked him up and down, apparently considering his offer. After a minute she leaned closer, her expression playful. God, he loved it when she dropped the tough Special Agent persona.

“I would say yes, but I don’t think your ready to handle my muffins,” she answered, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. “Or my biscuits.”

“I would say ‘touche’, but aren’t biscuits and muffins basically the same thing?” he said, raising a finger. “And just so you know, I can totally handle any and all of your baked goods.”

“You just don’t want to admit that I outwitted you, Mr. Word Smith.”

“Let’s just call it a temporary impasse.”

“I call it you doing all my housework while watch you do it and eat takeout,” she countered.

“Or I could eat y-“

“Ahem!” They both turned, having forgotten that anyone could walk in on their private conversation, and found Nell standing in the doorway with raised eyebrows. She pressed her lips together, looking caught between amusement and vague horror.

Deeks chuckled, ruffling the back of his hair while Kensi quickly pushed away from him.

“Um, how long have you been standing there?” he asked awkwardly.

“Pretty long,” she answered.

“Nell, it’s not what it sounded like,” Kensi rushed to explain. “We were just-“

“Yes, I heard.”

“Deeks was joking. You know how he is. We were actually talking about grabbing dinner after work. You know, like completely platonic coworkers do.” God, she was making it so much worse. Trying not laugh, Deeks added,

“You should come with. I know some great restaurants.” Nell nodded, not looking like she believed them at all.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Did you have something for us, Nell?” Kensi asked in a higher voice than normal.

“Yes, I do. Hetty wants everyone up in Ops. Eric already called Sam and Callen,” she said. Deeks shot Kensi an apologetic look as they followed after Nell.

“So, uh, do you have any nicknames, Nell,” he asked, to fill the awkward silence.

“Not really.”

“Well, we should give you one. And possibly a bell.”

“I don’t know...”

“How about Nellvarine?” he suggested.

“Um, I kind of just like Nell,” she said.

“Don’t worry, we’ll think of something.”

“Before you ask,” Kensi added as the reached Ops and the doors slid open. “Yes, he’s like this all the time.” Before she walked in, Kensi spun to face him and hissed, “You are so dead.”

***

A/N: It’s a bit of shorter and fluffier chapter this week.

[writemoment]

Lovely Monster

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 1/1

Summary: There isn’t a single monster he couldn’t love. Not even me.

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Werewolf!Reader

Warnings/Rated: Mentions of abuse, comforting acceptance and fluff

Word Count: 2,155

( Reader ) P.O.V.

The darkness outside was nowhere compared to what was held inside my chest. These overwhelming feelings- a nightmare, forever my reality. My father screams out, smashing books into the walls as he lets out his anger. “You’re a freak, just like your mother! At least she had the decency to die!”

My body folds into itself, hiding from the abusive behavior of my father. The moon begins to take it’s effect on me and I can feel my bones cracking, breaking into my horrid form as it goes. Choked sobs and whimpers can be heard as hair sprouts from the pores of my skin, showcasing the freak I truly am.

Realizing I have little time left, I push my way out the nearest exit and away from the house. The pain is immense but I can’t allow myself to be chained and tortured tonight. 

Running through the dark, thick forest, I rush until I no longer can. Falling to my knees I howl at the hurt and coil around myself. Then it’s complete. The bones have realigned themselves and my vision is blurred with what I can’t control. My inner wolf taking over. 

Trees pass my traveling body in a blur, leaving no recognition for me to follow back. Soon, I’m at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the distant green of plantation and I howl at the moon. What a cliche- something I cannot control.

Contrary to the rush of adrenaline, the cool breeze that brushes over my fur brings a kind of calm over my nerves and slowly, my wolf steadies into a less frantic pace. Every time I’m forced to shift, it’s because of the moon or because of my dad. Rarely do I shift on my own. I’m too scared of what I become to willingly submit to that power.

My mother was the same way. She was too scared of her other nature, so she rarely shifted. My dad, being the human he was, hated us for the things we couldn’t control. When she passed, he didn’t even shed a tear. Anger filled tears ran through my whiskers as I remember his words, ‘good riddance’.

Strolling through the thick of the woods, I imagine a world that didn’t cringe at the things they don’t understand. Everything turns taboo at that point and no longer given a proper chance. For once, I want to be accepted for what I am. Perhaps that’s too much to ask for, but it’s something I harbor in the depths of my heart- both wolf and human. 

Bright streaks of light cut through the dark and it catches my eye with its spectacular array of color. Sticking to the shadows and staying covered, I creep to the peculiar scene that’s unfolding underneath the canopy of stars. 

Two bodies are running, dodging the spray of light as they round each other. They’re holding out some sort of weapon in front of them, being the source of the colors that had caught my attention.

My heart beats fast in my chest and my paws dig into the dirt, ready to sprint at any indication of harm to come my way. The taller one speaks a foreign word with clarity and I watch as the other falls backward, grunting at the impact.

“Hand over the egg and you’re free to go.” The tall one says, seeming calm and collected in this odd situation.

Grunting, the man offers up, what appears to be, a silver egg with a toss of his hand. Catching it carefully, the taller seems distracted as he coddles the egg while looking it over. That’s when the one on the ground raises his hand, ready to strike the clueless man.

Stepping forward, a deep growl bursts from my chest and they both snap their attention to me. My teeth pull up and I snarl, sending the lower one to chant something before disappearing from his previous spot in the blink of an eye.

Hmph

Whatever was going on, I knew that I couldn’t let anyone get hurt. Even in this form, this freak of nature knew that there was something worth protecting. It was a feeling, an instinct. 

However, unlike the other man that had left at the sight of me, this other one remains. His soft eyes study me, his posture unflinching as he slowly lowers himself to a less threatening position.

I feel my haunches rise as I cautiously circle him. “Steady there.” His voice is smooth, accent beautifully rich. “I’m not going to hurt you…” There’s something quite odd about him. Not in a bad way, more like a breath of fresh air.

Everything around me seemed to slow down and the black began to swallow me whole. The last thing I remember is smelling earth and the muffled voice of the man saying something into my unconsciousness.

****

My body feels the shift before my mind does. The cool air forces goosebumps to rise on almost every inch of my skin. I awake to warm-toned light and unfamiliar surroundings. There’s a scratchy warmth heavy over my torso and I see someone had made an attempt of throwing a blanket over my body. 

I scan the area for any sign of life but see none. However, I can sense it. I feel that I am not alone. Wrapping the blanket over myself, I groan as I crawl into a sitting position.

That’s when he appears. “Are you okay, miss?” He asks, eyes worried and lips parted in distress. In this lighting, I can fully see his features. Pale skin marked in constellations of freckles, light brown hair tousled in a messy mop atop his head. His eyes; I can’t quite pinpoint what color they are, just that they’re magnificent.

“Yeah… It always aches after I shift back.” I tell him, hissing quietly through my teeth as I reposition my body to face him. His shoulders slump a bit and he comes closer to where I was lain. Out of habit, I recoil into my body to take up as little space as possible.

“I’m not going to hurt you…” He says, quickly pouring me a cuppa tea before extending it to me. “My name is Newt. It seems that you exerted your energy back there. Blacked out from it, I’m sure.”

Uncurling from myself, I slip the mug from his hand. Our fingers momentarily swipe past one another’s and I, for the first time, don’t shy away from the contact. “Thank you.” A moment of quiet passes as I sip the warm beverage. “My name is Y/n. I’m sorry for putting you in this position.”

“What position is that, exactly?” He asks, confused.

“I- I don’t purposely shift into, well, that. I was just trying to find escape. Usually when the full moon comes, I’m…. nevermind that. I just usually don’t lose control like that.” My admission causes me to fidget in my seat. This all around is unusual for me. I’ve never told anyone about this issue.

However, Newt doesn’t seem to mind. “No use in beating yourself up over something you have no say in. Though I’m sure we could whip up a potion to keep your shift from happening during the full moon. That is, if you’d like.”

His voice is so melodic and comforting. It’s the exact opposite of my father’s. I nod, wide eyed. “You can do that?” My entire life has been spent in fear and Newt’s offer is the first hope I’ve had a taste of. To be honest, I’m desperate for more.

The desperation, the shock, must drip heavily from my lips because Newt’s eyes melt into pure kindness as he studies me thoughtfully. He smiles, stretching his lips so thin they almost disappear. Extending his arm he offers his hand to me.

Patiently, he waits for me to accept his invitation. I pause, quite noticeably so, for a moment before slipping my palm into his. They’re warm, rough but oh-so gentle. He leads me to the door and opens a whole new world before me. Magnificent and wonderous creatures are scattered about the expanse. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel so different.

****

It has been three days since Newt has offered to take me in. He didn’t ask but I know he could sense my dread at the thought of returning to my life before. We fell into a mutual understanding that I just needed time. It was nice to not have anything expected of me.

Newt is shy. That’s an understatement but he is also extremely kind. He gave me space but also let me test my ability to trust. Every moment in the presence of the wizard gave me confidence to seek him out.

He taught me how to care for his creatures by his side. He showed me magic and a world I hadn’t previously known existed. Every time he opened up a bit to me, I felt myself doing the same. I recognized the Occamy eggs as the very same one he had retrieved the night I met him in the forest. It made me realize how much Newt cared about and sacrificed for these fantastic beasts.

Days went by and he began to trust me enough to leave me in his suitcase, which is where I had awoken that first night. Newt traveled a lot and was a very busy person, actually. Even then, he would always return and those were the hours that I found myself eagerly waiting for. Because I, also, very much began to trust him.

One day, Newt found me kneeling outside and cradling my hand to my chest. “Are you okay, Y/n?” His voice was thick with worry as he rushed over to my side.

“Don’t get to close, Newt-” I plead. He stops a few steps away from me, “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if I shift…” Tears pool in my eyes as I try to calm myself down. Pain triggered me sometimes and the last thing I’d want to do is hurt him.

Despite my warning, Newt kneels beside me and peels my arm away from my body. “What happened?” He asks as he begins to examine the cut that’s angry and red on my wrist.

“I cut it on the edge of the feeding pail… I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you, Newt. Please.” He stands up with me and swiftly leads me inside the small flat. With such familiarity and ease, he begins to snip different herbs and pouring mixtures from vials.

I watch him with amazement and a bit of confusion. Before I know it, the pain has subsided and he’s wrapping my arm up with gauze. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

Newt freezes in his actions before throwing a glance at me over his shoulder. “Because you’re not someone to be feared. At least, not for the reasons you’re referring to.”

His way of thinking, the way he perceives the world, is so unlike anything I’ve ever known. The wizard begins to put away medicines and I watch him quietly for a moment. “My dad wasn’t fond of my kind…Actually, that’s putting it nicely. He hated werewolves.”

My fingers fidget in my lap and I keep my gaze firmly fixed on them as I speak. Afraid that if I see Newt’s eyes, I’ll be too self-conscious to tell him. “He didn’t know Mom was one until it was too late. She was already pregnant with me. When she died, I lost the one person who saw me as I truly was. My father… he was violent, cruel and- and scared.

“Meeting you was the best thing that has happened in my life. Because for the first time, I wasn’t seen as a threat or as strange. You didn’t expect anything of me. You saw me as Y/n. Not as a werewolf.”

My forehead creased with emotion and salty teardrops fell onto my clasped hands. I sucked my lower lip between my teeth to stop the slight wobble. Chancing a glance at Newt, I find him standing in front of me. 

Newt. His eyes glistening, not in pity, but with compassion towards me. Kneeling down so that his face was parallel with mine, he swiped away the stray tear that lingered off my chin. “There are no strange creatures, only blinkered people.”

With those words, I felt understood and, in a way, loved. Every day that I spent getting to know Newt Scamander, the more I began wanting to learn more. He loved his creatures and never truly believed monsters were born, they were made. 

There was time for us to grow together, to grow fond of one another. As we went on, I knew that I’d become more confident with Newt by my side. There wasn’t a ‘monster’ he couldn’t love. Not even when it came to someone like me.

Masterlist Here

A/N: Thank you for reading! xx - Ellie-Mae

[jotaveiga]

Fall's Breeze

Joel/original female character

She was gathering berries when the gunshot echoed trough the woods. Immediatly crouching, she pulled the riffle from her back to peer trough the scope.

The hill had kept most stragglers away but every once in awhile, some would venture up.

She saw a man stalking after a wounded deer. A huntsman than. Maybe he would completely miss her cabin and leave her alone. She kept a close eye on him, noting how good of a hunter he was but careless for there was a trap just ahead and he didn't seem to notice it.

"Fuck's sake..." She murmured, getting up and waving at him. He didn't even look up. She whistled and this time he did look at her, confused. The deer ran off, causing a despleased expression to form on his features. He threw his hands up in a "what the fuck" motion. She signed for him to stop and started making her way down. The man waited.

She was fast and silent, he watched with awe as she jumped and dodged trees and branches, knowing the woods as the palm of her hand.

"Do you want to tell me why the fuck you made me loose my dinner?" His voice was raspy, his accent thick. Her brow furrowed. She leant down, picked a rock and threw it at the trap. He saw as it desapeared on the ground and heard the echo of it hitting the bottom of a pit hidden by leafs and vegetation.

His head tilted to the side as the grip on his weapon losened and his other hand rested on his hip cocked to the side.

"Well shit..." He didn't seem to find any other word of appreciation.

"Your welcome. Bye, nice to meet you" she said preparing to turn back.

She heard the rustling of something near by and instinctively crouched and aimed. The man followed suit.

The deer came into view, stumbling. She grabed the knife from her hip, slowly approaching the animal. He observed attently.

She ended it quickly, wipping the knife on a rag hanging from her belt. "There you go, we're even" she told him and turned back to start the climb to her home. "I don't think so ma'am" he shuffled after her. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, you saved me from falling into a trap and you help me get the deer, doesn't seem even to me. How can I repay you?" He completly put his gun away. Silly move, she thought, but pondered for a second.

"Well, do you have a horse?" He looked suspicious but shook his head in negation.

"I don't know how far your camp his but you might not get there by sundown, so, if you want, you head back up hill with me, I help you carry the deer and in exchange you give me a nice steak." His face contorted in confusion. Steak? That's all she wants?

He pondered as his eyes flickered between the woman, the dead animal and the sun already downing. A small nod was all he managed.

They carried the carcass uphill to her cabin. As he saw the building he wandered how many people might be inside and if this was an ambush.

"I'm Jane by the way" she pointed her chin at a table on a side shed and they both lowered the heavy weight onto it.

"Joel" he answered back, breathless. Jane chuckled, he was considerably older than her but she found him charming in a way.

The cabin was devoid of people. Jane indicated a bucket of water to wash up.

"How long have you been up here?" Joel inquired, getting a suspicious look in response. Jane prepared a pot with water and a mix of vegetables, lost in thought.

"5 years." The words finnaly formed. Joel couldn't help the "damn" that escaped his lips. "And I would like to keep it that way" she added.

"Don't worry about me, I'm just passing, I live near by, in Jackson." The pot was set on top of a stove and the fire was started, next they went outside to prepare the meat.

"Why are you out here alone then, Joel?"

Every time a question was asked, the first response was always suspition. That said a lot about humanity nowadays.

"I needed some time to myself." That's all she got.

The sound of birds chirping into hidding for the night, the rustle of the leaves in the wind and the sharp blades slashing meticulosly trough the flesh and veins and tendons, filled the evening chill air.

"5 years is a long time for someone so young" Jane chuckled at the remark.

"I am not that young" she pulled a hatchet and cut clean trough the bone.

"You must have been only a child when this started" she then nodded. Joel found it endearing that she was even more quiet than him.

"Are you from Texas? I don't mean to assume but your accent..."

"Ya, I am a Texan boy" they both chuckled. "I wouldn't call you a boy, but hey, whatever float's your boat" Jane shrugged, getting a gasp out of him, she heard him murmur "I'm not that old".

She opened a couple of coolers to stash the meat in and packed them to be ready whenever he wanted to leave.

"What about you?" Joel gestured towards the hazel eyed, brown wavy haired woman. She hummed inquisitive.

"Where are you from?" She raised her eyebrows in understanding.

"I'm a long way from home. On the other side of the ocean to be precise" Joel could see that, she had a diferent kind of beauty, something he couldn't put his finger on.

"How'd you end up in the states than?" He observed as she stirred the veggies in the pot and heated up a skillet on the other mouth of the stove.

"My fathers business trip" that's all she said.

Jane seared the large steaks on the skillet as Joel removed his boots and holsters. Again she thought he was silly but she knew he could defend himself with his bare hands if need be. He was larger and taller then her, if he wanted, he could easily overpower her. And that both terrified and exited her.

Joel looked around, noting the openness of the space, all in one room except the bathroom wich was outside. He could see another door but what he assumed was her bed, was on a corner of the same room they were in. Again, distrust was the first sentiment to rise, but he tried to ease his mind, this girl had been nothing but kind to him.

"Have you been alone for 5 years?" He dared.

"No." She dryly replied, but after a couple of minutes she decided to open up for the first person she had in awhile. "A couple of teens stayed with me in the beginning but then moved on. Found them dead in a nearby village sometime later. Then a year after that I took in an injured woman, she tried to kill me, now she's buried. I mannaged to keep hidden ever since." Joel whistled in surprise.

"What about you?" Jane cleaned her hands on a towel.

"We have a lot of people back on the town." He got up to grab a couple of plates she had taken from a cabinet and set them on the table.

"Any family?" She retorted.

"Ya, my brother and... My daughter." He paused for a minute, thinking about how broken the relationship between him and Ellie was.

Jane served the food onto the plates and they dined mostly in silence. She observed him while he wasn't looking, the grey specled hair and beard untammed, the flannel covering a grey shirt looking older than him, his hands large and calloused. He caught her, his dark green eyes on hers. The pair stopped eating altogether, staring at eachother.

Joel cleared his throat and for a second she saw a hint of crimson tinge his cheeks. But his eyes didn't stop on hers, instead she saw him studying her wavy, messy hair, her small pointy nose, her lush parted lips and down her neck, the cream of her skin, the dirty white of her shirt opened to the chest, she saw his eyes disapear further down and then he closed them and shook his head slightly.

She felt embarassed. He said he had a daughter, probably has a wife or someone back home... Why would he want her? But again, she had been alone for so long that the thought lingered.

She finished her steak not looking up again. But he enjoyed the view.

"How old are you?" His voice sounded calm and lulling.

"About 30 I would guess... I don't even know anymore. Doesn't really matter." He clicked his tongue. She wasn't that young after all.

"And your daughter?" Jane dared, picking up the plates and cuttlery. "Well, she is 17 and a hell of a storm" Joel chuckled fondly. They talked about trivial things at the table, like the places they've been and raided, close encounters with infected, the weapons they prefered and so on. The moonlight slivers poured into the room, a moment passed when their eyes locked again in silence.

"Well, Joel, if you want to rest, my bed is yours." The man looked stunned at her for a second.

"I am going to set my alarms around the cabin, feel free to make yourself at home, I'll be back in a bit." He still didn't know what that meant. She did flirt a couple of times and he kept checking her out but he wasn't sure what was happening.

He watched as her hips swayed away from him and all he wanted was to grab her and sit her on his lap.

She went around the perimeter in a ritualistic fashion, setting her "alarms" and a couple of mines a little further away. She wanted him, she wanted the warmth of another body, she had been alone for so long. And so was he. After Tess he never had anyone else.

Joel took of his flannel and sat on the edge of the mattress on the floor, waiting for her, his heartrate elevated in a good way for the first time in many many years.

Jane sat on the porch, feeling the cool air swirling her hair around, a shiver ran down her spine. After a long introspection she went inside. The man had his forearms prepped on his knees and head lowered in thought. Jane took of her boots and then her coat. She turned around to unbutton her pants.

Joel observed her now, her glutes contracting as her legs slid out of the fabric. He got up silently and walked to her. She felt the heat of his body pressing against her back and a loud sigh escaped her lips.

Joel kissed her neck, his beard prickling her soft skin and she hummed, her hand went to his thigh bunching up the denim between her fingers, pulling his body to hers. He caressed her upper arms pulling her closer. Jane pressed her butt back, getting a sharp inhale from him.

The urgency took over them. His hands quick to pull her underwear down her lean legs, she didn't blame him, instead bending over the table in front of her. His fingers dug in at her waist to control the rythm of the thrusts, only the first slow and carefull as he groaned loudly, her insides twisting at the sound, one of her hands curling around his wrist. The last one was so desperate for release that the table shifted forward.

He layed over her covered back, his forehead pressed to her spine feeling the heart beat underneath.

When both their breaths became steady and calm, Joel kissed the back of her head.

"I'm sorry...I haven't been with anyone for a long time..." Jane raised slowly not to startle him, he came out of her with the movement, she turned to him, searching his features, her cheeks flushed.

"We have all night..." She whispered close to his lips, the warm breath swaying his beard.

Joel's pupils were wide with desire, staring at her lips, beautiful, plump lips. He regretted not starting there so this time he savoured them, trapping the bottom one between his, sucking, gently scraping his teeth on it, she moaned, her tongue dancing with his, both their hands pressing eachother closer.

His clever fingers unbuttoning her shirt, her hands tugging his up. The rough of his palms laying flush against her ribs, the tips of his fingers gently brushing her spine as her nails ever so slightly scratched down the lenght of his scarred back. He picked her up, her legs circling his waist, clinging to this complete stranger.

For a second she imagined him stealing all of her belongings, maybe even calling his friends and raid her home, kill her or worse... But as if sensing her distress, Joel layed her down on the mattress and pulled back from her enough to stare into her eyes.

"If you want, I can leave..." His voice was barely a whisper of uncertainty and sadness.

"No, please don't." Jane's hands craddled his face tenderly. He responded with a deep sigh of contentment returning to her lips, then her neck, her clavicle, her chest. She tasted of berries, pine and a little salty. She reminded him of a cozy fall evening sitting by a fireplace, watching a movie and eating snacks.

He came back up, wanting more of her lips but she pushed him to the side, inverting the hourglass.

Jane kissed him as sensual as anyone had ever done so, his hands on her hips, her back arched in a beautiful bow. His neck smelled of gunpowder and coffee, but the scent of his chest was of wood shavings. She kissed her way down his scarred belly, his breath hitching when she didn't stop there. His hand weaved on her hair. He tried to think of a time when he felt this good but the movements of her mouth and lips and tongue brought him back to the present moment, and there was absolutely no other place he'd rather be.

"Jane..." Her name velvet and sweet on his lips when blissfulness delivered him to the most restfull sleep he had in a long time.

So, I did a thing because Joel deserved better...

Thank you for reading, would you like to read another chapter of this? Let me know in the comments.

[jovialyouthmusic]

Special Delivery

I get ready to move house, and confide in a friend about my new admirer. 

Word Count 2790

A/N This is not my garden or my house, much as I would like to share them. Just allow me some artistic licence - after all, the ‘me’ in this story is younger and single (can I take a few pounds off too?) I don’t even seem to have written any fanfic in this fantasy. This is pure self indulgence, some fluff and a few tears are shed. Again, no allowances made for British references, if anything puzzles you let me know.

Warning - mention of the death of a parent. Get the tissues ready, sorry.

4 Ready to Move

‘Hi Martin – are you going over to my place this afternoon?’ I rang my close friend to spring the news of my new helper on him the next day. We had known each other for a long time and had shared a lot of confidences over the years. He was just going through a rocky patch in his relationship and was glad of the chance to get away from his partner, even though she would probably accuse him of sleeping with me when he got home.  

‘Sure thing Lisa, I know that garden needs some knocking into place.’ He said in a tone that told me his partner was listening.

‘Martin, I need to tell you something.’

‘I’m sorry, I have to go out to the shops. I’ll talk to you later.’ he said, which was code for I’ll call you when Sue isn’t listening. I acknowledged his message, went back to clearing my wardrobe and waited for him to call back.

‘Hey Lisa, what’s the goss?’ He said as I answered a few minutes later ‘Sue’s really on my back so you’d better make it quick.’

‘I uh – I seem to have acquired an admirer – or a brother, I’m not sure which.’

‘Ooh.’ he said ‘Is he good looking? If you’re not sure if he’s an admirer or a brother, he’s gay.’

‘You always say that. According to you every man on the face of the earth apart from you is gay.’

‘Not true, just the good looking ones. Don’t get your hopes up, Lisa. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

‘Well anyway, if you come over to do some gardening you’ll meet him. I daren’t trust myself with him, he’s not only devastatingly handsome, he’s got a killer accent and he’s really sweet and kind.’

‘Gay.’ Martin asserted ‘So you don’t have to worry – but I might.’

‘Martin – pleeeease.’ I pleaded. ‘Come and tell me what you think.’

‘Okay, but you know I’m going to rip him to pieces.’ he asserted ‘Not literally, only behind his back.’

‘Thanks – I owe you. Coffee and cake sometime.’

‘Sure thing. Don’t worry, I’ll be there to chaperone you. Your virtue will remain unsullied.’

‘I sullied my virtue a long time ago.’ I scoffed.

‘Yeah, so you told me. Gotta go, see you later!’

-------

As promised, Fabio rang before he turned up, just after noon. I was already knee deep in boxes, deciding that if I worked on my bedroom first, we wouldn’t be working in it together and my mind wouldn’t keep straying in the wrong direction. I had lain awake for a while that night, telling myself over and over that Fabio was just a nice guy and it wasn’t leading anywhere. My dreams told me otherwise, and I woke in a cold sweat, almost expecting to see his head on the pillow beside me, but the weight I felt on my hip was the cat stretched out fast asleep. He grumbled as I moved, then settled in the crook of my knees instead, heavy and warm.

‘Hola, Lisa.’ Fabio said as he came in the door, and I remembered to turn my head slightly for the cheek kiss to ensure that his lips didn’t land anywhere that might give me ideas as to what else we could do together that afternoon.

‘Hi Fabio, thanks for coming.’ I greeted him. He looked at the empty boxes sitting by the bookcase, lifting his chin and nodding toward them.

‘Those will be heavy. I will pack them for you – you want them moved today?’

‘It would help keep the work down for the removal men. Anything that can go in a box, you can pack. I just want to keep a few things in the kitchen so I can make tea and a simple meal, but if we get a lot done I can always stay at the new place. There’s already some furniture of Mum’s there, it’s not so much a move as a reorganisation. I haven’t decided whether to rent furnished or empty.’

‘How about upstairs?’ he asked ‘I can carry heavy things down.’ He was already half way up the stairs, taking them two at a time with his long legs. I trailed after him, hovering anxiously on the tiny landing outside my bedroom as he looked around.

‘No, it’s okay.’ I said, my cheeks burning ‘I’ve already sorted the bedroom and I still need to sleep here.’

‘Lo seinto – I’m sorry Lisa.’ he replied, but in stepping out of the room we came very close to each other - close enough to smell his aftershave, which was becoming a familiar scent that made my tummy churn. Quickly I moved to the spare room, which was small and cluttered with a little foldaway bed, but I had some empty boxes standing ready.

‘Nothing in here is too important. It’s just clothes and - well junk mostly. A lot of this stuff should really go to the dump.’ He looked puzzled again. ‘It’s rubbish, I need to get rid of it’

‘Okay, you find what you don’t want, and I go down and pack books.’ he suggested. After an hour or so I had some boxes and bags to go to the dump, and went down to see what my helper was doing. He had emptied the bookcases and stacked the boxes by the door.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked ‘We could have tea or coffee and then load the car.’

‘Tea of course, I play at being English.’ he smiled, exaggerating the word in what he thought was an English accent. I laughed and we sat talking for a while as we drank, then loaded the car and drove off to the council dump. It wasn’t far, and thankfully not too busy – we drove straight in and started to unload the bags and boxes. The council was pretty hot on recycling, so I’d arranged things into separate bags – clothes, shoes, books, electronic gear, and stuff that was just rubbish. When we got back to the house I got Fabio to carry boxes down from the spare room, and again we loaded the car, this time to go to my new house.

‘I’ve asked another friend to do some gardening for me, he should be there now.’ I explained.

Before long we drew onto the drive, where I noted that my friend Martin’s car was already parked up and I heard the whirr of the lawn mower. I backed up close to the house so we could unload. Fabricio stared at the little white house with the pointed roof, the front half of the garden taken up by mature trees. Martin came across to the car, wiping his brow.

‘Lisa!’ he greeted me, and came up to embrace me. He looked askance at Fabio, but the two men shook hands amicably.

‘Martin – this is Fabio. He’s from Argentina, and he uh – he brought me pizza a couple of nights ago, and he’s offered to help me move.’ I hoped that was enough of an explanation for now – I knew that I’d be going into detail as soon as we were alone.

‘Pleased to meet you, Fabio.’ he said ‘It’s kind of you to help Lisa.’

‘She also has been kind.’ he smiled ‘We went for a walk yesterday’ Martin raised his eyebrows at me, his sideways glance telling me he thought I was mad. I went to unlock the door and showed Fabio where to put the boxes, and once he had started, Martin grabbed me and pulled me to a corner of the garden where we couldn’t be seen. He demanded an explanation and I gave him a quick summary.

‘Are you insane, Lisa?’ he hissed. ‘Never mind him taking your virtue, this man is a complete stranger. He could be a serial killer. I could be answering awkward questions in a police cell as your body sits in the morgue and he jets off back to Argentina.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic. He’s kind and sweet, and…’

‘And so good looking I’d fall for him myself if I wasn’t a red blooded one hundred percent heterosexual.’ He scolded, waving his arms. He took a deep breath ‘you can’t trust him. Lookers like that do what they like with people.’

‘Whatever happened to ‘he’s gay’?’ I asked. Martin grimaced.

‘He could have anyone he likes, he probably swings both ways. He’s probably got some STD. Drop him Lisa, drop him like a hot thing’

‘Gah, I knew I shouldn’t have asked you’ I grumbled ‘Go back to mowing the lawn, I’m helping Fabio.’ I started back toward the house.

‘What kind of name is Fabio?’ he gesticulated. ‘He’s trouble, Lisa, and don’t forget I said so.’

���You’re jaded and cynical.’ I hissed. He looked sheepish.

‘I’m sorry Lisa, maybe I’m going over the top. I can see you’re determined to carry on with him. Just promise you’ll be careful’ he pleaded.

‘Careful is my middle name, that’s why I’m single.’ I snapped back. I could see Fabio taking another box into the house, and followed him. ‘I deserve a little excitement for once.’ I threw over my shoulder. But walking out in the Lakes and introducing Fabio to fish and chips wasn’t very exciting, I realised.

But Fabio was exciting, and it was the principle of the matter.

--------

Martin was called back home before Fabio had finished, and I walked through the house going over the pieces of furniture I wanted to keep and those I wanted moved back to the terraced house. I’d already cleared through the whole place throwing out unwanted junk and selling other pieces. I made a list as I went, and Fabio went outside to get some fresh air. I stopped in the downstairs bedroom, where I had found my mother only a few months ago. I found tears starting to my eyes, and I tried to blink them away as Fabio called from the kitchen as he came in again.

‘I can make tea.’ he shouted, but I couldn’t answer as my throat was tight and it was hard to breathe for the sob that threatened to bubble up. Suddenly he was in the doorway as I stood stock still staring at where the bed had been.

‘Do you want any…’ he started, and his voice faded as he caught sight of me. I made a superhuman effort to pull myself together, but failed spectacularly as my voice turned to an unintelligible squeak and the sob escaped at last. In an instant he was holding me against his broad chest, arms wrapped around me, gently pulling my head into his shoulder. I melted into him and let go, allowing the tears to flow. I had only cried once, at the funeral, and standing in her old room just brought it all back.

‘Shhh.’ he said soothingly. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ He felt so solid – so safe.

‘I – I’m so – sorry.’ I blubbered. ‘This was her room. I found her…’ He rubbed my back soothingly.

‘Is okay to cry, you don’t have to be sorry.’

‘I thought I’d got over it.’ I sniffled after a while, when the tears and sobs had subsided.

‘It takes time. Perhaps we go back to the other house?’

‘I – I need to gather myself together.’ I said as he let me go to pick up a box of tissues that was on the windowsill. That almost made me start again, as it was the brand she used all the time, and had probably bought herself when I had taken her on her weekly shopping trips. I wondered how I would cope living in the house with so many memories. I blew my nose and mopped at my eyes. I laughed as he stood protectively watching me. ‘I must look a sight. Your shirt is wet - and slobbery, sorry.’ I held the box of tissues out to him.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ he reassured me, taking one and dabbing at his shirt. ‘Is sad that your mother died, but she wouldn’t want you to be unhappy’ I laughed again, blowing my nose.

‘She always said we should just have a big party when she’d gone.’

‘And did you?’

‘Just a little one, a sort of reception.’

‘Then perhaps you should have a party when you move in’ he smiled ‘We also had a big party when mi abuelo – my mother’s father passed away.’

‘That’s a nice idea. Did you mention tea? Perhaps I’ll feel better when I’ve had some.’ He took my hand and lead me to the kitchen so I could show him where everything was.

‘There’s a packet of biscuits in the cupboard.’ I pointed. He reached in and got out the chocolate biscuits. Tea made and biscuits on a plate, we took them outside where a table and two chairs were set up under the apple tree.

‘I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made the right decision.’ I mused as I sipped my tea. He nodded and waited me for me to go on. ‘This is a bigger house, and I’m on my own. The other one is smaller, but it’s close to the shops and cheaper to run. I need a car to live here’

‘How long since your mother die?’ he asked.

‘Six months.’ I replied.

‘Is not very long.’ he said ‘you can…’ he paused and corrected himself ‘Can you change where you stay?’

‘At the moment, yes.’ I replied ‘I can live in either place. It’s a difficult decision.’ I looked around ‘This place would be better for a family.’

‘You don’t want to have children?’ he asked. I shrugged.

‘I’m single, it’s not the sort of decision I can make right now.’

‘If you could, would you?’ I smiled.

‘It would depend on my partner’ I replied ‘With the right one, yes.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘I am the only single one in my family.’ he said ‘Mi madre - always she say ‘when are you getting a girlfriend? When will you marry?’ He swirled the tea in his cup and gazed at it. ‘The right person – I never find her. I’m always travelling.’ His phone beeped and he took it out to look at it. ‘I need to get back and get ready for work. You are okay to take me? I can call a taxi.’

‘I’ll be fine to drive. Thankyou so much for helping – and I’m sorry I cried on you.’

‘Is okay, I’m glad I can help.’ He said gently. ‘And tomorrow?’ He asked.

‘I think I need some time to think things over, and I’ve moved most things now.’ His face dropped a little.

‘Okay, but you call me if you need – someone to talk to?’

‘Thankyou. I promise I’ll call you if I need anything.’

‘If you like, we can go out and eat.’ he said gently ‘I like to take you out, you don’t have to worry about what house to be in.’

‘That would be nice, thankyou.’ I got up and picked up the empty cups, taking them to wash up before I locked the house up.

‘Where will you stay tonight?’ he asked as we drove back into town.

‘The town house, I’ve still got Ginger to look after. It won’t be easy getting him used to his new home, though he’ll probably love the garden.’

‘He will be fine.’ he reassured me ‘Okay, you drop me at my flat please.’ We drove the rest of the short way in silence, and I felt a sense of loss as I parked on his street. He turned to me and looked me in the eye, his face full of concern.

‘Are you alright now? He asked, and I nodded ‘I hope you find out what to do. Remember, call me if you need. We can go out soon, yes?’ I nodded.

‘If I don’t call you tomorrow, I will the day after. Thankyou Fabio’ He leaned across and kissed me on the cheek again, but this time he drew back a little and looked searchingly into my eyes again. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

‘I’d like to be more than a brother.’ he said quietly, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. I managed a tiny nod and a weak smile, but couldn’t speak. He paused for a beat longer then got out of the car, leaving me to pull my wits about me and drive home.

[kyber-kisses]

Too Soon (part.10)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: ye old supernatural gore, spoilers for 15x03, more angst.

Summary: With the reader back on earth, she does what she can to help while Dean becomes over protective.

A/n: 15x03 fucked me up in more ways than I care to admit- it also helped fuel my creativity for this series. The angst is only rising my friends...

The moment your eyes opened, your body was lurching forward, fingers pulling on the handle of the backseat to open the door with a familiar click. You weren’t sure if it was the concussion or something else, but it had you feeling even more dizzy than normal, yet this time it was accompanied by a wave of nausea that had you dropping to the pavement as you fell out of the car. The ground digging in to your already scratched up hands as you gagged. If your stomach had food in it, it all would have come up at this point, but there wasn’t, which lead to you doubling over into a massive fit of coughing.

The world around you tilted on its axis, your head feeling like a bowling ball with too much weight on one side. Even your hearing was out of wack, everything sounded warped and muffled as you attempted to suck in air. Your lungs felt like they were being crushed under an immense weight.

As the rest of your body began to slump towards the pavement you could hear the muffled yells of your name, the blurry figure of Dean running into view. You could tell it was him by the set of bow legs quickly advancing on you.

At least it was him and not some insane spirit.

His hands were on your shoulders before you could even register how close he was. “Y/N!” His voice urgent as he helped you to lean back against one of the impalas tires.

You tried to inhale yet again, finding it difficult to get air into your lungs. Trying desperately to refocus your vision, your wide eyes found his own. You heartbeat was erratic, the force of it making you believe the organ might jump out of your chest.

Deans mind was a flurry of thoughts as he tried to think of a way to help you. “Y/N, I need you to try and calm down, can you do that for me sweetheart? Let’s try taking a deep breath.” He finished, inhaling slowly and signaling for you to follow along.

Doing as he said, you slowly sucked in oxygen, all the while your fingers gripping tightly to the sleeves of his flannel. Slowly, but surely the world came back into focus and stopped spinning, revealing a very worried and scared Dean Winchester.

“Are you okay? What the hell happened?” He questioned, eyes inspecting your face once he knew it was safe to ask.

“I don’t- I don’t know.” You shook your head, feeling your eyes burn with tears. “ I woke up and- and this feeling just washed over me. I couldn’t breathe. My vision went. . .” Wiping a hand across your face, you looked back up at the hunter. “Dean, what’s wrong with me?”

The way Dean was looking at you said that he wished he had an answer, but he didn’t. The two of you silently agreeing that something wasn’t right.

Your thoughts were both shifted as a ambulance whirred pass, lights flashing. Your eyes followed the vehicle as it took off down the street, Deans head snapping around as well.

“What happened?” Shifting forward from your position to watch the ambulance turn the corner. Dean fell back next to you, running a hand through his hair. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I just shot Ketch.” He stated matter of factly, and somewhat tired.

Your eyes widened as you turned to him. “WHy?”

Taken back by the tone in your voice, Dean leaned back, “woah, hey calm down. He was possessed. I had to do something.” He countered.

“Oh.” falling back again, you let your eyes wander down the road, seeing the rest of the group work their way back towards you. “So I guess you guys had an eventful time while I was asleep.”

A huff could be heard next to you indicating that Dean found your comment somewhat amusing. “Yeah, you could say that again.”

Both of your heads tilted to look up at the mass that was Sam Winchester as he neared the two of you, his head slightly cocked in confusion.

“You alright? Something happen?”

Waving him off, you pushed yourself up from the ground, Dean following suit, “I’m fine now. Everything’s fine.”

You didn’t see it but Dean glanced over at you again, worry clearly etched on his features. You may be back and alive, but something was wrong. He could sense it.

“Dean, could you please stop worrying? I can practically feel it radiating off of you in waves.” You sighed, looking up at him.

“Oh I’m sorry. It’s just that your back from the dead and I have a duty of care. Forgive me.” He stated sarcastically. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before tearing way.

Clapping your hands together you turned to address the rest of the group. “ Okay so what’s the plan? Where are we off to now?”

Shoving his hands into his jacket, Sam walked around the front of the car, popping open the passenger door. “ Rowena thinks she might have a way to shut the opening into hell. We need to head back to the cemetery.”

Seeing as there was six of you, you slid into the front seat, successfully sandwiching yourself between Sam and Dean as Rowena, Cas, and the demon you honestly didn’t give a single fuck about settled into the back seat.

The soft rumble of Baby’s engine put a smile on your face as Dean started up the car, taking off quickly down the road towards the cemetery you had found yourself in when you first woke up back on earth. A part of you felt uneasy about the whole thing. These things never ended well, so here was to hoping this time might be different.

*. *. *. *.

The cemetery looked so different in the day light- apart from the corpses that still littered the ground. But this time sunlight filtered through green leaves and birds chattered somewhere in the distance. It wasn't silent like last time. . Yet somehow,in your brief time there, you had completely missed the gaping hole in the earth.

Tucking your hands into the jacket Dean had given you, you trailed behind the boys, footsteps falling into sync with the red haired witch. Your eyes continued to glance up at Deans back. You were just as worried about him as he was about you- there was no denying that.

“Are you alright Dearie?” Rowena's Scottish accent making its way into your ear. A small smile pulled at the corners of your mouth as you looked over at her.

“No. I'm worried about them.” Nodding your head towards the figures in front of you. They looked tired, and not just physically. Growing up with them, you had seen them shift and grow- but this? It worried you to no end. Even the way they carried themselves was different, it was heavier.

“Your death took quite the toll on them. Especially that Dean Winchester.” She shook her head with a small frown. “And now with Jack- and Chuck. . . They are lucky to have you back. They needed a win.”

“It’s not permanent.”

The words just slipped out, you hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but they just came tumbling out, making your steps falter. Rowena quickly stopped as well, eyes widening with surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”

A deep exhale left your body as you closed your eyes in shame. Shit. It was bound to come up at some point, you just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Opening your eyes, you made sure the boys were out of earshot before turning to the witch.

“When Billie- when Death brought me back, she said that once everything was set right, my soul would be heaven bound immediately.” Sighing, you looked down at your feet. “I’m only here to help them. Once that’s done I’m a dead woman once again.”

“And you haven’t told them yet? You haven’t told Dean?” She questioned, slightly taken back by the information.

You threw your hands in the air, a sudden burst of anger coursing through your body. “ How?! How do I tell them that I have to leave them again? That this whole miracle has a rotten side to it?” You exclaimed, eyes burning with un-shed tears. “Tell me Rowena, how am I supposed to tell the love of my life that he has to go on without me?” Breathless, you took a step back, shaking your head. “ If you know Dean Winchester at all, you know he will fall into that grief and not come back. He will blame himself again.”

The silence from the witch told you that she understood. A comfortable quiet settling between you.

“You're right. But they deserve to know the truth. Dean most of all.” She stated, resuming her walk towards the crypt once again. “ I can tell that boy loves you a great deal. Hell- anyone can see that.” She scoffed, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

She was right. They deserved the truth, and you promised yourself that you would tell them. . . When the time was right.

*. *. *. *.

There was a heavy silence in the crypt as Rowena prepared for the spell. Sam was helping where he could, Cas was starring daggers into Belphegor, and Dean? Dean was sitting quietly in a corner packing shotgun shells full of rock salt into a shotgun sling, all the while a stern expression set on his face. He wasn't doing well. That was easy to see. It took only a few strides for you to cross the room, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean.” He looked up at you, giving a very small and weak smile to assure you he was fine.

Damn this man and his stubbornness.

Kneeling down, you quickly grabbed his hands, successfully halting him from his current task. “Dean.” You said again, this time more sternly.

“You alright?” He questioned for the hundredth time, his mind immediately telling him that something was wrong as he looked up.

“Would you stop asking me that? Anyways, I should be asking you that question. I can tell something’s up. I’ve only been your best friend since forever.” You quipped, sending a smirk in his direction.

The green eyed hunter let out a light laugh, rolling his eyes. “ I’m fine Y/N. . . And best friends? Is that really all we are now?” He teased playfully.

Feeling a blush creep up your face, you shoved his hands away, standing up once more. “ Do shut up.”

“Never.” Dean chuckled, returning to his task and jamming another shell into the sling.

*. *. *. *.

You knew the plan was going to be some sort of insanity, but actually hearing it? Well, it just confirmed that your lives were literally insane.

“I need someone to go down to hell with me.” Belphegor stated clearly, shoving his hands into Jacks coat.

A handful of surprised looks ricocheted across the group. Hell really wasn’t a place any of you wanted to venture to.It wasn't what you would call a must see travel destination.

“Cas will go.” Dean spoke up, glaring over at the Angel, who in return gave him a look that could only say: Are you fucking serious right now?

There it was again. The tension and anger hanging in the air like a thick cloud. It was easy to tell when Dean was angry, and this was one of those times. His face remaining stoic as he bore into the Angel.

Cas finally agreed, not having much choice and You watched as he and the demon slipped out of the crypt before turning to shoot Dean a look.

“What the fuck Dean? Now is really not the time to be an asshole.” You snapped, slapping him on the arm. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to grow up.”

You could see his mind trying to come up with an excuse to give you, but you didn’t allow it, holding up a hand to silence him you took a step towards the door.

“Let’s just go do our job. You can tell me what happened later.” Picking up your own shotgun, you cocked it, waltzing towards the door.

Deans eyes widened, as he watched you retreat. “Where the hell do you think your going? It’s not safe.” He fired back, taking quick strides to reach you. “I’m not losing you again. You're staying here.”

You let out a light chuckle, leaning back in disbelief. “Oh I am, am I? Rowena said this part was a two man job. And I’m easily worth two men.” You stated, pushing you back against the door to open it. “You're welcome to tag along if you want.”

With that, you turned on your heel and made your way through the cemetery, leaving a stunned Dean in your wake.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be annoyed, scared, or slightly turned on, but either way he followed behind you, ready to face any danger that lay ahead because, no matter what, Dean Winchester would always follow you. Hell, he would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. You were one side of a magnet, pulling him towards something he still didn't fully understand.

Taglist: @my-proof-is-you @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @a-crowd-of-newsies @iluvyewman-blog​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @heyyy-hey-babyyy​ @orphiceseum​ @greenarrowhead​ @thevelvetseries​ @silver-winter-wolf​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @jxackles​ @ryansgirl5509​

[spaceskam]

When He Sees Me (wing!fic)

ao3

Michael Guerin tried.

He really did, he would swear that up and down no matter how many times Isobel and Max told him not enough. The actual day to day act of hiding his wings wasn’t hard, surprisingly. All he had to do was avoid taking his shirt off around other people and also made sure he stretched them out when he could. If he did that, he could keep them tucked neatly into his back.

Truly it was Max who had the problem. He’s the one whose wings get trigger happy every time Liz Ortecho looks in his direction. The fact that Isobel and Max were standing over him, scolding him, because he’d been the one to fuck up was actually insane.

Yet, he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Will you stop looking so proud?” Isobel hissed.

On the couch at the other side of the room in the dark cabin, Alex Manes was curled up in all black. A dark, furry blanket was draped over him and he was breathing deep and slow. It had Michael reeling, just looking at him. He knew it was wrong when he let Alex see the scars, but he couldn’t help it. They’d been kissing and Alex felt the deformed skin of his back. He looked so concerned and Michael didn’t know how to assure him without showing him. He was about three seconds away from letting Alex see his wings in all their glory when Isobel and Max came in and she’d gotten in his mind to make him sleep.

“We can trust him,” Michael said softly. He knew they could. Alex was an outsider‒he’d get it. It wasn’t until after he replayed that moment of being rudely interrupted when Alex was kissing over the entrance/exit wounds that he realized he hadn’t told them where he was. “Wait, how are you here?”

“What do you mean how are we here?” Isobel asked.

“We’re at Sheriff Valenti’s hunting. I sure as hell didn’t tell you I was coming to put my DNA all over everything in the Sherrif’s cabin,” Michael said. Isobel wrinkled her nose, tilting her head in disgust. He didn’t clear up his wording.

They stared at each other for a moment before Max cracked.

“We followed you,” he admitted and Michael pursed his lips.

“Because we know you’re dangerously close to telling Alex fucking Manes!”

Isobel’s voice was loud enough that Alex stirred. They all froze, watching him as he let out a short high pitched whine as he curled up tighter. Michael’s whole body was tense with adoration. He really wished Max and Isobel would leave so they could be alone again. He liked being alone with Alex. He wanted him to know the truth about it all so that he could be alone with him and have his wings free all at the same time.

“You cannot tell him,” Max said once they decided Alex wasn’t waking up, “If I can’t tell Liz, then‒”

“It’s not the same! Liz isn’t your girlfriend,” Michael argued, “Alex is my… my…”

“Girlfriend?”

All three aliens turned to look at the couch to where Alex was lifting his bedhead, cheeks stained red and his eyes unfocused. Michael breathed slow. God, he was a beauty.

“No,” Michael answered a little too playfully when his siblings were right there, “We… We’re…”

“Oh my God, this is not the time,” Isobel groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You’re right, it’s not. Because none of your trust me and I don’t know why because I haven’t done anything to make you not trust me,” Alex said, sitting up further. Michael could feel his wings pulsating at his back in time with his heart. He couldn’t read Alex’s face. It was slightly terrifying. “So, what’s going on?”

From a young age, they’d learned the best way to keep their secret was to never actually say the words. The A-word and the W-word were off-limits if anyone could even possibly hear them. They were always referred to as ‘the secret’. That way, if anyone overheard, they could think it was anything. They could be prolific bank robbers for all they knew. Which left them with a choice in this moment.

They could either tell Alex the truth or they could lie.

“We’re 30-year-old Russian scam artists who committed arson at our first home when they started picking up on what was really happening, that’s why we have scars,” Isobel answered like she had practiced it, a Russian accent slipping through her so naturally that Michael got confused for a moment. Alex made a face that seemed to accent his smudged eyeliner and his nose ring glimmered in the moonlight. His wings pressed harder against his skin.

“I’ve known you for ten years, Isobel,” Alex said, “I know that’s not true. I know you’ve grown.”

They all fell silent again. Alex eventually met Michael’s eyes, a conversation happening between them that he wasn’t completely aware of. But it seemed to settle something in Alex because he nodded and looked to Max and Isobel.

“Look, you guys don’t have to tell me. If you don’t trust me, that’s fine, I don’t really care,” Alex said and Michael had to assume it’s because Alex had his own secrets, “But you guys followed us and broke into Jim’s cabin and‒”

“So did you!” Max argued. Michael could see the lumps of where his wings were already coming out to play. Sometimes he felt bad for Max. He couldn’t have any strong feelings without risking exposing them all. Sure, Alex was trustworthy, but most people weren’t.

They’d seen ET. They know what happens when aliens get discovered. Much less ones with wings.

Michael remembered the first time he went to a museum that had a reconstruction of some prehistoric animal’s wings that looked too similar to his own just tacked up on display. He’d almost had a panic attack at thinking they might cut his off to put on display one day.

He was pulled back to reality with Alex’s demeaning, sarcastic smile. He loved that smile.

“We didn’t break in, Jim knows we’re here,” Alex said, shaking his head as he finally tossed the blanket off his thighs, “I wanted one night where I didn’t have to be scared to touch my boyfriend.” Michael’s entire face lit up. “But clearly we will never be granted alone time.”

“You turned 17 like last week, you don’t need alone time,” Isobel said and all three boys looked at her.

“You sound like Mom,” Max whispered as if he didn’t want to undermine her. She waved him off, turning to Michael.

“C’mon Michael, let’s go home.”

Home, she said. Michael didn’t have one of those. He slept in his truck when he wasn’t sleeping on the floor of Max’s room. He’d tried to sleep in the shed at Alex’s, but it made him far too anxious to even close his eyes to get some rest knowing that his dad could walk in at any time. How disastrous would that have been?

Michael didn’t know where she intended him to go. Why the hell would he leave a cozy cabin where his boyfriend‒that’s the word Alex had used so it must be okay‒was? He wanted to stay here and he had no better option. This was the best option.

“No, I’m staying with Alex,” Michael argued. She looked almost betrayed.

“Look,” Alex said again, his voice firm and grounded and far more adult than the 17-year-old body it came out of, “I understand you don’t trust me. While I don’t understand what’s so serious that you’d break into a Sheriff’s house, I do get that it must be extremely important. I’m not going to betray you, though, and I’m definitely not going to betray Michael. He doesn’t have to tell me anything. But let him stay.”

“If he stays, you’ll know!” Isobel snapped. Michael couldn’t deny that. Every time Alex touched him, his wings would start pressing and wanting to come out. It was like they were jealous of the rest of him and wanted to be touched by Alex too. If they did what Michael was pretty sure they were going to do, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself.

Alex looked between them and Michael chewed on his lip. He trusted Alex and he trusted Alex not to tell. They had grown extremely close and they had told each other things they’d never told anyone else. They’d kissed and touched and Alex had kissed the wing scars on his back without any question. No matter what horror story Michael told him, he’d never looked scared of him. He had nothing but trust for Alex. Well, he had a couple more feelings for him, but that was for a different time.

“Maybe that’s a chance you’ll just have to take,” Alex said, still sounding wise beyond his years. He did that a lot. It made Michael feel like he was in the presence of someone really important. He was.

Isobel glared at him for a moment before turning around completely, facing her two brothers. Max just looked like he gave up caring if Alex knew or not and Michael had a hunch that was because he felt like this was a perfect excuse to tell Liz. He had it in his mind that he needed to tell whoever he dated before he dated them that he was an alien with leathery, white wings that had a 6-foot wingspan that may pop out at any moment. Michael envied him sometimes, his were so pretty and picturesque. Angelic, almost. Michael’s were larger with visible veins and colored almost black, spanning damn near 10 feet last time he measured. It made him feel villainous in comparison.

He didn’t want to get started on the red beauties that were Isobel’s wings.

“Michael,” she said, looking at him like this was her last effort, “Do you really trust him?” Michael nodded. She turned back to Isobel.

“Whatever you find out… I want you to know that I’m not afraid to melt your brain if you even consider sharing,” she said, giving him that distinctly Isobel smile before grabbing Max by the arm and stomping out the door. It was way past curfew for them, that had to be the only reason it was so easy to get rid of her.

But that left Michael and Alex alone.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Michael asked. Alex rolled his eyes, standing up and walking closer to him. Michael was sitting on the edge of the dining table and was still shirtless from before they were interrupted.

“Your friends just busted in here, caused a huge scene, and I took a nap, which I have questions about, but then made it very clear you have some massive secret that you’re keeping from the world, and you want to talk about us being boyfriends?” Alex asked, stepping closer and between his thighs. Michael liked that he didn’t even have to ask to get that close.

“Yes,” Michael answered honestly. Alex smiled easily, leaning his forehead against Michael’s and letting his hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his back. Michael wondered if he could feel the way his wings were eager to unfold and, by the way he paused over them momentarily, he thought he probably could. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No,” Alex said, shaking his head, “I don’t think there’s anything that you could do that could scare me.”

“Really?” Michael asked, feeling the tips push harder. He assumed if he had a mirror, he probably looked like he was growing a hunch. That’s what Max looked like, at least. They still didn’t know exactly where the wings came from or went‒there was no way he could house 10-feet of flesh and bone just casually in his shoulder blades‒but there wasn’t really a way to find out. It was easier to just let it happen.

“Mmm,” Alex hummed, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips as if they were just going to pick up where they left off before Isobel and Max arrived, “You’re my favorite person, Michael Guerin, and I support you completely. You could tell me you collect human heads and I would give you tips on what to put them in.” Those words really shouldn’t have been romantic or sexy, but Michael’s wings shuttered and tore open the scars like they did whenever Carol Jenkins gave him a handjob at the drive-in.

“That’s a little fucked up,” Michael whispered haphazardly into his mouth. Alex smirked, hands traveling to Michael’s jeans before he slid his tongue over Michael’s lips. That was a lot. His wings pushed out a little further.

“I’m a little fucked up.”

Michael did his best to pull his wings back into him. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that, if he let them go, he’d probably break something. But Alex was palming methodically over the bulge in his jeans and kissing him like the world might end and it was really hard to focus on anything else.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how Alex didn’t interrogate him. He didn’t understand how Alex didn’t get offended by being lied to. He didn’t understand how a boy so stunningly beautiful just took that entire scene in stride and still wanted to sleep with Michael. Or maybe that was the plan, maybe he knew and he wanted to see. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Wait, wait,” Michael said slowly, reluctantly grabbing his wrist. Alex opened his pretty eyes. “Why are you so okay when you know I’m keeping something from you?”

He wouldn’t be keeping it for long. They were already peeking out of his back and they were probably just out of view. Alex smiled, moving his hands to cup Michael’s cheeks.

“I knew you were keeping something from me the moment I met you. This isn’t that shocking that it’s something big. And maybe I’d be a little more put off if we were somewhere else, but…” Alex grinned again, that filthy little grin that had Micahel’s stomach tying in knots, “This is the only night we’ll get to be alone in the foreseeable future and you’re half-naked and I didn’t really learn anything new, so I would still like to take advantage of it.”

Oh. Okay. That made sense. A lot of sense, actually. Michael nodded, his head gravitating forward without much direction from his brain.

“We’ll talk about whatever it is later,” Alex added, letting them share a kiss, “I’m still a horny teenage boy and you’re still my really hot boyfriend, so this really comes first to me.”

It happened really fast and Michael almost cursed himself for it. All it took was Alex taking Michael’s bottom lip between his teeth for his wings to whip out completely, taking out a lamp and rattling some hanging pots.

Alex lurched back in shock, his eyes wide as he took in the sight before him. Michael felt his stomach drop. He’d always imagined the first time he showed Alex his wings to be something super elegant, similar to that scene in Twilight. He’d bring him out to the desert, tell him something slightly cryptic and romantic, and let them come out gradually and dramatically. He planned on background music.

Instead, there were just slamming pans and shattered glass and his wings had to bend to avoid bumping into the walls. It was easily the least sexy way he could've done that.

“Holy shit,” Alex cursed, eyes wide. Micahel waited for him to run‒he did still have that fear‒and held his eyes strong on him so he wouldn't feel ashamed when it happened. Instead, Alex walked closer again. “Can I touch them or do you not like that?”

He’d be lying if he said that didn’t catch him off guard.

“You can touch them,” Micahel said slowly. Alex didn’t hesitate, touching them the same way that he touched his chest and his face and his arms. It was surreal.

It got more surreal when Alex just went back to kissing him, not bothering to ask him any more questions. He assumed that would be for the ‘we’ll talk later’ part, but it was legitimately jarring to see him take another thing in stride like that. His wings in stride. He smiled against Alex’s lips. For the first time in his entire life, he felt free. Fully and completely free.

He wrapped his wings around Alex, engulfing him in the heat of it all. He let out a tiny little squeak.

“Oh,” Alex breathed, nudging their noses together, “I like this.”

He decided this was the best day of his life.

[dariodanoite]

catch of the day | margot & dario

TIMING: before the fish rain ended. PARTIES: @boogaloomagoo and @dariodanoite SUMMARY: dario and margot make their best attempts at catching sky fish. met with...limited success.

Dario had brought the trash bag. He wasn’t entirely sure why the girl from online who he’d been mentally referring to as ‘wood woman’ since realizing he hadn’t gotten her name had insisted on a net. You didn’t need a net to catch fish that were already on the ground. Dario had sent her another message just some ten minutes ago, alerting her of a fish rain he’d heard of that was happening in the streets of downtown before rushing over here himself. After all- fish were good and these fish were free. Now he waited for her to show, staying just outside the radius of the falling fish to avoid getting pelted by them. At least these ones didn’t seem to be the enormous bluefin tuna another girl had mentioned falling from the sky. Getting hit by a 200 pound tuna, even if they did taste delicious. But he was growing restless, having the irrational fear that someone else might be getting all the good fish while he waited here for the girl to show up. At least he knew what she roughly looked like from ‘creeping’ her profile. That was a term he’d just recently learned, but it was proving to come in quite handy. Seeing her approaching from a distance, he raised a single, lazy arm to signal her over, not having a name to call out.

Margot wasn’t exactly sure why this random guy on the internet seemed so intent on cooking his fish on a wooden plank, but honestly, she couldn’t find the will in her to judge him. After all, she herself had gone through cravings so insatiable that until she did finally carry out in fulfilling it, everything else seemed fairly inconsequential by measure. Maybe he was just super into getting his seafood on? Either way, their little arrangement seemed harmless enough, though she still donned her swampers and raincoat after receiving his message. And getting both large fishing nets from the backyard’s shed. Seriously, a trash bag? That would help in carrying them back, she supposed, but, it didn’t seem terribly sanitary. Then again, it had been a while since she had gone fishing, but she still felt the need to bring an ice chest alongside the nets. She didn’t take long getting downtown and, true to the other’s word, fish were already flopping on the streets and cascading from the heavens. Seriously, did no one else find this completely disturbing? Ah, well. At this point it almost seemed close to normal. Blue eyes flitted across the expanse of road before eyeing someone who was waving in her general direction and - yep, he fit the one, grainy picture she had seen of him. She flapped a hand back, having it hooked around the arm of the two nets she’d hauled along before quickening her step towards him. “Yo,” She greeted, plopping the ice chest down between them and motioning to his trash bag. “Go ahead and line it with that. It’ll be a lot easier to carry.”

As the girl grew closer, Dario’s generally stoic expression turned into the beginnings of a frown. What the hell was she wearing? It looked like she was getting ready to go jump in puddles in the middle of a hurricane. Was fish catching really all that serious? And why was everything so...yellow? “You look like a duck,” he said nonchalantly, a simple observation that perhaps wasn’t the most cordial of greetings. But it was the first thing that had popped into his head. His skepticism only grew as she asked him to put the trash bag over the net. What was the point of that? Why not just pick the fish up, and plop them right into the bag? “Is the trash bag not fine by itself?” he asked stubbornly, not yet realizing they were on different pages. And what was this ice chest? He’d never been regular fishing or sky fishing before, not having had a reason to in the past. Well- at least not while he was human. He had vague memories of catching and eating fish while stuck as a jaguar, but those were fleeting, as he still had trouble recalling exactly what had happened for much of those thirteen years. “We should get over there soon, though. I don’t want someone to get all the good fish, first.” Perhaps he was overestimating just how many people would be out ‘fishing’ on this day.

Margot’s brow furrowed, lips parted in utter speechless shock. A duck? The first words out of his mouth were that she looked like a freak-fracking duck. Well, this was definitely gonna get off to a wonderful start, wasn’t it? “Hey, I look prepared,” She promptly corrected him after finding her voice, shaking her head with a light scoff. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be bed-ridden again just because I didn’t wear the appropriate gear,” Seriously, did people just not hear about the news? At least the parts that were potentially life-threatening. No, they probably just read the gossip portion, sports or entertainment and called it a day. She rolled her eyes at the thought, before being brought to attention by his question. “It’s a start. And not in here, in here,” She tapped the top of the ice chest before opening it up and, if he allowed, taking the bag from his hands. If not, she’d simply extend one of the nets out to him. “Okay, then let’s get going,” Though she highly doubted anyone else was going to be desperate for fish at this point - if anything, she thought everyone would be fairly sick of the very idea of seafood. He actually picked a decent time to do this. “Were you looking for a specific kind of fish, or just the biggest one you can find?”

“Yes, you look like a prepared duck,” he insisted, the very beginnings of a tease entering his voice to overcome his often monotone words. Dario was still getting used to this whole...speaking thing again. At the mention of her being bed-ridden, he glanced down to her ankles, once again affronted by the footwear she’d chosen. “Is it okay to catch fish with your ankle?” he asked, not entirely thinking it’d be the best idea to go traversing through a storm of scales when an ankle might give way on you. But...he really wanted to catch some fish. Dario was hungry, and he was getting rather tired of the same old chicken flavored ramen day in and day out. In contrast to her apparent readiness to get the catch of the day, Dario had thrown on a random t-shirt, jeans, and the sole pair of sneakers he currently owned. It would have to do. His frown deepened as she took his bag, wondering what he was meant to put his fish in now. “And I get a net now, yes?” He held out an expecting hand. “Unless I’m just meant to catch them bare-handed.” As for types of fish. “I’ll go for anything that doesn’t look too squished. But the other girl also told me to catch only the live ones.”

The deadpan Margot fixed him with could have withered even the brightest of flowers. “Oh yeah, that’s much better,” Well, she would much rather be a prepared duck than an impaled cool… looking person. Which was what she assumed was the alternative to her own attire, although she rarely ever cared about what she wore. If it was practical, comfortable and easy to maneuver in, then it was in her closet. And even that wasn’t terribly big to begin with. Already, she had noticed that he had a rather distinct accent when he spoke, though she couldn’t place the origin right off the bat. Perhaps she would ask him about it later. For now, she tilted her leg a bit to the side, a small wince resulting from the angle. If she had actually just sprained it, she would have been fine. Having serrated jaws sink into it was an entirely different story, however. “Yeah, it’ll be alright. If it gets sore, I’ll just let you handle the bulk of it. Sound fair?” At his request, she snorted lightly before placing the pole into his hand. “Duh. That’s why I brought two. It’ll be super easy to catch them with these,” Wait, too squished? Why would they be… Oh, no. “Uh, you’re also not going to pick any up off the ground, so that won’t be a problem… right?” The blonde appeared distinctly appalled that he would even suggest doing such a thing. Using a fish that had already hit the ground sounded like the worst possible idea ever. No, they were going to do this properly - with a net, and some seriously coordinated catching from the heavens. Just like… some version of Mother Nature intended. In some universe. Sure.

She was pricklier than he’d anticipated from their online meeting, but so far- it was amusing to watch her face crinkle up when she made her funny little expressions. “Thank you, I thought so too,” Dario quipped back, apparently undeterred by her stern looks. At this point in his life, self preservation wasn’t exactly a primary instinct. But his frown returned as she tested her leg, not entirely sure whether or not to approve of it. “Yes, I’m familiar with the whole- man does all the work while needy girl benefits.” It was yet another poke of fun, though he was curious to see if she’d only get more prickly the more he pushed. Nevertheless, he’d try his best to be aware of her ankle and how it was faring. However he was pleased as she handed him a net, feeling just a bit more prepared, and like he now had an official job. “Why wouldn’t I pick them up off the ground?” he asked casually, heading towards where the fish were falling, the strange slapping of them against the ground growing louder. Not entirely waiting for his answer he simply said, “Let’s go,” his senses being overtaken by even more fish smell as one sloshed onto the ground next to his foot.

The urge to stick her tongue out towards him was so very pressing, but Margot resisted it in favor of rolling her eyes to the opened heavens. So he was a wisenheimer, eh? Just her luck. Her father had always warned her about those types of people, though, so she felt fairly equipped to deal with any shenanigans he might throw her way. And though she bristled at his comment pertaining to gender roles, she simply snorted and smirked. “Obviously. What else would men be good for if not taking care of the one’s doing the real heavy lifting?” She quipped with a tap to her forehead. “And, I can’t believe I have to actually explain this but, you seriously don’t see a problem with picking up ground fish? I’m already skeptical about eating one of these things, the least we could do is get one that hasn’t been flopping all over the dirty road,” Granted, had they been ‘sky fishing’ in the forest, she wouldn’t have been so adamant. Not that she made a habit of eating off of the forest floor, but man-made pavement and cement just had such a generally… gross feel to it. Chewed gum, shoe marks, people spitting all over the place. She shivered just thinking about it. “It’s a lot safer to get it straight from the sky. And… I can’t believe I actually just said that, but, it’s out there,” Walking beside him, she held the pole a bit against her side, net opened and waiting. It didn’t take long for one to fall into the netting, and though she stumbled a bit, she didn’t fall. “Oh, sweet! I think it’s a rainbow trout,” 

The corners of Dario’s lips tipped upwards in the slightest grin, perhaps a little amused that she seemed so ready to combat his every claim with one of her own. But then he gave her a lingering once over, summoning as much of a judgemental look as he could before continuing to tease. “I don’t think you could lift all that much.” Not exactly an eloquent reply, but he thought it got the point across when it came to ruffling her duck feathers. As far as the street fish went...he still didn’t see a problem. “We clean them after. And we’re not going to eat the scales.” Right? He’d never prepared fish but- he’d never eaten a fish that was still fully intact. Jaguar moments exempt. “I don’t think that’s right,” he said succinctly, obviously not convinced on the whole ‘sky fish are better’ concept. It sounded like much more work to try and pluck one out of the air. At least she didn’t fall over when she caught the fish, though. He looked into her net at the fish, recognizing it from it’s pattern rather than her words. “Yes- I know that fish. They taste pretty good.” Not to be outdone, he proceeded to use his own method of ‘fishing’, bending at the waist to pluck a nice looking fish from the ground that was still flopping about. “Look- I caught one too,” he said smugly as he plopped the thing into his own net. 

That little...! Margot tried not to appear phased, but the corners of her mouth tightened just a tad, giving into a small pout at his judgement about her appearance. Oh, if only he knew. "Looks can be deceiving," Was all she gave back in response, deciding that for the time being he wasn’t worth getting any more agitated or going in depth about just why he was incorrect. “Okay, but it’s still kind of… I don’t know, shifty to eat the ones already on the ground. I might settle for if it just landed on the ground, but then you can’t even be too sure…” Was she likely being too anal about the whole process? Maybe so. Did it really even matter considering they were talking about potentially eating fish that had rained down from the sky? Perhaps. In the end it could have all been futile and already signed her death warrant the moment she agreed to help him catch fish in the first place. But it didn’t seem like the worst thing in the world after she had talked to some of her co-workers, who had claimed to have eaten some earlier in the week and found nothing awry. Still, she would always have her doubts. If nothing else remained about her, those would withstand the test of trial and time. “It is. And that was super easy, too-- Oh, come on!” She huffed, narrowing her eyes up towards him before shaking her head. “Fine, you eat what you catch, and I’ll eat what I catch. And we’ll see who winds up with a belly ache,”

“Sure they can, Ducky.” Dario had decided to make that stick, perhaps only because he thought it amusing how it seemed to make her expression a little more scrunchy. But he simply rolled his eyes at her continued attempts to have him not eat the ground fish. “I am pretty sure that you’re just being paranoid. Scaredy cat.” He’d never entirely liked that phrase. Cats weren’t scared. They were fierce and regal. Unless it was one of the cats that didn’t like him. Those cats could eat it. “Won’t even eat ground fish,” he finished in a mumble, still apparently finding too much fun in his teasing. This time, he nearly almost chuckled as her outrage was voiced, somewhat surprised such passion could come from the girl in front of him. “That sounds like a good deal. I’ll take that deal.” Then he was bending over again, choosing the most questionable fish he could find, and picking it from the asphalt to toss it into her net. “Oh, look. You caught another. You’re pretty good at this. Must be the hat.”

Okay, was there anything this guy wasn’t going to call her? At this point, Margot simply rolled with the nickname, piping up with a gleeful, “Yep, yep yep!” And not caring if the reference whizzed over his head or not. The Land Before Time was a treasure. “Oh, sure, I’m a scaredy cat for not wanting to get food poisoning... Ignoramus,” There, see? Two could play at this game of name calling, and one could use big, fancy words, too! Obviously superior and sure of herself, Margot continued to angle her net in order to catch another, smaller fish from the sky. This one she wasn’t sure of, but the moment she bent over the opening to examine it further, she gasped as he tossed a fish into her net. “What the heckie?!” Did he seriously just do that? Oh, he was so done for-- Growling, she reached into the net, pulling out the disgusting, contemptible ground fish out by it’s tail and, without hesitation, tossed it in the general direction of the other’s face. “I don’t want your gross ground fish, jerkwad!”

The reference, indeed, entirely missed Dario. However his uncertainty seemed to be rather effective when it came to making him be quiet. Though, perhaps the strange thing was he hadn’t even had a problem with being quiet until this moment. At least, not since turning back into a human. The word ‘Ignoramus’ proved to be no better, and it took him a second longer to make a connection between the word he was pretty sure she’d made-up to the word ignorant. “No,” he insisted. “I’m very smart, thank you.” Not exactly a scathing response, but giving any sort of flak back was enough for him, as well as proving that he could figure out her silly names. When the fish hit him smack in the face he was actually grinning, perhaps for one of the first times in...well he wasn’t sure how long. How could he not, though? She was simply too hilarious of a picture. But that smile was quickly wiped away, replaced by disgust and fish slime as he recoiled and cursed. “Merda!” He didn’t mind the smell. It was the texture that got him. “Jerkwad?!” he simply repeated before taking his own fish out of his net, and chucking it towards her face. “Now who’s the jerkwad?”

“Hah!” Margot pumped a triumphant fist into the air, elated that her aim had been spot on in smacking him with the sea creature. Normally, her father would have chastised this sort of childish behavior, and in the back of her head she wondered if maybe this was taking things a step too far. But those thoughts were quickly wiped away as she saw him reach into his net, and she dropped her own to raise both arms in order to protect her face. However, she was a second too late, and the slippery sting hit her cheek, causing her to shiver and recoil. “Ugh!” All thoughts of catching any more fish virtually forgotten, she grabbed two fish with each hand, hurling one at him and not caring where it hit - so long as it smacked him somewhere. “It’s still you!” She retorted scornfully, tossing the other fish at him as well. 

Dario nearly growled as she took pride in her triumph, not at all pleased with having been apparently bested by the all yellow girl. It was utterly ridiculous that someone who looked like an oversized duck could get the jump on him. But all that was fixed by the sweet satisfaction of seeing his own fish meet its mark, and his grin was back in full force, along with an actual laugh. Once again, it was wiped away as soon as it had been wrought, as he warned her with a raised hand before she struck, “Don’t you dare-” It was all for not. Again he was covered in fish and slime, and a sound of pure frustration and vengeance was brought from his lipe. “No! It’s you! You’re the jerkward!” In a move he thought to be rather inventive, he took his now empty net, and tried to hook it over the top of her to catch her in it. “Now who is gross fish?!”

Okay, this was actually starting to become annoying. Margot, though displeased with how wet she had become through getting thoroughly whumped in the face with a fish and touching so many that had been on the ground, still found herself smirking as he was nailed again. The momentary triumph fled from her features at his next comeback, however, and she made a maneuver to duck below and off to the side. Skidding a bit as her knees hit the pavement, she ignored the sting in favor of taking another, smaller fish in her hand. She leapt up as best as her ankle would allow and surged towards him. With his hands preoccupied by hanging onto the net, she hoped he wouldn’t have time to stop her from shoving the still wiggling fish down his shirt. “Pretty sure it’s you, fish boy,”

Damn it, the net had missed. Whatever, he’d go back for another for another swipe the next chance he got. Dario wasn’t sure what to make of her practically launching herself at him, but didn’t have any reaction other than standing there in surprise, and by the time he realized what was happening it was too late. Another sound of utter disgust later, and he was reflexively trying to wrap his arms around her, and lift her feet from the ground. If she couldn’t move, she couldn’t shove fish down his shirt, right? His words still held something of their teasing element, but the air of frustration was also prominent in them. “Ducky, if you wanted to get into my shirt that badly- you only needed to ask.”

At this point, there were more than a handful of people observing the two fighting amongst the fallen and still cascading fish. Probably just as flabbergasted as Margot was when it came to how this whole scuffle even started, but that really didn’t matter to her at the moment. Right now, they were fighting, and that meant she needed to focus on winning. Everything else came secondary. A very child-like ‘Hah-hah!’ sing-songed past her lips and straight into his face, the blonde revelling in watching his expression curl into displeasure. But the moment she felt a pair of rather muscled arms wrap around her, and begin to raise her up from the ground, she uttered a shocked squeak and began to writhe in his grip in earnest. After a few seconds of this, she locked eyes with him, putting as much fury and ice into her gaze as possible before practically growling out, “Put me down. Now,”

Dario was blissfully unaware of those watching the show, or perhaps it was simply that he didn’t care. Perhaps in his past life, he would have minded. But now what did it matter? The only person’s opinion he had to consider anymore was his own. There wasn’t anyone else, particularly. As he tightened his grip on her, he rested most of her weight against his body, not seeing how else he’d be able to maintain this for an extended amount of time. Vengeance was sweet as he smirked at her reaction, looking like the cat who had caught the canary. Which she might as well be when dressed the way she was. “No,” he replied succinctly, stubbornly. He wasn’t about to give up his success and let her through another fish now his shirt or something.

When it came to close contact with others, Margot typically held off on it for as long as possible. Brushing against someone on accident was an unavoidable occurrence, but as for purposeful gestures such as handshakes and even high fives? Those were reserved for a very few, something to be cultivated over time. Even going in to shove the fish down his shirt was a gutsy move, and one she normally wouldn’t have carried out had she been in her right mind. But with judgement clouded by seeking to gain the upper hand, she had placed herself in a terribly uncomfortable situation, and was now paying the price for not using her common sense. Her discomfort only heightened as his grip became tighter, and Oh, if someone could burn a hole through steel solely by glaring at it… Well, she had a trick or two up her sleeve as well. Though he had her at a disadvantage height wise, his tactic also left him vulnerable in a couple of areas. The thought of spitting in his face crossed her mind, but it was fleeting and soon replaced by another manner in which she could get him to release her. Smoothing out her furious features, she simply shrugged in his grip. “Fine, your loss,” Without another word, she reared her right leg as far back as it would go before delivering a swift kick with the toe of her boot - directly against his shin. 

Dario, perhaps opposite of Margot, was generally quite a touchy person. It was simply the culture he’d been raised in, as well as the family. And in addition to all that- the warmth of another person was something of another little reminder to tell him that he was alive. As he continued to grip onto her, he took in her expression, trying to figure out if she was still simply angry, or if this was actually uncomfortable. As he was pondering this, and whether or not to set her back down to see if that helped, it seemed the woman made his decision for him. Pain. His shin suddenly burst out in a sharp pain that made him instinctively want to get whatever was causing that pain  as far away from him as soon as possible. So he dropped her none too gracefully, not entirely thinking about how she may or may not land. “Foda-se!” And then he took off in rapid Portuguse, far too distressed to deal with anything but his mother tongue. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” His words found him clinging to where she’d kicked him, his hand rubbing over the spot in a soothing motion.

Thank goodness Margot still had one ankle that wasn’t totally out of commission. And had rough housed enough with her father to know where to hit someone where it hurt. Judging by the words he yelped - likely an expletive of some sort in whatever language he was currently speaking - that had definitely hurt like a bitch. But, as with even the best laid plans, or haphazardly tossed ones, she had miscalculated just how high off of the ground she was. When he finally released her, she attempted to ready herself for the impact, but her bad ankle hit at an awkward enough angle that she crumpled, falling back flat on her backside. “Agh! Son of a bitch, cock-sucking-- fuck, my ass!” She groaned in both annoyance and pain, keeping both hands placed behind her in order to keep herself upright. The pain from her ankle spread up the length of the entire leg, and when she tried to put even a bit of pressure on it, she winced and swore under her breath once again. Strings of blonde locks were plastered to her damp face, and through them she glared up at the male with pure loathing. “You’re such a fuck-head!!”

At first, Dario felt the sweet and glorious feeling of vindication rush through him as she cursed, glad that he might have at least gotten a smidge of revenge in return for her little stunt. Reflexively he quipped back, “Well I do love a lady who knows what she likes and wants.” But the words came out as more of a sneer than anything else. His frown turned a bit deeper as she seemed to struggle, uncertain if she was faking or not. What if she simply wanted to get him close to kick him again? “Why are you sitting there? Aren’t you going to get up?” Again, his brow furrowed in disapproval, and perhaps some confusion this time. Was ‘fuckhead’ an insult that had sprouted up since he’d been gone? 

Where did he get the gal-- Who did he think he was-- Ugh. UGH. Margot could feel herself getting worked up again, the ache and that sneer of his sending her blood boiling - but the sensation didn’t last very long. The pain emanating from her ankle was winning out over any urge she had to somehow one-up him, focusing all her attention on how she was going to maneuver on it now. After scooting herself into a sitting position, she felt a sting on her hands and, upon raising them to her face, cringed. They were skidded, a few beads of blood beginning to seep out of the slivers lacing her palms. Wonderful. Rolling her eyes, she tentatively placed both hands atop her thighs and shook her head. “What do you care? Just… just leave me alone,” 

Dario watched her carefully, still trying to figure out if this was some sort of ruse or not. He was vaguely aware of some memories while he’d been a jaguar that included animals acting hurt to get the better of him- but...well the girl wasn’t an animal, was she? At least- not in the traditional sense of the word. His nose twitched for a moment as he smelled the blood in the air, a flash of guilt going through him for the slightest moment. “You’re hurt,” was his simple answer, not a question, and more of a statement than anything. He hasn’t wanted to hurt her. She’s just been so insufferable. “You can’t walk home like that- you can’t walk anywhere like that.” He’s most likely have to help her which was….not the most appealing to him at the moment. But- she looked much more innocent on the ground, unable to move. 

The blonde’s features scrunched up in further irritation as he stated the obvious, fingers curling into the fabric of her dark jeans. “No shit,” Margot refused to look at him, choosing to glare at his shoes through her slightly tousled hair. He was so stupid. People were stupid. It was a mistake to think that just because someone seemed personable that they wouldn’t wind up being trouble in person. Why had she even agreed to help him in the first place? It seemed like the nice thing to do. Well, now it resulted in a throbbing ankle and scraped up palms. And now he was acting concerned? She huffed out a decidedly humorless laugh - more of a scoff if anything. “I’ll figure something out. Why are you still standing there, you don’t… have to feel sorry for me. Or are you just gloating because you ‘won’?” It seemed likely, however the venom that had previously been in her voice was replaced by an exhaustion. The fire had burned out, and now there was nothing but wisps of smoke, not enough to carry her anger any further, and so it simply faded into exasperation. 

Dario didn’t bother to resist the roll of his eyes when she spoke again, apparently unable to not be annoyed by her even now. Perhaps he could have left her here on the ground, but...he supposed she hadn’t needed to say yes to come and help him try and catch fish in the first place. Why had she agreed to it? Beyond that- he could practically hear his mother’s displeasure at how ungentlemanley he was being. Most likely she was rolling in her- ah- he didn’t know if she had a grave. The sting of that was far too sharp to linger on, Dario not particularly being a fan of processing emotions as of late. For now, he pushed that realization down, though it had strangely softened his expression. “I don’t feel sorry for you.” Though he did still feel that bit of guilt. Now that her claws had seemingly retracted, it was easier to swallow a portion of his pride. Now she just seemed...alright- perhaps he felt a little sorry for her. “Come-“ he said with little explanation, reaching out once more to try and lift her from her spot on the ground. “You can’t live there.”

Then why does it feel like you do? But Margot wouldn’t dare ask that question, knowing she likely wouldn’t care for the answer. She wasn’t one to garner pity from anyone, at least intentionally. Having people look at you in that way, the one where you could just sense a ‘Poor dear’ on the tips of their tongues. It almost made her sick. Even glancing up at his outstretched hand caused her to frown, staring at it as if a viper would materialize from his palm and strike her. But of all her options - hobbling home, crawling home, calling her dad - this one seemed the least likely to wind up putting her in more distress than she already was. Plus, she considered it would make them even for all of this… mess. Sighing, she grabbed onto his hand, wincing slightly at the sting of contact against her skin. “You don’t know that,” 

It was mostly the guilt that had Dario reaching out, though was also, perhaps, the beginnings of remembering an age old human tradition re-emerging. Helping your fellow human. Not that he was any sort of bleeding heart, but he couldn’t just leave her there- no matter how annoying she might be. Gripping her hand lightly, he moved forwards to try and wedge another hand beneath the pocket of her arm, to help him bring her to her feet. This time, it was rather obvious to see which of her ankles was the problem one, and he did his best to avoid jostling it. An arm went around her to try and help with steadying, though it wasn’t heavy against her. Despite it all, his eyes crinkled again at the corners, glad to see that some of her determination to be difficult was still present. Though- wouldn’t he be better off if it wasn’t? “Maybe I do know it,” he answered childishly.

Margot utilized his grip in helping her stand upright, although she still remained wary of his intentions. Any minute now she could see herself landing right back onto her butt due to his carelessness - which definitely wouldn’t bode well for him, so, maybe he was actually attempting to be a decent person. Maybe. “Or maybe you just have to pretend that you know everything to be even more annoying…” She murmured under her breath, trying to lift as much pressure off of her bad ankle as possible. It felt a little odd, using someone she barely even knew or recognized for support, but, they were well past the point of being awkward about it. This was for function, not comfort’s sake. “Wait--” Her expression bunched up as if mentally warring with herself, before she sighed and waved a hand in the direction of the still flopping ground fish. “Pick one up and put it in the ice chest. I can hold the nets,” 

Dario didn’t entirely understand what it was about her annoyance that amused him so much, at least when she wasn’t throwing fish at him. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from feeding into it. “I never said I know everything. Just that you cannot live there on the ground.” He’d been readying to head out to...wherever he needed to take her when she caused him to pause, and a half-smirk began to form. This time his tease was barely perceptible, not wanting her to go back on her words after she’d said them. “You want me to...take one of the ground fish?” Still, a moment later he was releasing her as carefully as he could to consider the fish that were still flopping around. He chose one that had fallen most recently, and didn’t look too dirty or anything of that sort before plopping it into the ice chest. Once he’d straightened, he looked her over, lingering on her ankle. “Can you walk?”

The blonde could practically feel the smugness emanating from him, and had half a mind to insist that he forget the whole affair entirely. But then that would mean they hurried out here, fought each other and got herself injured for absolutely nothing. At least this way they would be coming away from the situation with something for all the trouble. Even if it was ground fish. “Yeah, yeah, don’t - don’t rub it in,” She mumbled, attempting to balance her weight on her good ankle while he retrieved a fish. At the mention of it, another throb of pain went through it, and she winced when even a bit of pressure was put onto it. “... I’m not sure. Hop on one foot, maybe, but walking’s gonna be slow going,” 

Dario abided by her request for the time being, happy enough that’d they’d at least gotten one fish after all this trouble. But he wasn’t sure how to get everything back now, Margot’s hurt ankle that he felt at least partially responsible for complicating things. He hummed for a moment, looking around at everything. “Would you be able to carry the ice chest and the nets? And then I would carry you with them.” It shouldn’t be too bad, right? She seemed just a bit taller than average girls. 

… Was he serious? Margot’s lips formed a thin line as she pondered the offer, needing a moment to process it fully. Wow, deja vu had never felt so, incredibly, absolutely infuriating before this very moment. “Fine,” She ground out, before she could over-think the matter and stop herself from accepting the much needed help. There was absolutely no other way they were going to make it back without more physical pain; so she would settle for a blow to her pride. Without waiting, she grabbed the chest, nets, and held them in front of her before motioning for him to go ahead and get on with it.

Dario only just managed not to roll his eyes. He was offering help, and this girl was going to be snippy about it? Honestly- was there a more ungrateful person on the entire planet? But, whatever. He wasn’t about to let her walk home in this state, despite his current opinion. Once she seemed ready to go, he bent and carefully lifted her in his arms, one arm under her knees, and the other cradling her back. He shifted her weight a couple of times, finding the position that was most comfortable before asking. “Where to, then?” As if he were a taxi service. Again, he realized he still didn’t know her name, and figured now was as good a time as ever to ask. “What’s your name, anyway? Have to know what to put on the death certificate if you don’t make it with that ankle of your’s.”

Once in the position that felt far too familiar for her liking, Margot attempted to relax herself as much as possible. The ice chest rested in her lap, the nets atop and turned so they wouldn’t smack him in the face as he walked. Though the image of it happening brought the beginnings of a smile to her features. “Start down the street here, then make a left at that lamp post,” She motioned a bit further down with her free hand. After promptly rolling her eyes heavenward at his… attempt of a joke, she contemplated giving him a fake name just to mess with him further. “Don’t joke about that - some people have actually died because of a sprained ankle,” She paused, gnawing on the inside of her cheek a bit before finally mumbling, “Margot,”

Dario followed her directions carefully, still rather miffed that they’d only gotten one fish. Still- at least they weren’t going home empty-handed. Though...he seriously doubted the girl would want to cook the fish with him now after their entire debacle. Besides, did he even wanna cook it with her, anymore? But then, who would get the fish? Maybe she should have it. He barely knew how to cook it, anyway. Damn it. He’d really wanted to figure out the fish thing. Oh, well. “Oh- I’m sure,” he simply replied blandly, not looking to start another fight at the moment. “Margot,” he said after a moment, trying her name out. Then he gave a musing hum, as if deciding whether or not to give his own name in return. “Dario,” he offered gruffly, and just like that, the fish rain had come to a stop as soon as it had started

[aliferous-ly]

Ooo, gosh, E5 and B1?

i like how u think anon ohhm y goodness

E5 -- analogical. B1 -- fantasy. 

Rainstorms and Fairies 

Logan touched the pink wilting petals. He frowned. “You were doing so well,” he murmured, crouching next to the plant. “What happened? Am I watering you too much? Too little? Not enough sun? Is the soil too acidic?” he touched the dirt as if contact would tell him all of its secrets. It felt normal enough, not too dry but not yet mud, either.

A bell sounded through the shop and Logan gave the flower one last look before standing. “I’ll be back to find out what’s going on. Keep puttering on, I believe in you.”

The front of the shop revealed a sopping wet traveler donned in a large, dark violet cloak.

Logan blinked. “Oh, you’re soaking wet!” he said, hands clasping in front of him. “I have just the thing,” he said, reaching underneath the counter.

The traveler flinched violently and extended his hands, punctuating his actions with a heated, “don’t!”

Logan paused, fingers curled around a towel. “Don’t what?”

“I can’t have any more spells layered on me,” they said, voice gravelly and low. “It’s too dangerous.”

Logan’s expression didn’t change as he raised his hand, revealing a towel the color of robin’s eggs. The traveler dropped their hand to the back of their neck, seemingly embarrassed.

“I can’t do magic,” Logan explained. He handed the towel to them, which they accepted with a quiet murmured thanks. They pulled the hood off – oh, wow, okay – and then shed the cloak altogether. It floated over to a waiting coat hanger.

“None at all?” the – the man, Logan guessed, based on the pink crystal dangling from one ear. An old wives tale, which claimed the crystal would improve masculine energies, the blue for an in between, the white for feminine.

Logan, of course, knew this was all a farse, as did most of the population. They were pretty, though.

“No,” Logan said. “Well, other than the smallest bits – sometimes I don’t get sunburn, or I’ll find seven ruby red ladybugs in one day, or it’ll rain when I was hoping for it. Few and far between. Seems more like coincidence than magic, truthfully...”

“Oh,” the traveler said. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, ruffling the towel through his hair. Logan tried hard not to track the movement. “That’s unusual, especially this close to the city.”

“Yes, well.” Logan snapped his eyes away from the traveler’s arms, accented underneath the black – leather? Maybe? “I make do.”

“I suppose you would have to,” he said. His gaze trailed over the shop, taking in the bundles of dried and living herbs alike.

“What’s your name?” Logan asked, then, just to make conversation, because it was becoming a tad... awkward. His hands twisted together underneath the counter.

“My name?” the traveler asked, surprise coloring his tone. As if he’d expected Logan to already know it. Which they didn’t live in a small town, after all, so Logan had no idea why he would already know this stranger’s name. “It’s – it’s Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Logan repeated, because repeating names was said to bring good luck and also, it helped him remember it. “I’m Logan.”

“Good to meet you, Logan,” Virgil said. He ran a hand through his hair, a concerned expression pinching his face. “Do you... um, do you have a mirror?”

Logan’s mind went absolutely, completely blank for a solid three seconds (honestly, the combination of ruffling his hair, showing off his arms, and that absolutely devastating hopeful look – Logan wasn’t sure how he was still standing).

Then he burst out of whatever funk had just happened (good Lord) and said, “Yes, yes, of course, I have one,” and pulled one out from under the counter. Which. He knew there was one under there, but had no idea it was so conveniently close to his hand.

A little magic, maybe? Or just another coincidence. One couldn’t be too sure.

“Thanks,” Virgil said, somewhat bashfully, before taking the mirror and checking to make sure his hair wasn’t absolutely ruined in the rain, which Logan could have told him looked gorgeous no matter what happened to it. He didn’t know how well that would have been received, of course.

“So what brings you here?” Logan said, leaning an elbow against the counter, hand propping his chin.

“The rain, mostly,” Virgil said bluntly.

“No, I mean,” Logan sputtered, laughter spilling from his lips. “I mean this corner of the city. Are you from around here?”

“Uh, well.” Virgil swallowed. Logan tried not to track the movement (he really did). “Not really. I’m from Niak, lived there most of my life. I’m here on a job from the palace.”

“The palace!” Logan said, eyes widening. How interesting was this Virgil, really? “That’s quite the job!”

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Virgil said. He cleared his throat. “Never made it, though. The storm’s wicked out there.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, lips flickering into a frown. “That’s the river sprites pact with the wind sprites. City got a little too flippant with how they treated them, and now, well.” Logan spread his hands out, as if gesturing to the entire storm. “Angry weather.”

“Your little corner seemed kinder,” Virgil said, side-eyeing him as if he was hiding some greater secret, some greater magic.

Oh, if only. If only.

“There’s a river out back,” Logan explained, expression twisting in amusement. “The sprites really like lemon drops and thyme, so they’re cutting my poor garden some slack.”

Something beautiful bloomed in Virgil’s face and he smiled crookedly, a bubble of a laugh jumping from his lips. “Lemon drops? Thyme?”

“Sometimes all you need to do is listen,” Logan said with a grin of his own, shrugging.

“I suppose,” Virgil said, teeth peeking just barely between his lips. “After all, magic isn’t everything.”

“Of course not!” Logan said vehemently. He cleared his throat at Virgil’s startled look. “I mean, so many individuals consider magic the catch-all, but that’s certainly not the case. Most gardeners or shopkeeps utilize magic to grow their wares, but my store is proof that you don’t need to. Simply learning the trade is good enough.”

“Okay, but even I have heard of your shop, which has managed to stay afloat among so many magic users, a phenomenon yet unheard of,” Virgil said, voice dropping into something deeper, something intimate. “What’s your secret?”

Logan’s eyebrow quirked at the transformation and the information. “Yes, well, talking pleasantly to them never hurt anyone.”

Virgil’s expression jumped, eyebrows raising and lips curving. “Talking to the plants?”

“Encouraging them, complimenting them,” Logan said. He trailed a cursive L on the counter top with his fingertip absentmindedly. “People lean so much on magic they forget the other skills we have.”

“Plants don’t have ears, though.”

“Maybe not,” Logan conceded. “But it works, doesn’t it?”

Virgil glanced around the shop, forced to concede by the blatant life blooming all around him. “Yes, it certainly does.”

Logan paused, then, noting fading tapping against the shop. “I believe it’s stopped raining.”

“Oh,” Virgil said. The tips of his fingers glowed yellow and so did his eyes for a few moments, then he said, “yeah, it’s petering out.”

Logan lowered his gaze. Time to go.

“I guess I should meet up with my contacts,” Virgil said, sounding like he wanted to do anything but. “Um, I’ll... I’ll see you around, okay?”

Logan glanced at him, forcing his expression to remain blank. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Okay,” Virgil said. He paused just before leaving, giving Logan a long stare, but left without another word.

Logan exhaled heavily, leaning against the counter.

Virgil.

—

Logan was searching for the field of daylilies when it happened.

“Oh, dear,” he said, half of his foot within the ring and the rest of his body out. Already, he felt the compelling come with us, play with us, dance with us flickering around his mind.

“Hello!” a tinny voice peeped, and Logan glanced down to see a small yellow fairy. “Good good grand! You can dance with us too!”

Within moments dozens of other fairies popped up, shaking their dandelion fluff hair, each a different color. They cheered various similar greetings and Logan sighed, trying to fight against the chant. He had things to do, after all.

“I apologize, I cannot stay,” Logan said. He touched his glasses in thought. “Some other time.”

“But we want to dance now!”

“I cannot.”

A chorus of “no!”’s drifted through his ears and Logan resigned himself to a night of negotiations and most likely bruises, too, because fairies were vicious little buggers.

“Logan?”

Logan started, turning away from the fairy tug on his clothes to spy a certain traveler in a violet cloak. “Oh! Virgil!”

“Logan, did you get caught in a fairy circle?” Virgil asked, more amused than fearful.

“Yes, well, elementary mistake,” Logan confessed, the fairies continually pulling on his arms, his shirt, to get him dancing. “I am saddened to say I will not be able to keep your company this evening.”

Virgil frowned. “I’m not going to let a few fairies disturb our plans.”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, there’s not much you can do, the fairies are implicitly connected to the fae so you don’t really want to cause trouble–”

Virgil stepped forward. “Begone,” he breathed, the word tumbling from his mouth and towards the fairies. They spun head over heel in the wind and then vanished, the fairy circle with them.

Logan gaped at him. “Did you just... did you...” he licked his lips, unsure what to do with his hands. Where are hands supposed to go? “Did you just banish a fairy circle?”

“Yeah.” Virgil shrugged.

“Do you... do you know the implications of that?” Logan all but demanded. “The fae are going to be pissed at you! You don’t want the fae pissed at you. I could’ve dealt with it, you know, you didn’t have to go and... cause more trouble just for the night.”

“The fae don’t scare me,” Virgil said. “I’ve dealt with them before.”

Logan blinked a few times, the words settling in his brain. The fae don’t – the fae “don’t scare you?”.

“Nope,” Virgil said. “They can be understanding in certain situations.”

“I’m...” Logan trailed off. “I’m not sure what to make of that. I’ve never heard of them being understanding. Maybe my perceptions were off...”

That made Virgil look up, gaze sharp. “No. I’m an exception to the rule. Don’t go muddling about in fae affairs.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Logan muttered, perturbed. Virgil sighed, though in relief or exasperation, Logan couldn’t tell.

“Well,” Logan said, brushing off his clothes. “Thank you, regardless.”

“You’re welcome,” Virgil said, giving him a toothy grin. “You promised me soup. I couldn’t pass that up.”

“That I did,” Logan said. He couldn’t find it in him to be frustrated with Virgil and let the irritation slide off, a steady smile taking its place. “First, though, I’m going to find a daylily field.”

Virgil’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I know just the field you’re talking about!”

“You do?” Logan’s lips flicked into a smile.

“Yes, yeah, it’s just over here,” Virgil said, his excitement a strange contrast to his dark clothes.

Logan smiled and began to follow him.

[tarysande]

Uriel Doing What has to be Done

“Just because he told us his plan doesn’t mean that’s his plan. It’s Uriel.”

I’ve been thinking about Uriel. And I’ve been wondering how much of the pattern he could see at any given moment. Because he’s an angel; an immortal. A human minute is not the same to an immortal being who doesn’t have to live within the concept of a lifespan of perhaps 80-90 years. Does Uriel see patterns of days? Yes; he claims pressing the key will kill Chloe in two days. Does he see months? Years? Is it a clue that, when talking about Mum, he says, “She’s been here, what? Three minutes? Now you’re already defending her.”

Because here’s the real question: Why does Uriel bring Azrael’s blade to Earth? (And why, for that matter, does Azrael let him? Death is always watching.) We, the audience, think it’s because he’s going to use it to kill Mum. We think that because it’s the conclusion Lucifer jumps to, and even though we have seen Lucifer jump to many many wrong conclusions in the past, we believe him. Not only that, Uriel’s very appearance, I believe, plays on audience-held prejudices and biases. 

Before Uriel, every celestial we meet is tall and strong and beautiful. We trust Lucifer because he’s our POV character, even though we know that his own feelings and emotions and history make him an unreliable narrator. We have seen the beautiful favorite son, firstborn angel Amenadiel fall in slow motion and then crawl haltingly back toward the light. We’ve seen Amenadiel do good things and we trust him, too, especially when Lucifer grows to trust him.

When Uriel shows up, he’s shorter and thicker than either Lucifer or Amenadiel. His human form is older; he is not young and beautiful, his clothes are drab and either too baggy or too tight. And if first impressions don’t ensure we already dislike him, Lucifer’s attitude toward Uriel takes us the rest of the way---disparaging Uriel’s trenchcoat as “pe/do/phile chic,” for example. That’s a laden word.

We, the audience, think we know what Lucifer thinks he knows: Uriel has come to hurt Chloe. Like Lucifer, we love Chloe and hate anyone who would hurt her. We distrust Uriel because his clothes, his appearance, his New York accent, his Mafiaesque vibe, like relying on ‘accidents’ to get what he wants and ensure his outcomes (Hell, the actor’s connection to The Sopranos) encourage us to. Kimo breaks legs for the Mob in the same episode we’ve got an Italian American actor known for major gangster-related roles pulling strings; these things are rarely coincidental with the Lucifer writers.

This episode is about appearances. Lying about them. Changing them. Pretending to be something you’re not. Amenadiel pretends to still be a powerful angel; Chloe pretends she’s not as upset about the accident as she is; Kimo pretends he still has movie star money; Jamie Lee pretends she still loves Kimo; the manager pretends he has Kimo’s best interests at heart; Kimo and Wesley pretend to be enemies; Chloe reads Coraline--appearances!!--to Trixie. What is Uriel pretending to be? How, perhaps, is his appearance at odds with his truth?

Uriel pulls out Azrael’s blade after explaining, “Dad’ll do the same thing [forgive Mum], he’ll let his guard down, and then she’ll destroy him. I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.” If we look at the events of “God Johnson,” this is exactly what happens. The God we see in God Johnson may not be the full power of the Almighty, but we know He has some of God’s essence, some of His memories. It’s not just the healing power of life; God knows Lucifer as Samael without prompting. And we know that iteration of God is willing to forgive. Mum is the one we know isn’t interested in forgiveness because she tells us again and again that she’s got an axe to grind and boy she can’t wait to get at the sharpener.

God, after all, is still an enigma---as “The Weaponizer” reminds us with Lucifer’s angry speech about how no one knows what He wants, and the various grace notes peppered throughout the episode reminding us everyone is essentially blind when it comes to God’s actual wants/plans/needs---”Nobody bloody knows because the selfish bastard won’t just tell us!” That this is immediately followed by “There’s my Lightbringer” in an episode that is going to introduce us to the flaming sword is not a coincidence. Mum means Lightbringer as truthbringer, I think; shedding light in the darkness. It’s one of the many meanings of Lucifer’s name and his insistence on never lying.

But back to Lucifer and Uriel at the church. Lucifer is the one who points out it’s Azrael’s blade; he explains its power; he says, “No Heaven, no Hell, just gone.”

Uriel replies, “Finally a moment of clarity between us.”

But is it the clarity we, the audience, think it is? Is it the death we (and Lucifer) assume Uriel is planning? Because when we get to the finale (Uriel says, “Maybe I’m working up to a big finale.”), isn’t that what happens? Lucifer slices open the universe and Mum leaves. No Heaven. No Hell. Just gone.

Lucifer, still assuming Uriel intends to use the blade on Mum, says, “You’ve gone completely insane, brother.”

And Uriel says, “I’m doing what has to be done, and you’ve run out of time. I don’t care about your deal with Dad, I don’t care about your little human, but it’s obvious you care for her a tad more than you do Mom. Now, all I need to do is hit this one little key, right here. A sequence will begin and two days from now, your cute little human will finally die. So, Lucifer, you can either let that happen or you can give me Mom. Last chance. You choose.” 

The bolding is mine; I’ll come back to it in a moment. But first, here’s the thing: Uriel doesn’t tell us what it is he cares about, not in so many words. What can we infer? That he doesn’t want Heaven to go to war. He doesn’t want the Universe to be destroyed by Mum and Dad fighting. He looked up to his siblings and kept trying to play with them, even when they rejected him, and even when, as Lucifer says, it was “strange, considering he already knew what the outcome would be.” So what is he doing here? Revenge? I don’t think so. That’s Mum’s thing. He could’ve killed Amenadiel. He could’ve used Azrael’s blade on Lucifer.

Why does Uriel bring Azrael’s blade to Earth? If it’s to “kill” Mum, why are his last words to Lucifer about “the piece”? If Uriel’s plan was to avoid Mum returning to Heaven, being forgiven, destroying Dad (and possibly the Universe in the process, including his siblings), why would he tell Lucifer what he needs to know to fix the flaming sword? The cut-through-the-gates-of-Heaven, maybe-Lucifer-would’ve-succeeded-in-his-rebellion-if-he’d-had-it flaming sword?

What if Uriel saw a different outcome all along?

Back to Uriel’s monologue, then, and his actions on Earth. These actions seem focused on Lucifer; he only deals with Amenadiel because Lucifer adds that variable. He doesn’t seek Amenadiel out. There, I think, we see the actions of the frustrated, stubborn, rejected little boy whose siblings never played with him. But I don’t think that kind of vengeance (or even justice, some might say) is why Uriel involves himself. I think, on some level, Uriel believes Lucifer is the only one who can come close to understanding him (though I wonder if Uriel and Azrael didn’t hatch part of this plan together, both being young and small and not the best or brightest or most beautiful). 

Think about it. If Uriel was always rejected and excluded, who of his siblings can now understand that best of all? He needs Lucifer to help him but he also knows he can’t just ask Lucifer to help him; Lucifer is paranoid and distrustful. Lucifer might say no. The pattern might change. Perhaps Uriel has seen all the ways it will never work just to ask.

So Uriel goads him. Finds his weaknesses. Plays on them. Exactly like Mum is doing to Lucifer. Only Uriel’s doing it to try and save everything, whereas Mum is doing it to get Lucifer and Amenadiel to help her “retake” Heaven; war is always implied. Death is always implied. Patricide is implied. 

In their fight, Uriel says, “Patterns are tricky like that; it takes time to get a real sense of them.” He looks Lucifer in the eyes. “I needed to study you a bit.”

Again, we assume because Lucifer assumes that Uriel means he had to study Lucifer’s fighting style. But I don’t think that’s it---at least, not all of it. Uriel arranges the car accident; he watches Lucifer’s reaction to it. Uriel arranges the confrontation between Kimo and Chloe; he watches Lucifer’s reaction to it. Uriel gives Lucifer an ultimatum (Lucifer, who once rebelled against the Creator of the Universe because Lucifer asked, “Why can’t I choose my own way?” and Dad said, “Because I said so.”). 

Uriel goads Lucifer, knowing damned well that goading Lucifer is usually an efficient way to get him to do something. Tell him he can’t. Insult the things he loves to get his ire up; Lucifer is impulsive and protective. Uriel suspected Chloe was a weakness---or, perhaps, even a source of change that makes Lucifer better. So he insults her, belittles her, attacks her, knowing Lucifer will shoot from the hip. Uriel says he doesn’t care about her; he says he doesn’t care about Lucifer’s ‘deal with Dad’---we know Lucifer loves Chloe; we know Lucifer values the honor inherent in keeping his deals above all things. These words are very precise jabs at Lucifer’s weaknesses, his Achilles heels. Uriel knows what he’s doing. And Lucifer doesn’t see it; he falls for the “trap;” he lets his anger drive him. (Later, Uriel also mocks and insults Mazikeen---Lucifer’s favorite---but again, though he has the chance, he does not kill her. He’s still trying to push Lucifer toward an action.)

But Uriel does give Lucifer what he most desires; choice---at least he says he does. The thing Lucifer wanted so badly that he ended up rebelling and being banished from Heaven for it. Here, too, a parallel between Lucifer and Uriel: Uriel is making choices here, something that would never have happened Before. He still looks up to his brother, still wants to be like him.

Mum says, “He’s not going to give up until he has either me or that detective.” Asked to make this choice, Lucifer says, “I refuse to believe that. There is always another way.”

“If anyone can find it,” says Mum, “it’s you.”

Because hasn’t that always been Lucifer’s role? To find loopholes? Other ways? To do the unexpected?

And believe it or not, I think Lucifer’s ability to find other ways is what Uriel was counting on, too.

“Your pride was always going to be your undoing,” Uriel tells Amenadiel. (And doesn’t everyone think/know that pride is Lucifer’s thing too? Pride goeth, doesn’t it?)

Ultimately, pride is Uriel’s undoing, too. Like every other celestial we’ve met, Uriel underestimates the intensity of Lucifer’s loyalty to those he loves, human or not. Because the celestials don’t “get” Lucifer’s (or God’s!) fascination with humanity, relegating them to the equivalent of toys or pets, they do not understand the lengths Lucifer will go to in protecting them. When Lucifer kills Uriel (because it’s the only other choice he sees, and Uriel has goaded him relentlessly into thinking this is true), and Uriel says, “I didn’t see this coming,” it’s proof that Uriel---with all his patterns, all his prescience---still failed to accept that his celestial brother, his brightest brother, could possibly care enough about humanity to do the unthinkable.

Perhaps in the pattern Uriel thought most likely, Lucifer ended up working with him to build the flaming sword and banish Mum with it after they traversed this path. Perhaps he believed (wrongly, always wrongly) that he could manipulate Lucifer successfully (the way so many others have tried and failed to do). Perhaps he didn’t understand that his brother does not negotiate with terrorists, especially those who hold the safety of his loved ones hostage. Uriel says he will take both Mum and the detective; he says, “You can’t stop me, brother.” 

Getting Lucifer to act by telling him what he can and cannot do. 

And in that final moment, I think Uriel understands. In studying Lucifer, he missed the most important lesson. His brother isn’t the man he once was; he’s changed. And this changed Lucifer might have been reasoned with. This changed Lucifer might have helped. 

And so Uriel tells this changed Lucifer, “The piece is here,” hoping that Lucifer will pick up the thread of the pattern that should have been, the one where everyone is saved, where Mum gets her own universe, where his family doesn’t go to war with one another, where there’s no Heaven, no Hell, just gone.

Uriel just won’t be there to enjoy it. In this pattern, his is the sacrifice that makes the best outcome possible. Hell, maybe he did know that all along, too. How sad that would be. To be your worst self in order to make the best outcome happen. When Uriel says, “You’re lucky I would never use Azrael’s blade on you, brother,” is he planting the idea that becomes Lucifer using Azrael’s blade on him? How much of the pattern has he seen?

And I would like to believe, from one rejected brother to another, Uriel does see that his own actions led to this fratricide---and that he regrets it, because in making his brother a murderer, Uriel has potentially undone all the work that has gone into changing Lucifer for the better since last they met. (They call each other brother so often, even though they are, on the surface, enemies here. Brothers. Something that could have been and now never will. Even in dying---forever removed from existence---Uriel reaches for his brother, entrusts him with information. And somewhere in Lucifer’s subconscious this gets stored not as a lie, but as help---because otherwise, HellUriel wouldn’t be able to “tell” Lucifer what he needs to be thinking about.)

Pride goeth before the Fall, and in this case, the Fall is a very final one---and perhaps neither Lucifer nor his brother actually “got what they deserved,” no matter what Maze says. (“The prick got what he deserved.” Lucifer doesn’t think of him as a prick here, no. “He was my brother,” he says, tortured. “What have I done?”)

And in a world without Chloe Decker, without Linda Martin, without people who love him back, I think Lucifer might’ve fallen all over again after killing Uriel. But he doesn’t. And that’s a change, too. A really damned important one.

[eirian-houpe]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Milah/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Milah (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby Additional Tags: Angst, AU, Smut, Accidental Voyeurism, Assault, Extramarital Affairs, Child Neglect, non cursed storybrooke, Teacher-Student Relationship

Summary: Doctor Gold, professor of history at the local campus of Maine University, is stuck in a loveless, and one might say abusive relationship with a wife who is less than attentive to their family, and whom he suspects cares little for her marital vows. His resolve to maintain his own faithfullness is sorely tested by the presence of one of his new students - a junior by the name of Belle French - whom it seems fate is determined to put in his way. The two become embroiled in a passionate, and redemptive relationship, but not before suffering numerous setbacks and separations. This is no instantaneous happy ever after, but a tale of two hurt souls finding their way together through darkness and despair.

Notes: So, see, I told you I was no good at one shots. I was given a smut filled prompt by 'anon' involving an accident with an iPhone and Facetime. This fic is the result. Be patient, it'll be a while. Also if anyone wants to throw prompts at me for the road along the way... feel free - either here or on Tumblr. All are welcome. 

[Read on Ao3 here]

Chapter 1 - Gathering Storm

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the back patio for just a second revealing the outdoor furniture, the potted plants on the patio’s edge, and the neat line of bushes beyond that formed a kind of avenue to the grassy area that was surrounded by flower beds. Gold counted silently, barely reaching three before the rolling thunder almost shook the house, and definitely rattled the windows in their frames.  It wouldn’t be long before the rain followed, and knowing Storybrooke when it began, it would be persistent and soaking.

With a sigh, he put down his pen on the blotter and not on the assignment he was currently grading, got up, and went in search of his wife on the way through to the back door.  He could have forgiven her if she were with Bastion; bathing him or putting him to bed, but Bae was long since sleeping.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and stopped for a moment in the doorway to the lounge, and watched for a moment as Milah sat with her feet up on the antique couch, with her laptop perched on the coffee table, a plate of cookies balanced on the arm of the couch and a hot cup of coffee - still steaming - held resting against her knee.  She was watching some god-awfully inaccurate medieval fantasy romance; complete drivel, and was totally ignoring the world around her - as usual.

“I take it you didn’t hear that oh-so-subtle rumble of thunder that just burst practically on top of the house,” he said sarcastically. “You have been teaching Bae about the weather, right? And how rain is really bad for patio furniture cushions left out in it?”

Milah looked round at him, her expression blank. No, not blank, bored.  He raised an eyebrow, and she leaned forward and practically slapped the space bar on the laptop hard enough to drive it thought the coffee table.  Gold winced inwardly - sooner or later that was another bill he’d have to pay. Still, he stood silently waiting until his wife threw up her hands.

“Jesus Christ!” she spat at him. “I sit down for five minues and this is what I get?” She started to scoot forward on the couch. “Would it kill you to do something around here every once in a while?”

“Because of course,” he answered, his voice, measured, but his accent thickening as his anger began fuelling his sarcasm. “I’ve nothing else to be doing, like… work or anything.”

“Oh, so we’re going down that road again are we?” Milah rolled her eyes at him, “Fine, I’ll get the fucking cushions in… satisfied?”

She dropped her feet to the floor, and took a breath as she always did, in preparation for getting up, as if it were some kind of difficult task, a monumental effort of some kind.  He waited until the moment she prized her arse off of his couch - and yes it was his couch - before he said, “No, no, no. Please don’t get up.  I’m downstairs now, and I’m sure I can manage four whole chair cushions without breaking a sweat.”

He turned and started to move away, but then turned back, pointing her way as though he had just remembered something important he needed to tell her, just as she settled back into the couch more comfortably, and was leaning forward toward the space bar, to start her ridiculous show over again.

“There is one thing you can do for me though,” he said mildly, holding his impassive expression as she turned her head to see what it was he wanted. His expression changed then; from mild to the expression that spoke of his unceasing irritation with her as he said, “Keep your fucking feet off the furniture!”

He walked away then, ignoring her spluttering cries of indignation and demands that he shouldn’t dare speak to her that way and headed for the doorway that led out onto the patio.

It had already started to rain by the time he got outside.  Huge fat drops that blew about in the gusting wind. He could already tell that it was going to be quite some storm.  It didn’t take long before the rain began soaking through his shirt, leaving it sticking to his chest as he wrestled the cushion from the patio chairs into the small shed that was tucked away in the corner of the back yard.  Inconspicuous… out of the way. He also took the time to secure some of the loose items in the garden. With the wind as it was, he didn’t want anything blowing around and causing damage to the property, so by the time he made his way inside, he was soaked through to the skin.

He paused in the kitchen, noticing, entirely without surprise that Milah hadn’t bothered to wash the dishes from dinner either. His jaw tightened still further in irritation. Without bothering to do more than roll up his already soaked sleeves, he set about the job himself, and once he was finished, and the dishes drying in the rack, he made his way back up the stairs without a word to Milah.

He still had papers to grade, and it was going to be a very late night. He almost pitied his students. They would have to deal, not only with their own usual Monday blues, but also an exhausted and irritable professor.

Belle lay on her back, propped up on her pillows, listening to the wind and the rain, and the rumbles of thunder. It was distracting her reading; a chapter from the textbook for the history course she had added to her studies on the advice of her guidance counsellor - to give herself another avenue of opportunity after finishing her degree.  She didn’t need the extra credits the two year history specialism, in addition to her library sciences major, would grant her, but she had always been interested in ‘how the world ticked’ as she was fond of expressing it, so it seemed the perfect way to answer some of those questions that were lingering in her mind.

Speaking of lingering, questions were not the only things.

She set down the history book, sighing at her lack of concentration, and knowing that at some point before the morning’s lecture she would need to finish the chapter, because heading into a lecture, and certainly the later seminar with Doctor Gold without preparation was an absolute recipe for disaster.

Most of his students either despised or feared him, suffering his classes because they were a requirement for their graduation. Not Belle.

She could never have said when the feelings began, and it had only been scant few weeks since the beginning of the history course brought her into contact with him, but more and more she would notice that her heart would beat more quickly and a certain breathlessness would take a hold of her whenever she was on her way into his lecture hall, and an absolute quivering nervous ache if the day’s schedule brought her to the seminar room for class. She berated herself almost daily. At twenty-one she was far too old for a crush.  Crushes were things that happened in high school, not in college… and yet she could not deny the attraction, and the response to his presence that came over her whenever she was near to him.

He was condescending, bordering on rude, sarcastic, and an utter stickler for detail, but Belle found herself wanting to get to know him as much as she could, and longed for him to notice her - even if it wasn’t right.

She sighed softly, denying the heat and the ache that had begun growing between her thighs the longer she thought of Doctor Gold, and reached for her headphones.  If she could drown out the sound of the storm - a storm which felt as though it were inside of her as well as out of doors - then perhaps she would be able to concentrate; read the chapter, make notes, and think of questions to ask during Monday’s lecture.

[hiyadarlingirl]

EVERGREEN LOVE, part 4

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 , part 8, part 9

Summary; Roger is at sea sailing from England to Guernsey (French coast), you are at home trying to keep yourself occupied. Waking in the middle of the night you have a flashback to a wild but hilarious night out with Rog. The morning after the storm begins. 

Warnings; Angst, Fluff, Swearing

 wordcount; 2,2k 

Thankyou for reading y’all! I love you to pieces, each and single one of you. I am thinking about making it a series of either 15 or 20 parts, depending on how it’s received! Stay tuned for roadtrips, random adeventures, gigs, concerts, wild summer nights, jealousy, stolen kisses, soft kisses, passionate kisses, and eventually of course some much needed smut ; )

Imagine reader wearing this dress at the party:) 

‘I can't understand you!’ 

You yelled at Roger from the quay. He was trying really hard to tell you something but his voice was completely muted. He was talking with his hands now, trying to tell you something through bodylanguage but you didn't understand. He started to panic, you could see it and you wanted to calm him down but you couldn't reach him.  

         You woke up in the middle of the night, wide awake. Staring at the sealing you tried calming your fussy mind. After a little while you gave up, slid out of bed, put on a big knitted sweater and headed to the kitchen. You weren’t hungry but the kitchen had always been a calming and grounding place to you. You put on a kettle and climbed on the wooden kitchen counter, pulling up your knees so you could sit crossed legged.

You turned to the cupboard and reached for a tea mug. There were three identical mugs, cornflower blue. There had originally been four but Roger had broken one of them when he was drunk one night and had stayed at your place for the first time. You smiled at the  memory.

You had gone out with your roommates to a house party of a friend of Brians. Brian was there with Mary as well as Roger and some other people including one of his bandmembers. That night you were wearing a crazy bright pink glittery dress you once found in a thrift shop and had immediately fallen in love with.  

You eyed around the room looking for Roger but couldn’t find him so you told Ally you would get some drinks. The space wasn’t large and you quickly found him. He was standing at the other side of the room next to Brain, talking to a girl you vaguely recognized from university. You tried being happy for him getting attention from girls, being his friend and all, but felt the opposite. You got three vodka’s and went back to joining Ally and Sam.

After three or four glasses you started feeling giggly.

‘Love your dress, it’s wicked cool.’ You suddenly heard Rogers soft voice behind you. He had a glass of some clear substance in his one hand and a cigarette in the other and pointed at your shoes. ‘Doesn’t go with the shoes though.’

You looked down at your brown leather heals. ‘Too formal.’ He added.

‘Well, your whole outfit doesn’t go together Taylor.’ You shoot back, chin in the air. He was wearing white pants, flowered shirt completely unbuttoned and a silly multicolored hat. It was kinda sexy though but you wouldn’t stroke his ego mentioning it.

‘Exactly, that’s why I love it so much.’ He smirked. ‘They have some excellent vodka, do you fancy a glass?’ He talked in a fake posh accent, voice husky. It made you laugh.

‘I know they do, but get me another one.’ You said, feeling adventurous in your flamboyant dress. You saw Ally softly shaking her head. ‘I’m not holding you while you vomit tonight.’

‘I won’t vomit.’ You said indignantly. ‘I feel as fit as a fiddle.’

‘If you say so.’

Roger came back with two glasses, his own refilled.

‘I have a stomach of steel, I never throw up.’ You claimed, took the glass and gulped it down in one motion. You saw Roger looking at you, impressed.

‘She’s your concern now, mr.’ Ally said pointing her finger at Roger. ‘Stop feeding her alcohol.’

Roger looked at her innocently. ‘I’ll take care of her, don’t you worry. And I’ll make sure she further keeps away from the alcohol, promise.’ You noticed he slurred a bit, revealing he had too much to drink as well.

‘You should too.’ Ally added. Roger opened his mouth to say something clever but you came in between.

‘I feel like DANCING.’ You suddenly announced, breaking of their little argument as an Elvis song came blasting through the speakers.

‘Excellent idea.’ Roger said and grabbed your arm.

‘They are both positively insane.’ You could hear Ally telling Sam before Roger dragged you to the dancefloor, slightly concerned but laughter tracing her voice.

Roger turned out to be a terrible dancer, his dance moves all silly and wild. It made you laugh out loud, the way he didn’t care about anything or anyone, just expressing himself.  

You were swirling and twirling around each other, feeling liquid in the crowded space.  

‘We’re going.’ Ally and Sam came to say goodbye, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. ‘Try not to make too much noise when you come home.’ And with that they were gone.

It was past 3 when you and Roger finally reached home as well, stumbling through the front door. You felt a bit nauseous, a feeling that gradually became worse.

‘Rog. Rog.’

‘Y/N, Y/N.’ He teased.

‘Roger, I’m gonna puke.’

‘Yikes, seriously girl? What happened to that stomach of steel we talked about?’

‘That’s…. gone.’ You managed to get out before running to the kitchen, throwing up in the sink.

So it wasn’t Ally who ended up holding you while you vomited, but Roger, rubbing lazy circles on your shoulder blades.

‘I really should keep a better eye on you next time’, he said, turning on the tap.

When you sobered up a bit you sat down on a chair, feeling much better.

‘God, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.’ He pinched your nose bridge. You stuck your tongue out at him.

‘Well you look like spring itself.’ You said sarcastically. He most certainly did not.

‘I do know that.’ He was leaning with his back against the kitchen counter, drumming his hands on the wood, always restless. Sometimes you wondered if he had ADHD.’ ‘Where are your cups?’ He asked and put the kettle on.

You pointed with your chin to the left cupboard. ‘Take the blue ones.’

He opened the cupboards taking the mugs out, but being still clumsy from the alcohol one slipped out of his hands, scattering on the kitchen floor.

He immediately turned to you, face guilty. ‘Don’t kill me! I can’t be hold accountable for drunk Roger, he isn’t me.’ He brought out defensive.

You groaned.

‘I can totally glue everything together no problem whatsoever love.’ He squatted down to pick up the pieces but you quickly bended over to swat his hand away.

‘Don’t! You’ll cut yourself.’ As if he could ever glue those tiny shards together, you thought. ‘I’ll clean it up.’

‘Okay.’ He stood up and stretched his body. You couldn’t help but notice his still bare torso when you got up too, fighting to urge to warm your cold hands against his skin.

You disappeared to look for a broom and when you came back Roger was gone. You quickly got rid of the shards and headed to your room, finding Roger passed out on your bed, taking up all the space.

‘Rog, wake up.’ You tried, grabbing and pulling his wrists. His body was warm and heavy and he wouldn’t move. You shook his shoulders. ‘Roger Meddows-Taylor. Wake the fuck up and get your ass off my bed.’ You tried raising your voice. He just groaned.

‘Fine.’ You muttered, pulling out your pillow from under his head making him mumble in protest, took a blanket and headed to the couch where you spent the night.

The sound of the kettle snapped you back to the present. You poured the water in a mug and yawned, feeling a little better. Everything would be alright you thought while sliding of the kitchen counter and returning back to bed. While snuggling in the warmth of your blankets you thought about the boys, all alone at sea. They had probably thrown out an anchor and were now lying still. You decided to have a little faith as worrying wouldn’t keep them safe.

Meanwhile Roger was lying on his back at the front deck of the boat, unable to fall asleep. He was looking up at the sky, amazed at the amount of stars and the vastness of the universe. He was smoking a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the cold air and shivered. It was bloody freezing. He wrapped his jacket tighter around his body.

They weren’t even half way. The wind hadn’t been on their side and the journey took way longer then Steven had claimed it to be. Roger had gotten angry at him. That arrogant wanker, he had thought. Maybe Y/N had been right all along.

‘Nothing to worry about’ Steven had defended himself. ‘I’ve sailed through multiple storms and the wind will shift tomorrow, we’ll make it.’ He had said, but Brian had thrown Roger a look; his eyes telling him everything he felt himself.

He had tried to convince Steven to sail through the night, but Steven had thrown that idea over board immediately saying he couldn’t trust on a compass alone as it was dark and he was tired.  

      Roger took another drag of his cigarette, looking at the constellations trying to find the figures Brian had once showed him when they were younger. He could only find the god of war Orion, who was son of Poseidon god of the sea and wondered if it was a sign. What kind of sign he wasn’t completely sure off.  

 The following morning you woke up noticing instantaneously it was incredibly silent, as if it had been snowing.

You dressed yourself, took some left over pie and headed outside.

But it hadn’t snowed. There was just no wind at all. It sent shivers down your spine.  

Ally had heard you walking out without saying goodbye and joined you outside.

‘You okay honey?’ She asked. Her honey-blonde hair still messy from just waking up.

‘Do you know those little sheds they have at the bay that communicate with people at sea?’ You asked instead of answering.

‘Yea?’

‘Do you think Brian and Roger have such devices on board to communicate with the mainland?’

‘I don’t know, why didn’t you ask them before?’

‘I only just thought of it. I’m going there to find out.’

Ally frowned. ‘Are you sure, I don’t think that’s a good idea honey.’

‘Why.’ You asked slightly irritated.

‘Because it’s not gonna help, you’re just going to be worried sick.’ She explained.  

‘But I’m already worried sick. He’s fucking out there and I need to know that he’s alright.’ You snapped, immediately wishing you could take it back.

Ally fell silent. ‘Yea, I understand…. Just get home before the storm starts.’

You nodded, following her back in to get some rainboots and a thick jacket.

You took the train to the east coast and headed towards the port. Asking around a bit you found out there was indeed a post that kept contact with boats on sea.

‘I don’t think there’s a sane person on the water love.’ A fisherman you spoke to had stated. No, there was no sane person on sea. But Roger was.

‘You have a lover on sea sweatpea?’ Another fisherman you spoke to had asked. You shook your head. ‘Not really.’ You had smiled politely, feeling a little sad.

You found the post at the westside of the Bay; a small shed that was once red but had now a faded pinkish color. Relieved you saw a guy sitting in front of a desk through the window, looking out over sea. You knocked on the door. It took a while but finally the man opened it. He was old and looked like a captain, having a thick white beard.

‘What can I do for you missy?’ He asked with a hoarse voice.

‘Do you have contact with boats on sea?’ You asked.

‘Yes, I do, but I haven’t heard anything for a long while, meaning they probably reached mainland.’ You felt your stomach drop, it was too early for that. They couldn’t have reached Guernsey this early. Or they hadn’t brought any devices, that was also a likely option. The man had probably noticed the concern in your face. ‘Wanna come inside? Wind’s picking up.’ He said.

You hadn’t noticed but the wind had indeed picked up, playing softly with your hair.

You nodded, stepping inside. ‘Have you had contact with a sailing boat called wildflower earlier today or yesterday?’ You asked while sitting down on a wooden box. The man frowned. Can’t say I have. You looked out of the window at some seaguls, soaring in the wind. You could see the waves getting wilder. You sighed.

‘Who’s on there love?’ The man asked.

‘Just a really good friend of mine.’

‘You must love him a lot then?’ It sounded more like a statement then a question. You nodded. ‘Yes. Yes I do.’

At sea the waves were getting higher. The wood was creaking heavily at the waves being thrown at it. Roger was grabbing himself onto one of the masts to prevent himself from being thrown around the boat like a sack of potatoes. He was so incredibly pissed at everything. Everyone was shouting to make themselves heard above the loud crashing of the waves. The clear sky from the night before was now covered with thick clouds and it had started raining softly. The water felt like ice on Rogers skin, he had forgotten what warmth felt like. But then he thought of you. You and your worried little mind. When he would reach the mainland he should definitely make a call to the people who knew about his little adventure, you included.

That thought got quickly thrown out of his mind though, as the boat got thrown almost horizontally, causing everybody on board to be smashed against the railing and almost overboard. One of the sails was slowly but surely coming down with the most horrible sound, crashing on deck and breaking the wood. The last thing Roger remembered was a large piece of wood coming down at him before he blacked out.

TO BE CONTINUED!  

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