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peachysamu · 3 years

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Hey there, i just saw that your requests are open and was wondering if you could write something about the haikyuu boys (Kita, Iwaizumi, Sakusa or anyone you prefer) would comfort you if youre having a really bad day? I just had an anxiety attack and i was all alone in my room dealing with it and made me think wouldnt it be nice if theres someone that can hold me. Thank you in advance ! ♥️♥️♥️♥️

a/n: sorry about the anxiety attack bub. hope you're doing better now. treat yourself to things you enjoy and i hope this helps! it's different formatting just bc i wanted to include all the boys and different symptoms of a panic attack.

KITA SHINSUKE

Comforts you quietly and methodically

Practiced, graceful, and observant

When he finds you hyperventilating, he takes the whole scenery and tackles everything one by one

Takes notes at the end of the day for future reference

And it's not disconnected and impassive like research papers but cute little ones like

"Laughed when I accidentally tripped over the blankets. Hope they smile again."

And then an arrow points to the observation dated six weeks later that says, "It works. They smiled again."

Kita gives a weary sigh entering the door of his home. The conventional quiet of the household brings a lightness in his step that up until this point, had been weighted down by hard work. Your work shoes are neatly tucked into the corner as usual, coat hung on the left hook, but he knows something is wrong the moment he walks into your shared bedroom. It's like you were only able to hold yourself together for so long, finally breaking down in the privacy of your room. The light in the bathroom is on and so is the lamp on your nightstand. The bed is haphazard and a trail of quilt leads from you to the bathroom floor.

Kita takes a deep breath of the thick air surrounding the room and when you don't even spare him a glance from your ragged breaths, he attempts to create a perfect den for your comfort. Starting with the lights, he dims the room. In the bathroom he grabs a headband and with a quick ask of consent, he brushes the hairs that stick to your face and pushes it out of the way. Then a glass of water and a nice smelling candle. The pillows are next, fluffing them around you like your own personal fort. Kita makes sure to take note of your breaths and only commits to actions that decrease the pace of your breathing. The last step is the blanket you abandoned and as he gathers it up in his arms, his foot catches the edge of the quilt and he trips ungracefully before you. You give a wilted laugh and though it is limp, there is still life. The small smile burns in his chest. It gives him hope and he makes a mental note to never forget.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

Starts off a little panicked because he wants to know everything

What happened? What's wrong? Who did this to you? Why are you feeling this way?

All the pet names flying out of his mouth

Overly concerned for your being and wants to immediately make it better

But the moment that you're in his arms, instinct takes over and he whispers the sweetest, most comforting things in your ear

Eases you through physical touch and his presence

Then when everything's better, he forces you to eat and drink water because crying takes a lot of energy

Iwaizumi finds it odd to enter a silent home. You usually greet him at the door, bombard him with a tackle you consider a hug and then continue your enthusiastic assault of affection by talking about your day and then asking him about his. So upon walking through the door, when his knees lock into place for nothing, it brings a dreadful feeling in his chest. It takes one detail out of place for Iwaizumi to overthink. He rushes off his shoes and barely even gives himself a chance to lock the door before dashing through the house and into the bedroom. When he’s greeted to the sounds of your sniffles and salt in the air, Iwaizumi is by your side in an instant. Fear replaces blood. The tips of his fingers tingle and his mouth is powered by impulse.

“Oh no, sweetheart, baby.” He coddles your body into his, wrapping you tightly into his chest and bringing you onto his lap. “Baby, what’s wrong? My lovely, my darling, my most precious, did something happen?”

When your only response is a silent shake of the head he only brings you closer and starts swaying you back and forth. “You know you’re my everything right? Strongest person I know. Could beat me in arm wrestling if you really tried. I don’t know what it is, but you’ve got this. You always do and I’ll be right here for you too.”

When the tears subside, he placates you with a kiss at the top of your head and a reminder that he will always be there for you. “Going to get you some water, baby. Alright? And grab you a snack and then I’ll cuddle you to sleep because you must be tired now.”

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

The most clueless of them all

Has no idea what to do because what’s going on?

Is unintentionally mean at first

He's never been the one to comfort people so he feels out of place

Absolutely helpless. Almost has an anxiety attack on his own

But then if you lie to him and tell him you're fine, he'll suddenly get serious and stand his ground

Because this is you and even if he’s not good at it, he wants to comfort you. He wants to be your person just like you’re his

When Sakusa sees your bag lying right next to your shoes by the door, he gives a soft tsk before picking it up and placing it on the table by the entrance. You’ve had this conversation hundreds of times by now. For some reason he can’t stand it when you leave your things out and for some reason you don’t care. It’s still a work in progress and on good days, he can even pay no mind, but today’s been a little rough. So he meanders through your bedroom with the intent of bringing it up again and finds you in the bathroom. Eyes closed and palms flat against the marble countertop, you look like you’re focused on breathing. So that’s what you’ve been so busy doing that you couldn’t put your bag away?

“What are you doing?” It’s absolutely snarky and your lack of response irritates him even more. “Are you really ignoring me? When you’re the one who left your bag on the floor?”

It’s the moment you lift your hand up that leaves Sakusa speechless.

“Give me a sec, Omi.”

You’re trembling, your little digits vibrating rapidly in the air that he grabs at it immediately to provide stability. Your voice comes out in wisps and Sakusa has no idea what’s going on.

“Dear?” He sounds desperate and he takes both your hands in his, having you face him. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Tell me what to do.” Sakusa tries to be strong for you because this is what it seems like you need but the tremors that crack in his throat betray him.

“I just--” He’s losing his grip while tightening his hold on yours. “What do you need? What can I do for you?”

Your eyes scrunch and devotedly continue the deep breaths you take. “It’s okay. I’m fine.“

Fingers slide from your palms to grasp your face.

“No.” It’s the most sure he’s been since he’s been home. “You’re not fine. You don’t have to lie to me.”

He softens his grip and grazes your cheekbones with the ridges of his knuckles. In a whisper, “I want to be here for you. Just tell me what to do.”

You finally give yourself the chance to look up to him and find the most earnest expression across his face.

“My heart is beating so fast.” You explain. “Please just hold me tight until it goes away.”

Sakusa does just that. In the moments it takes you to calm down, he memorizes the metronome of your heart that he hopes, despite all his flaws, will continue to beat out only for him.

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aquietwritingcorner · 3 years

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Sicktember Day 13: Appendicitis Word Count: 1587 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong Warning: NA Summary: Olivier isn’t feeling so well. She really should have gone to Doc sooner. Notes: I did minimal research. Hopefully nothing is too egregiously wrong! AO3 || ff.net

__________________________________

Appendicitis

“General.”

“Hm?” Olivier looked up from the report that she, Miles, and Buccaneer had been going over.

“That’s the sixth time you’ve pressed that spot. Are you alright?”

Miles was looking at her with, what she could read on his usually controlled face, concern. Olivier’s eyes traveled to Buccaneer. He looked mildly concerned as well.

“It’s nothing,” she said dismissively. “I must have pulled something while training.”

Truth be told, she hadn’t realized that she had been pressing at the place again. It had started hurting a couple of days ago, a dull sort of ache that started around her navel. Recently, it had traveled to her side. She hadn’t thought too much of it. Honestly, she had expected the pain to travel to her back, and, eventually, to spread there as her period started. Those were usually painful and difficult, so she had assumed that this was a side effect of that.

The pain had been getting sharper, though.

“Begging the general’s pardon,” Buccaneer said, “but you didn’t show any signs of pulling anything during your training.”

“What, were you watching me?” she growled out. “As if you didn’t have anything better to do!”

Buccaneer grinned at her, that cheeky grin of his. “You know well, sir, that watching you train is a treat.”

She snorted, a harsh snort that started from her belly, and immediately regretted it. It made the pain flare more, and her hand automatically went to it again.

Miles set his report down. “You’ve not been eating either,” he said, with a pointed look at the food that was sitting to the side on her desk. “And you seem to be cold, if the temperature you’re keeping it in here means anything.”

Olivier scowled. “You’re not paid to keep track of my eating habits, Miles. Or monitor the temperature I keep my office.”

“He kind of is, sir,” Buccaneer said. “But he brings up a good point. Are you feeling alright?”

Olivier’s temper flared, and she shot to her feet, suppressing the desire to press on the place again. Standing up like that caused a sharp, stabbing pain to center right on the place, but she refused to show it, letting the pain fuel her irritations and anger instead.

“I’m fine!” she snapped out and turned to head towards the small potbelly stove that was warming the room in the corner. It was warming a teapot, and it was her intention to go over there and pour herself a cup of tea. It would help the nausea she had been experiencing, not that she was going to tell them that.

However, she had barely taken more than three steps before an excruciating pain ripped through her abdomen. She staggered, hands flying to her side, and felt herself dropping to one knee.

“General!” “General!”

Both Miles and Buccaneer called out to her, and she could hear their footsteps rushing over to her. One of them reached her, hands on her shoulders to help guide her the rest of the way down, and she grit her teeth against the pain, grunts and gasps of it still escaping her. It hurt to move. It hurt to be moved. It hurt to breathe, the pain blocking out her awareness of almost everything else, and what was happening around her was quickly becoming nothing more than a blur.

Buccaneer had made it to General Armstrong first, catching her as she went down, his hands holding her and helping to lower her to the ground. She didn’t seem aware of it to either of the men, but instead let out gasps of pain, and curled around her side—around the place she had been pressing on earlier.

Miles, who had also rushed to her side, bolted up and grabbed the phone on her desk. “This is Miles! Get a team from Sickbay up to the General’s office immediately!”

He barely waited for the acknowledgement before he was slamming the phone down and heading back to her side. He didn’t have to ask anything before Buccaneer was speaking.

He had brushed her hair back, his fingers on her pulse point. “Her pulse is fast and she’s hot,” he said. “She’s in pain.” He looked over at Miles. “What happened?”

Miles shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Next time, we make her see Doc immediately,” Buccaneer growled out.

They both clung to the hope that there would be a next time.

It was only minutes later that footsteps rang in the hallway, voices shouting ahead for people to clear the way. Within minutes Doc was bursting into the room, her medical team on her heels. She wasted no time, heading straight for the general, kneeling at her side.

“What have we got?” she asked brusquely.

“Not sure,” Miles said. “She hadn’t been complaining of anything, but she acted like she was hurting here, on her right side,” he mimed where it had been. “She got up, took about three steps, and then went down.”

“She fell slowly, like she was sinking to her knees,” Buccaneer said. “I caught her, helped her down, but she’s been in pain the whole time.”

Doc had her stethoscope out and was taking Olivier’s pulse when she realized what Miles and Buccaneer had said. Abandoning that, she reached out for Olivier’s right side, looking for the specific area and finding it even though she hadn’t been told where to look. She pressed down, and Olivier let out a strangled sort of cry. Doc cursed.

“Load her up,” she ordered. “Call ahead and have them prep the OR.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Miles asked, as he and Buccaneer moved back out of the way of the medical team.

“With what you’ve described I’m going to guess appendicitis—and there’s a likely chance it’s ruptured.” She shook her head. “I’ll let you know more after the surgery. Appendicitis or not, something is going on in there.”

“Right.”

The two men moved out of the way, letting Doc and her team work, Olivier letting out sounds of pain anytime she was jostled the least little bit. They had her on the litter and whisked away within moments, Doc leading the way.

And then it was just a waiting game.

News spread quickly throughout the fort, and soon all of the men knew. A blanket of concern fell over the fort, something the senior staff of Briggs felt keenly. No one went in to see how Doc was doing. They all knew that she was doing her best, and to interrupt her would be dangerous. But that didn’t stop people from hovering outside the door a bit.

Finally, hours later, she sent for Buccaneer and Miles. Doc looked tired when they arrived, but she gave them a smile.

“She’ll be fine,” she said, and both men relaxed a bit.

“What happened?” Miles asked.

Doc sat in her chair, reaching for the teapot and a cup. “It was like I thought. Appendicitis. And it had ruptured.”

“How bad was it?” Buccaneer asked.

Doc shook her head. “Not the worst I’ve seen, but definitely serious. I removed her appendix, and then I had to clean up her bowels. I had to cut her open a little more than I wanted to, but it was better than getting in infection.”

“Is that still a possibility?” Miles asked.

Doc nodded as she poured herself some tea. “It is. I’m going to keep her here for at least a week. She’ll give me the usual ‘Armstrongs are fast healers’ bull, I’m sure, but I don’t want her pushing herself too much and I want to watch for infection. You two can keep her busy with paperwork, but nothing strenuous, understand?”

“Yeah, we gotcha, Doc,” Buccaneer said.

Doc waved her hand in the direction of the recovery bays. “You can see her when you want to. I don’t expect her to be awake for a few hours, at least.”

The men both nodded and then, with a look, they headed back to check on her.

They were both there a few hours later when Olivier began to stir.

“Mm… what happened?” she asked groggily.

“You’re in sickbay, General,” Miles said. “You collapsed in your office. Your appendix burst. Doc had to do surgery. You’re going to be alright.”

For a moment, Olivier said nothing. And then she sighed. “Well, this is going to slow down our plans by a couple of days.”

Buccaneer snorted. “Doc said that you’re going to be laid up here for a week.”

“A week?” Olivier snarled. She started to try to sit up, but quickly aborted the motion. “Armstrongs are fast healers. I’ll—”

Buccaneer grinned at her. “Doc said that you’d say that.”

“She was firm on what she said,” Miles said. “And I can’t say I disagree.”

Olivier glared at him.

“However,” he continued, “I’m sure that as long as you’re resting, Doc won’t object to some paperwork.”

Olivier let out a light snort. “…We’ll see,” she said.

“In the meantime, rest, General. We’ll keep watch on the Fort.”

Olivier narrowed her eyes. “You had better.”

Buccaneer grinned at her. “You know we will, sir.”

Olivier just hurmphed and rested back into the bed.

“Catch me up. What’s happened while I was out.”

Miles and Buccaneer began filling her in on the little that had happened while she had been unconscious, and Doc, listening in, let them be. Olivier’s men knew her well, and they would keep her in bed while she healed.

Looking out for each other was the Briggs way, after all.

#sicktember2021 #Olivier Mira Armstrong #Major Miles #captain buccaneer #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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sleepysailorjunko · 3 years

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Arcade wasn't sure what he expected when the Courier asked him to accompany them. They hadn't given a name, only said they were a Courier. It wasn't much to go on, but the Courier had looked up at him with big eyes. And for some reason, it didn't sound all that crazy to venture beyond the fort with them, a natural stanger.

They had listened so reverently when Julie spoke. They had fulfilled any job asked of them by the Followers. Certainly, if they harbored ill will towards the Followers, they would have gotten to their revenge before now.

He had asked for their name, if only to be polite.

"I don't have one. Courier or Six is fine, if you'd like."

"You don't have a name?"

"I guess I probably did once, but I don't remember any more. I just remember the man in the checkered coat- an 18-carat run of bad luck-and then waking up in Doc Mitchell's house. Maybe that man knows who I was. I don't know."

"That doesn't bother you, not having a past?"

"No, not really." The Courier leaned back. "I'm just me. Sure, I can't look back on the road behind me, but I can look forward."

"Interesting. Are you going to look for the man in the checkered coat?"

"I don't know. I guess I could. I'm supposed to, because he stole something from me and shot me in the head."

"Wait, he shot you in the head?"

"Yeah, that's why I don't remember much. It messed with my head too."

"Well, yeah. Getting shot in the head would do that."

"Oh, wait, I do have one hint to who I might have been." The courier starts to undo the many closures of their armor, like a fire's been lit under them. "What do you make of this?"

The Courier drops their armor clumsily on the floor, and then goofily flexes. He doesn't really know what they're refering to, but then he sees the poorly-done tattoo on their upper arm. It's a ring of roses and thorns that raps under their bicep. Despite being very mediocre, it is legible and in color.

"Huh." Tattoos aren't really unique, but it is something. "Maybe your name is Rose?"

"Maybe. It doesn't sound right."

"Maybe you just need to try it out for a while, wear it in." He's trying to help, but the Courier is a near stranger to him. "Or, if you'd like, I could arrange for you to see Dr. Usa-"

"No thanks. Don't want to take up her time." The refusal was off faster than a bullet from a sixgun. "If you're ready to go, so am I."

"Sure." He agreed. It wasn't really healthy of the Courier to act out against the idea of visiting the clinic, but it wasn't something he could force them into. At least, not as a near stranger.

This turned out to be one of the few times the Courier's former-NCR sniper friend wasn't travelling with them. He probably wouldn't have decided to go with the Courier if he had known they had company. Still, it isn't all that bad, even if he feels a little crowded with the Courier, their robot pet ED-E (he hates that thing), the King's robot-dog, the sniper, and the Remnant medical researcher. One more person, and the Courier will have a small army.

Not that the Courier normally has all of them traveling together at once. It's too noticeable, draws too much attention. It might even sound like a joke: an Enclave eyebot, a police cyber dog, an amnesiac Courier, a grouchy NCR sniper, and a medical researcher walk in to a bar...

It makes the Courier happy to travel with him, so he does it on occasion. Those occassions become a lot more frequent after they return from a place they call the "Big Empty".

That had been months ago. Now, he felt like he knew the Courier. Not that he wasn't surprised by the Courier-he certainly was. But he was familiar with the Courier now.

It was a dangerous sort of thing, that familiarity. He was even starting to think that perhaps it would be a good idea to let them in on his own origins.

And he knew how the Courier felt about him.

Leaning against his side while they sat at a fire, the Courier's hands stripping a defeated foe's weapon, they had muttered something.

"Sorry, say again?" Arcade responded. Most of the time, it was just complaints about bent springs or whatever, more to themselves than to him.

The Courier's hands stopped, laying the weapon on the ground.

"You're my brother, Arcade." The Courier says, and then continues before Arcade could interrupt. "Not by blood. Or hell, maybe you are. It's not like I'd remember. Course you are a heck of a lot taller than I am...maybe the tall gene skipped me."

Arcade doesn't say anything, attempting to process what the Courier was trying to tell him.

"No, we're not related by blood." He agrees, although he has no real way to confirm it without knowing the Courier's identity.

"I know." The Courier put their hand up to their chest. "I just...well, I know you're my brother. I, uhh, care about you."

Arcade didn't know what to say about that. It really did feel like it had come out of nowhere to him. A few weeks later, the Courier had gone running off to a place that might have been their home.

Antietam is walking by his side now, but their gaze is drawn over to an old poster. The pre-war store was filled with advertisements for many different products, from Sugar-Bombs to the newest products from Rob-Co.

Shelves, long ransacked and destroyed, have created something of a maze. The laminate tiling on the floor has become loose after centuries of neglect. Decorations littering the area would mark this location as a raider base at some point.

His friend doesn't seem to notice any of that, moving closer to a central display that might have been made of stacked shoeboxes once. Now, the boxes lay in a crumpled heap.

"Antietam, wait-" He says, and the courier stops.

"Yeah? Do you need something?"

"You need to be more careful! This could be a trap."

"I don't think it is. I'm pretty good at finding traps and I don't see any tripwires or bear traps. I've stepped in enough of those."

"Of course you wouldn't see them! It's a mess in here."

"I'm not going far. I just wanna see if I can find some of those."The Courier pointed at an advertisement. It was of a girl with little wheels on her shoes, looking over her shoulder as she spun away. Under the picture, it read "Roll with the punches with Roller-Ray skates!".

"Do you..need those?"

"Well, no. I just think they would be cool. Just rollin around town."

"I'll go with them." Boone added, if only so he could keep an eye on them.

"Yeah, plus ED-E's sensors haven't picked up on anything. I can handle myself while looking for skates, Arcade."

On that note, the Courier and Boone go to pick through the rubble. When they returned, Antietam raised their arm triumphantly.

"We found them! A little dinged up, but I can fix that. C'mon, lets go outside to try them!" With the hand not holding their skates, Antietam grabbed at Arcade's sleeve.

"Okay, okay." He said, because Antietam's enthusiasm for things was infectious sometimes. They exited the store, entering that had once been a parking lot. Rusted-through cars sat abandoned and the sun hung low in the sky.

Antietam dropped to the floor, strapping on their skates. They were metal and fit awkwardly with their combat boots and spurs. Awkwardly, like a baby radstag on ice, the Courier stood up.

"Okay,so I just." The Courier lifted one leg as if to take a step. Their balance was offset by the movement. Next to him, Arcade saw Boone move to catch the Courier if they fell, but the Courier braced themselves on a car instead.

They took a few more awkward steps.

"Yeah, I think I'm getting the hang of this." Their movements were jerky, but in time, perhaps they'd be alright at it.

Then they hit a skid in the destroyed asphalt and took a spill. Their left side collided hard with a rusted shell.

"Ouch." they groaned, and then collapsed onto the parking lot. "I'm just gonna rest here for a second."

Arcade laughed a little, and then helpfully whined about the sun.

"Alright, alright. Okay, getting up." The Courier pushed up from the asphalt with both hands, rising from their crumpled mass.

"Nothing broken?" Arcade asked, seeing Antietam avoid putting too much weight on their left side.

"No, probably just bruised." They replied, but that was what Arcade had expected. They were still extremely hesitant to be medically examined, even if it meant concealing and ignoring injuries. It stung Arcade-someone who the Courier allegedly loved like a brother-to be held at arms' length. That being said, he couldn't be upset with them either. The Courier had suffered greatly and been stripped of agency by doctors. It was a mark of pride that Antietam trusted him.

Actually, he could still be angry with them for concealing injuries.

The sun was beating down as steadily as it always did in the Mojave. A bead of sweat formed on Arcade's neck.

"Oh shoot." The Courier murmured, looking over their hands. They wore fingerless gloves, and a pip-boy on one arm. Arcade examined the injury. It would be a lot of work if the Courier came down with tetnus. "It's just a scrape, Arcade."

"It's not just a scrape. It's dirty and could get infected."

"Hottest part of the days coming up. We should wait it out in the store." Boone added, helpfully.

"C'mon, listen to your big brother, ok?" Arcade tried with a smile. The Courier looked up at him with their wide brown eyes.

Arcade was not above emotional manipulation.

Half a year ago, if someone told him that he was going to play big brother to a Courier who knew nothing about their past and hated doctors, he'd have likely sent them to see Dr. Usanagi.

The Courier ran their gloved hand through their short white hair. It fluffed up their bangs (despite the pin staying in place) and revealed the twin scars on their forehead and the surgical scar that ran around their skull.

"Okay." The Courier responded, sticking their wrist out to him for treatment.

"Oh, that's a nasty cut." he said, "Let's head inside so we can get this treated.:

In the end, even if the Courier was a hassle sometimes, he was glad to be their brother. He was turning into such a sap.

#arcade gannon #courier antietam #fallout new vegas #fnv #ED-E #craig boone #roller skates

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izabellq · 3 years

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DREAMS -> Akaashi Keiji

summary: a soulmate au where you see each other in your dreams.

pairing: akaashi keiji x gn!reader

word count: 3k

contains: angst, fluff, open-ended (also, if you guys spot instances where i specify gender, let me know and i’ll try to fix it asap! i edited this but sometimes, things just slip by)

akaashi keiji thinks the world is cruel.

he swipes the dust off the leather bound book before carefully sliding it back into it’s alphabetized slot. he carefully maneuvers himself around the oak wooden shelves, letting his feet track footprints into the burgundy rug below him. with a sigh, he realizes he is yet again desolated. a library reverie dedicated solely to himself and his predestined soulmate. yet, it seemed the universe had yet chosen one quintessential for him. akaashi didn’t need perfect, but on some days, he just wanted to have someone.

the macrocosm was seemingly convinced he was unfit to wield one. strung on the idea that he was intolerable and unmatchable. akaashi’s pessimistic attitude had betrayed his hopeful one, and soon, he was unable to shield himself from the knowledge that perhaps-- there was no one in the world meant for him.

(he still desires one, because he’d love nothing more than to connect with the person who he was bound to meet. he wants to depict their love in unrealistic fairytales.)

nights go by where he falls asleep and lounges in his fantastical library. he decides he could write a book with all the time he has to himself. but then again, he knows better than anyone that most of his projects remain unfinished. he’s lost inspiration, captured by the nasty talons of writer’s block. he thinks he’s at the end of his rope, and for a second he believes it’s about time he goes down a different career path. but he doesn’t do that. mostly because he’s unsure, and partially because he’s still filled with hope.

(but when his soulmate never shows, he comes to realize that hope is a fickle thing.)

it's one random day of the week where akaashi’s schedule isn’t as rigid as it habitually is. after a long afternoon of practice (which doesn’t stray from the norm) he’s desperate for sleep, and despite knowing that taking a nap would complicate his circadian rhythm, he was rather desperate.

drifting towards the soulmate reality became a feat he was more than used too. the vertigo he commonly experienced was quick to depart as he molded into his surroundings, the familiar scent of paper musk and printed ink leaves much to be desired.

though, if there was one thing that was slightly unsettling— it was the disruption of books laid despotic on the floor. akaashi, though only sometimes forgetful, had never once committed such a polluted act. he was always careful to restore books to their proper position once concluded, so he wondered what possible entity could have disrupted the neat nature of his lonesome library.

(it’s when you round the corner that all his presumptions were answered.)

oh dear, he thinks, you’re a winsome mess. books pulled into your chest, pajama pants folded past your ankle, a tank top only doing so much as to cover your chest and stomach. your mouth is shaped into an ‘o’ as if his presence was the most stupefying thing around— when really, it was you.

(a book slips from your grasp, a reverberation follows shortly. he tries not to wince as it lands on its pages, folding the corner of the paper.)

the moment of shock is lost and your look of astonishment is replaced with mild skepticism. “who are you?” you ask, almost defiantly.

“akaashi,” he replies honestly, though the look on your face seems to morph in some sort of revelation that he can’t understand.

“say it again,” the stern tone of your voice lets him know that it wasn’t a mere request but a demand. he isn’t quite sure why you’re so on edge but because he already seems like the most rational one between the two of you, he doesn’t argue.

“my name is akaashi keiji,” he repeats himself, his concern only multiplied by the sting of comprehension creased into the sight wrinkles of your face. a part of him truly understands the circumstance before him, though a portion of him doesn’t want to give into the naïveté— because for so long, he was cursed with the belief that he didn’t deserve a soulmate.

“your words keep getting… blurred,” you tried your best to explain, though no matter how detailed your explanation, the experience couldn’t be put into perfect words. “you know what that means… don’t you?”

of course he knows. on days where he thought his life was the one exception— he researched every story about soulmates as he possibly could. some were undoubtedly fake, others were heartwarming, but the one common piece of information he stumbled upon was that soulmates couldn’t hear personal information about the other whilst in their dream world. perhaps to prevent early encounters or just to make the process seemingly endless; either way, akaashi was well aware.

“i didn’t think i had a soulmate,” he lets his guard down decently low, though the flutter in his heart alerts him that it’s all going to come crashing down eventually.

“neither did i,” you admit, placing down the books wrapped in your arms onto the floor. he wants to question what you could possibly be doing, but there’s more alarming inquiries he needs answers too.

good thing you seem just as eager to figure out why today was any different. “did you do anything today that might’ve been different from your usual routine? i went to bed at eleven… which isn’t any different from any other day.”

that’s when it hit akaashi— the answer was so obvious. “we live in different time zones. that’s the only reason i can think of…”

he trailed off, having been caught in the most frustrating loop of incredulity. all this time… you were right there… so close yet so far. the only thing that had separated his years of getting to know you was a different sleep schedule. in due time, he may look back at this incident and laugh— but right now, he felt cheated out of the most basic human experience ever.

(like a story, this was only the rising action— or perhaps the exposition, because this was truly the start of something new.)

he wants to speak, to reach out and connect with you in all the ways he’s only wished to do, but your harmonious laugh distracts him from his thoughts. “i never understood why my soulmate reality was a library. i guess that’s because of you, right?”

he doesn’t understand your change in personality in the same way he can’t tell when bokuto’s in a bad mood until it’s happening right before his eyes (though others would beg to differ). he’s desperate to learn everything there was to know about you— most importantly, your name. It’s the only thing he wants to know.

instead, he settles on, “what are you doing with those books?”

it’s obvious you weren’t expecting that question, but then again, how was akaashi supposed to ignore the books you're defiling by simply letting them scatter on the floor?

with a shy giggle, you respond, “well… since i thought i was alone, i was going to make a huge fort with them… ya know, cause i'm not much of a reader.”

from the red tint of your cheeks to the way your head was slightly tilted to the left was surefire proof of your discombobulation. and to akaashi, it seemed to hold such a power over him that he was unable to keep check his usual deportments. screw etiquette! this wasn’t even reality!

“i’ll help you build one,” he offers, picking up a book from the ground. he runs his thumb over the edges, smoothly out the wrinkles that had surfaced.

your head perks up, an opulent grin painting the once grimace. “really?!”

(for a smile like yours, he’d do just about anything to safeguard it’s fluoresce.)

back in the real world, all day his thoughts are occupied with you. you exist, your real, somewhere out in the world, your waiting for him. it’s a condolement he’s not willing to gamble with. he finds himself wanting to take more naps, just for the chance to indulge in another conversation with you. of course, it meant the eye bags under his eyes had sunken into a deeper shade— not noticeable to anyone that wasn’t him, and considering the effect it had on his everyday appearance, he’s come to the conclusion that it’d be nearly impossible to visit you every day of the week. it wouldn’t stop him from trying though.

from the side of the volleyball court, kuroo nudges bokuto skeptically. “what’s with that look on akaashi’s face… it’s starting to freak me out.”

bokuto hums— in approval? in contempt? who knows, but he’s happy. “he told me he finally met his soulmate. he’s just excited!”

“ah,” kuroo clicks his tongue knowingly, “i thought he didn’t have one?”

“turns out, they just go to sleep and wake up at different times. konoha thought it was pretty funny,” bokuto relayed, a chuckle bubbling under his throat. for so long, he had witnessed akaashi’s self-doubt and insecurity, and while parts of them still existed, it seemed to be slowly resolving itself. he couldn’t be more happier for his best friend.

“well, tell him to start focusing, i want to beat you guys when you’re at your best,” kuroo smirked, narrowing his gaze onto bokuto.

“you’re so on!”

(for the rest of practice, they had to endure akaashi’s love-sick gaze. fukurōdani still won.)

a month had passed since your very first interaction together. getting to know each other was more laborious than first intended. some words remained blurred, preventing the other from learning anything that might accelerate the rate of introduction in the real world. akaashi just wanted to know your name. it’s how he came to learn that while the universe was giving, it was also relentless.

“hey! i've been waiting for you, you know! i want to show you something!” you call from under the makeshift book fort. having just arrived, he knows from this point on, he has around thirty minutes before he’s awoken for dinner.

thirty minutes, four times a week— the only times he’s ever been able to talk to you, due to the tight schedule you both live in. it’s too little, too small, and he feels selfish for wanting more.

crawling under the fort, he pushed himself up to the side, wanting to give you as much room as possible in the cramped spot. in your hands, you have a book— it’s thin, meant for children, pages that combine to tell a moral. when you hand it over, it takes him less than a second to deduce the story and it’s plot. not because he’s some genius who had read every book on the face of the earth but because this story was rather popular in other parts of the world.

“sleeping beauty,” he reads aloud. his fingers run over the cover, trying to mentally depict what could be so important about this story that had you desperately trying to show him.

“it’s one of my favorite stories,” you sigh, propping your elbow on top of your thigh, leaning the weight of your face on your dominant hand. “my grandma used to read it to me all the time.”

oh. oh. you’re not asking what he thinks you're asking? right?

“can you read it to me, please?”

you are asking. his heart beats against the tightness of his chest, his ribs feel a tad out of place. and he knows— soulmates or not, he was utterly and completely yours. his cheeks flame and he attempts to hide it under his shirt.

“are you blushing?” you ask, and he can practically feel the teasing grin on your lips.

“no,” he mutters.

you shuffle from your spot and coincidentally; tower over him. your hands and legs trap his body under your presence. you’d practically be touching him if the soulmate reality allowed you too. akaashi finds that to be the greatest travesty of them all. even though it’s practically impossible, he can feel your warmth radiate around him as if you were actually there.

“does that mean you’ll read to me?” you ask, the battering of your eyelashes ever so visible. he doesn’t understand how you came to that conclusion, but it only tells him you knew exactly how’d he’d answer before he did.

“i’ll read it to you… just don’t laugh, okay?” akaashi opened the book, flipping the white picture-pages until he had reached the first chapter. you giggle, obeying his request with much hypocritism. you moved to sit beside him, leaning just a bit aways over his shoulder to follow along.

(akaashi isn’t a prince, but he’s more than willing to be yours if you asked.)

“i’m moving… so who knows? maybe we might meet in person one of these days,” you declare. It’s been an entire year now since he’s met you and it’s safe to say he’s utterly whipped. now in his second year of high school, he thinks he’s gotten to know you well enough to the point where the only thing left to learn is your name.

(what’s your name??)

“you’re moving? above or below the equator?” he jokes.

luckily, you laugh-- knowing that there really isn’t much you can say without your words becoming a blurred mess. “i’m still above the equator, loser. actually, if we’re going to get really specific— i’d say the northern hemisphere.”

you guys laugh at your puny attempt of a joke. really, you know it meant no difference, and the fact that you can only rely on fate to carry you through is pitying to say the least.

“i can’t wait to meet you,” akaashi declares honestly, pulling on his fingers in habit. he wants to say more, anything that remotely rhymes with i love you, but he wants to save that special moment for the day he meets you. he knows more than anything that you’re waiting for the same.

“i can’t wait either— honestly, i think my mom might be more excited than i am. i talk about you all the time, you know?” you softly lean against your book fort, your eyes as happy looking as your smile.

(yeah, it’s safe to say he can’t wait.)

akaashi and writer’s block do not coexist peacefully.

struggling to find words to replace the repetition created on pages, desperately searching for a means of inspiration-- he’s awfully close to giving up.

with a huge essay due tomorrow and a huge game he can’t afford to lose on the same day, he stresses over the fact that he may not be able to put his one-hundred-percent effort into both. even in the middle of a library (he should note: in the real world), a place where solitude was absolute, it provided no peace of mind.

it’s only when a small child, no older than five, wobbles out of the kid’s section with a copy of sleeping beauty, that akaashi’s reminded of you. with a small smile, he calms himself down. after all, you are his greatest muse.

(you’d probably laugh in his face if he told you that.)

after moving away from your hometown, which wasn’t quite as jarring as you expected it to be, you were quick to make friends. you wouldn’t call yourself a social butterfly— but contrary to most teen dramas, new students weren’t ‘fresh meat’ ready for the picking. finding a comfortable group of people you could associate yourself with, you found that most of them were volleyball fanatics (not because they actually played the sport, but because there were a lot of cute boys on the teams around the area, or so they say). either way, going to one of the games was inevitable. like a sort of inauguration you had to go through if you truly wanted to be considered part of the group.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

after all, akaashi plays volleyball— that much you knew. the team name couldn’t be said, but at least you knew the sport he associated himself with. although he wouldn’t admit it, he was good, his team was good; after all, they made it to nationals and that was more than enough substantial proof. and while you didn’t want to get your hopes up, you were going to watch the national matches. you wondered… could this be the day?

walking up to the main arena, there was a certain ponderosity in the air that you couldn’t describe. it was as if a crushing truth was about to fall on your shoulders, and not knowing where it was about to fall from— you felt a crawling chill.

at the same time, akaashi had just finished the first game of the nationals match, split between wanting to rest or attend to bokuto’s high spirits. he’s attempting to walk into the main arena to watch the karasuno vs inarizaki match, but with his team basically surrounding him in their own attempts to make their way through— he deems the effort fruitless.

just as he approaches the door, so do you.

but you're too busy keeping up with your friends.

and he’s too busy trying to squeeze past a ranting bokuto.

your hands graze each other’s, and simultaneously, you both receive a shock that runs down the basis of your spines. something prompted him to search for the cause of the odd feeling, and in that moment, he finds you. your back is faced towards him, your hair made no difference in the immediate recognition process-- but he’s sure that he’s met you before. he just knows it. the answer is on the tip of his tongue, a fraction of a second away from being revealed.

he watches as your friends wait up for you, before your social circle turns around the corner and disappears from his sight (he gets hit with a strong sense of nostalgia from that). his heart stings, for reasons he can’t quite place. he’s never been too good at distinguishing his feelings anyways. bokuto is ushering him towards the stadium seating area, and the answer once on akaashi’s mind had dissipated into the air.

once he turns the corner, the moment is forgotten.

it’s only when he falls asleep later that night, not having dreamed of you, that it dawns on him.

akaashi keiji thinks the world is cruel.

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE!

#SIR PLEASE RAIL ME #anime #fanfic #fluff #angst #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #keiji akaashi #keiji akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji #bokuto kotarou #kuroo tetsurō #konoha akinori #haikyuu soulmate au

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shoutosteakettle · 4 years

Note

Could you do a few headcanons about Hawks in heat? Like you know how certain species do that? Tbh idk if birds do but if you could do something like that it’d be great!

word count: 1041

key: ☆,♤

a/n: so i did a little bit of extra research for this ask and i think that i should cite my sources? anyways, enjoy your headcanons for this horny bird!

bio: our bird is in heat

➯ Strap yourself in for a wild ride because, for the very, very long month of May, the only thought on this man's bird brain is *ahem* breeding the fuck out of you and other things, of course.

Protecting/Claiming His Territory

➯ When the two of you go out in public while he's going through his 'heat,' he will be super protective. You think that those shorts look nice on you, well Keigo thinks they show off too much of your ass (which to be fair, does belong to him). If he had a say in the way you dress, you'd be covered head to toe, like a catholic nun.

➯ When the two of you are walking around town, you're always by Keigo's side, and his wing halfway wrapped around you, protecting you from any potential threats and prying eyes. You would not want to be the guy that Keigo catches staring at you from across the coffee shop because he is for sure going to get jumped in the alleyway behind the shop.

➯ Throughout his period of 'heat,' Keigo will always insist that you smell like him so that the potential 'threats' will know who his angel belongs to. He'll ask that you wear his shirts or hoodies everywhere. You love wearing Keigo's clothes, but you have your own that you enjoy wearing, so you politely decline...the first time. Then the second time. By the tenth, you're having a screaming match throwing his clothes out from your closet and off the balcony. So when that doesn't work as a last-ditch effort, Keigo'll start spraying you with his cologne while you're asleep.

➯ Simple makeout sessions quickly turn into marking fests, leaving hickeys all over your neck in places where you cannot hide them. And sex, phshh - black and blue bruises, wounds that'll eventually turn into scars, and huge welts everywhere. You won't be able to leave the house without looking like you went head to toe with an MMA fighter.

➯ Just remember that you are Keigo's and no one else's, and you should be fine. But if you do forget, there will be hell to pay.

Courtship

➯ Daily flights become a regular thing. It's sweet, really, just the two of you and the warm colors of the sunset. It's the best thing to come out of this whole 'in heat' situation. Every once in a while, Keigo will set up a picnic atop your favorite building in Japan, and the two of you will spend the night just laughing, chatting, and making googly eyes at each other.

➯ Karaoke nights! Even though he's god, awful Keigo likes to sing with/to you, anything from rapping (mumbling) Drake songs to screeching Taylor Swift at the top of his lungs. He might even break out some of his signature Keigo dance moves and really set the party off!

➯ Blanket forts! It's always fun building forts with you and watching movies, talking, and messing around with you (and other things…). You could spend an eternity with him just talking and staring into his eyes, but usually, you have to spend half of the night rebuilding the forts because Keigo's wings never fail to knock the fort down.

➯ You'll find him wanting to take care of you, more so than usual, and doing the most simple things.

➯ Whenever you say, you're going to hop in the shower Keigo's right there with you, bottle of shampoo, and loofa in hand. He'll wash your hair for you, rinse you off, and do all the things you are perfectly capable of doing yourself.

➯ If you had a bad day at work, he's trying his best to make up for it, listening to you vent while working his magic with his special back and foot rubs.

➯ Cuddles forever include Keigo running his fingers through your hair, brushing the tangles and knots out, making sure his angel is looking 100% presentable.

➯ Every morning he'll cook breakfast for the two of you and leave your plate in the microwave and leave a sticky note on the glass, reminding you how much he loves you before he's off for work.

➯ Throughout May, Keigo's wings are always in a constant state of flux. He doesn't even realize he's doing it, and honestly, it's the cutest thing ever the way that he is constantly 'protecting his angel from the outside world' as he likes to say. Sometimes when he tries to walk through the doorway to his bedroom, his wings will get cough on either side, and he'll fall on his ass.

Mating

➯ Sex is fucking FEARL. Slow and sensual had been fucking thrown out the window, the only thing left is Keigo's intent to fill you to the very brim with his cum with the hopes of getting you pregnant.

➯ Positions you can look forward to being forced into include mating press. That's it. The mating press is the optimal position for pregnancy, and that is Keigo's only goal right now.

➯ I hope that you don't think three rounds enough to satisfy Keigo's needs. This man will break you. He doesn't care how many times you've already orgasmed, and he is not stopping until you're filled with his seed.

➯ Don't even think twice about wasting any. This is something Keigo will be super sadistic with, pinching your clit, knowing that your walls will involuntarily clench around nothing, forcing his cum out and effectively ruining his masterpiece. Now he has to start all over again to fix your mistake.

➯ The aftercare you're so accustomed to will surely falter because fucking you into oblivion even with his level of stamina is pretty tiring. Either which way you always, always fall asleep your head on his chest and him lying on his back, his wings'll cramp up in the morning, but it's always worth it for this moment spent between the two of you right before you fall asleep in his arms.

tag list: @loisfics & @hawkssimp (because hawks...duh)

#hawks x reader #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #takami x reader #keigo x reader

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

Text

1x18: Something Wicked

Then:

After this they toss the ball around like old times

Now:

Fitchburg, WI

When I first started watching this show, I found great delight in all the locations the Winchesters visited that I recognized. I also laughed at how much these locations didn’t look a thing like the real place.

We begin this episode with a little girl saying her prayers. Her dad tucks her in, and she asks about her mom. She’ll be staying the night at the hospital with the little girl’s sister.

Later that night, the little girl sits up listening to the wind beat tree branches against her window. One of the branches turns into a hand that opens her window. A shadowy figure creeps across the room ---and a Deatheater scares the girl into a comatose state.

Sam and Dean are on the hunt since John is TOO LAME AND PETTY AND MEAN to go himself. Sam swears there’s nothing on their radar, but Dean insists they check it out.

(This episode gets pretty dark when it comes to John and Dean so we’ll try to add lots of pretty pictures to help with the pain.)

For Side Profile Science:

The boys pull into the nice rural town of Fitchberg Fitchburg, WI, not the more urban suburb of the state’s capital.

They ask around about anything weird in town ---just the freemasons being sneaky again. (Flashes of Hot Fuzz). Sam then notices that there are no kids at the school playground at 4 in the afternoon.

Dean heads over to talk to Hannah a mother who tells him about kids falling sick in town, and parents getting anxious over it.

Dean and Bikini Inspector/CDC doctor Sam head to the hospital.

For Bikini Inspector Science:

They head to the pediatric ward. Dean notices an old woman who decorates her room with an upside down cross (way to play with our ingrained bias of ageism and sexism show!)

Dr. Hydeker explains that 6 children are sick with pneumonia so far, and their bodies are just shutting down. They won’t respond to antibiotics or anything.

This disease works its way through families, one child after another. None of the children are conscious. They interview the father of Mary and Bethany. He mentions that they think they caught this from an open window.

Sam and Dean wonder what opened the window and go to the house to check it out. Initially, they find nothing, but then Sam notices one WACKY handprint. “What the hell leaves a handprint like that?” Sam wonders.

*RAGE Flashback Alert*

John’s heading out on a hunt and he’s giving young Dean instructions. Then he scolds his 9 year old son to pay attention.

Dean recites John’s fatherly advice: “Shoot first, ask questions later.” before John takes off. I love how he bullies Dean into being an adult here, and doesn’t even acknowledge Sam at all when he leaves.

Present day, Dean tells Sam that he knows why they’re in Fitchburg. John’s faced this monster in the past, and he wants them to finish it.

When they pull into their motel for the night, Sam asks what a shtriga is. Dean thinks it’s a witch of some sort. John faced one over 15 years ago in Wisconsin, and now it appears to be back.

Dean heads inside to get a room for them. He’s greeted with a surly 10 year old hotel proprietor. Well, the son of the real hotel manager. Dean can’t decide to be upset with the kid questioning his sexuality or soft for the kid who clearly has a great responsibility taking care of his younger brother. The mom helps Dean get a room.

While Dean gets checked in, he has another flashback.

*Scabetti-os Flashback Alert*

Dean’s feeding Sam his dinner. Sam’s sick of the same old food. He wants Lucky Charms, but there’s only one bowl left, and Dean needs to eat too. Sam throws on his baby-puppy dog look and Dean throws away the spaghetti-os and let’s Sam eat the cereal. It BREAKS me that this child has to think rationally and maturely to feed his younger brother, but he’s JUST A KID so he throws the pasta away in anger instead of eating it himself.

For One Day Sam Won’t Touch Sugar Cereal Science:

Sam does his research and discovers more about shtriga. They feed off of spiritus vitae --or breath of life. Sam says they prefer children and they’re invulnerable to everything. Dean corrects him and says that they’re vulnerable when they feed.

Sam continues that this monster takes the form of a human when it’s not feeding --generally an old woman. Dean remembers the woman from the hospital.

They head to the hospital, ready to do their worst to the old lady.

A nice jump scare that gets me every time reveals that she’s just an old woman. She demands they fix the crucifix that fell on her wall --so it wasn’t supposed to be upside down. WINCHESTER BAD.

At the motel, Michael and his little brother sleep peacefully. A shadowy hand creeps across the window and opens it.

The next morning the Winchesters return to the motel. Dean notices Michael moping outside the office. It turns out that Asher is very sick and just got shipped to the hospital. The window was unlatched, and Michael blames himself for not protecting his younger brother. Dean “Guilt Spiral” Winchester tries to help him avoid lifelong trauma by telling him that it isn’t his fault. Excuse me while I WEEP A SINGLE TEAR!

Dean gives the mom a lift to the hospital while Michael stays behind. Sam heads to the library, where I am forced ONCE AGAIN to include a picture of a Winchester rocking a microfiche machine.

For (This Joke Will Never Die) Library Science:

Sam fills Dean in on a string of child deaths tied to a mysterious pneumonia-like illness. The Fitchburg body count is just getting started. Sam finds a newspaper photo from the 1890’s featuring the very same doctor who is caring for the pediatric patients today. Dean, still at the hospital, puts on his murder face. Doctor Hydecker is IN THAT VERY ROOM looking over Asher. He asks Dean what the CDC has uncovered so far. Um. Nothing? Except a big ol’ liar and murderer.

Back at the motel, Dean fills Sam in on the hospital encounter with Hydecker. He didn’t attack the doctor at the hospital because a shtriga is only vulnerable when feeding. Also - more importantly - he didn’t have his guns on him. Dean plans to catch the shtriga in action that very night...when it returns to feed on Michael.

Sam’s horrified by this plan, but Dean insists that the end justifies the means. After all, their dad sent Dean to Fitchburg to clean up the hunt he botched...WHEN HE WAS JUST A KID.

Dean explains: years ago John Winchester left Sam and Dean alone in a motel room in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. A few nights into John’s absence, Dean leaves the room (with Sam asleep) so he can play arcade games at a local tavern. When he returns, there’s a terrifying spectre hovering over Sam.

Dean calmly picks up the shotgun(!!!) his father left him, only for John to shout Dean out of the way. John blasts the heck out of the shtriga and then moves to cradle Sam (who is fine, don’t worry bbys).

Dean explains that he just left for a little bit! (A few hours and not, like, THREE DAYS, AMIRITE?) John’s pissed at Dean for failing to parent Sam properly. After the failed attack, John dropped Sam and Dean off at Pastor Jim’s. “Dad never spoke about it again. I didn’t ask. But he, uh… He looked at me different. You know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order and I didn’t listen.”

Sam tries to convince Dean that he was just a kid and not responsible, but Dean “Guilt is Ninety Percent of My Personality” Winchester refuses to listen. John sent them this hunt as a personal message to DEAN. (Pardon me while I step outside and kick the shit out of John Winchester.) ANYWHO, Dean’s going to kill the shtriga any way he can...so young Michael gets to be bait. They head over to talk to Michael.

Dean and Sam try to convince Michael to let them watch over him while he sleeps????? Lordy lord lord. Dean tries to convince Michael that monsters are real. Only, Michael doesn’t need much convincing. He saw the monster when it attacked his brother. (Side note: I give the person filming Jensen in this episode a Major Award.)

Michael decides to sign on for the hunt on the chance that it might save Asher. Big brother club FTW! The Winchesters set up a nanny cam, instruct Michael to hide under the bed when they burst into the room, and get ready for the shtriga’s arrival. Dean tells Michael that he doesn’t have to be bait and he “won’t be mad” if he wants out after all. (I stroke Dean’s cheek and whisper, “Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester.”) But Michael’s all in if it means helping his brother.

The shtriga arrives for its murder appointment and the window slides open. The shtriga leans down in classic dementor mode to feed on a completely wide awake Michael, when the Winchesters burst in and start firing. The shtriga goes down like a trick target at a carnival, but it isn’t dead yet! (Only mostly dead.) It attacks Dean and then, symbolically, attacks Sam. While it begins to feed on Sam, Dean fires off one perfect shot into the shtriga’s forehead, killing it. “You okay, little brother?” Dean asks, also SYMBOLICALLY.

Tiny, life-force soul bits float out of the dying shtriga’s mouth, on their way to reinhabit all the sick children in town.

The next day, the Winchesters prepare to leave town. All the kids are on the road to recovery, and Michael gets ready to head off to visit his brother. (YAY!)

Sam takes a turn for the morose and mourns the fact that Michael knows monsters are real now. Dean “I’m Your Parent” Winchester tells Sam that he wishes he could have ensured that innocence for Sam as well. They drive off in a swirling cloud of Winchester angst.

Live, from Fitchquote, Wisconsin:

I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right

I was sleeping with my peepers open

You were just a kid

Sometimes nightmares are real

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 1x18 #something wicked #supernatural season 1

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obeymeluv · 4 years

Note

Hi lovely! I’m not sure if your requests are open but I just worked out for the first time since ive gotten super depressed! It might not be that big of a deal but can I get some geadcannons on how the brothers would react to this? (: (their lover working out for the first time in months because of their mental illness)

I respect this so hard and am super proud of you. I have similar struggles so it always makes me happy to see someone able to get back up. Good job :) These headcanons will be short because I’m getting ready for bed and have to get into school mode, but here you go! ♥

Lucifer

It wasn’t uncommon for him to wake you up, or even gently start the day by sitting at your bedside and whispering sweet nothings

He opens the door soundlessly, as always, and is quite surprised to see you in the middle of doing a yoga series. Thankfully, your back is to the door

Pride blossoms in his chest and, for the first time, it doesn’t feel heavy like the burden of his sin

It’s warm and joyful and feels like an old memory of the Celestial Realm, a call back to happier days

His eyes mist over a bit but no one can confirm it

Lucifer is a perfect, beautiful statue that watches for a few poses before slowly inching back towards the doorway to peek around the corner

Pretends like he never saw anything when you go about the rest of your day, but is absolutely glowing when he looks at you.

Lavishes you in his fancy praise, as always. (”You look enchanting, my love. Simply radiant today.”)

Mammon

He’ll deny it to the day he dies, but he craves your company.

Actually, he’s more likely to admit it when you’re in a depressive episode because you’re tender and vulnerable and that’s how he really is when he lets his guard down. That’s when people need the most love, and you’ve put him back together so much that he wants to repay the favor 1,000x fold

Mammon’s very surprised to see you running careful laps up one set of stairs and down the set on the other end of the hallway (that explains why it took him so long to find you).

It’s like speed walking. He watches for a lap and a half to make sure you’re not rushing off anywhere. You know, making sure nothing’s serious

When he realizes you’re exercising in earnest he’s super stoked. Like, #1 hype man.

“That’s my human! Yeah!” Mammon becomes your cheerleader

Drops sly comments about how it’s actually a good glute workout and he’ll give you a massage afterwards

Keeps up with you more than you’d expect (models train hard, okay?) but does get bored. Maintains cheer position

Carries you around the rest of the day when your legs are sore

Levi

Levi had to do a fair bit of research on depression when he realized you weren’t converting to being a fellow otaku shut-in

The two of you still enjoyed cuddle times, and sometimes he could engage you in games, but the health of his beloved was important! Humans couldn’t be without exercise for too long or it would be bad for them

It’s super awkward but he tries to invite you swimming and things. Sometimes you just don’t have the energy. He understands, and is totally down for cuddling you (with partial back rubs) while playing games

Makes sure you eat and definitely splits his rations

Enjoys the small walks from his room to yours, and makes sure you guys drift between them a couple of times a day. That helps humans, right?

Levi realizes fairly quickly that you haven’t been to his room in a while and goes to check on you

You’re hopping in patterns across the floor, slowly making your way to his room.

You look like you’re having fun!

He’s not sure what you’re doing, but you hop, you squat, then you lunge.

You lock eyes with Levi mid-lunge and wobble a bit. He’s a little pink in the face, but because he’s laughing in sheer delight at how spooked you looked.

You end up flopping over and Levi crouches beside you, offering his hand

When he hears you finally had a burst of energy and wanted to work out, to start over again, he’s very proud of you

May or may not have compared you to Henry and shared some of the more harrowing moments the hero went through (also how he’s awesome and came back better than ever!)

Invites you for a swim and you actually accept

After some laps and splashing about, you spend time floating and cuddling

Satan

Depression is sometimes just a thing humans go through, Satan is finding out.

Between Devildom books and human books, he kind of understands

It’s a thing of time, and sometimes other methods help. He personally thinks the lack of sun in the Devildom is the main culprit

Gives you healthy snacks and tracks down vitamins

Tries to get you to walk the gardens but realizes he can’t force it

Sometimes he gets you outside, reading under trees and lanterns

Satan roamed the House of Lamentation, intending to steal you for another outside reading session, and was surprised to find you out there already

He watched from a high window, peeking tentatively from behind the thick curtain, and let the amused smile cut his lips

Suddenly, you disappeared out of sight. Satan waited for what felt like ages until the logic of ‘the fastest way between Point A and B is a straight line’ kicked in. He held his book carefully, unlatched the window, and jumped out

Demons have good joints and sturdier bodies. The drop and landing was nothing for him.

He calls your name and starts walking around.

It’s not until he’s made a full lap and you’re giggling (behind him somehow?) that he realizes you’re just leisurely walking laps around the house

Super embarrassed that he got worried (and that you ended up behind him). Jumps when you touch his shoulders or if you hugged him around the waist

You’re happy and...yourself for the first time in a while and Satan’s heart is so happy. Before you can break the hug, he twines his fingers with yours and just holds your hand to his body

Eventually you break away, kiss his shoulders, and start a game of tag that turns into sky-watching, and laying on his chest as he reads

Asmodeus

He knows how to break hearts but he ALSO knows how to fix him

He’s always trying to get his brothers to hang out and make good memories. Despite what he says and how he acts, he really cares for them from the bottom of his heart

You count, too. You’re like, top tier. Basically family. VIP space. Maybe SPOUSE space (but that’s too fast for a human, right?)

Though rare and private, Asmo has his bad days, too. They can either be fixed, or they can’t. Usually things are just distractions. The heart will heal in its own time.

Asmo went to your room with the latest round of pampering but stopped short of announcing himself. Does he hear...music?

Nudging the door open with his foot, his eyes light up so pink the gradient is disappearing.

You’re dancing and humming, making faces at yourself in the mirror.

His heart clenches with a beautiful pain because you’re so vibrant and lively and he knows it was hard for you to find this again

The pampering is abandoned for an impromptu PRIVATE dance party

Silly and sweet things, waltzing and just being close, hugging as you sway side to side

Lots of forehead kisses and pet names.

Beelzebub

He didn’t think your behavior was out of the ordinary since Belphie slept a lot.

Beel is always motivated by something--food, sports, working out, family stuff--so he’s not familiar with the lack of desire to do anything

When he learns you’re not just catching up on sleep and you might be having a rough time, he asks Lucifer and Satan what to do

They decide you should work out. That releases endorphins in humans and that sounds like what you need!

The attempts don’t go well, but you’ll at least come out of your room and be a resistance weight for him

Beel went into the weight room to do some pre-warm up exercises. He was mentally planning his reps and figuring out what muscle groups were on the schedule when he heard the clinking of weights

His brothers had other ways of working out so that meant only one person could be in the weight room

Beelzebub stamped down the urge to rush in and watch you in all your occupied glory, reminding himself you could drop a weight on yourself (or worse)

His purr gives him away

He’s proud, borderline excited, and just purrs long and loud from the entryway

Jumps into the workout with you, doing light exercises

Beel gets a little playful adjusting your posture, but it’s all sweet hugs and rocking you back and forth

Regardless of what muscle groups were on the schedule for the day, it’s arm day because he’s lifting you up, throwing you a little, and catching you in his arms

Give this happy, snuggly boy some kisses

Belphegor

He can sense your state of mind by the nature of his sin. He sleeps a lot and has a knack for telling when someone’s sleep is anything but restful

Belphegor’s not 100% sure, but he thinks he can tap into your dream space. There’s this little ball of sad-tired-something that lets him know you’re not okay

There’s quiet mini-dates that ease the sting of your sadness, but he knows it’s not enough

When he sleeps, he has dreams about you being happy and hopes he can push them into your mind

Cuddles fix things. He’s down for couple naps.

Belphegor goes in and out of sleep; it’s during one of his periods of waking that he notices you’re not there

Hugging his pillow, he shuffles about the House of Lamentation to find you

He finds you cleaning and organizing the kitchen. Cleaning is a sign of healing, right? Lots of movement?

Belphegor realizes you’re doing more than cleaning. You’re stretching and lifting things like they’re Beel’s weights

It looks time-consuming, and like you’ve been at it for a while

Belphie plonks his head on your shoulder, asking how you’re feeling. He’s got that sleepy Cheshire Cat smile

You’re just as happy as can be, happier than he’s seen you in a while, and you celebrate by stealing a bunch of snacks and making a blanket fort in his room

Hope you liked it :)

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mst3kproject · 3 years

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Invasion of the Star Creatures

I promised you guys something truly awful this week, didn’t I? Well, how about a space invasion ‘comedy’ (big emphasis on the air quotes there) produced by Samuel Zarkoff to be a double-bill with The Brain that Wouldn’t Die? The closest thing it has to a star is Frankie Ray, whom MSTies might know as the writer of Laserblast. He also wrote Zoltan, Hound of Dracula, which I really, really need to see one of these days. Film Historian Bill Warren described Invasion of the Star Creatures as ‘so helplessly bad it’s almost unwatchable’. Let’s find out if he was right.

Fort Nicholson is the world’s center for atomic research, despite apparently being staffed entirely by idiots. The two biggest idiots are, unfortunately, our main characters. Their names are Philbrick and Penn. No, I don’t know which is which. No, I don’t care. I’m gonna call them Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice. The first ‘comedic’ sequence involves Rick With The Squeaky Voice sitting in a barrel pretending he’s going to space, and getting his ass set on fire.

That sets the tone for the whole movie quite nicely. It’s stupid and it’s not funny, and it never gets any better. In fact, as we shall see, it gets significantly worse.

For some reason, Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are assigned to a mission to explore a cave recently exposed by a nuclear test. This turns out to be the base for two seven-foot space women, Tanga and Pona, and their tuberous minions, the Vege-Men, and the entire party is soon in their clutches. The aliens say that they have come to save humanity from destroying ourselves through nuclear war, but naturally the army isn’t into that. Rick With The Squeaky Voice discovers that kissing the women puts them into a daze, allowing the two idiots to escape, but of course nobody back at Fort Nicholson believes their story. Is it really up to these two to stop Tanga and Pona from heading back to their home planet with their report? We’re doomed.

I don’t remember which review it was, but I once invited you to imagine a movie in which every character is Dropo or Watney Smith. This is that movie. This is proud of being that movie. The aliens try to read the two Ricks’ minds and one is completely empty while the other is full of superhero fantasies. Pona calls what she sees ‘completely illogical and infantile’, which is a fair description of the whole movie.

There’s a sequence where one of the army men shoots a rattlesnake that was about to bite one of the Ricks, and then cries because ‘he might have had a family’. They try to lampoon the thing in old movies where the characters walk through the same set from different angles by doing it without cutting away or changing the camera angle, but it just looks dumb. The Colonel gives a long-winded speech about the merits of getting straight to the point. A forced march stops for a lovely picnic and wine tasting. A guy gets his ass kicked by a Vege-Man and declares, “that’s the first time a salad ever tossed me.” There’s a running ‘gag’ about fans of ‘Space Commander Connors’ recognizing each other’s secret decoder rings and immediately going into a full-on geek-out.

None of this is funny, much of it is downright embarrassing, and the worst part is that the writers have no idea how to include their attempts at comedy in the story. Rather than the hijinks advancing the plot, every time something that’s supposed to be funny happens, the whole thing comes to a dead halt. This gives the impression that the movie is stumbling around in the dark with no idea where it’s going. It finally seems to settle on a plot when we find out that the spaceship is about to leave and must be stopped. After some bullshit the Ricks convince the Colonel (and only the Colonel) to help them take on the aliens. At this point I was thinking that this movie was pretty terrible but it hadn’t actually pushed me to the point of being tempted to turn it off…

And then it got racist.

The last ten minutes or so of Invasion of the Star Creatures are a downward spiral in which it seems like they gave up trying to be funny in favour of being actively offensive. First, they encounter what’s supposed to be a group of Native Americans on horseback. Rick With The Squeaky Voice tries to get their attention by saying “hey, Kemosabe, I wanna buy some blankets!” The Natives don’t speak much English but they do a lot of grunting, and threaten to kill the Colonel because they think he’s General Custer (?!). Then they kidnap everybody and force them to smoke the peace pipe and drink firewater and the white guys only escape once the Natives have passed out.

Holy shit. Not only is this repulsive, it is, as previously noted, irrelevant. It has no effect on the plot other than to waste time. The Natives do not help them defeat the aliens and neither does the Colonel, who is also in a drunken stupor. And then, just when we think this can’t possibly get any worse, the defeated alien women declare that they must throw themselves on the mercy of the Earth Men. This turns out to mean marrying them, and the dialogue specifically likens marriage to slavery, which Tanga and Pona seem to consider a point in its favour! The end of this movie left my head spinning. It’s like I watched a guy get ‘comedically’ knocked over by a punching bag for forty-five minutes and then he suddenly turned around and punched me in the face.

(Hey, I just realized… remember how I said the cave was exposed by a nuclear test? The dialogue emphasizes how this whole area is irradiated and dangerous – and then totally forgets about it. It’s never mentioned again and the characters take off their protective gear and never put it back on. So… that was useless, too.)

There is stuff in this movie that could have been funny. The secret decoder ring stuff almost got a smile out of me once or twice, because the characters seemed so earnest in their love for ‘Space Commander Connors’ and his lore. The ‘Vege-Men’ also had potential. We get to see a greenhouse room where they’re grown to be the women’s slaves, and the seedlings are hands or feet sticking out of flowerpots with a few leaves around them. This is fairly amusing and I could see it being the juvenile form of a sentient plant on Star Trek TOS. Adult Vege-Men are actors in stupid carrot costumes that they obviously can’t see out of very well, which should have been funny just because it’s so terrible, but Invasion of the Star Creatures is so bad you can’t even laugh at it ironically.

The idea of using a bumbling idiot as your main character, let alone two bumbling idiots, frankly baffles me. Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are supposed to be the guys we, the audience, identify with. We’re supposed to like and root for them and to perhaps be able to imagine ourselves in their places, but the only thing I feel for them is contempt. Why would anyone want to see themselves in these guys? Perhaps it’s an attempt to say that anybody can be a hero, but the two Ricks don’t even qualify as that. When they save the world, it’s basically by accident. The ending, which rewards them with promotions, medals, and beautiful wives from outer space, actively makes me angry because they didn’t earn any of that!

Invasion of the Star Creatures works very hard at being pointless, and there’s very little in it that comes anywhere near a theme. If any such thing exists, its in Tanga and Pona’s insistence that they’re here to save humanity whether we like it or not, and how the humans react to that idea. The women say it would be a shame to see a young civilization destroy itself because nations were too stupid to work together. Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice reject this entirely, which is supposed to be a joke: these guys are in the army, so if humanity transcends the need for conflict they’d be out of a job. The rest of the plot then seems at pain to emphasize that humans cannot work together, and do not want to.

After all, the two Ricks’ attempts to summon help come to nothing. The Native Americans never understand that these men want assistance, and the Colonel thinks it’s all a Space Commander Connors game before sliding under the metaphorical table, having never done anything useful. The Ricks themselves spent most of their time arguing and complaining and in the end succeed only through good luck on their part and poor timing on that of the invaders. Usually a story that begins with ‘aliens want to save primitive humans from ourselves’ would end with ‘the aliens were wrong about us’. Invasion of the Star Creatures seems to want to say the aliens were right the whole time!

So there you have it – Invasion of the Star Creatures. It started off kinda bad and not funny, then swirled down the cinematic toilet into outright offensive, racist, sexist drivel. I’m trying to think of some small thing I can say about it that’s nice, but I’m having a very hard time. I guess I kinda liked the rumbly noises that represent the alien language – that was more fun than just having the actresses spout random gobbledygook. Other than that, I’m at a loss. The actors suck, the sets suck, the effects suck, the costumes suck, and everybody involved was a bigoted dickweed. Fuck this movie.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #invasion of the star creatures #fuck this movie #60s

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rizlowwritessortof · 3 years

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Dreaming

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

So sleepy.

The sun is so warm on her skin, the breeze gently wafting around her.

His arms surrounding her, a safe haven.

She turns her head, her eyes opening slowly, almost fighting to remain closed. His face is a blur at first, coming into focus as her eyes finally obey her thoughts and open. His eyes are still closed, his long lashes against his skin, his lips slightly parted as he breathes softly.

She feels a surge in her pulse as she looks at him, so beautiful, so perfect, so peaceful. She is almost breathless as her eyes scan over the planes of his face, freckles still visible beneath the golden tan; the jaw line, unshaven, the cleft in his chin almost hidden by the soft growth. The small bump in his nose, almost unnoticeable, a flaw making the perfection seem even more unreal.

He begins to move, his eyebrows draw together in a small frown as he struggles, like her, to wake. The moss green eyes open, the full lips curve slightly as he sees her, and she feels everything inside her go molten and electric as he reaches a hand to her face and moves in closer to touch his lips to hers.

The kiss is soft, sensuous, the whole world is in it. There is nothing else in the here and now but that. His mouth slants across hers, their lips parting and their tongues gliding against each other, tangling sweetly, and her whole being is centered in this moment, in the feel of his lips and the taste of him, the soft sound of the whispered moan that escapes as he kisses her.

His hand moves, down her back, across her hip, fingers slipping beneath the soft fabric of her shirt, and there is warmth against her skin as his touch brushes over her ribs and he cups her breast. This time the moan is from her, deep in her throat, as he gently kneads the firm flesh, and she presses closer to him as their kiss becomes more frantic, and her arms tighten around his neck…

“Kel! You comin’, or what?” Kelsey shot upright in her bed, her eyes wide, her mouth open as she stared at Dean, who stood leaning nonchalantly in her doorway. "I tried to wake you up, but I practically had to come in and throw cold water on you.“ His brows drew together in a frown, his green eyes actually a little concerned as she stared blankly back at him. "Are you okay? You aren’t getting sick, are you?”

Kelsey blinked hard a couple of times, shaking her head a little, trying to clear her mind of the incredibly vivid dream she had been rudely awakened from. "No,” she said softly, raising a hand to run through her shoulder length golden brown locks. When she looked back up, Dean’s eyes were roaming appreciatively over her breasts, which were making themselves evident under the thin silk camisole she had worn to bed. She jerked the blanket up, holding it in place and glaring at him.

“Do you, uh, wear that to bed every night, Kel? ‘Cuz I gotta tell you, it’s hot.” His eyebrows raised and lowered a couple of times as a one-sided smirk curved his lips.

“Get. Out.” Kelsey pointed towards the door, and he had the audacity to look surprised.

“Sure you don’t need any help with…anything?”

“OUT!” A low chuckle trailed behind him as he left the room, and she sailed a pillow towards his back.

“Missed!” he called back over his shoulder, and Kelsey huffed out a frustrated breath. How could she be dreaming of that…that…that immature, juvenile, dirty-minded jerk?

She threw back the covers and swung her long, tanned legs over the side of the bed, stretching as she stood and headed to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, and a pair of dark lashed hazel eyes stared back. A faint spattering of freckles across her nose annoyed her to no end, as always, and her lips pressed together in disapproval. She sighed and opened a small drawer, pulling out a washcloth for her face as she let the water run to get warm.

She was almost dressed, in her faded jeans, well-worn Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and grey Pumas, when Bobby called up the stairs. "Kelsey Grace, are you comin’ or not?“

"I’m on my way down, you old grouch,” she countered, then smiled to herself as she finished tying her shoe and grabbed her denim jacket from the chair on her way out the door.

Dean glanced up as Kelsey’s footsteps echoed down the old staircase. She was slipping her arms into her jacket as she walked, leaning in to kiss Bobby’s cheek, an amused smile on her face, as she walked by him. Bobby couldn’t quite stifle the wry grin on his face as he shook his head. Kelsey was twisting her hair into a knot, sticking a clip into it to hold it in place. Dean itched to pull it out, watch that tawny-colored, on-the-edge-of-auburn mass tumble down around her shoulders again. He felt Bobby’s disapproving glare and reluctantly pulled his eyes from the sight of her bending to look for a bottle of water in the fridge.

He remembered the first time he’d seen her. All arms and legs, and those big amber eyes that, at the time, looked so large in her face. She was about ten, same age as Sammy, and he was fourteen. She was Bobby’s niece, his sister’s daughter, and she had come to visit. Or, more likely, she was farmed out to him for some other reason, which Dean never knew. Bobby’s place wasn’t really the type of place people dropped off little girls just to visit. Now, he and Sam were different. Boys, for one thing. And they were used to being left here and there. Bobby’s, for them, was almost like home. Only thing was, the stay just never lasted long enough.

Kelsey and Sam had become friends right off the bat, she called him Shaggy and he called her Freckles, which she hated, but she didn’t seem to mind too much from him. Dean only tried it once, and was informed that, since he had more of them than she did, he wasn’t allowed. She and Sam had the run of the place, climbing around piles of junk that they should have stayed away from, building forts out of car parts, having a ball together, while Dean, already made to act like an adult by then, helped Bobby work on cars or guns, or do research. God, he had hated research. He still hated research.

They had met up with each other several more times over the years, always at Bobby’s, and she and Sam had remained close friends. She and Dean, however, had a kind of rocky relationship, sniping at or outright fighting with each other most of the time, but still settling into a teasing, sarcastic friendship. Dean smiled a little as he remembered them actually making out once, in Bobby’s shop. John had almost caught them, and he would have… His smile faded slowly, the loss of his father too new to be able to remember without a rush of pain so intense it almost stole his breath.

At least Sammy was okay. That’s all that mattered now. After they got into that huge fight, his little brother had taken off on his own, and a hunt gone wrong had landed him in the hospital for a few days, a two-day drive away near Baltimore. But Sam had refused to let him drive out to pick him up when he was released, so now they were driving in to pick him up at the airport. And he wouldn’t feel better until he laid eyes on him in person, made sure he was really okay.

He grabbed his jacket, putting it on as he headed for the door, his hand shoved into his pocket to retrieve the keys to the Impala. Bobby was right behind him, turning to Kelsey as they stepped outside. "Kelse, you want shotgun?“

"No, back seat’s fine, Bobby,” she answered, glancing at Dean as she felt his eyes on her. She pushed past him, opening the back door and slipping inside, pulling her phone from her pocket and staring intently at the screen. Dean and Bobby crawled in the front, and Baby rumbled to life as Dean backed her up and aimed her towards Sioux Falls Regional Airport.

They waited, mostly silent, for almost half an hour before Dean spotted Sam’s head above most of the others coming towards them down the crowded hallway. "Sammy!“ he called out, and Sam’s eyes searched him out before he raised a hand to answer his big brother’s wave. As he drew closer, the crowd thinned out, and Kelsey heard Dean’s quiet curse. "Son of a bitch,” he muttered, walking towards Sam, his face tight with concern. "Dammit, Sammy! Why didn’t you tell me you had a broken leg? What else is going on that you didn’t tell me?“

"I’m fine, Dean. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me. You should have told me.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and then his gaze came to rest on Kelsey, who stood a few feet behind Dean. "Kelsey?“

A wide smile brightened her face and put a sparkle in her eyes. "Hey, Shaggy.”

Sam dropped his duffle at Dean’s feet, using his crutches to move to where Kelsey stood. He propped one crutch under his arm and grabbed her into a hug. "I didn’t know you were back.“

"Proverbial bad penny, what can I say?” She backed away a step and looked up into Sam’s hazel eyes. "So - got a little banged up, huh? Girl scout?“

Sam grinned, flashing those dimples that Kelsey also loved to tease him about. "Still a smartass, too.”

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes as they headed for the Impala, the two old friends chattering nonstop. He threw Sam’s duffle into the trunk and climbed behind the wheel, while Sam maneuvered his plaster cast into the passenger side, and Bobby got into the back seat with Kelsey.

After lunch, Sam and Kelsey continued their 'gabfest,’ as Dean thought to himself, and he took himself out to the shop, finding whatever he could to keep himself busy. Later in the day, he came in to grab a beer, and heard them laughing in the next room. He walked closer, leaning in the doorway for a bit, listening to their easy give-and-take mixed with frequent laughter. He absently chewed on his lip as he stood there, finally turning to leave, tipping his beer as he went. Kelsey glanced up as he left, then looked up at Sam from her seat on the floor, where she was sitting to sign Sam’s cast. Sam shrugged, and she smiled, putting the cap on the marker she’d been using and standing. "I’ll be right back,“ she said, and followed Dean’s path out to the shop.

She could hear Metallica playing in the background as she walked in. Dean was at the workbench, shop rag in hand, cleaning tools. She stood quietly for a moment, then walked closer, and he turned his head to glance at her before returning to his task.

"Why don’t you come in and have a beer with us, Dean? We’ve just been catching up with each other, I didn’t mean to take over, but we haven’t seen each other for a couple of years.”

“Didn’t want to butt in,” he said, working on removing grease from a wrench.

Kelsey stood there for a moment, then walked up beside him and turned her back to the workbench, leaning back against it and looking up at Dean. "I’m sorry. He’s your brother, and I know you guys have some things to talk about. I didn’t mean to…“

"No problem,” he cut her off, his voice curt.

“Dean.” Kelsey spoke his name softly and looked up at him until he finally met her eyes and responded.

“Look, Sam would rather talk to you any day. Why do you think he ended up all busted up in the first place? He doesn’t want to be around me. He doesn’t want to be here, Kel. He’s never wanted to be here.” He turned and walked away, but Kelsey hurried behind him, grabbing his arm to stop him.

“That’s just crazy, Dean. Sam loves you and Bobby. I don’t know what happened between you two, but you need to talk to him about it. He’s the only family you’ve got.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean’s voice was raised a little as the words came out, but he lowered his head immediately, running his fingers roughly through his hair. "Sorry.“

"Dean…it’s okay. Just please, go talk to Sam.” He looked up, and the expression on his face made her want to comfort him somehow. And, for a split second, she held her breath, thinking he was going to kiss her. But the moment passed, and he stepped away from her, grabbing his beer and heading for the house.

“Okay. I’ll go talk to him. But don’t be surprised if we end up in another fight.”

Kelsey followed him into the house, helping herself to a beer, but staying in the kitchen as Dean walked into the next room. "So, Sammy, what got you?“ Dean asked as he dropped to the other side of the couch and propped his feet up on the beat-up old coffee table. "You never did say.”

She heard the sound of Sam opening the beer Dean had taken to him, a moment for a swallow, and, “Vamp. Stupid vamp. I got him, though.”

“So, just your leg?”

“Some banged-up ribs, and had a concussion. I’m doing okay, though.”

She shook her head as they talked around everything but what they should have been talking about, and she began preparing some pasta and garlic bread for supper. By the time the food was ready, the tension had eased between the brothers to the point where they could all eat and talk together.

By ten that night, Kelsey could hardly keep her eyes open, and headed up to bed. She sank into her pillows with a sigh, and was just starting to doze off when she heard Dean’s footsteps pass by on the way to his room.

Dean stirred restlessly in his bed, then his eyes opened and he was on full alert as he sat up, reaching to the bedside table for his Colt. He had heard something, and he sat there, completely still and silent, listening. He heard another sound, and this time he was sure. It was coming from Kelsey’s room.

He pulled on a pair of sweats over his boxers and headed barefoot down the hall. He heard it again, this time a little louder, a low moan. He opened her door, stepping into the room and looking around with eyes accustomed to seeing in the dark. Nothing there that he could see, but she moved under her covers, her head rolling to the side as her breathing became more harsh, and another soft sigh escaped her lips.

He laid his gun on the table, sitting at the edge of the mattress. He reached to touch her shoulder carefully, not wanting to startle her, and whispered her name. "Kelsey.“ His only answer was another moan, and it didn’t sound like she was in pain. He shook her gently, saying her name a little louder this time. "Kel. Wake up, you’re dreaming.”

He drew his hand back as if he’d been burned when she reacted just as she had that morning, sitting up quickly, her eyes wide, her mouth open, completely disoriented. Then her eyes fell on him, and before he could react, her hands were in his hair and her lips on his, frantic and heated. He found himself unable to resist at first, the intensity of it sweeping him along, and he kissed her back, almost losing himself in the moment. Then he put his hands on her shoulders, pushing himself away and holding her in place, as he fought to slow his breathing and stop the almost overwhelming desire to give in and just go with it.

“Kelsey. You’re dreaming.” She looked up at him, her eyes unfocused for a moment, then clearing a little as she took a deep breath. "Are you okay?“ He could feel her begin to tremble beneath his hands, and real concern pushed all other thoughts from his mind.

"Dean? What’s going on?”

“You were dreaming. I came in because I thought I heard something, but it was you. You were really out of it.” His brows drew together in a troubled frown as he looked at her. "Just like this morning. Are you taking sleeping pills?“

Kelsey dropped back to her pillow, her eyes closed for a moment before she looked up at him, shaking her head. "No. I’ve never taken anything like that. Just a couple of beers tonight before I went to bed, just like you.” She seemed to be all right, had calmed down, and Dean relaxed a little. A crooked little smile curved his lips, and Kelsey frowned. "What?“

"You kissed me.”

“I did not!”

“The hell you didn’t! I came in to wake you up, and you kissed me. And you were into it, too.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it and looked away, feeling herself blush. "I - I didn’t mean to. I was delirious or something.“ She couldn’t look at him, at the smirk on his face and the warmth in his eyes, she just couldn’t.

"You were dreaming about me.”

“Was not.”

“Yes, you were. Admit it.” He ran a finger along her arm, and she jerked it back, hiding it under the covers.

“I’m fine now. You can leave.” She turned to her side, her back to him.

He sat there, silent for a moment, and when he spoke, the teasing note was gone from his voice. "Sure you’re okay?“

"I’m fine.”

He stood, looking down at her for a moment, then turned to leave the room. He looked back at her form, nearly hidden in the blankets, and smiled. "Sweet dreams,“ he said as he pulled the door closed, and she pulled the covers over her head.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

#dreaming #dean fic #dean x kelsey #dean x oc #reblog to fix tag links

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loruleanheart · 3 years

Text

Desired Fate, Chapter 7

Read on ff.net

Read on AO3

The ceremony to inaugurate the Champions was the first formal event of its size that had been held in some time. The only other event of this magnitude was the Queen’s funeral when Princess Zelda was six years of age. An event that had mostly faded from her memory.

Everyone gathered in the sanctum with a few soldiers from each race to accompany their respective champion.

The Champions and Link were all dressed in a blue article of clothing Zelda had made for them. A skirt for Urbosa, a scarf for Revali, a sash for Mipha and Daruk, and a blue tunic for Link.

King Rhoam gave a rousing speech. Even Zelda felt a renewed sense of duty. Everything felt normal and right.

The ceremony was to be concluded with the princess’s blessing to the hero and the sword that seals the darkness, and that’s when Zelda’s enthusiasm was curbed quite a bit.

Link knelt before her with the sacred blade at his back. Zelda could feel the eyes of the Champions, Impa, and her father bearing down on her as she gave a rehearsed, half-hearted speech. She wasn’t feeling worthy of giving such a blessing, but she got through it without incident.

Zelda concluded the blessing and gave a soft sigh of relief. She couldn’t help but glance at the back of her gloved hand. Her hand, where the power was said to manifest in females born to the goddess’s bloodline. If it would only awaken within her.

Later, when everyone was winding down after the ceremony, Zelda sat alone on a concrete bench, watching the Champions enjoy a moment of rest.

What did they think of her? On the surface, they all seemed reasonably supportive of her struggle to unlock her power, but what did they really think of her?

How many times had she trained at the springs of power and courage? And soon she’d do it all over again. Again, most likely without success. The failure and disappointment were taking their toll. She felt like she was a million years old, despite her physical age of a mere sixteen.

She was vaguely aware of the conversations of the Champions, but the Zora Princess caught her attention. Mipha was not so subtly gushing about Link, wanting to become stronger to fight alongside him. It seemed the poor Zora Princess was unaware that she’d been speaking loudly enough to gain Link’s attention and Mipha became flustered when he turned to acknowledge her.

Something inside Zelda twinged.

If only it were that simple...

Zelda lowered her gaze and pushed her mind elsewhere, fidgeting with the gold ring that secured her gloves.

oOo

Astor looked down at the back of his gloved hand. He tapped his fingers lightly on the edge of the table, the gold ring on his finger creating a gentle clinking sound. It appeared the Harbinger was still displeased with him.

Kohga knelt to offer the black Guardian a banana, the Harbinger slapping it away.

“You’ve really done it this time, little lord malice! It’s been three days and your Harbinger is still pouting like a spoiled child.”

Astor felt a headache coming on, not bothering to chastise Kohga for being so disrespectful to Lord Ganon. He closed his eyes and rubbed his brow, trying to clear his mind.

… twins...

The thought landed like a Guardian crashing through Astor’s mental wall. His heart rate quickened and he shakily pushed the thought away, not wanting to confront it, simply passing it off as an intrusive thought planted by Kohga’s earlier comments.

The prophet redirected his thoughts. It wasn’t lost on him that there was a huge celebration underway at Hyrule Castle. All of Hyrule was united against him and his destiny. Not even the Yiga seemed particularly invested, and why would they? They seemed satisfied with their current way of life.

And then there was her… The Princess whose power to seal Calamity Ganon away was dormant, yet she had spared him. She should hate him, fear him.

She was a fixture in his prophetic dreams as of late, and he wouldn’t dare speak a word of them to the Yiga Leaders for a multitude of reasons. They were already losing faith in him as it was. More distressing, he sensed these prophetic dreams were not of Calamity Ganon. No, these prophetic dreams were a stark contrast from the Great Calamity’s.

He felt a most unwelcome feeling creeping in.

Could it be that she’s not fated to die? That’s why I failed… I... can accept that... She’s fated to unlock her power… No, no… Preventing her from unlocking that power is the least I can do…

“Hey prophesy man, you alright? You seem like you’re losing your bananas…”

“He never had any to begin with….” Sooga commented.

Astor barely heard them, his thoughts fixed on this new vision he’d been having night after night since he’d crossed her path.

The scene is a familiar one - Fort Hateno. In this vision, not only has she unlocked her power, but she’s taking down blights and Guardians with horrifying ease. She wielded her newfound power with confidence and glowed with a radiant, otherworldly light. Her movements were like a graceful dance. It was like watching a beautiful and powerful goddess destroying his entire world and leaving him in ruin. And he hated the thoughts and feelings this girl conjured up whenever he saw her or so much as thought about her. So this was the future? Did the Calamity even stand a chance? And what did this mean for him and the destiny he thought he had?

“Wretched girl….”

oOo

As the other Champions departed Urbosa came to sit next to a forlorn Zelda. The princess looked up, acknowledging Urbosa with a small smile.

“It’s been quite a whirlwind these past few days.” Urbosa smiled back.

“Yes, it has...” Zelda agreed.

Urbosa’s features changed becoming serious. “Zelda… You’re doing everything right. Feeling sorry for yourself certainly isn’t going to unlock any sort of divine power… But you know what? You never know what might trigger it to at last manifest. You just have to find that thing… It may be something you could never have envisioned. Don’t give up.”

Zelda breathed in deeply. “Yes, that is my hope…”

Impa approached them along with Purah by her side.

Zelda nearly jumped when she saw Purah, waiting with bated breath for what the Sheikah researcher had to say.

“Princess. I think you’ll be pleased to hear that we did manage to uncover one new bit of information on your mystery man.”

Zelda lit up with a beautiful smile she couldn’t seem to hide, which didn’t go unnoticed by those around her, especially Purah. Even Link took notice and came over to join them.

The Sheikah woman handed Zelda the Slate. “Take a look!” She said a little too enthusiastically, either proud of her accomplishment or eager to see Zelda’s reaction. Impa shot her sister a withering look.

The Sheikah genius walked away, oblivious to what was about to unfold due to her bad timing.

Sure enough, there was a new true to life image. This one showed Astor with two Yiga foot soldiers taking a knee to him.

Zelda’s smile faded a bit.

Astor… He truly is the center of all things Calamity Ganon…

“Well, well, well. Why am I not surprised?” Urbosa remarked.

Zelda’s chest tightened, waiting for what Urbosa would say next.

“I must admit, I feel responsible given that Gerudo Desert has been home to the Yiga for a long time now. I’ve been far too lenient with them.”

Zelda relaxed a little. Urbosa still none the wiser. Urbosa was right, however. She shouldn’t be surprised by this development.

“No more…I think Vah Naboris will be indispensable in taking them by surprise at their hideout. It would be a long time coming. Link… Impa… Will you join me in this mission?” Urbosa asked.

The two nodded their approval.

Zelda was stunned, feeling left out of the discussion on what should be done. “Then... I will go as well,” Zelda interjected, prompted by the knowledge that Astor might be at that hideout.

“But, you’d be in danger as you’re their primary target. They’ve tried to kill you, little bird, so now I will crush them beneath Vah Naboris’ hoof.”

What could she say to convince her? Zelda put on a brave face. “Look Urbosa, as princess of Hyrule this is my fight.”

Urbosa gave Zelda a warm smile. “I can see you possess unmatched courage and determination. You remind me of a certain Hylian Vai I used to know.”

“My mother?”

Urbosa nodded. “This still does not sit right with me. I wouldn't feel right putting you in harm's way. This will be an extremely dangerous mission. Not to mention, you’d be a liability for everyone, especially Link who is charged with guarding you.”

“But, I…” Zelda began, realizing this was not an argument she could win. Urbosa’s words stung, but it was true, she’d already wandered off from the group once before and nearly paid with her life. So there really was nothing more she could say without raising Urbosa’s suspicions. Already she was feeling guilty for suggesting she go.

Urbosa’s expression softened. “Sorry… I know that was a sore subject for you, but my stance on this is firm. Don’t worry, little bird, with the might of Vah Naboris, I will raze the Yiga Hideout and anyone left will meet a swift end by my blade.”

Zelda held back the growing dread in the pit of her stomach. She gripped the slate a little too hard, her knuckles going white.

Goddesses, why couldn’t Purah be more discrete… I know this is the right course of action for Hyrule, but…

Zelda shuddered in defeat. Link and Impa caught the princess’s glance. Link held the same imperceptible expression. Impa was watching Zelda, her brow furrowed. The Sheikah advisor gave an audible exhale and dropped her gaze.

#Astor #Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity #Age of Calamity #hwaoc #Zelast #fanfiction #nice things to come!

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 5 years

Text

The Tiny Terror

Title: The Tiny Terror

Summary: (Continuation of this fic) Roman doesn’t understand why a young Virgil would trust him over Patton. With their rivalry that stems all the way to childhood, surely he’s the last one Virgil wants anything to do with. Yet Virgil trusts him, looks up at him in admiration. With Logan away researching a solution and Patton checking up on Thomas, it’s up to Roman to take care of the now kid Anxiety for the day.

Word-Count: 1.9k

Pairings: brotherly prinixety, background platonic lamp

Warnings: de-aging, crying, fear, self-doubt, guilt, bullying mention

This is a birthday fic for @theeternalspace! Happy Birthday Acantha, it’s a little hard to believe we’ve been friends for over a solid year now. You mentioned a while back you’d enjoy a continuation of this AU and well, I hope I’ve delivered :D

Roman isn’t scared. Brave, fearless princes like him don’t get scared. They get merely troubled or perplexed when faced with uncertain circumstances. Those emotions don’t last long, mind you. He always overcomes them to save the day and today won’t be an exception. He’s sure of it.

Virgil is tiny. Just a little rain drop compared to his normal gloomy thunderstorm self. He can’t be more than four--maybe five--years old. He’s sound asleep in Roman’s arms, the poor dude tuckered out from his crying. His little hands hold on tightly to Roman’s shirt, as if even unconscious he’s afraid of letting go.

“He’s so little.” Roman whispers, gently stroking Virgil’s hair.

He still doesn’t understand it. Even as children, Roman treated Virgil terribly. He made fun of his fears, teasing young Anxiety relentlessly. Worst yet, the rare occasions he included Virgil in games of make-believe, he always pushed Anxiety into playing the villain.

So it wasn’t really a surprise that Virgil took that role on full-time. Not even a few years back, Roman thought it’d been only confirmation of Virgil’s true nature. Nowadays he held onto a guilt knowing he forced Virgil into that role.

So why did the Tiny Terror chose him over Patton? Kind, loving Patton who has never cruelly taunted Virgil or shunned him for simply existing? He isn’t deserving of this trust Virgil has placed in him.

Patton and Logan hover nearby, just as perplexed by the situation as Roman. Patton wrings his hands nervously. He looks like he’s seconds away from scooping his anxious kiddo into his arms and never letting go.

Meanwhile Logan frowns, cupping his chin with one hand. It’s his classic thinking pose. All he needs is a deerstalker hat and a pipe and he’d a spitting image of Sherlock Holmes. Roman pictures a tiny Virgil trailing after Logical Side in too-large clothing as Watson and well...as Logan himself would put it, the image is too precious to process.

“It’s hard to believe we were once as little as him, isn’t it?” Patton breaths in, “he’s so cute I wanna pinch his little cheeks.”

“While he is undeniably, factually adorable, I think we should remain focused on finding out what caused this...change in him.”

“Have any hypotheses, Logan-rithm?” Roman asks.

“A few. However I’d like to do some research just to be certain,” Logan pauses, “It might be also wise for one of us to check up on Thomas and to see if this change is affecting him in any way.”

Roman and Patton glance at one another.

“I can go--” Roman begins, but Patton waves him off.

“No, it’s okay! I can do it! Besides,” He smiles knowingly, “you have your hands full already.”

“Indeed,” Logan adjusts his glasses, “since Virgil seems to inexplicably trust you he might wake up distressed if you are not with him.”

“Then on my word as a knight, I shall keep him safe while you two are off on your own quests.” Roman vows, forsaking his usual bow since he was holding Virgil.

“Yes, well, I shall go to my room now to research.” Logan says, sinking out.

“I’m sure you’ll do a terrific job, kiddo!” Patton says as he sinks out, leaving both Roman and Virgil alone in the hallway of the Mindscape.

“Well,” Roman says, looking down at Virgil, “it’s just us, little prince.”

Virgil grumbles in his sleep, shifting slightly. His young face is devoid of the dark eyeshadow Roman is so used to seeing on him. When had he started wearing the eyeshadow? Had it been high school? Roman couldn’t recall.

He walks to the mindscape common area, careful not to jostle Virgil along the way. He could’ve teleport himself and Kid Fright over there but he was worried that rising up would have a negative effect on Virgil like it did for his adult self. Once there, he gently lays Virgil down on the couch. Or at least, he attempts to do so.

“Nooo,” Virgil whimpered, his shrill voice spooking Roman. He nestles his head further into the nook between Roman’s neck and shoulder. He clings to Roman, his grip tighter than any two-headed python that Roman has ever fought.

“You said you wouldn’t let go.” Virgil drowsily mumbles, muffled by Roman’s shirt, “don’t leave me!”

Oh, Roman thinks as his heart threatens to break, of course Virgil would have separation anxiety. Little kids often had it. He wonders if growing up, Virgil was left alone and terrified because no one wanted to be with him. He tries shaking that thought away. He has to focus on how he can help Virgil now, in the present.

“I am truly sorry for breaking my promise, little raindrop,” Roman says, “I’ll stay with you and protect you from any evil Dragon Witch, knight’s honor.”

Virgil shifts, his little head popping up to look at him.

“Really?” Virgil asks, his eyes so bright and hopeful at the prospect that it hurts Roman’s heart even more.

“Really.” Roman says, booping Virgil’s nose. The kid actually giggles from it. Roman isn’t sure if he’s ever heard Virgil properly laugh before in his life. Usually it’s a dry, sarcastic chuckle or faint muffled laughter from Virgil covering his mouth. When Virgil gets back to normal, Roman decides to make it his mission to get an actual laugh out of the anxious side.

“Hey, wanna help me make a blanket fort?” He asks.

Virgil starts to nod his head before hesitating, “I--I don’t know how!”

“That’s okay, I can show you how if you’d like.”

A small smile slips onto his face, “Okay.”

“Alright,” Roman says, “Let’s get down to business!”

With a single hand, he conjures up the most fluffiest, softest pillows, blankets and stuffed animals imaginable. He looks at Virgil, who has his eyes on the purple bat plushie. He grins, pleased to know he’d been right to summon that one. He moves toward it, propping Virgil on one hip in order to grab it.

“Here you go.” He says, presenting the bat plushy with the reverence it deserves.

“I can have it?” Virgil asks, squinting his eyes at Roman, “N-no tricks?”

Roman wants to throttle whoever dared to hurt young Virgil, himself included, right then and there. No child should be so hesitant about receiving a toy because they’re afraid someone is going to snatch it away last second. However, he doesn’t want to frighten Virgil anymore than he probably is. Instead he takes a deep breath and smiles.

“No tricks, little prince. Her name is Zola and she likes it when you hug her, it helps her feel less scared. You think you can take care of her for me?”

“Y-yeah.” Virgil tentatively nods, and Roman places the bat plushie into his arms.

“Good. Now let’s make the most supercalifragilisticexpialidocious blanket fort!”

“Supercali--super--” Virgil frowns, “what’s that?”

“Why it’s something to say when you have nothing to say!”

“That’s silly.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It is too!”

The two settle into a lighthearted, childish banter as they set up the blanket fort. It’s a bit difficult, since Virgil continues to koala-cuddle him but Roman makes it work. With the finishing touch of fairy-lights, Roman thinks it’s quite grand. It’s been a while since he’s made a blanket fort. It’s mostly a thing both him and Patton indulge in. Logan sees them as impractical and Virgil, well. For whatever reason, Virgil has never been open to them.

“What now?” The little Imp of Fright asks, still staring at Roman like he holds the entire world in the palm of his hand. Had Virgil always look up at him with such love and admiration when they were kids? How was his younger self so blind to it? How could he take one look at Virgil and decide he was a villain that needed to be slain?

“Creativity?” Virgil tugs at his sleeve, clutching Zola to his chest with his other hand, “You okay?”

Roman jolts out of his thoughts, “Oh, yes, I’m fine!”

“No you’re not, you’re crying!”

“Oh,” He touches his wet cheeks, “I suppose I am.”

“Is-is it me?” Virgil hiccups, “Did I do something bad? I’m sorry--please don’t get upset--”

“Anx, take a deep breath,” Roman cuts in, trying to keep the kid from working himself up too much, “You’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you were crying. That’s bad!” Virgil exclaims, on the edge of sobbing himself.

Oh dear Hera, Roman thinks. He’s not cut out for this. Patton would know how to calm Virgil down, how to explain things away in a positive, uplifting note. Logan would even be better than him. He could stay calm and rational, diverting Virgil’s attention to some fascinating fact. However they aren’t here and so he must try to do his best without them.

“Not all tears are bad,” Roman says, “sometimes...people get so happy they cry tears of joy. I just got so happy, because we were able to make the best blanket fort I’ve ever seen in my life! And you, little prince, helped. Why, I think it’s even more marvelous than King Arthur’s castle. Surely, you’ve heard of King Arthur?”

“N-no,” Virgil sniffles.

“Well that won’t do,” Roman declares, “I guess I will have to rectify that by telling you the story of how he became King.”

Somewhere in the midst of his superfluous retelling of Arthurian legends, the two end up in the cozy confines of the blanket fort. Virgil sits on his lap, holding Zola as Roman waves his hands around as he speaks. Slowly, Virgil gets more captivated, asking questions of his own.

“Wasn’t King Arthur scared?” Virgil asks at one point.

“Oh of course not. The Knights of the Round Table were there with him. He knew with his friends by his side, they’d be able to defeat the dragon together.”

“What do they do?”

“What do they do? Well, of course, dragons are crafty beings, so they had to hatch up a plan that would fool even the smartest of dragons…”

He’s enjoying this a little too much, to be honest. It has been a long, long while since he’s tapped into his core function in such a way. When he was younger, he used to make up stories on the spot all the time. He never cared which direction it went, so long as it ended happily. Nowadays, he doesn’t have time to waste on such needless whimsy. All of his ideas must be dedicated towards Thomas’ career in some way. They must be big and important. They must be perfect or else they don’t matter at all.

Halfway through, his little prince lets out a yawn with Roman following suit.

“I guess we’re both getting sleepy, huh?” Roman muses. He had stayed up until the devil’s hour to finish a new video idea, so it’s no wonder he’s yawning as well.

“I’m not!” Virgil protests, even as another yawn escapes him, “I wanna know what happens next to Sir Gawain!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll keep going.” Roman says and he holds to that promise. He keeps on going until he asks the Child of the Corn a question and he doesn’t answer. He glances down to see Virgil curled up against him once more, fast asleep. Carefully, he maneuvers himself and Virgil until they are both lying down on the pile of blankets and couch cushions.

“Sleep well, Virgil,” He whispers, pulling a soft, fuzzy blanket over the kid.

Roman can’t change the past. Virgil will return to his cankerous, worrywart adult self soon, he’s sure of it. For now, Roman will be the prince that the kid Virgil used to be deserved.

< A Little Prince | The Tiny Terror | An Itsy Bitsy Nightmare >

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #brotherly prinixety #platonic lamp #kat writes #I will probably continue this #somedaaaay #in the nearby future

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flightfoot · 3 years

Text

The Role of an Alpha

AO3 @adrichatnovember2020

Adrien hid in his room, breathing deeply.

Earlier that day he’d presented as an Alpha.

His father, of course, was thrilled.

“So you are an Alpha.”

That was the first thing he’d said to Adrien as he walked through the door, having been sent home early by the school nurse.

Adrien took in his father’s scent.

Strong.

Musky.

Very clearly Alpha.

Not that he needed to smell him to know that. Gabriel exuded Alphaness in everything he did, from the way he brushed over other’s concerns to the way he asserted his will, expected everyone to submit to his needs and wishes.

“Alphas are in charge, as nature intends,” he’d told Adrien before, tightly gripping his shoulder. “Omegas simply exist to follow orders, betas little better.”

Looking into Adrien’s eyes, he’d asked him softly, “You’re going to be an Alpha, aren’t you?”

Adrien had wanted to respond. To tell him that he had no idea, it wasn’t exactly something he was in control of. And deeper down, that if THIS was what it meant to be an Alpha - if being an Alpha just meant stepping over everyone else - then he’d rather be anything else.

Ultimately, he’d said nothing.

But now that he’d presented?

The part of him that’d balked then, that’d wanted to protest, to chew him out, was too strong to ignore.

“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Adrien snapped bitterly. “That I’m on top. That I’m above everyone else. That I don’t somehow reflect badly on you.”

His father’s eyes widened. “Mind your tongue!” he snarled, a small growl emerging. “I am still your father. You may be an Alpha, but you’re still just a pup. And I am YOUR Alpha.”

“Is that all being an Alpha means to you? Yelling at everyone else, punishing them if they step out of line - out of YOUR line?!”

Gabriel’s eyes hardened. He stepped down the stairs, each footfall a prognostication of doom.

He grabbed Adrien’s wrist. “I do not think you will need these anymore,” he’d told Adrien, throwing away the suppression pills the nurse had given him to help him ride through his first rut. “You will get through it like an Alpha should, not debasing yourself with suppressants,” he said in disgust.

And that was how Adrien had ended up here, desperately trying to ignore his body’s anguished cries.

He grit his teeth. Most of the Alphas in class had Omega friends to calm their hormones, to keep them comfortable, and vice versa. Chloe had Sabrina for instance, while Alya had Marinette.

He hadn’t been around for Alya’s presentation, sadly. But Marinette had recounted it with great gusto during one of the few opportunities they had to hang out.

Chloe’d been tearing into Marinette on the first day of the new school year, trying to get her to move seats. She’d just presented as an Alpha a couple months ago and had been thoroughly enjoying the added intimidation boost it provided her.

She hadn’t expected some random new girl to stand up to her.

Nor for that girl to suddenly start leaking a musky scent.

Since then Alya’d taken a lead in protecting the class - though protecting HERSELF? Not so much.

Not that she was the only one. Marinette had been inspired by Alya’s display, had gotten some confidence herself, to the point she ran for - and won! - the class rep position, with Alya as. her deputy.

Her subsequent reveal as an omega had come as a shock. Everyone had assumed she’d be an Alpha, or a Beta at least.

But Omega?

She’d seemed nervous, scared even, when she first presented.

Afraid that her friends would treat her differently.

But well… she was still Marinette. Her being an Omega didn’t change that.

She was still their friend, still their class rep.

Omegas had grown more common in leadership positions - something Paris became acutely aware of when Ladybug herself presented.

It had been assumed by most of Paris’s population that the suits masked the two heroes’ scent glands. That Ladybug was almost certainly an Alpha, POSSIBLY a Beta, and that Chat Noir was probably an Omega, possibly a Beta.

Until Ladybug had arrived at a fight, feverish and smelling sweet.

They’d still defeated the akuma, but Chat Noir had had to do more heavy lifting than normal - there was a reason Omegas were often given reduced workloads during their heats, especially anything requiring physical exertion.

Whispers emerged throughout Paris. ‘Can Ladybug really protect us if she’s vulnerable to an Omega’s heats?’ ‘An Omega, even one with superpowers, shouldn’t expect others to follow their orders. It isn’t the way of things.’ and worst of all ‘Ladybug should give her Miraculous to an Alpha. They’ll make better use of it than she ever has.’

People began looking to Chat Noir more, addressing him as the leader instead of Ladybug, who they’d deferred to before. Something that clearly made both Ladybug and Chat Noir uncomfortable, with Ladybug looking downcast and Chat Noir being more snappish with the press.

Until finally they’d given a news conference, Ladybug and Chat Noir taking the stage, addressing the preconceptions and discrimination Ladybug had been put through by the city because of her being an Omega.

Not that she was the only one.

Many other prominent Omegas emerged to tell their story. Even some less prominent, more ordinary citizens, pushing back against the idea that being an Omega made someone somehow less worthy of respect, less worth listening to.

The Ladyblog featured all of this in great detail of course, with follow-up interviews with everyone who’d spoken. As Alya and Marinette excitedly told the class afterwards, they’d helped arrange it, researching activists in their area as well as asking for people to message the Ladyblog with their thoughts and experiences being an Omega.

A lot of the grumbling had died down after that - at least where the rest of Paris could hear it.

Adrien grimaced. Unfortunately, Father had been one of the ones who HADN’T been cowed.

Not that he’d expected him to be, with his… traditional attitude towards Alpha’s, Beta’s, and Omega’s roles in society.

Fumbling around, Adrien reached out from underneath the covers, grabbing the remote that opened up his window. Much too high to climb out of unfortunately (he’d tried), but at least it let in the cool air from outside. Right now, that sounded good.

Ahhh.

He was right, this did feel good. And something about the air smelled exceptional today...

As if in a trance, he left his blanket fort, coming closer to the window.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath.

It smelled so NICE, so sweet, almost like-

His eyes blew open.

Just in time to get a face-full of superhero.

“OOPH!”

Adrien blinked.

Green, slitted cat eyes blinked back.

And drooped as Chat Noir turned into a pile of mush in his arms, purring up a storm as he cuddled close.

Careful not to disturb him, Adrien leaned in near his neck, getting a good whiff of his scent glands.

Omega.

Very, very clearly Omega.

He examined Chat Noir more closely; his flushed cheeks, his twitching tail, his glazed eyes.

“Chat Noir?” he asked carefully. “Are you alright?”

He kicked himself. Of COURSE he wasn’t alright, he was in the midst of his first heat - a pretty intense one too, from the looks of things.

“Mmmmphhhhhrrrrrrrr?” Chat Noir asked.

Well. ‘Asked’ may have been overselling it a bit. ‘Mewled with a questioning tone’ more like.

“Do you know where you are?” He clarified.

Chat Noir just purred and nuzzled his neck, getting a good whiff of his own scent glands.

WOW he was out of it.

“I’m gonna move you, alright?” he told Chat Noir softly, picking him up as gently as he could.

He’d seen how Alya’d helped Marinette through her own heats, though none of them had been as bad as this.

First, a nest.

At least that was easy - good thing, since he had zero notice to prepare one.

Lowering Chat Noir into the mess of blankets he’d just vacated (Chat giving a confused-sounding “mew?” as he did so), he got up to find what else he needed.

A couple minutes later he was back at Chat Noir’s side, coaxing him to drink sips of some nice, cold water, as well as bringing him the few stuffed animals he’d managed to save from his father’s purges.

As Chat Noir sipped the water (Adrien holding onto the cup; right now Chat didn’t seem confident in his ability to hold it steady), the red gradually started fading a little.

Adrien put his hand on Chat Noir’s forehead. He definitely felt cooler than he had when he first landed on him.

“Chat Noir?” he tried again, making sure to keep his voice low and soft. “Do you know where you are?”

Chat Noir blinked up at him, still looking a little hazy, but like he was at least attempting to focus. “You’re… that model boy… right?” he asked hesitantly. His voice sounded a little slurred, but at least he was speaking words.

Inwardly Adrien winced. Of course that’d be what he was known for; how ELSE would Chat Noir have heard of him? It’s not like he knew either of the Parisian heroes very well. They’d run across each other during akuma attacks of course, especially with how often their class ended up targeted in one way or another, but they didn’t exactly have time to chat.

Outwardly he made sure to not change his expression. “Yeah, that’s me. You crashed into my house a few minutes ago.”

Chat Noir vaguely looked around. Adrien suspected he’d just become aware of his surroundings.

A tinge of panic colored Chat’s expression. “I- I’m sorry,” he burst out, shrinking in on himself. “I- I didn’t mean to- if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

Adrien shook his head, kneeling down so his head was level with Chat’s. “If you want to leave, then you can. I don’t want you to stay any longer than you’re comfortable with.”

Chat’s eyes widened, then relaxed a bit, looking downcast. He began shuffling around with the blankets, attempting to stand.

Omega unhappy needs reassurance needs support

Adrien sucked in a breath. That surge of protectiveness, of the need to defend, to make sure Chat Noir was okay - he’d never felt anything quite like it before.

This… this was what being an Alpha meant to him. Not trampling over others, exerting will and dominance over them.

But being there for them if they needed it, helping to make sure every member of the pack knew how much they were wanted, needed, cared for. To lift them up, not tear them down.

Sometimes that might mean giving them space.

Sometimes that might mean staying put, letting them know you’ll be by their side.

“But just because I’m okay with you leaving, doesn’t mean I want you to,” he told Chat Noir, trying to possess every ounce of sincerity he could muster, to reach out and let him know on a fundamental level how much he cared for him. “I don’t want to keep you here or coerce you to stay. I don’t want to force you into anything, or feel like you need to do anything to please me or because you feel like you need to pay me back for something. I just want you to do what you feel most comfortable, what you feel safest doing.

Chat Noir, what do you want?”

Chat Noir looked momentarily stunned.

He swallowed thickly. “I- I want to stay here for a little bit. If that’s okay with you!” he added hastily. “I don’t think I can get back home right now and… and I don’t really want to.” His ears turned backwards, flattening against his head.

“Are you okay with me touching you?” Adrien asked.

Chat Noir nodded.

Adrien sat down on the bed. Chat Noir leaned into him, Adrien stroking his head, like his mom used to do with him when he was little.

His mom couldn’t scratch him behind his cat ears though, on account of not having them.

...most of the time.

(He’d always had a thing about cats.)

They stayed there for the next several hours, Adrien checking up on Chat Noir regularly, making sure he was okay with the close proximity, asking whether he’d like food or drink, just… taking care of him, while making it as clear as he possibly could that Chat could ask for things, that Adrien WANTED him to ask for things, and that he wouldn’t force his will on Chat Noir.

At last, the heat dissipated to the point that Chat Noir could get up. Could walk around.

Chat Noir looked out the window longingly, then back at Adrien.

Adrien smiled at him. “It’s time for you to go, I’m guessing?”

Chat Noir hesitated, then gave a short, sharp nod.

“Then go.”

Chat turned around to leave, but hesitated, looking back at him, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“If you ever need to come by again, for cuddles or support or just… just because you want to? Please, please come,” Adrien told Chat. “Just check to make sure my father isn’t around first, alright?”

Chat Noir laughed, pole-vaulting into the night.

#adrichat #ml fanfic #adrien agreste #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega verse

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marvelhero-fics · 4 years

Text

Silent Britain

Series - Chapter One

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You and Tom are working as love interests in a new Scorsese film, essentially leading to be love interests in real life

A/N: This is technically chapter one! Thanks for all the support on the prologue I'm glad heaps of you enjoyed it! I also wasn’t really planning on doing a taglist for this fic but a lot of people requested to be on it so I ended up making one (it’s below the cut at the bottom). If you’d like to be on it just send me a message or leave a comment on pretty much any Silent Britain post. Thanks for the support again!!!!!!

This chapters a bit of a slow-burn but next chapter get much more interesting. Please go read the prologue first, this chapter will make much more sense if you do. It’s linked down below in the masterlist.

The italics in this story are the readers thoughts!

Word Count: 3,800

Silent Britain Masterlist || Full Masterlist

And there goes the explosion. “I need to pull over. I’m about to have a stroke.”

The next two weeks truly flew by. You were partly happy, because you couldn’t wait to fly out to California and meet everyone, but it did also heighten your nerves. You did as much research as you could about Britain in the 70’s, even taking time to go see your grandparents who were conveniently alive at the time. But, by their description of the decade you could tell they must’ve been on some crazy drug back then, I guess that’s a pretty big tell of what the 70’s were like anyway.

“I promise you’re gonna do such an amazing job, I’m always just a phone call or text away if you need me, (Y/N/N).” Evie sung, pulling you into the tightest embrace.

“I know, Eve. I’m gonna miss you so much.” You pouted. To make life a little easier for yourself, you’d decided to fly out to California and stay there until production started, which was set to be in about a month. That way you didn’t have to fly there, then home, then there again, considering it was a twelve hour flight, and God, you hated flying.

“You are going to be incredible, my darling girl.” Your mum stated, giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She knew she wouldn’t be able to see you for a while so she’d come over to send you off.

“Thanks mum. I love you heaps and I’ll call you when I get there.” You were incredibly close with your mum. She had always been such a huge support system for you and your career, you always credited any success you had to her.

And with that, you were in the car being driven to the airport.

The twelve hour flight had taken your physical and mental battery down to about 0. Even up in First Class all you did was read your script over and over, and panic. As well as getting some time to watch The Departed, one of Scorsese’s incredibly well done films. Unfortunately, instead of enjoying it, you essentially studied it. Fortunately, you got to use your ‘Taxi Driver’ notebook. Is this slightly obsessive? You studied how DiCaprio and Nicholson delivered their lines, and how often the sets changed, and all the camera angles. God, you’re purposely trying to freak yourself out now.

Touching down in California was nice. The first thing you really noticed was the heat. It was July, so it was the middle of summer, and in California it got hot. Of course, you weren’t complaining, this meant nice air conditioning on set, as well as good weather to work with in production. Yea, that would be the only thing I think about.

An older looking gentleman stood at the arrival gate with a sign that read (Y/L/N) in bulk letters. You quickly went over to greet him. Lazily, you strolled out to the large SUV, trying to get as much time on your feet as possible after the long flight. You’d seen photos, and heard horror stories of actors being mobbed at airports, with fans even waiting at the arrival gates all day to catch a glimpse of their favourite celebrity. That never happened to you, but you tried to be much more thankful than jealous. Large crowds weren’t really your forte.

“How was your flight, Miss (Y/L/N)?” Your driver politely asked, turning on the engine of the car.

“It wasn’t too bad. It just felt super long,” you chuckled, sluggishly.

“Well, at least you’re back on solid ground now.” He smiled through the rear-vision mirror.

“Yea, very happy to be. Out of curiosity, are you picking up any other members of the cast?” You peered up, knowing this man likely worked for the studio.

“Indeed, I am. I picked up Jude Law yesterday morning, and Daniel Craig and Rachel Weisz last night.” He responded,

“Huh, and what’re they like?”

“Well, Mr Law was very friendly, we ended up chatting most of the way to the hotel. And Mr Craig and Mrs Weisz seemed lovely, but I didn’t talk with them very much. They were a little more closed off.” He continued, you simply nodding to his words, “And I believe I’m picking up a Mr Holland much later tonight.”

“Oh, right. Busy day for you then.”

“Well, it’s just the usual.” And with that, you stopped talking. Your mind wandered off the small talk. God almighty, it’s gonna be a fucking long night tonight. You thought, simply just processing all the things you knew you had to organise before tomorrow. The ride to the hotel didn’t seem like a very long one, or maybe it was? Maybe you’d zoned out to an entire different reality and didn’t notice time passing, either way you made it to the Four Seasons and checked in with no trouble at all.

It was pretty much exactly what you’d expect from the Four Seasons. A small, spacious living area, with a large, grey L-shaped couch, and a big-screen TV. A small kitchen to the left, that you’re sure wouldn’t be able to make more than a bowl of pasta. A bedroom off in a separate room, with a bed that was far too big for one person. And an Asylum-white bathroom with a bathtub that was going to make your stay here much better. Looks like this is home for the next month. Being apart of the Hollywood scene, you got kind of used to hotel rooms becoming a second home. The amount of time you spent essentially having to tour around California for filming, staying in different hotels with similar-looking hotel rooms just became second nature.

First point of action; now that you’d touched down and gotten comfortable, was to call your mother. She’d slowly figured out how to worry less about you, now that you were older and had figured your life out a bit more, but she was still always going to be a mother.

The phone only rang twice before she picked up. “Hey, mum.” You greeted,

“Hi, love! I’m glad you’re safe and well, how was your flight?”

“Long. But the hotel’s really nice.” You responded, letting your body fall back onto the king-sized bed.

“Did you watch any movies?”

“Yea, I watched The Departed.”

“Oh, that’s a bit of a grim film, love.” Your mum stated, being as motherly as ever.

You chuckled a bit, “wait until you see the film I’m about to be in.”

“Did you get any sleep on the plane? And how was the food?”

“Yea, the food was really nice, it was like a salmon and couscous thing. And no, I didn’t really get any sleep, but I didn’t really try too, I kinda had a lot of other things to do.” You spoke.

“Well, you need to make sure you get some sleep tonight. And you let me know if you need anything at all!” Your mother conveyed

“Thanks, mum. And I promise everything is going fine, I’m fine. And I’ll let you know how the cast meet up and rehearsals go.” You returned. And with her best wishes, your mother hung up. That left you lying there, your body slightly sunken into the soft mattress of the Four Seasons bed. Almost every celebrity you’d met had told you to not search your own name on the internet. They always told you you’d find some very unfavourable things, but if you didn’t go looking for it you wouldn’t find it. So with that excellent mentality, you searched your name.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N). It took only seconds to type and click enter. The first article talked about the upcoming film. I guess the news already broke. It was probably leaked purposely for publicity, you didn’t care either way.

Upcoming Scorsese Film to have Star-Filled Line Up, Signing Hopkins, Hardy, Bale, and (Y/L/N). Being called a star was quite nice. It always shocked you just a little bit, knowing that people knew your name. Knowing that you’d actually become news. This is what you’d wanted for a long time though, to be a movie-star. You read further into the article.

‘Scorsese’s latest film to centre around 1970’s British Mob family, the Bakers. No news on the initial release date, however official members of the cast include Tom Hardy, Anthony Hopkins, Christian Bale, and (Y/N) (Y/L/N).’ The article showed photos of the four of you, including a photo of Scorsese. At least they picked a nice picture.

‘If this mobster film is anything like we’ve seen in the past from Scorsese, we can expect a stunning and vivid look at the ugliness and volatile nature of true Gangster films. Potentially even a few Academy Awards if Scorsese continues his war-path of masterly crafted cinema.’ You even chuckled at that last line, the Academy Awards. You’d attended the Emmys last year and that was the highlight of your life. If you were at the Oscars you’d probably spontaneously combust. You flicked your phone off and threw it to the other side of the bed, lying patiently in the quickly setting Californian sun. Am I supposed to feel this overwhelmed? You simply sat with your thoughts for a few moments, knowing that nothing was going to be the same after this film. Martin Scorsese essentially started Robert De Niro’s career in Taxi Driver, same with Jodie Foster. Not to mention Al Pacino’s career starting in a 70’s gangster film too. Each of these actors now being multi-award winning, millionaires. I don’t think I could function being that famous.

Once you’d finished basking in the glory and horror of it all, you sorted out your clothes from all of your luggage, and headed to bed. It was probably still too early to be in bed, but you’d had no sleep on the flight and just wanted to rest, especially for the chaos of tomorrow.

That all-too-familiar noise of your phone alarm ripped you back into consciousness. Surprisingly, you’d slept like the dead last night. You thought the panic and nerves would’ve kept you up, or disrupted your sleep, but thankfully it was actually very peaceful. Wonder how long that’s gonna last. Everything you did during the morning was mechanical. Having a shower, getting dressed, doing your hair and make-up. It was all just simply going through the motions while your mind ticked away. You tried to remember every part of the script, while also going over today’s encounters. Am I supposed to act like a fan of these actors? Or do I act super cool? Like I don’t care?

Your gaze rested upon your figure in the mirror. Wearing a casual pair of jeans, a regular t-shirt, with your favourite Nikes. Along with bits and pieces of jewellery that fitted. Do I look too plain? Like one of the million assistants on set? Was everyone else going to be dressed up? What sort of cast meet up is this? It was 9:00 am, so regardless of your racing thoughts, you didn’t have any time to change. You grabbed your hand-bag, script, and note-book and went downstairs to get into the car the studio had sent, and with that you were on the long drive to set. Neither you or the driver talked to each other, you partly blamed yourself for not initiating conversation. Your mum would’ve been upset with you. ‘No matter how famous you get, my darling, you’re not allowed to look down on others. You can never think of yourself as better than others. You’ll always be a regular person, who makes mistakes, and does great things. Always, always be kind.’ She’d always lecture you. God, you’d kill to have your family here with you.

The SUV pulled up to the lot, getting access to the private area where the meet-up was happening. You made sure to thank the driver before you met up with a shorter, plumper lady, who obviously seemed like she was expecting you by her greeting.

“Welcome to the studio, (Y/N). My name’s Angela, I’m the production manager for Silent Britain.” She spoke, the Californian accent very prominent in her voice.

“Nice to meet you.” You responded,

“It’s nice to meet you too, if you could just follow me, I'll take you to the room where everyone’s meeting.” She said with a smile.

“Sounds good.” Angela walked you to the huge garage-type room. Well, it wasn’t actually a room, it was just an empty stage on the lot. The 12 ft tall garage-like door was open to let natural light illuminate it. It was full of people, most of whom you’d never seen in your life. Everyone from the special effects men, to the boom mic operators, to the assistant director were packed in. Luckily it was a huge area. Angela told you to follow her further, taking you to a separated room down the other end of the stage. This was the room full of actors. God, we’re pretentious. Needing a whole other room to ourselves. Not only did it have the main actors, it had quite a few background actors. Which, admittedly, you were slightly thankful for. If it was just the main actors you’d be the least famous person in the room, and that’s never the best feeling.

Angela let you know that the meeting would be happening very soon. By meeting, she essentially meant the presentation about the film, and how production was going to work and such. And with that flow of information, she left. Leaving you to fend for yourself in a room full of actors.

Who the fuck am I supposed to talk too? Why does everyone seem to know someone already? “Hiya!” A loud, high pitched noise rang behind you. You turned on your heel to see a slightly shorter girl with long, wavy brunette hair.

“Hi?” You returned, not sure if she was mistaking you for someone she knew.

“I’m Allison.” She introduced, extending her hand out.

“Oh, right. I’m (Y/N).” You smiled back, shaking her hand.

“Yea, I’ve actually seen you in quite a few films before. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Wow, I’m really not used to actually being recognised.” You somewhat laughed, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders.

“You’re playing the lead role in this film though, aren’t you?” She queried.

“Yea, Elizabeth Baker. I’m still not entirely sure how I landed that. Do you mind if I ask who you’re playing?” You responded.

“Of course! I’m playing Donna, which is one of Lizzie’s school friends.” She explained. It was only a very minor role, with maybe one line of dialogue. But she seemed happy enough to be here.

“Oh, well, thanks for introducing yourself. Now I’ll finally know someone on set.” You joked.

“Do you not know the other actors already?”

“Honestly, no. I haven’t really had the chance to meet anyone yet.”

“You should go over and introduce yourself. You’re the lead role! And maybe you could introduce me to some of them.” She laughed, trying to slightly play off the words she just said. Ah, lovely. Someone trying to use me to their advantage.

“Hm.” You simply smiled. “I think I’ll just grab a coffee first, then maybe I’ll socialise.” You added, taking almost no time to venture away from her.

You moved towards the small tables set up with coffee, tea, water and small snacks. You couldn’t help but notice the divide in the room. There was the big-time actors to one side of the room, and the lesser-known, mainly extras to the other side. You also couldn’t help but notice that you stood on the extras side of the room. In the moment you didn’t particularly care. You spent time fiddling away with the sugar packets, not even making a coffee as you thought about your next move. You needed to go introduce yourself, to at least one person you were going to be acting beside. But who were you supposed to choose? I bet Daniel Craig wasn’t this nervous introducing himself. Fuck, I wouldn’t be if I was James Bond.

Without thinking past James Bond, you walked over to the ‘A-list’ actor area. Fuck it, I’m the greatest. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet me. You repeated, entirely trying to sike yourself up. Daniel Craig, Michael Fassbender, Christian Bale, and Rachel Weisz stood in a small group, chatting amongst themselves. Oh, this is definitely the most threatening group. You thought, diving straight in.

“Hi there,” You interrupted, “I just wanted to introduce myself, I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You spoke, confidently. Good thing I’m such a good actor.

“Nice to meet you,” Michael responded, his Irish accent thick as he spoke. Daniel, Rachel, and Christian all introduced themselves after, breaking into a conversation about Martin Scorsese.

“I actually haven’t had the chance to meet him. Not properly at least.” You stated, referring back to your audition were you simply spoke in front of him, without him engaging in much conversation.

“He’s great. He’s incredibly intelligent at what he does, but he is really fast paced. He seems to constantly be thinking about the next thing to do.” Daniel began speaking, “But try not to be nervous, he’s pretty good at sensing nerves.” He smirked. Awesome.

“As if the cast wasn’t intimidating enough.” You joked, earning a chuckle from the group. The five of you continued to discuss past acting experiences, and working together on other films and such, with yourself not having much to bring to the conversation. Simply being happy enough to stand with these four god-like actors.

Angela seemingly appeared out of nowhere in front of the crowd of actors, earning a hush amongst the group. She began by thanking everyone for being here, and introducing herself once again as the production manager. She explained the outline of what was going to happen, and when production was due to start, most information of which you’d received in emails earlier. All and all, it was a very quick meeting. I guess it was more about getting to meet everyone. Angela finished her statement and the crowd sparked conversation again, most of the background actors dispersing off. As you were about to say your goodbyes, a smaller, younger gentleman walked up to where you and your newly formed actor friends stood. He handed each of you a small envelope.

“These are from Martin, inviting you to dinner with him tonight. All the information is on the letters. Please RSVP as soon as possible.” He stated, scuttling off to the next group.

“The theatrics,” Christain stated, waving the envelope, “that’s very Scorsese.” He finished.

“Who was that kid?” You asked Michael,

“Would’ve been Martins PA, probably.” He replied, opening his letter. You shrugged and opened yours. The beautiful calligraphy hit you first, each letter individually addressed to each actor. By the looks of it, the main cast of about 12 of you were invited, along with the higher up crew members. It was being held at his property in Hollywood. Well, this should be fun.

“I guess we’ll see you all there.” Daniel stated, earning a cheer of goodbyes from the rest of you as him and Rachel walked off.

“I better head off too,” You smiled, leaving Michael and Christain behind you as you strolled towards the door, continuing to read over your letter. The handwritten note occupied so much of your thought, that you’d forgotten to look where you were walking. All of a sudden, you were stumbling straight into someone's torso. The first sense to hit you was the scent, the only way you could think to describe it was the smell of the wealthy. It was an incredible cologne that you could only imagine A-listers would wear.

“Sorry, love.” His voice sung, the thick British accent very apparent. His larger hands came up to grab your shoulders, steadying your body. His grip was firm against you arms. You could feel the heat of his hands through the thin material of your shirt. You couldn’t help but notice the veins slightly bulging from his tanned forearms. You face moved up so your gaze aligned with his. Brunette curls, light brown eyes, glowing smile, a jawline that looked like it was carved from stone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was walking.” You awkwardly laughed as Toms taller frame stood right in front of you. Do not freak out.

“Don’t worry about it.” He responded, “I was meaning to come meet you earlier, but I got a little caught up. I’m Tom, by the way.” He added, his grin not leaving his face. Yea, I fucking know.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N).” You replied, politely.

“Yea, I’m actually a bit of a fan. I’ve seen some of your work in the past, I’m really glad you got this role.” He added.

“Oh, wow. I thought we we’re going to play it cool, but I’m a huge fan of yours too. I love all the Marvel stuff.” You broke out of your ‘big-time actor’ persona. He chuckled at your comment.

“I see you got an invite, too.” He pointed down at your letter, holding his in his hand too.

“Oh yea. Have you ever done this sort of thing before? Like this whole dinner with the cast thing?”

“Yea, a few times actually. Robert Downey Jr loved doing this stuff for the Marvel cast.” He returned, “with the directors, and the crew and everyone.”

“Right, well I’ve never done all this before. It’s pretty crazy.”

“Yea, I know. The cast of this movie is fucking insane. I’ve never seen so many stars in one room, honestly.” Tom acknowledged. “You seem like you’re holding it all together pretty well.”

“No, I’m just a really good actor, internally I’m absolutely freaking out.” You stated in a joking manner, earning a laugh from Tom. I mean, it’s true.

“That’s great practice for the film them.” He replied, his eyes looking deeper into yours. You could almost feel your knees turning to jelly.

“I’m so sorry to leave you stranded like this, but I really need to get back to my hotel and sort my shit out for this dinner tonight.” You spoke, truthfully.

“Oh, yea. I should probably go do the same. I guess I’ll see you there.”

“Yes, you will. It was really nice to meet you, Tom.” You expressed, your hand moving to rest against his bicep as you cocked your head with a smile. He returned the good-bye and you waltzed out of the stage. Your heart was pumping in your throat and you had to bite down on your lip to suppress your awfully huge grin. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

Taglist!

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A line through your name means it wouldn't let me tag you!

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jaybear1701 · 4 years

Link

Scylla's so engrossed in the latest issue of the American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology that she doesn’t notice Tally enter her office until she plops herself in a seat on the other side of her desk.

“Good morning!” Tally greets.

“Morning.” Scylla smiles, closing the journal. “You’re up bright and early.”

“Couldn’t sleep. I think we might have a break in the Windpipe murders,” Tally waves a manila folder and Scylla grits her teeth that Raelle’s anatomically incorrect nickname is spreading. Even the news media has picked it up in their coverage, much to Scylla’s chagrin. “Thought maybe Raelle would be down here so I could share the news.”

Scylla's brows knit together. "Why would she be down here?"

“Because you’re practically joined at the hip,” Tally says matter-of-factly, like, duh.

The blaze on Scylla’s cheeks spreads fast and fierce. “T-that’s not,” she stutters. “We’re not joined at the hip.”

“That’s not what Sergeant Quartermaine says.” Tally shrugs. “Or Abigail. Or Dr. L’Amara. Should I go on?”

And because Raelle has the worst timing in the whole world, that’s when she decides to stroll into Scylla’s office, bright and fresh, carrying two cups of coffee. Because of course.

“Morning, Doc,” Raelle sets one cup down in front of Scylla as Tally lifts one, wholly amused eyebrow. “Tally, this is an unexpected surprise.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Tally smirks. Scylla wishes she could just disappear from this conversation.

“Wha?” Raelle looks confused as she sits next to Tally.

“Nothing.” Tally eyes Scylla’s cup of shame before pouting at Raelle. “Hey, why don’t you ever bring me coffee?”

“One, you’re usually not in until later.” Raelle ticks off the points with her fingers. “Two, I know Gerit always makes you a snooty pourover, anyway. And, three, well I can’t think of a three. But you can have mine, if you’d like.”

Raelle offers her coffee to Tally, who shakes her head dramatically. “No, it’s fine if you like Scylla more.” Tally winks at Scylla, while Raelle flushes. “Besides, I’ll only stay long enough to share my news so you both can get back to your little coffee date.”

Raelle and Scylla both avoid making eye contact with each other, but neither corrects Tally’s assumption. Scylla’s pulse flutters as she reaches out for her coffee and takes a small sip. Kona, no cream, one sugar. Just like she likes it.

“So,” Raelle clears her throat. “What do you have?”

Tally scoots to the edge of her seat. "How much do you guys know about the history of Salem?"

“Honestly? Not much.” Scylla shrugs. “Which is sad given that my family apparently came over with the early settlers.”

“Really!” Tally’s brows shoot up. “Let’s put a pin in that for now. How about the Salem Witch Trials?”

"The basics, really. I'm no expert." Scylla’s not sure where Tally’s going with this line of questioning, and neither does Raelle.

“What’s this have to do with the case, Tal?” Raelle asks.

Tally raises a finger. "Patience, my dear Collar. Patience. As you may recall, one of the first victims was Constance Treefine. Another, Benjamin Saint. And yet another was Kendall Swythe."

"All High Atlantics," Raelle taps the lid of her cup. “Bells and I already questioned their families. Nothing but dead ends.”

Tally nods. "Right, but maybe you're talking to the wrong people. Those tattoos on the victims? They're sigils. Of demons." She pulls out a sheet of paper, and hands it to Scylla. Sure enough, it depicts the markings Scylla found on the bodies.

"So you're saying, what?" Raelle asks when she gets the paper, tilting her head and flipping the paper.

"What if the killer is targeting people they think are 'evil' in some way. Like those rumored to be descended from the original Salem Witches. People like the High Atlantics."

It's a common enough tall tale in Salem. One that even Scylla remembers from her time growing up in town, though she always suspected it was a myth perpetuated by High Atlantics themselves to enhance their own prestige.

"But other victims weren't High Atlantics," Scylla points out.

"Also true! But, on a hunch, I ran a search and all of them are members of the Associated Daughters and Sons of Early American Witches. The name speaks for itself.” Tally pulls out yet another paper from her folder. This time it appears to be a roster, which she passes to Raelle.

Raelle squints at the list. "You're saying the killer is, what, some kind of witch...hunter?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but we're clearly not dealing with a sane person right now," Tally says. "This could be the key we need to find a common thread about who they’ve interacted with.”

“Like someone with access to potent chemicals,” Scylla says, impressed.

“Exactly!” Tally beams.

"This is incredible, Tal." Raelle hands the paper back and pulls out her phone. “I can’t wait to tell Bellweather.”

“I thought she was off today because she had a thing for her cousin’s wedding.”

“She does,” Raelle types out a quick text. “But she’ll want to know about this.”

“You know what we should do?” Tally’s eyes are round, excitement rolling off her in waves. “We should go out to celebrate this weekend.”

“Celebrate what?” Raelle asks. “We haven’t caught the asshole yet.”

“Celebrate our hard work,” Tally explains as if she’s talking to a child. “Boost morale. You know, rah-rah interdepartmental unity! What do you say?”

Raelle fidgets in her chair. “I mean, I’m game if Ramshorn’s in.”

They both turn to look at Scylla--Raelle cautiously optimistic, Tally openly hopeful and expectant. Scylla knows she should say no. But Tally's enthusiasm is utterly contagious, and her heart answers for her.

“Sure.”

***

The pizza parlor is packed by the time Scylla arrives, the air teeming with conversation and the mouthwatering aroma of baked dough, tomato sauce, and cheese. Scylla nervously tucks her hands in her skinny jeans, worrying that perhaps she spent too much time on her makeup and hair and would look like she was trying too hard… and then feeling annoyed at herself for worrying in the first place. It’s just dinner with co-workers. No big deal.

She sees Raelle waving in the distance, beckoning her to a booth tucked in a relatively secluded corner of the restaurant.

"Glad you made it, Doc.” Raelle smiles, as attractive in casual jeans and a navy flannel shirt as she is in her work suits. “I wasn't sure you'd show up."

The truth is, Scylla almost backed out. Had even dreamed up a fairly plausible excuse to back out. But it’s been several days since she last saw Raelle and, the truth is, Scylla might have missed her. Just a bit.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Scylla says as she slips out of her black leather jacket and hangs it on a nearby hook. She feels the heat of Raelle’s azure gaze skimming down the length of her outfit, and Scylla’s secretly pleased she chose to wear her favorite blouse, the one that clings to her curves just right.

“The others should be here soon." Raelle averts her eyes and polishes off the last bit of beer in her glass.

Their waitress, a pretty brunette with green eyes, slides up to the table and sets down a basket of breadsticks and a couple of saucers. “Can I get you another, miss? And something for your girlfriend?” She winks at Scylla.

“Oh.” Raelle’s eyes widen. “Um, we’re not…”

“I’d love a Pinot Grigio, if you have one,” Scylla answers smoothly. The way Raelle’s mouth drops open makes the fib worth it.

“Coming right up!” The server whisks away Raelle’s empty glass and goes to get the rest of their order.

“Sometimes it’s just easier to let people assume,” Scylla says off Raelle’s questioning look.

“Fair game.” Raelle bobs her head. “Well, as your presumed girlfriend for the night, can I say how nice you look?”

“Why, thank you,” Scylla says, appreciating how Raelle’s shirt brings out the blue in her eyes. “You don’t look half bad yourself, Detective.”

“Now, none of that.” Raelle wags a finger. “We’re both off-duty. It’s Raelle or else I’m fake breaking up with you.”

“Okay,” Scylla acquiesces. “Raelle.”

The pleased smile that stretches across Raelle’s face makes Scylla’s stomach swoop.

A cell phone buzzes, and Raelle fishes it from her pocket. “Sorry.” The corners of her lips turn downward. “Tally says she can’t make it. Something came up with her boyfriend, Gerit. And…” Her frown deepens. “Looks like Abigail’s stuck picking out bridesmaid dresses with her cousin.” She glances up at Scylla. “I know what this looks like, but I swear I didn’t plan this.”

Scylla chuckles, even as her heart rate speeds up. “I didn’t say anything.”

So it’s just her and Raelle. Alone. Having dinner. As if on cue, the restaurant dims its lights for the dinner crowd, and they both nervously laugh.

“So,” Scylla says, racking her brain for something to say that can distract them from the sudden awkwardness that descends on them.

“So.”

"You guys have been busy lately.” Work is always a safe subject, Scylla thinks as she picks up a bottle of olive oil from the table and pours some on her saucer. She tears a small chunk off one of the breadsticks, dips it into the oil, and eats it. It’s soft, garlicky, and deliciously savory, and Scylla nearly moans.

Raelle tears her eyes from Scylla’s lips and helps herself to the bread, too. "Yeah, we’ve been trying to chase down the leads from Tally’s research. Think we're making headway in the case."

"That's terrific."

“After that robbery, I think Quartermaine will have my ass if we don’t solve the case soon.” Raelle takes a big bite out of a bread stick.

“Probably.” Scylla nods. “Anacostia is nothing if not results-driven. Demanding, but fair.” She takes a deep breath, willing to take a chance with Raelle. “It’s what makes her a great mom.”

Raelle practically chokes, coughing so hard that Scylla wonders if she should start performing the Heimlich maneuver. But the server rushes over to give her a glass of water. “Mom?” She asks after she gulps some water down. “Quartermaine doesn’t have kids.”

Scylla bites her lip. “She was my court-appointed guardian, after my parents died in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Scylla shakes her head. “She kept me out of a lot of trouble back then. Reminded me to hold on to the good in life, and set me down the right path. And when the guardianship ended, she still watched over me, even when she didn’t have to.”

“That’s um…” Raelle frowns, a mixture of shock and a bit of trepidation flashing across her face, cogs cranking at the realization of what she’s done with the woman who’s like a daughter to her superior officer. “That’s… wow.”

The server returns with their drinks, and Raelle chugs down nearly half her beer. Scylla can’t help but laugh.

“I’m glad this is so amusing for you.” Raelle swipes at her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Got any other bombs you’d like to drop on me?”

“Maybe.” Scylla grins mischievously. “The night’s still young.”

***

Maybe it’s the buzz from the wine, or the comfort of good food and even better company, but Scylla can’t say no to Raelle when she suggests they take a walk together. It’s the perfect fall evening, with just the right amount of nip in the air. They take their time wandering until they reach the waterfront, where ambient light from old street lamps and restaurants glint off the dark waves of the harbor.

“So, you’re from Salem?” Raelle asks as they stroll side-by-side, close enough that their shoulders brush on occasion.

“Born and raised,” Scylla confirms. “After my parents passed, I decided to go to Johns Hopkins and never looked back. Apart from Anacostia, there were just too many painful memories here.”

“I get that.” Raelle hooks her thumbs in her pockets. “It’s part of the reason I left Cherokee after my mom died.”

Scylla’s chest aches in sympathy. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all.” Raelle takes a deep breath. “She was in the military. A combat medic. Served two tours only to be taken out because she tried to help a convenience store clerk being robbed at gunpoint. Rotten luck, huh?”

Without thinking, Scylla takes Raelle’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “She was very brave.”

“Yeah.” Raelle smiles sadly.

“You take after her,” Scylla doesn’t let go of Raelle’s hand, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Raelle shrugs. “I try my best.” Her thumb brushes the back of Scylla’s hand, and that light touch is enough to spark a shiver down Scylla’s spine. They turn down one of the older piers. The wooden planks creak beneath their feet. They let each other go when they can’t walk any farther. It’s darker further out on the water, but Raelle’s blonde hair seems to glow in the moonlight.

“Scylla?” Raelle asks.

“Hm?”

“Are we… ever going to talk about it?” Raelle’s voice is quiet, unsure, so unlike her usual cocksure bravado.

Of course, Scylla knows exactly what Raelle’s talking about. It’s been hanging over them for months now, unacknowledged and unsaid. She supposes this conversation is inevitable, no matter how badly she’d rather avoid it.

“I honestly don’t know what to say,” Scylla says. “That night, I was trying to, I don’t know, live a little. In the spur of the moment. It’s not something I’m used to doing.”

“Me neither.” Off Scylla’s incredulous look, Raelle adds, “Look, I know there are lots of rumors about me. But they’re not true.”

“So you don’t have all-nighters?” Scylla tries not to sound jealous.

Raelle laughs softly. “That’s not what you think it means.”

“Then enlighten me.” Scylla crosses her arms.

“Sometimes the other detectives need someone to cover a stake out for them. And I volunteer in exchange for little favors.”

“What kind of favors?”

“Oh,” Raelle half shrugs. “Like, finding out someone’s favorite coffee order, for example.”

That’s the last thing she expects Raelle to say and, embarrassed, Scylla scuffs her shoe against the pier. “I see.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Raelle takes a step closer. “And then you show up at a crime scene, no less. And I thought, maybe it’s fate.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Scylla says, weakly.

“I didn’t either,” Raelle admits. “Until I met you.”

Scylla’s heart throbs against her ribs. “Raelle…”

“Look, I know you don’t date co-workers. And I respect that, but I just want you to know that night wasn’t just some notch in my belt for me. It was special. You’re special. And I…”

Scylla surges forward and captures the rest of Raelle’s words with her lips. A beat passes and Raelle places her hands on Scylla’s hips to pull her closer. The kiss deepens and it’s as dizzying as Scylla remembers, like the ground has fallen out from beneath them and they’re free-floating in zero gravity. She clutches at Raelle’s shoulders, the flannel soft beneath her fingertips. When Raelle’s tongue traces her bottom lip, Scylla gasps from the frisson of electricity that jolts through her. It’s too much. Too intense. And she has to take a step back and out of Raelle’s arms.

“Sorry,” Raelle murmurs, eyes glazed but concerned .

Scylla shakes her head.”No, I’m sorry.” It’s hard to catch her breath, and she already misses Raelle’s warmth. “I think about that night. Of course, I do. And I panicked that morning and left. I didn’t expect to see you again, either, or that you’d be… you.” She licks her still-tingling lips. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m not very good at letting people in. But you? You make me want to try.”

Raelle reaches out and cups Scylla’s face with one hand. “There’s no rush.” Her thumb caresses her cheek, and Scylla leans into her palm, eyes closing. “Take as much time as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

***

Raelle drives Scylla home to her apartment building, and it takes all of Scylla’s willpower to stop herself from pulling Raelle inside right then and there, caution be damned. But Raelle’s a true southern gentlewoman and leans over to give Scylla a goodnight peck on the cheek, making sure she’s safely inside before heading home.

***

Tally calls her the next morning, awfully curious to know how dinner went. Scylla can practically feel Tally’s glee over the line.

“I told you, Tally, it was fine,” Scylla says as she presses the phone to her ear. “Just a quiet dinner between colleagues.”

“That’s it?” Tally’s disappointment is palpable.

“That’s it.” Scylla feels bad about lying, but she wants to keep whatever she has with Raelle to herself, for now. It’s too new. Too uncertain. A sprout that needs cultivation and shelter. Her cell beeps from a text as Tally begins to talk about Gerit.

Scylla's heart stops when she reads it.

Raelle Collar: I can’t stop thinking about you.

Affection fills her chest, fuzzy and warm. She types back: I miss you, too.

***

At work, nothing really changes. On the surface, their normal routine continues and they keep things strictly professional. Raelle drops off a coffee every morning, and Scylla updates the detectives with new autopsy findings when she has them. And, in the rare moments they’re alone, they steal heated kisses that Scylla can feel all the way down to her toes.

Raelle is true to her word, and doesn’t push Scylla for any more than she’s ready to give. They can’t quite say they’re dating, when they have no time to actually go on any. But their pace suits Scylla just fine. Slow and steady.

And their colleagues are none the wiser. Except for Anacostia, who comments at their next lunch, “Something’s different about you. You’re...glowing.”

“I did use a new shampoo recently.” Scylla deflects and flips her hair. “Maybe that’s it?”

Anacostia narrows her eyes. “No, that’s not it.” She spears a piece of kale from her salad. “Collar’s been different lately, too. Calmer. More focused.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

Humming, Anacostia chews thoughtfully. “What indeed.”

***

Eventually, Abigail calls Scylla into a meeting with Tally and Raelle. They sit around a table in a small meeting room that’s been serving as the command hub for the Windpipe Killer case. Photographs of the victims are taped to multiple white boards that line the walls of the room, with various bits of evidence, timelines, and potential leads are scribbled in blue dry erase marker.

Abigail nods at Scylla when she enters, Tally waves her hand excitedly, and Raelle gives her a small secret smile that makes Scylla’s heart skip a beat.

“How can I help you, ladies?” Scylla joins them at a conference table littered with notes, three venti-sized coffee cups, and half-eaten boxes of Chinese takeout.

“Remember when you told me your family helped settle Salem?” Tally asks, typing furiously on her laptop keyboard.

“Sure,” Scylla says.

“And did you know that one of your ancestors was accused of witchcraft?” Tally looks up, her brown eyes wide.

Scylla can’t help but laugh. “What?”

Tally swivels her computer screen toward Scylla. It shows lists of names and several family trees. “From your mother’s side, I traced your genealogy to Sarah Cloyce, who was accused but never indicted by a grand jury during the Witch Trials.”

“We’re working on a theory that the killer, whoever he or she may be, is targeting the ancestors of women and men suspected of witchcraft,” Abigail says.

“Right,” Scylla nods. “Tally mentioned that before.”

Tally snaps her fingers. “Yes, but not just any ancestors. The ones who were accused, but either escaped, were pardoned, or were never indicted.”

“All the victims fit the profile,” Abigail stands and walks toward one of the whiteboards, scrutinizing the picture of Kendall Swythe.

“Okay,” Scylla says. “So you’re saying the killer is, what, trying to finish the job?”

“Bingo,” Raelle finally speaks up. “I knew you were a sharp one, Doc.”

Scylla shakes her head. “Am I in danger of some sort?”

“No,” Raelle quickly reassures her. “Not at all. Unless you’re secretly a member of a Salem witch society. It’s the one common thread we’ve found among all the victims.” She pauses. “Are you?”

“Of course not,” Scylla frowns. “Then why are you telling me this?”

Abigail turns back around, hands held behind her back. “If the killer is among them, we don’t want to tip them off by questioning folks. We need someone to join that group and be our eyes. Someone who can prove their lineage.”

“Who isn’t from a family of well-known law enforcement officials,” Tally inclines her head toward Abigail.

“You don’t have to decide right away,” Raelle says. “But obviously I’d keep you,” she clears her throat and Abigail rolls her eyes. “We’d keep you safe until we catch this son of a bitch.”

Scylla doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll do it.”

Raelle blinks in surprise. “Are you sure? If you need some time to think it over...”

“No.” Scylla locks eyes with Raelle. “I’m in.”

#raylla #motherland fort salem #mfsweek #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #non-magic au

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