#i realize how sarcastic that sounds but its true usually hes somewhere in my thoughts at least once a day

[immamapletreekid]

ranpo in idv im not surviving this one

[deliciousangelfestival]

Chapter 2

Character : Mob!Steve Rogers x Female Reader (?)

Summary : Steve was hoping to meet the right one until he met her. But is he ready to be with her? He thought his life already dark because of his job. He wouldn’t able to find a woman that strong enough to face the hardship to stand beside him. Turn out his life is nothing compared to her. 

A/n :This #### will be used to explain the character’s past. 

Warning : Grammar mistakes, since English is not my first language.

Somewhere in Brooklyn. 

There’s a female who is taking a nap on the couch. Today’s activity kind of exhausts her because of last night and the unexpected event at the restaurant. She wants to take a nap first before having dinner. But after 10 minutes, her beautiful sleep got distracted.

“(Y/N) !!! (Y/N) !!!” 

(Y/N) awakened up from her nap because of the smashing door. She rubbed her eyes with her backhand. When her eyes finally focused, she could see someone standing in front of her. 

She lazily asked him, “What’s up, Bambi?”

“Don’t call me with that nickname.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because you have grown up. But Peter Parker, in my eyes, I will always remember the boy who cried asking me for ice cream.” She put on her smirk smile, her hands moving fast to mess up his hair.

He slapped her hand that made her giggle.

“It’s not like I hate you coming to my house? But what’s wrong with that pouted face Peter?”

Peter heavily sighed; this time, he threw his body to the couch. He crossed his arms and pouted. 

“Aww, ~~ What's it, partner? If you keep sighing, you will get older.”

“Urgh,” Peter rests his head on her shoulder. “When can I have a job that doesn't relate to guns?”

"You can."

Peter lifts his head to get a look at her. "How?"

"Die first."

"Thanks (Y/N)."

(Y/N) shrugged her shoulder, "You can't get rid of it. It's already in your DNA."

She pinches Peter's cheeks. "Why do you sound sarcastic today?" Usually, every time he came into her house, she could see flowers behind him. Now the background changes into grumpy Squidward. 

Peter’s face still on the pillow, he grumbles, "You shouldn’t come to my work today."

"Why not? I'm worried about you."

"Pietro has been asking me about you."

"He knew I'm related to you?" (Y/N) seems surprised.

Peter nodded. "He noticed on my first day."

"He's good."

"But today…. It's not only him." Peter grumbled.

(Y/N) still impressed about Pietro’s instinct, she didn’t hear Peter grumbled since he speaks to soft "What?"

He shook his head "Nothing."

"Are you going to have a sleepover?"

Peter has been living in his place since he graduates from university. Before he said anything (Y/N), grab his hand. "Please… I'm tired eating delivery also instant mac&cheeseeeee~."

Peter shook his head; who would even think a former assassin like (Y/N) could act like a child because of food. 

####

To explain the relationship between Peter and (Y/N); both are not related by blood. (Y/N) knew him because of his mother, and she met him when she was an assassin.

And a deadly one. 

Why did she leave? 

Because of Peter. 

Something happened that made (Y/N) choose to burn everything from her past to the ground literally. She made quite a name in the underworld. 

####

"Fine." He answered that made (Y/N) raised her arms to cheer. 

"But only for today though, because my new housemate is coming." said Peter while he went to the fridge to get some ingredients.

(Y/N) looking at his back, the boy in front of him acts more mature than her. Time moved so fast the first time she met him; he asked her for a piggyback, cried when she didn't give him ice cream and blamed her when he's the one who broke his mother's favorite plate. 

And now, he is almost taller than her, independent, better at cooking and moving out from their luxury home. 

(Y/N) puts her chin on her palm. "I don't understand why you need to move out." She doesn't want to tell the truth that she misses him.

Peter already started cutting the vegetables. He had a reason why he moved out; somehow (Y/N) past will come to hunt and target her.

####

Peter knew everything about her and saw it. He could live with it, but he couldn't sleep every time he heard a gun, a sound of grunting because of the stabbing, and in the morning, he saw their house destroyed with bullet holes and destroyed furniture.

They have to move a couple of times. 

He never saw any blood and dead bodies, (Y/N) top priorities were to get rid of the blood and bodies before he sees it. 

Peter knew that she understood his reason why; he could see her teary eyes when he told her he wanted to move out. She felt guilty for all the things he had been going through because of her. 

But it takes two to tango. Peter was the one who asked to stay beside her before she dropped him with his aunt May Parker on that day. 

What (Y/N) said was right; it’s already in his DNA. Danger always follows him because of his mother. 

His mother used to be an assassin like (Y/N) until she met his father. She left everything to build a family together.  

But their happy life was cut short; one day, he lost his parents, and that's the first time he saw the dark side of (Y/N) and the first time he knew what revenge is. 

####

"I met someone." Peter answer. 

"Owww~ My brother is a man now~."

Peter looked at her through his shoulder. 

She nodded her head multiple times. "I understand you need privacy."

"But use protection okay?"

"Ugh,(Y/N)!! Seriously…?"

(Y/N) laughed while putting her hands on it defensively. "Sorry, I will stop it."

After 30 minutes, both of them finally eat dinner together. 

"Someone else beside Pietro also asked about you."

"Hmm."

"You knew who it was don't you?"

(Y/N) winked at him. 

She knew it must be Steve because it is obvious he tries to flirt with her, and she gave him her phone number. She made a program if someone put specific keywords along with her fake name, she would get notified. (Y/N) only tell her real name to someone that she could fully trust. 

She must admit he almost got her, with the help from Starks, the other genius, but she's better at hiding.-

"You planned to make him more curious about you right?"

"You're getting smarter Peter." (Y/N) want to meet Steve once again. Today the moment she saw his face, it looked like a cheesy chick flick movie. 

She could replay the moment he approached her. And when he tried to be cool to say 'Hi' but failed, that was cute. 

(Y/N) wasn’t planning to stay long at the restaurant today but she has to because she’s worried about Peter. Last night both of them went out to get dinner when they had back her old enemy try to target her. It failed since (Y/N) is much more powerful, but Peter’s shoulder got hit. 

He said he was fine, but her heart clenched when she saw the blue bruise on his shoulder. Peter is a stubborn boy; he doesn’t want to make her worried. But she is; that’s why she chooses to stay to make sure he’s alright. 

She didn’t regret staying since she met a gorgeous man today. Perhaps cupid plays its part. 

Peter added, "He's a good boss, don't shock him."

"You make me look like a cold hearted bitch." (Y/N) scoffed. 

Peter sighed. "The time when you were with Billy Russo?"

"It was brief, but we are cool."

"It's hard to believe when he sent his Anvil team to get you."

"Because of me, he learned that his team was weak. He even sent a letter thanking you and said let's meet again."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head; he wishes he wishes the best for Billy. 

"The time with August Walker?" 

"To be fair, I betrayed him, but hey, we got a free helicopter." 

"Zemo?"

"Both of us agreed to break up, and he ended up married with his true love. Happy ending."

Peter sighed "(Y/N); the reason why I'm saying this is because everytime you broke up with your boyfriend, they would come after you." The aftermath is always messy. 

"I love this job, and my new friend. Please don't mess this up." He makes it clear since he liked his new workplace; the first time he came for the interview, he knew something different.

####

How Peter ended up working in Steve Rogers’s business?

Peter’s previous boss closed the restaurant to enjoy retirement with his wife. He recommended Peter to try at Rogers. 

Rogers restaurant has been known as a prestigious dining place. He thought his chance was small, but it turned out he passed with flying color. Wanda was impressed by the way he could keep up with her work ethic. 

After working a few days, he realized Rogers is not just a regular restaurant.

Pietro interrogated him to get some info about (Y/N), and one more obvious reason he saw a gun under Vision blazer, why would a manager own a gun? Why?

Then (Y/N) told him the truth that his boss is a famous mobster in Brooklyn. 

Peter sighed when he heard that; he thought he could start living like an average person. 

####

"You knew me Peter." She put down the knife and fork, then sipped a glass of red wine. 

"I'll listen to you. Besides, I quite like him."

Peter widened his eyes "You mean genuine like him right? Without any agenda?"

(Y/N) nodded, "Maybe he could be your future brother in law."

Peter immediately shivered to imagine Steve became his family. "Let's not think to far (Y/N)."

Unlike Peter, someone else already thinks of it. 

Somewhere far away, in a secret mansion where Steve and others gathered. 

Three of them sit around the table; Bucky and Sam were nervous while Steve is playing with the dagger. 

Natasha is furious. "I knew someday Rumlow will make a fuss at our area and make a big mess. But what I don't understand is why I got a call from the fixer and then the interior design telling me they want an extra payment because we asked them to finish in a month?"

She already anticipated the surprise attack from Brock since he replaces Pierce. It’s nothing new for them. 

She noticed that Steve doesn’t listen to her complaints "Did Brock hit Steve's head? It looks like he’s not listening to me.” 

Sam bumped Bucky’s elbow to talk to his wife. 

Bucky cleared his throat because his seat is near to her. He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "Honey, Uhm… so today, something else happened."

Natasha listened what her husband whispered to her, what she hear made her gasped "Pietro!! Bring out the vodka !!" She called out their favorite bartender.

"Wake him up," Nat told her husband, her head pointed at Steve. 

Bucky threw a french fries from his plate at Steve. 

It hit Steve’s cheeks, successfully got his attention. He realizes Natasha sits in front of him, and Pietro serves them vodka. 

Sam shook his head; he silently murmured his boss also, his best friend is in lovesick right now.

"Ooh, something to celebrate?"

"Little white wolf told me you got lovestruck today?"

Bucky’s hand covers his red cheeks when his wife mentions his nickname while Sam pretends not to hear it. 

"Yes." Steve admitted. 

"Congrats.” Natasha smirked while asking him, “So... she's the reason why you want our restaurant to reopen next month?"

"Correct."

"Ow, interesting."

“What makes her unusual was, she’s the only guest that didn’t run when the fight happens.” Bucky said. 

“She’s the one who gave him that dagger.” Sam added. 

“And, we couldn’t find anything about her even with the help from Starks.”

Bucky and Sam told her everything; they told her with excitement like they found a discovery. 

Natasha was immensely impressed when she heard that “Can’t wait to meet her.” 

They wish Steve could find someone that can accept who he is. In the last relation he had, they tried to change him by asking him to leave the mobster. It ended up badly, making Steve became bitter about everything. 

If this woman not afraid to see what happened today, perhaps she could accept who Steve is.

"Me too." Said Steve, his lips could reach his eyes. His eyes are still looking at the dagger, thinking that he has to impress her the next time they meet.

A/N: Dum Dum dum~~~~ 

The female reader turned out to be a retired assassin.  At first, I want to make the reader be Peter’s godmother, but I don’t want her to be that old, so I change it to stepsister. 

Thank you for all the likes, my new follower and for repost. I really appreciate it. 

Please tell me if you want to be tagged for the next chapter.

>>>Chapter 3

Tag:

@cloudystevie, 

@marce170018

@stepheewdgirlie

@juliealma1

@valhalla-kristin

[spencerhotchner]

Alternative {spencer reid}

Chapter 2

summary: Since quarentine was announced, Y/N decided to rewatch all seasons of Criminal Minds. On a lonely night she wished she could be in that universe instead of this. What happens when she wakes up in 2008 in Quantico?

warnings: angst, a very confused reader, regular cm stuff and my grammar (if you find anything else pls lmk) 

word count: 2.1k

a/n: ok, i am really excited about this series. and really thankful that y'all are liking it. also, i hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as y'all did the last one! it didn't end up as long as i wanted it it but ig its ok right.

series masterlist

part 1 | part 2

You could hear some familiar voices on the background as you began to regain conciseness, voices you could identify anywhere. You kept your eye shut for a while, feeling the tiredness and dizziness your body was screaming at you despite the fact that you have been unconscious, and on the floor apparently. Even though you're head was still too slow to think straight, you noticed that your face mask wasn't on you anymore. 

“Who is she?” you heard the familiar voice of Shamar, or Morgan, given the circumstances. 

“Apparently she knows me.” that was Spencer’s turn to speak. 

“I met her this morning.” JJ states, you could only imagine the faces they would be making at her, wondering how and why. “I bumped into her walking on the street, she seemed pretty confused but yet she still knew who I was.” 

“Well, that’s weird.” Emily said.

When you finally decided to open them, you felt like you were still dream. Once again you found yourself asking what was going on. Why was the whole cast of Criminal Minds standing there simple staring at you and why were they acting like their characters? Out of the two explanations that came to your mind at the moment, only one made any sense. I was a tv prank, it could only be. There would be no other logical reason to it, other wise. 

“Are you ok?” Hotch asks, offering a hand. 

You stared at him trying to figure out what to say, but without saying a word you took his hands and got up. The whole team was looking at you, with weird expressions. You felt almost like you were an unsub, you hated being stared. 

“Yes, I mean, no!” you say. “Is this a prank of something? Because, damn, you guys went too far down with it. Fuck!” you say, finally snapping. 

“I’m afraid I don't know what you are talking about.” Rossi said. 

You tried not to but as soon as you realized you already had a big sarcastic expression on your face. How wouldn't they? They were tv stars and they were clearly acting, you've seen it. 

“Oh, you're not?” you said, as sarcastic as you could be. “Ok, let me enlighten you all, since you ‘don’t know what i’m talking about?’. I woke up in this freaking random apartment by myself wearing the exact same thing I was wearing the night before.” 

“...and where is the part we fit in there?” he replies. 

You ignored him, sighing and trying to push your anxiety down. 

“As I was saying, I was wearing the exact same thing and I was in Bellevue, in Washington state. I have no idea who decided to pull this off but as much as I love the show, I am not enjoying this.” you say, looking around trying to find cameras. 

They all kept staring at you, Rossi was the only one who didn't seem worried about, it was like he thought you were on drugs or just delusional. You were even starting to believe in that. JJ and Spencer kept staring at each other, possibly trying to figure out what was going on, and how you knew them. 

“You believe you were abducted, then?” Hotch finally says something. 

You sigh again, trying to be patience. All you wanted was to go home, when you said you wanted to meet the cast - all the hundreds of times you said it, you didn’t mean this. You closed your eyes, because suddenly all you wanted to do was cry. You couldn't count how many times you imagined this happening and it was being just awful. You hated being confused, lost and being pictured as crazy. 

“No, Agent Hotchner” you spilled his name, sarcastically. “I am sure.”

He looked at you without much expression - as usual, but you could tell he was superseded you knew him, just as much as the team. Morgan step forward, walking towards you. You stared at him, trying to remain calm. 

“Listen, we can't help you if you don't let us.” he said. “Can you tell us your name?”

God, don't they realize this is funny? I do not wanna be acting, some pictures would do the job just as fine. 

“Y/N Y/L/N” you say as you watch Rossi give Garcia a look making her nod and direct herself to her ‘cave’, certainly to search you up. 

“Alright, you have someone we can contact with?” JJ asks. 

You nodded, yes you did. But they wouldn't pick up the phone, as you tried multiple times this morning on the old cellphone. What if something happened to them? This was all so confusing. 

“But she won’t pick up the phone, I tried.” you said.

Once again, you caught yourself wondering what was going on. And that was the moment you kind of got what was happening. Would it be possible that you shifted to this universe? Maybe this wasn't all a prank and your wish had just became true. You probably should've thought about it before asking for it. At once it hit you, what you said to your friend just last night. 

“What is something you would want to do right now?” your best friend asked you, leaning a bit towards you, laughing drunkly.

“Um, I’d really like to be in Criminal Minds right now.” you say laughing as you best friend rolled her eyes. “No, listen! I’d love to meet Spencer Reid and I don't know, it just sounds better than quarantine.”

“Yeah, sure, because serial killers are just not bad at all, huh?” she laughed. 

Maybe this was true, maybe you did shifted. And if you did, you sure sounded like a crazy person, and probably a stalker. You looked around trying to figure out if you could sit somewhere, it all became took much for you mind at that moment. 

“Can I sit... Can I sit somewhere?” you asked, probably looking as ill as you sounded.

You watched as Reid rushed to bring the chair. You set down trying to figure out how you'd leave there, and how you'd shift back. Staring at them you felt your heart warm a little, you dreamed about this for so long - as it was all it was, a dream, until now, at least. 

Before you could say a word you watched Penelope come back and whisper in Rossi’s ear, probably what she found out about you. Which, maybe was everything, since you had no reasons to hide a thing about your life, which was quite boring, in fact. 

“Who are you?” Rossi says, like he’s ready to arrest you.

“I-I already told you.” you answer. “I’m Y/N.”

If you needed any proof about what was going on that was it. It was like you did not even exist, like you weren't real. She probably didn’t find anything because you’re not from this universe.

“Alright. What can we do for you, Y/N?” Morgan asks.

“I need to go home.” you let it out. “I don't know how I ended up here in Quantico.”

Garcia stares ate you, almost like she felt pity about your situation while the rest of them kept a suspicious look at you. It’s not like you blame them, anyways, you would think it’s weird for somebody to come out of nowhere knowing your name and claiming to be pranked. 

While you were sitting there, with all those eyes at you, you thought that maybe giving up and trying to figure it all out by yourself maybe would be better. How would they help you, anyways? It is not like they could send you back. And it is also not like you didn't actually wish for this. 

There are some wishes that are entirely rhetorical. 

“You know what? I’m good.” you fake a smile, obviously. “I’m just gonna go.” 

You stoop up fast, not giving them much time to contest you. Spencer looked confused, more than any of the others, for some reason. Maybe he was just curious on how you knew him, or JJ. Either way, you wouldn't know. 

Hotch looked at you, wondering your action. Why were you so desperate at one time and tried to pull off as if it was ok? It was definitely not ok. Your smile looked fake, your body seemed tense and your eyes looked as lost as he could think someone could be, as he has seen a lot of lost eyes. 

“Thank you, for your attention, though.” you say. “I’m sorry for taking your time agents.” 

You stormed out of there, not even realizing that you left your jacket in there. How could you? Not when you ran out of there as if your live depended on it. You let a sigh out as you got out of the building, not even noticing when the tears started to come down at your cheeks. 

At that moment you didn't care at all about where you were, you set on the floor, letting the tears roll down and the sobs come out. You never wished to be away from your reality, it only seemed nice in your dreams. Right now, all you wanted was to go home and hug your parents, or even just see them. You felt lost, as lost as a five year old who can't find his mommy at the park. 

You got scared as you felt a big hand touch your shoulders. As your turn, to see who was it, Spencer looked as nice as you could ever picture him to, or see on the screens. His face resembles worry, like he was actually wondering what happened to you and why where you there. 

“I believe this is yours.” he hands you your jacket. 

You stare at him before.

“Yes, thank you.” you wipe the tears away. 

“No- No problem.” he said, sitting by your side. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah.” you answered looking away. 

“You don't have to lie to me.” he said, as you looked back at him. “I wanna help you, but I can only do that if you cooperate with me.”

Why would he?

“I don't know where I am. I mean, I do know but I don't know how I ended up here. I understand what is going on, I did after a while but I don't know how to change this situation. I don't know how to go back home.” you said. 

Not like he’ll understand, anyways.

"Maybe... Maybe me and my team could help you figure it out?” he tries. 

“I doubt it.” you shake your shoulders. “I know that you guys are awesome at your job, don't get me wrong, to be honest I’m quite the big fan.” you laughed a bit. “But it’s just out of hand.” 

He stops, looking at you. Gave up offering help, you were not accepting he felt it. No, he knew it. It was his job to know what body language was telling him, anyways. He didn't want to stare at you, but he felt like he needed to. He was stuck at your looks, so pretty, yet so lost. 

“If we can't help you, is there anything I can do for you?” he asks. 

You looked right into his eyes. Thinking, if you should say it. Maybe so, it wouldn't kill you, it was not like it was the real world of something, well maybe it was but you couldn't care less. All you wanted was somewhere to stay this night and figure out how to get back.

“I do need a place to stay tonight.” you say, smiling little at him. 

He had a weird look on his face when you said that, like he wasn't expecting it. Because he wasn't. That moment he considered himself a crazy man, because he knew the risks and yet was up for it.

“Uh, ok.” 

Taglist: @feverdreamreid @andromedasstarship @paulaern @theetherealbloom @thatsonezesty13 @reidsalvez​ @pieceofreid @nymeria-targaryen​ @greeny-kitten​ @peppermintnight @notebookgirl30​ @2sarvinem @holding-on-to-my-youth​ @mggsprettygirl​ @iifloweringnightsii​ @iidontgiveafuckuniverse​ @mcntsee​

[bluebuckstallion]

the sun will rise again - mlp fic

part two this is part one! part two and so on will be updated/reblogged when they are out! contents: aj and big mac are like. 13 and 15. big mac realizes she is a trans woman, and is guided by applejack, but there is much more to it than just that lol. its also a little hard for her. sappy, feel-good, tough internal conflict but overall happy fic. paragraph one is previewed here, the rest is below the cut! (note: i am aware my blog makes posts a little hard to read bc of a glitch, i am trying to fix it at the moment, i apologize D: i rec reading it on tumblr mobile or highlighting the words as you read, im sorry!)

-

Big Mac shuffled his hooves awkwardly. Racing thoughts fought furiously, cluttering his hurting head, and he put a weary hoof against his temple in an attempt to clear the fog. No avail. It was as strong as ever, the rushing current of rip tide sweeping him in the more he struggled. He insisted he'd never felt this way before, trying violently to shake away the thought, it made him shudder. But deep down somewhere he knew, he couldn't hide this strong feeling he'd become so familiar with. It felt like home, but he was trapped inside with the windows boarded and the floorboards were so old they were making him fall through with every step, and there were thick dusty cobwebs everywhere he tried to rest his burdened hooves. He couldn't leave. Outside of his overflowing head, there was a faint knocking at his door, though he had tuned it out completely. His thoughts whirled, and everything was making *so* much noise, the ceiling fan, the electricity in the walls, the birds outside, even the trees being rustled by the evening wind. Everything was so loud, and so muffled and far away, so close and inside his ears, they twitched eagerly trying to bat the harsh noise away, all collected into one horrid ear-piercing amalgamation of staticy sound. His fur was disturbed by his blankets, and his teeth felt uncomfortable as they grit desperately in an attempt to relax, his eyes were dry despite how much and how hard he was blinking, it felt like even the smallest thing would throw him overboard in this thundering storm of unsettlement. -

The knocking got louder. "Big Mac!" The sound was lost in the chaos of it all, but it prevailed. "Big Mac!" There it was again. It didn't quite reach him yet, though. But my, was it there. Incessant. Pounding. Oh, the headache of it all. Just adding to the pile. It hesitated. "Big Mac." The gentle coo reached him, piercing through the overwhelmingly loud silence in the air, he felt this odd choking sensation in his throat when he registered the voice, so familiar and so loving. But would it continue to be after this? The thought scared him. Fear struck his spine in striking bolts, waves of dread sulked, creeping in and making their nest in his aching body. He was so tired of coming back to this again and again, but it plagued his mind like a cold. He realized his internal monologue had been ongoing - even though it hadn't really spoke - but alas he had been lost in his own downward spiral of paranoia again, and had forgotten to respond. "Yu- uh- eeyup?" he stuttered out like he was drowning, he felt and sounded like a silly foal learning to walk for the first time again. He pushed his hoof lightly against his throat, shocked at his own lack of voice. Usually he was calm and confident, knowing what he wanted to say, despite how little it ever was. However he feared this would give way to his sister finding out, that she would know something was awry with him. "Can I, uh, come in?" the voice questioned. He nodded, then processed he had forgotten to use his words, and managed a sheepish "Yup." "Uh, okay." She responded equally as softly, her voice leaving a tinge of confusion to be interpreted. Applejack trotted in, her hooves making the wood beneath her creak as the old house settled. She nudged the door shut behind her nonchalantly with her back hoof, not taking her gaze off of what was ahead of her. She made a gesture towards Big Mac's bed and tilted her head, knowing he was a horse of few words, moreso when he got this way. And goodness, how he could manage to get into his own head. Applejack understood the feeling, more than he was letting on. Applejack got up and sat down awkwardly, glancing at her hooves as they, too, dragged over one another slowly, she never did like eye contact. Big Mac was more fidgety - he was straight-up restless, as he clapped his hooves together ceaselessly, clicking them atop one another with a hard "Clink." The silence was substantial, but it wasn't like it bothered them, usually. It drove Big Mac up the wall, he was sweating buckets thinking about what Applejack could possibly say. *Did she find out? Does she know? Does she hate me? She hates you. She knows and she hates you. She'll never forgive you. She'll never see you the same-* his thoughts were cut off abruptly. "So, big brother," she chuckled stiffly, "what's on your mind?" Blunt and to the point. She looked upward briefly, catching a glimpse of his face, caught in an uncomfortable twist as his mouth hung downward and his eyes sunk, staring blankly ahead. Neither of them looked at the other, but this again, was not unusual. When she said 'brother,' the word stung like a mosquito bite. It was barely there, but just enough to irritate him. And it grew bigger the more he picked away at it and gave it the time of day. Maybe if he just ignored it it'd heal itself, he thought. Her words in general hung high above his head, and he had forgotten to respond with the way he was over-analyzing it a million different ways inside. What was on his mind, besides this scary, burning question gnawing him alive? He gave a lackluster response to divert any inkling of anxiety, "Oh, nothing," and with that he kicked his back hooves loosely up, and they swung back down heavily in the empty air. What else could he say? The silence sat for a couple of seconds. Too long for Applejack's liking, she was growing a bit impatient with his lack of answers. She looked up and moved her head upward in tune with her eyes, rolling her head from one shoulder to the other as her lips pouted and she let out a quick exhale. She looked down at her teetering hooves again. "Nothing..." she repeated, tapping her hooves together about three times, give or take, she wasn't paying attention. "Oookay.." she said in a quiet tone, and the cadence in her voice had shifted after this minute or two of waiting. She scratched the back of her ear. "Well, if you won't tell me, I'll figure it out myself." She looked up and beamed what was supposed to be a reassuring smile, which came out rather awkward. It fell just as awkwardly. She wasn't the best at conveying emotion, but neither was Big Mac. They had that in common. "Ok, I'll spit it out, rapid-fire," she said funnily, holding her hooves up and moving one in front of the other and back again in tune with the quirky enunciation of the last word. If nothing else, she was making an attempt to lift his low spirit. She inhaled, "Is it about me? About Ma or Pa? *Granny?* Baby Bloom?" and with that she exhaled overexaggeratedly. It took a second, but the half-smile she had faded from her face as he stood there saying nothing, simply folding one hoof over his other arm, rubbing it rigidly and looking away, and what she hoped was not true, had hit her. It was about himself. "Oh.. brother," she whispered to him, "You can tell me anything," she reached her hoof up toward him, pulling it back when it was halfway there as she winced at his lack of response, not even a lean-in to her gesture, but she continued anyway. She gingerly put her hoof on his shoulder. Becoming more confident with her comforting, she rubbed his back gently. "So it's about you?" He took a second, and nodded somberly. "Hey, that's alright. Tell me what's on your mind for real now, when you're ready. If, you're ready." AJ's voice, he found, was quite calming. Big Mac shot a glance at her timidly, then down at her hooves, and back up at her, but he couldn't look too long in order to stop the waterworks from coming. He gulped dryly and looked at the wall, and after the ceiling. He watched the fan dodder decrepitly, but so sure of itself, it's purpose, rotating on it's axis, again, and again, and again. He wished he could be so sure of himself, he wasn't sure if he ever could be, though. And here, he found himself envying the rotating of a ceiling fan. What an interesting moment, he thought sarcastically to himself. Was this really where he was at? He zoned out briefly, watching the blades go in circles, and then snapped himself back to reality with a hard blink, a downward motion of his head, and a squeezing of his hooves. "I..." he started softly and then trailed off. He sighed in dejection. "I- Well, I am me. But... I'm not. I look in the mirror, and it's not me looking back. I know that sounds... stupid, but it's not me. It's not like it isn't who I am, it's just not me. And I, don't know why. I mean I think I do, but I don't - sometimes-" He took a second to collect himself and inhaled, exhaling sharply after, he put his hoof firmly against his chest, as if almost trying to coax the words out. "I'm me, but I'm not. I'm not who I'm meant to be, I, I was born wrong. My body is wrong," he shook his head, like trying to shake the bad thoughts away. "It's not mine. I was born with something wrong about me, outside, inside I'm me, but outside I'm not. But - I'm not bad or anything, it's just that there was something different. And, you know that funny feeling of those butterflies in your tummy when someone you like says your name? I'll get that, but I won't recognize my name as mine, but I do get that feeling when...ponies accidentally call me what they call fillies, even though they don't mean to and fix 'emselves right after, and they act like it's so wrong, but I still get that funny feeling of, goodness. It catches me off guard in the best way... my heart skips a beat. And I know I'm s'posed to like girls, but there was something wrong about me lovin' 'em... it feels like. I feel real guilty-like when I start getting all lovey about one. It feels like I'm not allowed, like there's somethin'.."  he teared up, "different. About me." He emphasized the last word quite significantly. He began to finish, not wordvomitting as much as he was before, instead saying it slowly, as if he was really trying hard to get his thoughts out. "I- I think, I think if I were born in the right body I'd be happier, but I don't want to change me, I just...want to change how people *see me."* Applejack raised her eyebrows and looked down, pushing her hooves together. She couldn't move, and she didn't. Big Mac's welling up had turned to a tear, gently rolling down his cheek. He held his breath, eyes darting back and forth from his sister's gaze - or lack thereof. Applejack held her breath as well. "Big mac, well - gosh." she let out staggeredly, anxiously chuckling, raising her hoof to her chest as she exhaled bluntly. Big Mac felt it coming, Roaring and Crashing. The water was surrounding him still, no matter how subtle it was before, it had been growing this whole time. Internal dread multiplying like a bilious bacteria, out to get him and cover him in it's killing spores. It must've been at least neck-high now. AJ chuckled, "Big Mac, I love you no matter what. You're my family." She looked him in the eyes, "It's gonna be ok." And there was the straw that broke the camel's back. It came through gently, like a soft breeze through his hair in summer, but it broke him so, so ruthlessly. He bit at his bottom lip and released, his mouth turning to a shaky U-shaped frown, and he bawled. Oh, how he bawled. He lunged for his sister's arms, which quickly opened for him to land in. Applejack huffed as the wind left her with his impact, but she regained control of herself and softly smiled, tenderly hugging him back. His head rested on hers, as hers on his. "It's alright big guy," she laughed. "In fact, I think I know exactly what's up." She pushed him off cautiously, and held her hoof against his shoulder. His tears subsided slightly, he wiped them with a trembling hoof. "Have you ever thought that maybe you feel like you're in the wrong body, because you're really a mare? I know nobody sees you that way right now, but I could start if that's who you really are." Big mac's pupils constricted, and he felt a leap in his chest. A mare? He tried so hard to push it out, but he couldn't. A mare. A mare! He let out a small smile, "A mare..." he then promptly shook his head. "But, I can't be. I wish it was that easy, that I could just be a mare, oh I wish so bad AJ," he put his hooves together and shook them, like he was pleading. He pushed her hoof off of him, sighing and speaking again, his voice cracking from the tears and raw emotion, "But I never could. I couldn't. I wish I could, but I'm not allowed to." he sighed defeatedly. Applejack chuckled, "Says who? All it takes is you saying you can. And I'll be honest, I feel like a lot of people don't give it much thought whether they want to be a mare or not - they just are." It all clicked. They, just are. He processed it for a second, and thought, and the thoughts slipped into words, "I'm a mare," he whispered. He smiled, the most genuine smile he'd ever shown. "I'm, a mare." He laughed, looking at Applejack. "A mare! I'm a mare!" His smile faded slightly, "But Applejack, am I still allowed to like other fillies? I figure now I'll have to like colts, that's what I've heard at least, and I really don't want to-" despite his concerns, he still looked quite euphoric. Applejack laughed again, "No, Big Mac, you can still like mares. It doesn't work that way I'm pretty sure." She rubbed the back of her head, "If it's any help, you can do whatever you want... What feels right." She closed her mouth and grinned, waving her hoof in the air dismissively of any negativity, her eyes in the other direction. Stopping, she looked at the ground and fiddled her hooves, "I, I actually know a lot about how you're feeling," she spoke nervously, cautiously, dancing around her words like she had something she didn't want to admit to herself as well. "I, know how you feel - about liking mares and, and the wrong body an' stuff. Feeling like your body isn't yours, it doesn't belong to you and never will, unless you make a big change, or somethin'. I get it. I feel wrong when people say I'm a girl, but I don't reckon I'd feel right with them callin' me a boy or something either - I don't think I really feel like either." She paused, cutting herself off, "I don't expect that to make sense to you, I know it's kind of weird and all." Big Mac thought for a bit, and then nodded, "No, I get it. I mean - I don't, but, I know you're you, no matter what, and I don't care who you are, you're still my sibling." Big Mac smiled nervously, trying to make sure he was doing the right thing. "And you're my sister, Big Mac," Applejack smiled back at him. "Now, how do you feel about me calling you by girl terms? Like, sayin' she, and stuff..." she struggled to think of an example. "Oh! Like, if I meet someone, I'll tell 'em "Oh Big Mac? She's my big sister!" Applejack let out a wide twinkling grin, feeling confident and proud with supporting her sister's feelings. "I, I like that." Big Mac said shyly, and she did. "Wait, how do I do the same for you?" she questioned. Applejack stalled, she really didn't think she'd get this far. "I think... I really like being called he, and brother and such. Although to be honest I'm not your sister and I'm not really your brother, and I still like other fillies - but I'm not one of them, or not in the same way, and - I don't know, it's a little confusing. I think the only way that I'm a filly is in the sense that I'm a mare who likes other mares. I don't really know what any of this is called," he voiced embarrassedly. "I wish I did." Big Mac smirked, "It's okay you don't, I don't know either. And we can learn together, little brother." She fluffed Applejack's hair playfully and her smirk became a toothy smile. Applejack laughed and joined her smiling. "Thanks," he said, quite gratefully. "To be honest, I've known this for a really long time, I just didn't know how to say it," he looked out the window longingly, "I wish I knew how to tell Ma and Pa, or Granny," he laughed a little, "and I don't even know how to tell a baby," he uttered, trying to lighten the mood a little after bringing it back down. Big mac grinned, "Why don't we go out to the orchard, little brother?"

[writingtoforgetreality]

You’re A Winchester? - Part Two (Castiel x Winchester!Reader)

[Supernatural-Masterlist]

Part One

Summary: The case in Wisconsin got complicated. In more ways than one. Cas was not sure what happened to you but you were acting different. He had to find out why. He had to know if he did something wrong.

Words: 4,053

Warnings: language, kidnapping, angst, little bit of fluff?, Sam has the brains, angels are dicks, I feel like this could actually become a miniseries?, Do you want me to continue? I’m not sure…, (Y/E/C) = your eye color

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The drive to Wisconsin was slow & exhausting. Throughout the long hours, you did some more research on the case. It looked like an easy one, actually. Almost too easy for your liking. But who were you to bad talk an easy hunt? After all, you were still somewhat new to this business. Though, nobody would realize that. If they did not know, they would believe you had been hunting for your entire life.

“We’re almost there.” Cas broke the silence that had been accompanying the two of you for a while. A look out of the window & you could make out the small town you were rolling in. Almost immediately, a strange feeling washed over you. By the way Cas’ body tensed up, you knew he had a similar impression of this place.

“Cas?” you questioned. No way would this turn out to be an easy case.

“Yes, I know.” he soothed your thoughts a little. Something was off & neither you nor Cas could tell what it was. Not yet, at least. The ’78 Lincoln Continental Mark V came to a halt in the parking lot of an old-fashioned motel. Same old, same old. Back in your universe, you had never had enough money to afford an actual hotel so usually, the cheap version had to do. So, not that much had changed.

The two of you checked into a room, not bothering to get one with two beds since Castiel did not sleep anyway. The motel literally looked like every single other one across the country. Same uncomfortable bed, same ugly wallpaper, same ancient furniture. Moments like this, you missed the bunker an awful lot. Deciding to give your brothers a call, you dialed Sam’s number.

“(Y/N), hey! You already there?” Sam’s voice came through the speaker.

“Yep, it took forever.” sighing out tiredly, you plopped down onto the mattress. “I gotta say, though…something seems a little off.”

“As in…?” he inquired curiously.

“We don’t know yet.” your head was put into your hand. The traveling tired you out & you craved a few hours of rest.

“Okay. And besides that? Everything alright? It’s not…weird, is it?” it almost sounded like he was uncomfortable while asking this question.

“Should it be weird?” your eyebrows furrowed at his use of words.

“I don’t know, you tell me.” you could hear the smirk in his tone. That was when the realization kicked in.

“You’re talking about me being alone with Cas?” looking around, you were glad that the angel was still outside, grabbing your luggage.

“I might be.” Sam mumbled, then his voice got louder again. “Look, all I’m saying is take care & uh, use protection.”

“Oh my God, Sam.” shaking your head frantically, there was another sigh from you. “I’ll call when we’re done here. You’re a horrible brother, by the way.” your body was on fire. Embarrassed that now, even Sam called you out on your crush.

“I love you, too. Bye, (Y/N).” the call ended & you fell back onto the mattress. A second later, the door opened & Cas walked in. At least he missed that talk with Sam. Otherwise it would be painfully awkward between you guys.

In the morning, Cas & you went to investigate a family. They were close to the person that had been mysteriously killed & you hoped to receive a bit more background information from them. The couple seemed nice. Wealthy husband being incredibly happy with his beautiful wife. An apple pie life. Like the one Dean wanted Cas & you to have. Obviously, that would never be the case. Not when you were part of this business. Not when you were a hunter. When they offered, you thanked them for the coffee they brought you. Something that Cas could drink as well. The talk was not necessarily helpful. Nothing you had not already found out yourselves. Still, you acted politely towards them. After all, they had been very hospitable. Before leaving the house, you asked if you could use their bathroom. The man showed you the way. This family was not connected to your case, not in a way that helped you anyway. Which meant that you had to do more research. Yay. Finishing in the bathroom, you were confused when the door did not open. Like it was stuck. Rattling on the door knob a few times, you used your other hand to knock on the door. You had to bring their attention to you. But it seemed like nobody heard you. The bathroom was not that far away from the living room area so it did not make sense to you that they did not hear you in there. The lock clicked & you sighed out in content when the man who had lead you here helped you out a second time today. Your warm, thankful smile faltered when something hard hit your head. Darkness met your body after that.

Heavy eyelids opened slowly. The light blinded you & out of instinct, you squinted to avoid it. After a few more seconds, you adjusted to the light. Looking around, you found yourself inside an unfurnished room. The chair you sat on the only piece. But wait. Your wrists were tied to the armrests. Your legs strapped as well. Tightly. Painfully tight. No matter your efforts, it did not move an inch. How did you get here? Where was Cas? Looked like your assumptions about this family were wrong. Because kidnapping was not part of your plan. And you being trapped here changed your entire view of this case drastically. That strange feeling you had in this town was not for nothing. But who were you up against? No vengeful spirts, no demons, no witches. What else could it be?

“Would you look at that, the princess is awake.” the same man from earlier entered the room, a creepy smile adorning his features. It made you gulp. Your heart quickened its pace. You were skilled when it came to fighting but right now, there was not a lot of room left to move around. Which left you vulnerable.

“Aw, honey. You scared her. Can’t you see the fear in her eyes?” his wife followed, that sweet voice of hers erupting the room.

“(Y/N)…Can I call you (Y/N)?” the only response he got was a deathly glare from you. One, that made him chuckle enthusiastically. “The newest addition to the Winchesters. Leaving her universe behind to go live with her brothers.” he recapped the last months for you as if you had forgotten already. “You shouldn’t even be here.” remarking with sympathetic eyes, he walked closer to you. Kneeling down so you were on one level.

“You see…we wouldn’t care much for you. Another Winchester do deal with? Okay, fine. But there’s one thing we cannot accept.” the woman spoke up again.

“And what would that be?” sarcastically asking, looking between the pair in front of you.

“We can’t have you close to Castiel.” the kneeling man finished. Your expression turned into one of confusion. “Don’t play innocent here, sweetheart. We’re not that stupid.”

“You’re angels.” you concluded after piecing everything together. “That case in Wisconsin. It was a trap so you guys could get to me.”

“100 points for our contestant.” the woman fake cheered.

“You know, there would’ve been easier ways to catch me.”

“True but where would the fun be in that? Besides, we couldn’t have you close to those brothers of yours. Too protective over you for my liking.”

“Okay, Mister. But you do realize that Cas is here somewhere & he’ll try everyth-“

“Ah, I’ll stop you right there.” his finger lifted to shut you up. “You cannot reach him here. It’s…how do I say it? Castiel safe.”

“What do you want from me then? You wanna kill me?” though it was hard, you tried to hide how scared you truly were right now.

“I know you’re smarter than that, (Y/N). If we wanted you dead, we would’ve killed you already. Castiel would be after us if we did. We simply wanted to warn you. Stay close to him & you’ll regret it.” his threat was intimidating.

“How do you define close?” it was a legitimate question.

“You know what we mean…This room will be Castiel safe for a bit longer. After that, you can pray to him & he’ll hear you. If I were you, I’d think of a good excuse in the meantime. Don’t forget…one wrong move & we’ll be back. Goodbye, (Y/N).” & with that, the two of them left you alone. They did not tell you when it was possible to send out a prayer. They did not tell you where you were exactly. All you knew was that they were serious. And you should not mess with them. When Dean had told you that angels were dicks, you did not think that was what he was warning you about. Their condition was simple. You should stay away from Cas or you would regret it. And you assumed that these angels were a lot stronger than you could handle. You did not want to die & neither did you want to risk Cas’ well-being. Immediately, you started prayer after prayer. He had to hear it sooner or later. All you could do now was try.

It felt like days passed. Hundreds, thousands of prayers later & still no sight of Cas. Maybe that was your end. All those years of unsuccessful searching for your family only for you to end up in another universe. Reunited with your brothers. And that was how you would go? Not what you imagined your life to be if you were completely honest. You were close to passing out. No food, no water, nothing. Your body was weak. You were weak. By now, every last ounce of hope had vanished.

“(Y/N)?” the last thing you saw before falling unconscious was Cas running to you.

Castiel had finally heard you. Begging for him to help you. To rescue you. No time was wasted. He found you soon after, shocked by the state you were in. Three days ago, he left you out of his sight. He had not stopped looking for you but it seemed useless. Until a small, broken voice appeared inside his head. Yours. Desperate words reached him. He knew he had to act fast. How he had lost you? No idea. Everything went so fast. Before he knew it, you were gone. Of course this family hid more than they let on. The second he found you, a weight got lifted off of his shoulders. No way could he bear losing you so shortly after you got closer. Immediately, he went to heal you. No bad wounds were adorning your body. Just your weakness was present. Yet, you could not stay awake any longer. Cas did not know how long you had been in there but from your exhaustion, he assumed just as long as he had searched for you. Freeing you of the ropes that were holding you to the chair, he picked you up bridal style. Teleporting to your motel room where he laid you on the bed gently. Looked like you were not planning on waking up anytime soon. So Cas packed all of your stuff & got his car ready. He no longer cared about this case. All he cared about was you being safe. And the bunker was the best safety you could get. He could deal with this hunt later.

Sam & Dean had no idea about your state, they thought the two of you were still in Wisconsin. Wrong. And they started worrying like crazy the moment Cas entered the bunker with you in his arms, unconscious. Question after question was thrown at Castiel who seemed to ignore his surroundings entirely. He just wanted to get you to your bed. The entire drive was spent asleep & he knew you would be like that for a while.

Sore. Your body felt sore. Like you had not moved in ages. Like the smallest movement took too much strength. Strength you could not muster right now. A familiar smell filled your nostrils. The sheets welcoming you. These were no motel sheets. No. You were home. How did you make it back? You definitely were not in Wisconsin anymore. Wait a second. There were no angels to hold you hostage anymore. Had Cas heard your prayers? Seemed like it. You could yell for him, for your brothers, but no words came out as soon as you opened your mouth. The hours of sleep you got did not change the fact that you were incredibly tired. Exhausted. Groaning, you stood up from the comfort of your bed. If nobody was here with you right now, then you had to take matters into your own hands. A glass of water. Something. You needed something. Your body made this task unnecessarily hard, though. One step after the other. Small, slow steps & you would reach the kitchen not long after. You got this.

Your walk to the kitchen was cut short when Sam saw you walking unsteadily. Running over to you, he picked you up a second later & brought you to the main area in the bunker.

“(Y/N). Why didn’t you yell for us?” the concern was audible.

“My voice.” creaking out, Sam’s eyes widened in realization. He left only to return a second later with a glass of water in hand. Gladly, you took it from him & enjoyed the cold liquid soothing your throat. Downing the glass, you handed it back to him. In this moment, Dean & Cas entered the room. Noticing you were awake, the two of them jogged over to you.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright?” Cas cupped your cheeks, caressing your soft skin with his thumbs. How you wanted to enjoy this moment. How you wanted it to never end. But your conversation with those angels came into your mind again. You leaned back, out of Cas’ reach. Eyes training down, you hoped nobody would question you.

“Um, yeah…I’m okay now. Just a little sore.” three pairs of eyes bore into you. They knew something was off. Dean was the first one to speak up.

“What happened?” sighing loudly at his question, you knew you had to improvise now.

“I didn’t do enough research. The case wasn’t as easy as we first thought it to be. The couple Cas & I were investigating? Witches. It was my fault they caught me, really. I should’ve been more careful.” after finishing, you risked a look at the three men in front of you. Did not look like they bought your little lie.

“There were no hints of witches there. We would’ve noticed.” Cas argued & you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Were you the one they kidnapped?” snapping at him, your voice was sharp. It was not your intention to sound so rude but everything overwhelmed you. Jumping up a second later, you ran back to your room, leaving them behind dumbfounded.

A soft knock was on your door. Maybe if you kept quiet they would leave you alone. Today was not your lucky day, apparently. Dean opened the door slowly, peaking his head inside to make sure you were not sleeping.

“What do you want, Dean?” you sat on your bed, back pressed against the headboard.

“Something’s wrong.” he noted, approaching you.

“I guess being kidnapped does that to you.”

“Cut the crap, (Y/N).” his voice raised slightly, immediately shutting you down. Your head hung low. “What’s wrong?” now, much softer, he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Nothing, Dean.” sighing out, your head was thrown back, eyes closed in frustration.

“I think I know you well enough to notice when you’re lying.” & he was right. There was not a lot of things you could keep from him. Sam did not always tell when you lied to him but Dean could see right through you. “So, let’s do this again…What’s wrong?” his sincere eyes locked onto yours & that was when you knew you could not keep this from him. Not all of it.

“Cas kissed me.” Dean’s eyes widened at your statement. It took you two long enough. But when he saw your features change, he could tell that something about this was bothering you.

“But?” his question followed up.

“But it didn’t do anything with me.” your own words broke your heart but you could not risk it. Could not risk Cas’ safety. “The witches I could handle. Well…you know what I mean. They didn’t hurt me, just trapped me.” fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“What are you trying to say? You don’t like Cas?” Dean was confused. More than once had you let on that you liked the angel & when he talked to Cas about all of this, then he found out that he liked you, too.

“No. I do. Just not how I thought I would.” quieting down, you were done with the conversation for now. “I’m tired, Dean. I’ll join you guys later today, alright?” Dean nodded, stood up & left your room without another word. Though, his mind was running. Something about this entire situation felt wrong. Right now, he could not tell why. But he was sure he would find out sooner or later.

“Cas, man. What the hell did you do?” Dean was livid. For months, you had had eyes for the angel. And now, you told him he kissed you & you did not feel anything? What was going on?

“What?” Castiel was confused. Confused by Dean’s angry tone & by his accusation. Did he do something?

“You & (Y/N).” he pointed out.

“What about us?”

“Seriously? So I have to watch you guys dancing around your feelings for months only for her to tell me that when you kissed her it didn’t do anything with her?” his eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for an explanation. Cas, on the other hand, did not understand a single thing.

“She said that?” the angel’s voice was barely above a whisper. You kissed him back. Before you drove to Wisconsin, it was you who kissed him the second time.

“Yes. So you owe me an explanation before I kick your ass.” there it was. Dean’s protective side. He did not think, when you first came into their universe, that he would care for you on such a deep level. But here he was. And he could tell that Cas broke something in you.

“Dean, nothing happened. I kissed her, yes. But she kissed me, too. I thought we were fine until she woke up & didn’t want me to touch her.” it did not make sense to him. Was all of it a lie? Were you just playing around? He did not think you to be that kind of person. Whatever he did, he had to make it right before it was too late.

Later that day, you risked leaving your room once again. Hopefully, you would not come across anyone. You still had to greet Jack but that could wait. For now, you just wanted a little something to eat. It had been a while since you had your last meal & your stomach was rumbling with protest. Cas’ silhouette was in front of you. Shit, you really were not in the mood to interact with him. Yes, it hurt to know that whatever the two of you started the other day could never be. Before you could turn around & leave again, Castiel faced you. The hurt in his face was present & the guilt set in. He was like that because of you. You were the reason for his pain. And this thought itself hurt you more than anything. His feet dragged him over to you. A little step back from you made him stop. Apparently, you did not want to have him close.

“(Y/N)?” his tone brought tears to your eyes. But you would not let them fall. You could not. “Talk to me, please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” you were being cold towards him which was uncommon. It was not in your nature to act like that. You were the sweetest soul Cas had ever met. Whoever was standing in front of him right now was not you.

“What did I do?” his concerned eyes locked onto your (Y/E/C) ones.

“You didn’t do anything, Cas. Believe me, please.” your plea was almost inaudible. No longer could you bare looking at him. You would break down in tears.

“Something changed you when you were trapped.”

“Cas, can we not do this right now?” closing your eyes briefly, you let out a sigh to calm yourself down. Leaving him no time for a response, you left the room again. Still no food inside of you. But you lost your appetite anyway.

The next morning, when you made your way back to the kitchen area again, you were glad when you were only met with Sam. His warm smile was welcoming. Something that let you feel at ease.

“Good morning. Coffee?” he offered you a cup & you gladly accepted. “I made pancakes. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” chuckling when your stomach grumbled. Sam handed you a plate & you sat down, quietly munching on your breakfast. At least he did not ask you about the case.

“What do they hold against you?” Sam asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I did my own research on your case. No witches whatsoever. Though, it was a good excuse, I gotta admit.” your eyes widened. Shit, if he found out what went down then he sure as hell would tell everyone. “Everything leads to angels. They didn’t hurt you. But they told you something. So…what are they holding against you?”

“Sam.” you sighed loudly. “You have to keep it a secret. Please.” staring at the tall man sitting opposite of you, you saw a sympathetic smile on his face.

“(Y/N)…”

“Okay, you wanna know what happened? Those angels threatened me. Said if I stay this close to Cas, I’d regret it. That they’d come after me or Cas. No way in hell will I let this happen.” due to your rambling, you did not notice Cas entering the room. Only when Sam coughed did you look around. What was it with him overhearing conversations?

“(Y/N).” like the night before, Cas approached you carefully. This time, you did not move away from him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m scared.” you admitted quietly. While you were a great hunter, you were not sure if you could handle fighting against angels.

“Sam & Dean are your brothers. Jack is the strongest being I’ve ever met & you’ve got me.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there, Cas. We really shouldn’t mess with them.”

“And you thought it was a good idea to ignore Cas?” Sam chimed in. Right, you had almost forgotten that he was still there. Casting your eyes down in embarrassment, you suddenly felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. It was Cas.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, (Y/N). I promise.” he put a soft kiss on top of your head. You knew that. Castiel would do anything to keep you safe. But those angels scared you so much. You could not live with it if you were the reason of Cas getting hurt. Or worse. Looking up again, you noticed that Sam had left the room during your little interaction. Cas’ hands cupped your cheeks. Barely. Scared that you would not want to be touched by him. You did not move, though. No, you leaned into his touch. Closing your eyes to fully enjoy this intimate moment with him. His lips pressed against yours. Softly, as if your were fragile. When the two of you moved in sync, every little ounce of uncertainty washed away. You knew you could not stay away from him. But at the same time, you knew they would come after you now. This kiss would change everything. Whatever was awaiting you, it could not be good. But maybe, just maybe, if you went ahead & dealt with this together, nobody would get hurt.

~to be continued? (idk just yet)~

Published (03/31/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @vicmc624, @ayamenimthiriel, @teelagurl558, @babymango-writes, @hollymac79, @longinusfilibuster, @insanebot109, @down-down-inanulearan (thanks for your support <3)

[dragonsdomain]

Christmas Wish

“Who brought a human kid on the sleigh?” Ember asked with a tinge of annoyance.

@floating-pisces here’s your Christmas Truce gift! Sorry to keep you waiting! I went with your prompt “dp villains” and wrote this one-shot, which is set immediately after the episode “The Fright Before Christmas” and inspired by a certain strange thing we see in our last glimpse of the ghosts’ sleigh. I hope you like it!

“I still don’t understand why you wanted the sleigh.” Johnny 13 glanced up at the red and white accessory on his head. “Or the Santa hats.”

Kitty turned to Johnny, looking playfully offended. “Well, if we’re going to be granting kids’ Christmas wishes, we’ve got to do it in style! Flying around, delivering people’s presents? It’s like we’re Santa’s elves!”

Johnny’s mouth curled up in a smile. “Whatever you say, babe.” He leaned in for a kiss.

“Ew! Gross!” Youngblood said, holding his hands in front of himself as if to ward off the impending mushiness.

The skeleton parrot on Youngblood’s shoulder sighed in exasperation. “At least follow that with a threat like ‘Cleave him to the brisket’.”

“Cleave ‘im to the brisket!” Youngblood commanded, waving his hook in the air. He looked suddenly doubtful. “What does ‘Cleave ‘im to the brisket’ mean?”

Desiree chimed in helpfully, “It means-”

Kitty slapped a hand over her mouth. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.”

There was a moment of silence. Perhaps some of the ghosts were using it to reflect on the lightness of heart each felt after helping Danny that night and to ponder the joy of service. Some may have even decided to change their troublesome ways if that moment had not been interrupted. “Who brought a human kid on the sleigh?” Ember asked with a tinge of annoyance.

Ember’s comment caused the majority of the sleigh’s inhabitants to stare in bewilderment at a small human child who was inexplicably in the back of the flying sleigh with the ghosts. The boy looked bashful under the scrutiny.

The Box Ghost was the first to speak. “Who is this human in our Christmas box of flight?”

The boy perked up. “My name’s Jimmy. I’m four!” He did indeed look like a four-year-old. He was short and chubby, with a smattering of freckles across his face. A disheveled mop of blonde hair was covered by a Santa hat not unlike the ones the ghosts wore.

“What are you doing here, child?” Skulker questioned, raising a mechanical eyebrow.

“I wanted to go outside and see the ghosts, but Mama wouldn’t let me go outside because it’s dark out,” Jimmy pouted. “And I was wishing I could go outside and see the ghosts, and then I was here!”

All eyes turned to Desiree.

“What?” She said defensively. “You know I can’t resist granting wishes!”

“This is so cool! You're all so cool!” Jimmy said, “I get to meet the bad guys Danny Phantom fights!”

“‘Bad guys’?!” Repeated Pointdexter, sounding offended.

“Sweetie,” Spectra began in the honeyed tone she tended to use with children, “You have to go home. Your mommie’s probably worried about you.” That wasn’t the real reason she wanted him gone of course. She couldn’t care less about how his mommie felt.

Jimmy’s face fell. “I wish I could stay here with you guys...” he confided to the floor of the sleigh.

Desiree chimed in immediately, magic leaping to her fingers, “Your wish is my-”

“The truce.” Bertram reminded her.

Desiree deflated.

The Lunch Lady frowned at Jimmy’s sadness. “It would make him so happy.” She remarked to her fellow passengers.

“It would mean so much to him, and cost us so little.” Desiree said.

“Plus, it’s Christmas!” Ember added, “We should let the kid have a little adventure.”

“Yeah!” Youngblood added with an admiring glance at Ember.

“Would it really be so bad to bring him along?” Kitty looked around the sleigh imploringly.

Johnny looked conflicted. “But babe… we already worked so hard tonight to help that Phantom kid.”

Kitty rolled her eyes at him. “That took ten minutes tops.”

“But Spectra’s right!” Pointexter protested, while the aforementioned ghost looked surprised someone was actually taking her comment seriously. “Jimmy’s mother is probably worried about him.”

“She’ll be fine.” Ember said, rolling her eyes. “We’ll have the kid back before morning.”

“Yeah, she’ll be fine!” Youngblood added helpfully.

“I do suppose it wouldn’t cost us much,” Skulker said thoughtfully, who may or may not have been swayed by Ember’s opinion. “I’m all right with the boy coming along, as long as he promises not to cause trouble.” He looked questioningly at Jimmy.

The boy was sitting there with an amazed expression as if this seemed all too good to be true. At Skulker’s implied inquiry he jumped to his feet and testified “I promise I’ll be super good! I’ll be so good. I’ll be as good as Danny Phantom!” He said, with such sincerity that all present almost believed Phantom was the flawless angel of kindness Jimmy seemed to think him. Whatever the case, Jimmy’s conviction to not be a bother was clear. Any uncertainty that might have remained was rapidly squelched by Technus, who felt the need to clarify what every ghost present had already realized.

“While we, being his enemies, do not fully agree with your view of the ghost child, your promise to behave is well appreciated,” Technus decreed.

“If that is the case, we shall gladly welcome you to our portable box of Christmas cheer!” The Box Ghost said, receiving an approving nod from the Lunch Lady.

Aside from a grumble from Spectra, who was still unenthused about the concept of toting a child around with them for any period of time, as well as a hesitant Johnny, who needed a little persuasion from his girlfriend which was tactfully shielded from Youngblood by Johnny’s shadow, it was agreed unanimously that they would bring Jimmy along for their Christmas festivities, at least for a little while.

“Are we there yet?” Youngblood asked, before scarcely a minute had passed.

“No,” Responded the undead bird on his shoulder.

The Box Ghost, who was steering the sleigh, was driving it in circles above Fentonworks, high enough to be safe from ghost-hunting weapons, but low enough to have a good view of the conspicuous house, not that that was particularly difficult. The Fenton portal to the Ghost Zone, their best way to return home, was within that house, which was unfortunately closed off from the ghosts in the sleigh by a shining green ghost shield.

“It seems we shall have to wait until the shield comes down before we can return to the Ghost Zone as well as our usual Christmas festivities,” remarked Technus, to a sleigh full of ghosts who were already thinking the same thing.

The only one who would have benefited from this remark, Jimmy, was currently being distracted by Spectra, who had immediately decided to take advantage of her current situation. She usually worked with teens, not four-year-olds, but she’d been sure it wouldn’t be much different with younger children. She was mistaken.

“Are you afraid of your parents fighting?” Spectra asked.

Jimmy seemed ecstatic at this idea. “They should fight with swords!”

That wasn’t going to work. Spectra tried something else: “Are you afraid of monsters?”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Like bad ghosts?”

Spectra nodded, an eager smile on her face, wide enough to expose a good number of fangs. “That’s right, like bad ghosts.”

The boy assumed a solemn expression. “Danny Phantom will fight the bad ghosts.” He shook his little fist for emphasis.

Spectra groped, “Danny Phantom won’t always be there to fight the ghosts, you know.” 

“Yes, he will.” Jimmy said, with enough stubbornness to remind Spectra that he could and would spend the entire night arguing his point with that exact same sentence if he had to.

“Honey, the truce.” Bertram reminded her.

Spectra sighed. “Desiree, I wish we were at the Fenton portal.”

Johnny sat up. “Wait, I thought we were-”

“Your wish is my command!” and suddenly they found themselves flying through the portal into the Ghost Zone.

Jimmy let out a long gasp as they flew through the portal into the green expanse. He clung to the arm of Ember, who was lucky enough to be sitting next to him, as he looked around himself in awe.

“Cool, right? It’s the Ghost Zone.” Ember commented.

“Cool.” Jimmy repeated, drawing out the word well past its usual length. “Does Danny Phantom live here?”

Ember rolled her eyes at the boy’s incessant admiration of the halfa. “‘Course not. He’s a human. He lives in Amity Park.”

“Uh huh.” Youngblood confirmed.

Jimmy frowned and knitted his eyebrows. “No, he’s not. He’s a ghost.”

Ember smirked and shrugged. “Whatever you say, kid.”

They flew along quietly for a little while, aside from Youngblood periodically asking “Are we there yet?” with a long-suffering look on his face, to which the answer was always a blunt “No,” from his skeleton assistant. Jimmy gazed in fascination at the simple green blob ghosts floating about them until he got bored and started pantomiming a gun shooting them. “Pew pew. Pew.”

This drew Skulker’s attention to the boy. “Child, what are you doing?”

Jimmy looked up. “I’m shooting the little ghosts!”

Skulker scoffed. “If you want to join in the hunt, you’ll need a weapon.” He pulled a vicious-looking gun out from somewhere and held it out to the boy, who reached out to take it reverently.

“The truce.” Bertram barked.

Skulker grimaced as he reluctantly took back the gun. He patted Jimmy’s head in approval. “You’ll make a fine hunter one day.”

“Are we there yet?” Youngblood groaned, tugging on the Box Ghost’s shirt sleeve.

“Just like I’ve told you a half dozen times,” His parrot began. “No, we are- oh.”

Because at long last they were there. Before them stood the pavilion where the Christmas festivities for this group of ghosts were to be held, the doors hanging welcomingly open with glittering decorations of a plethora of colors visible through the door.

“At last! We have finally returned to the celebration!” Technus said.

“Thank you, Technus.” Spectra said sarcastically.

Jimmy eyed the banquet laid out on a table in the back of the room. His eyes landed on a bowl of peppermints. He tugged on the Lunch Lady’s sleeve. “Can I have some candy?”

She looked down at him in concern. “Oh, sweetie. You know we can’t have dessert before dinner! We need to eat the healthy food first.”

“I already ate my dinner!” Jimmy declared quickly.

Whether or not that was true, it did the trick. “Well all right then honey. Let’s get you some dessert.” The Lunch Lady looked pleased. “Good job eating your dinner!”

And so it was that Jimmy was found only a few minutes later with his cheeks crammed full of peppermints, likewise his pockets and his hands. A sparse trail of dropped peppermints was also left in his wake, having fallen out of hands and pockets that had been overenthusiastically filled. The Lunch Lady seemed to be enjoying Jimmy’s treat as much as he was, she was so filled with satisfaction about the healthy meal Jimmy had surely eaten, and which definitely hadn’t been stubbornly left on the table despite being declared by his mother an obstacle between him and going outside.

As Jimmy proceeded with his sugary feast, Walker entered the building. “The prisoner has been detained.” He said as he straightened his hat.

Pointdexter looked up. “Ghostwriter?”

“That’s right, son,” Walker said.

Pointdexter nodded, glaring at the wall. “Serves him right for using his powers to bully someone like that.”

Walker’s eyes, which had been scanning the room, landed on Jimmy, who was currently discovering a collection of discarded cardboard boxes, which were sitting in a corner after being emptied of Christmas decorations.

“Who’s this little one?” Walker asked.

Pointdexter followed Walker’s eyes to Jimmy before answering, “He wanted so badly to see us ghosts as we were going around helping fix Christmas, but his mother wouldn’t let him come outside.”

Walker’s eyes narrowed. “His mother is his legal guardian. Disobeying her is against the rul-”

“I am the Box Dragon!” A voice at Walker’s feet bellowed.

He looked down to see a large cardboard box with legs standing before him. The box’s corner bumped against Walker’s legs as grunting and growling sounds came from within the box. Now not many people know this - it’s a very closely guarded secret - but Walker has a soft spot for small children. And frankly, this behavior was too adorable for him to handle. His heart melted, and all thoughts of broken rules and sending the child home vanished from his mind. All this happened in an instant, and thankfully Walker was self-possessed enough to show absolutely no sign of this in his countenance.

However, the prison warden was not the only one who’s attention was drawn by Jimmy’s antics. Across the room, the Box Ghost’s face had slowly lit up with astonishment, then morphed into ecstasy. He flew quickly across the room to Jimmy’s side. “Box Dragon! It is an honor to make your acquaintance!” He stuck a hand under the box to heartily shake the small hand of its occupant. “It is always a pleasure to meet one who shares my appreciation of these fine cardboard squares! Perhaps you and I, united in our love of boxes, could prove formidable in combat against our foes!”

“The truce,” Walker said in unison with Bertram, who had somehow known this statement was called for despite being halfway across the room.

“Oh, right,” the Box Ghost relented. He quickly perked up again, gripping Jimmy’s hand and pointing dramatically. “Then let us return to the corner where I have placed many boxes and we shall gather a cardboard army!”

However, a yawn sounded from underneath the box and the small hand held in the Box Ghost’s blue one seemed to lose some of its enthusiasm. “I’m sleepy…” Jimmy mumbled, pushing the cardboard box off of himself.

Kitty, who just happened to be nearby, snapped her head around at the quiet statement, as if it had been as loud and attention-grabbing as a fire alarm. She dropped a slightly confused Johnny’s hand (he hadn’t been astute enough to hear Jimmy’s last sentence,) and rushed to kneel at the young boy’s side.

She let Jimmy slump onto her shoulder as she asked “Do you want to go home, honey?” With all the tenderness of a mother.

“Mmhm…” Came the barely audible reply, with Jimmy seeming to be seconds away from falling asleep on Kitty’s shoulder.

She gently stood up and turned to her boyfriend, who had been left to shadow her curiously. “Can you take him home on your motorcycle?” She whispered.

“Uh, okay.” Said Johnny uncertainly. Kitty gently handed over the boy to Johnny, who held him as awkwardly as though he’d never carried a child before and had no idea where to put what. He did his best though and managed to transport Jimmy to his motorcycle and situate him in a fairly safe-looking position.

The ghosts at the party gathered to see the boy off. He was thankfully just awake enough to receive the goodbyes most present eagerly began to give him.

“If you ever need anything, just say the words, and your wish is my command,” Desiree told him with a kiss.

“Always be nice to people. Don’t be a jerk.” Pointdexter advised quickly.

“Follow your dreams, kid!” Ember said.

“Yeah, do that!” Youngblood agreed with Ember readily.

“Eat well!”

“Be sure and stay on the right side of the law.”

“Always remember the power of technology, I, Technus, included-”

“May you always find nice boxes!”

Walker repositioned the now-sleeping Jimmy into a slightly safer position as he said to Johnny, “Don’t test my patience. You better not break the speed limit again.”

Johnny revved up the engine and responded, “Dude, there’s no speed limit in the Ghost Zone. You made that up.”

As Johnny drove off to deliver the child home (no one realized until later that he didn’t know where Jimmy’s house was), there was a moment of silence. Perhaps some of the ghosts were using it to ponder the night they had just had. How their small acts of kindness towards Jimmy had filled him with such glee. How somehow, despite having seemingly gained nothing from the experience, each felt happier, more contented, lighter inside even than a ghost with the power to levitate usually felt. Perhaps they were drawing near to a change of heart, or at the very least a change of obsession, that might allow them to experience the bliss of helping others on a more regular basis. Perhaps some of them would have even reached it if that moment of silence had not been interrupted.

“Let’s never do that again.” Spectra moaned.

[sanktnikolais]

Unknown King (pt. 2)

A/N: yes i know it’s been a while KLJHASDFKLHAL but here y’all go, more sad smol Nik for the soul :(((

no rights for Vasily at all

Part 1

Word count: 4600

His blood was still ringing in his ears even as they were already out of the duke’s estate. Nikolai knew he should have calmed down by now, considering the time that had passed. But his earlier outburst kept him on the edge. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He almost gave himself away.

          Was it because of stress? Or was the fatigue looming over his shoulders for the past weeks had built up too much and caused him to have a sudden surge of power in him? Everything was the usual prior today; the meetings, the headaches, the endless problems that came from left and right. They were the constants in their duties. So why did he snap today? It could have been any time yesterday or the day before that.

          Something clicked in his mind. He remembered the twins warning him about trying to neglect his abilities for long, saying that it would take a toll on his body and leave him exhausted and restless. Maybe that could have been the reason. 

          Though they can’t just expect him to use his powers from time to time as he was always in the palace. Being inside the confines of the capital meant guards and basically anyone could be watching everywhere. Nikolai couldn’t have that, and they couldn’t know the truth. 

          His family treating him like some kind of monster was already terrible enough. But a whole country of people? It might be a cause of another revolution, and he didn’t want any more wars to come to his people again. They expect him to be the one to start dragging them out of centuries’ worth of misery done by a man with greed much bigger than his humanity and powers beyond comparison. 

          Saints only knew how people would look at him if they knew about his truth.

***

Nikolai let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. Merely thinking about it already brought another wave of stress in his mind, and he would welcome any kind of distraction if it meant pulling him out of his thoughts.

          Realizing that there won’t be anything unless he did something, he turned his attention to the ever scowling face of his general sitting across him. Zoya jolted in her seat, as if she hadn’t expected him to suddenly look at her, and she quickly recovered with a narrowed glance.

          “Busy staring now, aren’t we, Nazyalensky?” he said smoothly, an easy grin coming to his lips like he hadn’t just been mulling over his existence a moment ago. Hiding under various masks was always his specialty. “I have to say, I would be staring at me too when I have the chance.”

          Zoya huffed. “I’m only making sure you don’t decide to haul yourself out of the carriage,” she said. There was a slight hesitation in her eyes before she added, “You look troubled.”

          Breathe and deflect. Just like he always did. “Worry not, dearest general,” said Nikolai, I assure you this is a normal expression after doing something unethical.”

          “So you’re having a moral dilemma now.”

          “I prefer ‘my conscience trying to speak some sense to me’, but yours is a shorter way to say it.” He shrugged. “I’ll take that.”

          “You’re fine, then,” Zoya said. She leaned back comfortably in her seat, some of the stiffness on her shoulders disappearing. “You still talk too much.” 

          Nikolai put a hand over his heart. “I am flattered you noticed.”

          She just shook her head and didn’t say anything else. Another silence stretched in the coach again, but it was less tense this time, with the momentary distraction from their conversation easing the weight in his chest. Perhaps he still sounded convincing enough for her not to press further.

          But when she continued sending wary looks at his way as the trip progressed, he felt a bit nervous and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he had something to hide. There wasn’t anyone inside the carriage except them—Tamar had chosen to ride on horseback at their rear, while her brother manned the coach. Zoya looked like she wanted to say something more, but she kept holding back and turning to the window instead. 

          Sometimes he wished he could read her mind, to know the thoughts that plagued her, so it didn’t feel like he were reaching in the dark whenever he decided to strike up a conversation. 

          "Do tell me what's bothering you, Nazyalensky, and let's both end our misery," Nikolai said. He meant it as a jest, but his tone came out in a tired voice instead. "When you furrow your eyebrows like that, you look like you're about to lunge and strangle me where I sit." 

          “That is exactly what I’m thinking of every single day I wake up and meet you in the war room,” said Zoya, fluffing her hair over her shoulders. He would have answered back something sarcastic if it weren’t for the flash of uneasiness in her eyes. Something was definitely bothering her. “I am just holding back, Your Highness.”

          If there was something they had in common, it was deflecting matters they didn’t want to talk over by starting a banter with snarky remarks. Their only difference was that Nikolai was the first one to reach out and try to ask her about it.

          “Zoya,” he said, and Zoya snapped alert like a soldier being called by their commander. “What is it?”

          She held his gaze, a conflicted look evident in her eyes. It was rare to see her not getting straight to the point; she always liked facing everything head on while he preferred beating around the bush for a while before giving in. “It’s not something serious,” Zoya replied. “I just found your earlier behavior strange.” 

          Cold dread washed over Nikolai, and his throat felt completely dry. He put on his usual easy-going grin to cover up his nervousness. “Ah, yes. The reason for my moral dilemma,” he said. He fought the urge to drum his fingers to his knees. Zoya knew that tell.  “Fret not, dearest general, I promise not to do it again.”

          The crease between her eyebrows remained. “You were different,” she said quietly, and this made him wince. He hadn’t felt like himself either. She seemed to realize her tone and recovered with a shake of her head. “Sometimes I keep forgetting you’re the king.”

          And you’re capable of being cruel too, was what Nikolai could hear next, though it was never said aloud. And the worst part of it was Zoya noticing the sudden shift of his demeanor as if he wasn't the man she knew. "It could be quite forgettable indeed, Nazyalensky,” he said mildly, giving Zoya a rueful smile. And for once, he had nothing else to say. 

          He watched her as the stiffness in her shoulders eased yet again, her hand coming up to the sleeve of her kefta and gently pulling at it over the amplifier around her wrist. The lack of weight on his ears became noticeable, and he tried not to reach up to it for comfort. 

          His wolf-tooth amplifiers were left at the palace, stored safely in his chambers. Both Tolya and Tamar had been reluctant to have him remove the amplifier, but he insisted on leaving them as he didn’t want his abilities to strengthen all of a sudden.

            And yet his previous outburst had still happened.

          Nikolai gazed up to his general’s face, to the blue eyes that always held the fire and determination that kept him going, and he was reminded of someone that once had eyes of the same color as hers. The only difference was the look of disgust and fear in that person’s eyes that still haunted him even after years.

          Monster.

          He shuddered, willing the voice of his late brother away. But his voice would forever be the one battling Nikolai’s conscience, the constant reminder that he would always be the aberration in the royal family.

          The worst mistake of their mother. 

          Some time fifteen years ago, it would have been just a normal day for the eight-year old Nikolai, with his older brother treating him like dirt while he continued to seek Vasily’s approval. He wasn’t sure what had prompted the awakening of his powers that time. Maybe it was the fact that they had been near the lake at that time and the waters seemed to have called to him, or his patience for his brother’s constant revilement of him just reached its end. 

          But whatever reason it was, everything only became worse on him from then on.

          Vasily had been his idol, someone he looked up to and wanted to be like one day. Whatever he did, Nikolai showed interest in it too, all in hopes for his older brother to give him the affection and approval he always sought from Vasily. 

          But instead of proud smiles, praises, or even occasional pats on the back, Nikolai received nothing but insults and mockery, anything to make him feel he didn’t belong. And as he grew up, he started to realize that maybe he wasn’t really meant to be one of them. 

          A royal. A true Lantsov. 

          He would always be just Nikolai, and Vasily had never failed to remind him of that.

          “Run along,” his older brother had said, waving a dismissive hand towards Nikolai. He came from somewhere near the Little Palace, possibly from the labs which he started frequenting for the past weeks and Nikolai had been going there as well in hopes to talk to Vasily about anything. 

          Nikolai had to run to catch up with his older brother’s wider strides. “Vasya,” he called, a skip in his steps evident due to his excitement, “have you seen the bulletproof kefta the Fabrikators are trying to make? It can withstand even a sniper’s bullet!”

          Vasily huffed. “They’re not trying to make it, little fool,” he said, clearly annoyed. He quickened his pace, and Nikolai still kept up with him. An exasperated expression appeared on his face. “It’s already bulletproof, and it's nothing that I don’t know of so you don’t have to tell me.”

          The words stung, but Nikolai didn’t let it linger. “Since when have they been like that? And can they withstand a lot of gunshots at once?” he asked. Questions started to pile up in his mind, and he knew once his curiosity got the best of him, it would not stop. “How did the Fabrikators do it?”

          His brother didn’t answer and continued walking. They had taken the long way back to the Grand Palace, rounding the narrow path by the lake at the side that led straight to the royal’s private chambers at the west. Nikolai loved the place to bits. This was where he always pictured his ‘delusions’—as per Vasily’s words—and it involved the image of an extraordinary ship that could fly. 

          Here, he felt at least a bit free. He didn't even have to pretend that he was fine with anything that was happening to him. Where Vasily's sharp words brought sadness to Nikolai, the lake offered comfort, the serenity of the waters calling out to him as if it was where he belonged. 

          It felt like home. So unlike the atmosphere of his family whenever they were around him. 

          Nikolai tore his gaze away from the beauty of the lake. “You know, when I grow up, I want to be like you,” he told Vasily, his pace never wavering. “Like a real prince of—"

          He was cut off when his older brother whirled around to face him, and he walked right into Vasily's side with a muffled oof, causing Nikolai to stumble back a step. 

          Vasily wore a cold, angry expression as he looked down at Nikolai. "Look here, you runt," he said, bowing down a bit and pointing a finger to his little brother's face. His next words came out harsh, and Nikolai never knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life. "You will never be like me, do you hear me? Never." 

          Unwanted tears stung Nikolai’s eyes with his brother’s outburst. He had endured all Vasily's insults before. Even their mother had known of the humiliation he always brought to Nikolai. She was the one who told him to just let it go, and for years, he had done it. 

          So why was he crying now?

          "It doesn't matter whether our mother decides to keep you or possibly disown you someday. You will always be the son of some merchant. A mistake." Vasily sneered. "Nikolai nothing."

          Something inside Nikolai’s chest snapped, and at first, there was total silence as he watched his older brother’s form walk away. Then there was the rushing of blood in his ears and he heard a voice call out to him.

          Let go.

          His hand twitched. A snarl came out from his lips. He felt as if the earth was rumbling beneath his feet when his anger narrowed down to Vasily's retreating figure. 

          Everything flashed before Nikolai’s eyes. All the times his brother treated him like dirt. Every insult, every mockery he had endured, and the anger Nikolai had been keeping in was much deeper than he expected. He focused on that feeling.

          Let go, Nikolai.

          And the lake erupted behind him.

          Vasily only had a second to look back before a whole wave was crashing to him, sending him skidding on the pavement, and the grounds were suddenly flooded everywhere. For a long moment, there was only the sound of rushing water around him and the strange, exhilarating feeling in his chest of seeing his brother sprawled on the ground. 

          Then terror took over, overwhelming Nikolai enough to make him tremble. His eyes widened as he looked down at his hands. 

          What had he done? Had he done that?

          He looked up and spotted Vasily yards away from where he had last been before he was thrown off, coughing up water. Nikolai recovered from his own shock and quickly ran to his older brother. 

          "Vasya?" he called out as he neared, but his voice was not even more than a whisper as if he were afraid of letting him hear. He tried to speak more clearly when he stopped at his brother’s side and reached down to touch his shoulder. "Vasya, are you—" 

          Vasily wrenched away from him, moving so abruptly it knocked Nikolai from his feet and he landed on the ground. "Stay away from me," his brother hissed, pointing a finger at Nikolai as he slowly backed away. Behind the resentment and anger Vasily always sent his way, there was a new emotion in his eyes that Nikolai had never seen before. Fear. "Don't even dare come near me.”

          The tears Nikolai had been holding back finally fell from his eyes, and he didn’t have the strength to wipe it away. What had he done? “I didn’t—” his voice broke as more tears fell down. “I didn’t mean to.” He shook his head, never feeling so hopeless as he was now. “I didn’t mean to.”

          “I should have known there was something wrong with you from the start,” Vasily spat, standing up and backing away from Nikolai like he was some kind of monster. And under his brother’s gaze, maybe he really was. Vasily looked down at Nikolai again. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then a disgusted expression morphed on his face, followed by a scowl. He shook his head. “Grisha? It’s true, then. You’re no Lantsov.”

          Nikolai thought he was already numb from hearing all the insults from his brother. But it turned out he never was, and never had been. He had only bottled it up so much thinking it would fade if he didn’t acknowledge it. He had never felt so wrong.

          “Vasya, it's still me,” he said, and yet the words sounded hollow, meaningless. Could he still prove that he was what he thought he would be? “I’m still your brother.”

          Vasily only shook his head, a hard look evident in his eyes, and it was his next words that Nikolai would hear in his mind for as long as he lived. “You’re a monster.”

          It was the last straw of him trying to gain his brother’s approval. He was never going to be accepted. Not now that people would know who he truly was. 

          Monster.

          With nothing else but another glare sent his way, Vasily turned and left the area, leaving Nikolai to stare at him as he walked away. Would it have been different if he didn’t try to annoy his older brother by asking too much? Was it his fault that his unexpected powers had suddenly manifested at this time? 

          He should have been stronger, braver, to take the insults and brush it off like it was nothing. And yet here he was, only giving his older brother another reason to despise him. 

          Nikolai became ashamed of himself—the first emotion he felt had been euphoria, the eerie delight of finally seeing Vasily cower away from him instead of the other way around. Maybe it really was his fault. 

          It had been a palace guard on patrol duty that saw him later, still sitting on the same place by the lake. Whether hours or days had passed, he didn't know. All he knew that he was exhausted, and if time allowed it, he would have stayed there by the lake that witnessed everything and yet still brought him comfort. He didn't want to go back. 

          It felt more like home than the Grand Palace, anyway. 

          But then his world was small and limited, and for someone young like him, he couldn't afford to run away. He was trapped and bound to live in humiliation, something bastards always experienced. Something he was destined to live through. The saddest thing about it was that he couldn't do anything to change that. 

          Vasily and his parents were already expecting him when he was escorted back to the throne room. His brother’s eyes were dead set on him, a burning fury evident in them. But it wasn't him that caught Nikolai's attention. It was the fourth person at the dais with them. Because of their bright kefta, it only took him a second to realize who they were. 

          A living Grisha amplifier.

          The king barked at the guards to leave the premises, adding that anyone caught poking around would be hanged, and then he ordered the Grisha to confirm Vasily's claims. Nikolai had the urge to run, but he forced his feet to stay where they were. He would not make it more difficult for them all.

          The moment the Grisha touched his wrist, he felt his powers respond instantly. He thought he was ready to come clean, let them know the abilities that had manifested just earlier. And yet in a last, desperate attempt to conceal his powers, he still tried everything to suppress them; when he felt his powers press forward, he pushed them back. He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do it. But whatever effort he seemed to have done was futile, like preventing the tides from crashing to his ship in the middle of the storm, as the small goblet on the table beside the throne exploded, spilling wine over the dais and painting the ground blood red.

          It was real. He was a Tidemaker.

          Grisha.

          Nikolai wrenched his arm away as if he were burned, almost stumbling down when he did. He refused to meet his family’s eyes, and if it was still possible, he felt even smaller under their gazes. The ground could have opened up and swallowed him whole, and he wouldn’t have cared. They probably wouldn’t have cared too. Especially now that they knew about him. 

          Monster.

          For a long moment, there was a complete silence in the room, and Nikolai swore he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Even without looking up, he felt their gazes on him, heavy enough to make him want to shrink smaller than he was. But it was his mother who approached and knelt down in front of him, and it was only then did he dare to meet his gaze with hers. 

          She held her hands to his face and gave him a smile. Her expression was almost kind, only if it weren't for her smile that looked forced and eyes showing fear and hesitation as she searched his face. Nikolai tried not to show his sadness.

          At least now he knew that even his mother was terrified of him. 

          "My dearest Sobachka," she murmured, her voice mild. She gently caressed his cheek with her thumbs. When she opened her mouth to say more, she only had to close it again when she found that she didn't have anything. 

          Nikolai blinked the unexpected tears away and tried to give a smile back to his mother. But it only made his face crumple, and the next thing he knew, the tears were already falling from his eyes. 

          I'm sorry, he was trying to say. I'm so sorry. 

          He didn't know why he was apologizing, as if doing so would change the reality or undo what he had done, and yet he still did, even though he couldn't say it aloud. 

          You are no royal, Vasily had hissed one time. It was during the supervision of the production of weapons in the Fabrikator labs, when Nikolai gave his insight on what he knew about the material from the book he had been reading. Know your place and keep silent. 

          His mother seemed to have sensed his anguish, and she pulled him in a tight embrace. In her arms, he felt safe and loved, the weight on his shoulders was somehow lifted off. He could let himself believe that maybe his mother still cared for him, that maybe she still accepted who he was. 

          Nikolai could let himself believe in another lie, like the way he let himself believe that his brother would accept him. He could do it again. 

          It was all he ever did, anyway. 

          He finally let his eyes meet his brother's, and Nikolai still saw the lingering look of disgust in his gaze, the same one Vasily always gave Nikolai whenever he tried to talk to him.

          That was the only time he realized his foolishness. How could he have let himself believe that Vasily would accept him? 

          And now, as he stared at the same shade of blue eyes of his commander, Nikolai asked the same thing in his mind. 

          Can you still look at me as your king once you know the truth of who I really am? Can you still trust me? 

          Can you still accept me? 

          Those questions threatened to slip out his mouth, the urge to tell her the truth stronger than he anticipated.

          She’s your General, a voice in his mind said. You can trust her. 

          Then another one interjected. She's had enough of another Grisha ruler controlling the country she fought tooth and nail for. Don't make it harder for her. 

          Nikolai clenched his fist, his nails digging to his palm enough to hurt, and he welcomed the pain. It kept him anchored to the reality he was in. 

          He heard her voice before the sound of the rain falling on the carriage roof. "The weather sure is strange," muttered Zoya, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was only then he heard the patter of rain outside. She scowled at the window. "The twins don't have anything to cover themselves with. We should stop at the nearest town and let the rain pass." 

          "Is that sentiment I hear, General?" Nikolai mused, earning a scowl from Zoya that made him laugh lightly. He was thankful for the easy distraction that only she could give him, and he figured he wasn’t going to ruin this comfortable interaction between them.

          Even if it meant lying to her.

          “It’s called consideration, Your Idiocy,” replied Zoya, and it made him laugh again. “I’m sure that’s what you’re thinking as well.”

          “You put too much faith in me,” he said even before he could think of it. He winced, silently reprimanding himself of speaking his mind. This could be the reason for his demise. He should really learn to control his emotions; but years of ignoring and numbing it when he was young made it difficult for him now. 

          A shadow passed over to his general’s face, and her jaw was set when she asked, “Should I not, Nikolai?” 

          If you know what’s good for you, then you shouldn’t. The thought stung, but it was reasonable. Zoya was trusting the version of him that was the king of Ravka, someone who could be cruel in a blink of an eye and lose control of his abilities once he let his emotions take over. She was believing in someone who was lying to her who he really was.

          And who was he? The young king. The former queen’s greatest mistake. The boy who once wanted his brother’s approval. The child who only wanted his family to accept him. A Tidemaker in hiding.

          Nikolai nothing.

          If Zoya ever met him, the real him that he had hidden beneath tons of masks he got as he grew up, could she still put her faith and trust in him? It was highly unlikely. She would want a ruler who was strong enough to lead a country and be its foundation, not someone who was unstable and always letting his emotions take over. That kind of character was the recipe for the downfall of Ravka, and they couldn’t have that.

          So for the sake of anyone, he put on the mask of a monarch again, burying and forgetting the boy who was once curious about everything.

          That boy wouldn’t survive this cruel world.

          Nikolai covered his thoughts up with an easy grin. “I’ll let you make that decision.”

          A long moment passed. Zoya observed him, the crease between her eyebrows deepening as the seconds ticked by. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t put my faith in you,” she said with all the conviction in her voice. “Because whether we both like it or not, we all are carrying the country on our shoulders. It would fall if even the trust between us is fragile. There’s no room for such predicament.” A determined look in her eyes became evident, like a fire burning in her gaze. “Am I wrong?”

          “Far from it, dearest general,” he replied with a small smile. Then he shook his head. “I was merely joking earlier, and I didn’t expect the turn of this conversation.”

          Zoya scowled, and just like that, the heaviness on Nikolai’s shoulders were lifted again. Where would he be without her? “Then stop saying statements with underlying meaning and keep your thoughts leveled,” she said sharply, the commanding voice of a general coming back in her tone. “And enough brooding.”

          He only chuckled as he watched her open the small latch on the carriage wall behind her, where she told Tolya to detour to the nearest town where they can find shelter as they waited for the rain to stop.

          And as the trip continued in silence, there was only one thought in his mind. He will not break her faith in him, even when his way of doing it was by lying to her. 

          Forgive me, Zoya, he thought wistfully. But you’re more important than the truth.

          Nikolai could only hope he was doing the right thing.

[clarosowrites]

Mistletoe (Adam x f!Detective)

Adam stood at parade rest against the wall, dispassionately watching the other attendees of the Wayhaven Holliday Party. Most of the town was here, mingling in the festively decorated Mayor's mansion. A jazz band played Christmas music in the next room.

He had thankfully avoided any sparkles in the outfit tonight. His simple red button down and black suit was extravagant enough for him, though Felix disagreed, trying to force him to wear a sequined tie. He easily spotted the youngest member of the team in his glittering silver suit. He was kneeling next to one of Mr. Verde's children, smiling as she showed him her dredile.

With any luck, that would keep him busy the rest of the night.

Mason was...somewhere. Probably skirting the edges of the party, like him, or drinking. And he knew Nate planned to make rounds with Agent McClaran, socializing with the citizens.

Their handler claimed being at the party would help their reputation, which was apparently less than stellar. Adam thought it was pointless. Unit Bravo had been in Wayhaven for over a year, the town's opinion of them was likely set by now. It didn't matter anyway--they didn't need anyone's approval to protect the town.

Suddenly, the sound of a single heartbeat reached his ears.

His shoulders dropped. Even through the music and the noise of the crowd, he'd recognize her.

Adam fought back a smile as warmth flooded his chest. It had only been a week since they saw each other last, but he'd felt the Detective's absence acutely. A week was nothing, a blink of the eye to him usually.  Yet, in the two months he and Catherine had started courting--he refused to call it such an insignificant term like dating--time had stretched in odd ways. A day with her seemed like barely five minutes. Every day apart was spent waiting for the next.

He turned to the entrance. His fingers tapped a nervous staccato against his arm as he scanned the crowd for her.

The mass of people parted and revealed Catherine like clouds parting for the sun.

Red fabric hugged her figure. The dress dipped low in the front, flowed past her hips and flared around her knees. She seemed to glow under the twinkling lights, her already statuesque figure even more noticeable in red. Her hair curled around her face, soft and loose in a way that made his fingers itch to touch--

He cleared his throat as she approached. "Detective."

Her smile was strained as she slipped her hand into his. This close, he realized she wore heels--she stood several inches taller than him and he had to tilt his head back to meet her eyes.

"I'm never letting Tina dress me, ever again." She hissed through clenched teeth. Her lips were painted red to match the dress. "I look like a big red elephant."

"That's absurd." He said and pulled her a step closer.

Catherine ducked her head, turning away from the crowd. She pulled at the dress's neckline. The material was practically molded to her skin, though, and she gave up with a frustrated huff.

"Adam, this dress is way too revealing for a work party!" She gestured up and down her body. "And I shouldn't have to wear heels!"

It was less modest than her usual outfits, true, the Detective preferred turtlenecks and long sleeved shirts most days, but he'd seen several women tonight with more skin on display.

She always looked perfect, even in her messy workout clothes. But he was biased. Besides, he'd asked if she looked appropriate, not his personal feelings on her appearance.

"You look..." He swallowed down the breathtaking and stunning that strained at his throat, "nice. And the height is appealing."

"Really?" She picked again at the dress.

He took her other hand to stop her fussing and smiled. "Are you calling me a liar, Detective?"

"No." Catherine admitted. She pursed her lips. "You're sure I look okay?"

Far better than okay, he thought. "I promise. It's appropriate for the occasion."

"Just what every girl wants to hear." She said sarcastically, the tension easing from her.

"I apologize." He squeezed her hands and smiled up at her. "I'm out of practice in giving compliments."

"Lucky for you, I'm not used to receiving any." She grinned. "I think we'll get along just fine."

A sharp whistle grabbed his attention. He turned to see Tina, grinning next to Felix in a sequined gold dress and pointing above their heads.

...where a tiny spring of mistletoe hung.

Adam's mouth went dry. For everything they had shared, confessions and open souls and lazy afternoons, they had yet to go any farther physically. She would press her lips to his cheek as a goodbye, occasionally, or to his hand as she held it, but they hadn't kissed. Actually kissed.

"Come on, Adam, plant one on her!" Felix called.

He snapped his head around to glare at him, trying to ignore the warmth flooding his cheeks.

Cat sighed. He stiffened as she place a hand on his shoulder and dipped her head to brush her lips across his cheek. The touch burned like it always did, like hot wax pressed onto his skin. His breath caught in his throat.

She walked towards Tina without glancing at him. "Happy?" She asked.

He didn't hear her response as they moved away, focused on his evening out his breathing. He did, however hear Felix's laugh.

"What." He snapped at the younger vampire.

Felix grinned even wider. "You look like you just face down a stake to the ribs instead of kissing the girl you like."

"She is not--"

"What?" He arched an eyebrow. "A girl? Who you like?"

"You make it sound so juvenile." He scoffed.

"It is juvenile if you act like your girlfriend has cooties." He gestured to the Detective's retreating figure. "Do you even want to kiss her?"

"We are taking this slow." He grit out.

"There's slow and there's glacial, Adam."

Nate appeared at Felix's side with a smile. "I think Mason's going to spike the punch. Felix, can you keep an eye on him?"

"Sure, boss man!" He saluted.

Adam sighed as they watched him wander off into the crowd.

"You realize Felix is only going to encourage him."

"Yep. I thought I'd rescue you, actually."

"And not interrogate me about my love life at all, correct?"

"At least you're admitting it exists! Finally!" He laughed. Adam couldn't help but grin.

Over his short relationship with Catherine, Nate had been his sounding board for practically everything. Planning dates, dissecting conversations--anything at all that involved Cat--Adam had applied himself with a military precision and Nate had helped. No matter how ridiculous his request, he'd helped

Nate nudged him with an elbow. "Really, though. You couldn't ask for a better set up than mistletoe on New Year's Eve. Why the hesitation?"

"Besides having a crowd?" He asked. "I need more time to plan it."

"Whenever you get around to it, its not going to be perfect."

"Perfect is what she deserves." Adam said defensively.

He shook his head and laughed. "I think you're just scared."

"Scared."

Creatures more ferocious than Nathaniel Sewell have cowered under the glare that Adam gave him. Nate just smiled.

"Yeah. Chicken?"

"Are you daring me to kiss the Detective?" He asked incredulously.

"It is working?" He grinned and clapped him on the back. "Carpe diem, old friend. No time like the present."

Adam cursed under his breath as his best friend walked away. He was right. He was scared, more scared since he met Catherine than he'd been in the past 900 years. Scared of himself and terrified of the uncertainty that haunted every interaction.

But when did that stop him from doing anything?

"Damn it."

After a military acquisition of a certain decoration and ten minutes of searching, he managed to find the Detective in the kitchen, away from the rest of the party.

"Catherine?"

She looked up at her name and smiled. "Hey Adam."

She perched on the granite counter, swinging her bare feet under her. She fanned herself with an old magazine.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"Those heels are killing me." She nodded to the black shoes on the floor. "And...there's a lot of booze in there."

"Ah." He frowned. "I cannot assist with that."

She shrugged, pushing her hair back and off her shoulders. "Its okay."

He took a steadying breathe and forced himself across the kitchen. Standing in front of her, he saw the uncertain tilt of her head and the way she unconsciously leaned into him.

"Catherine." He said again.

"Adam." She grinned. "What's going on?"

He cleared his throat, his mind suddenly blank. His fist clenched around the greenery he held.

"What's that?" She brought his hand up and he opened it, revealing the mistletoe.

Confusion flashed across her face. It transformed to delight and amusement as he slowly lifted it above their heads. He took the final step to close the gap between them, her knees pressing into his thighs.

She smiled, and god, he could loose himself in that smile, adoring and open and everything he doesn't deserve. And then she slid one hand up his chest, the other curling around the back of his neck, his skin burning underneath her touch, even through his clothes. His eyes fell shut--blocking out everything else but the feel of her hands.

At the first brush of her lips on his, Adam shuddered. At the second, he leaned into her, the mistletoe falling from his hand so he could cup her jaw. Fuck--if he thought her touch before was burning, then this was a brand. Her kiss seared into his lips and he wanted it to, for her to leave her mark on his skin that matched the one on the inside of his chest and--

She pulled away. He moaned at her absence, some small, broken thing that he couldn't bring himself to care about.

He chased her mouth, only halted by the hand pushing on his shoulder, a silent stop.

"We..." She said unsteadily, and he opened his eyes just to see her wet her lips and swallow. "We should..."

He nodded. "Get back to the party." It would be less than impressive if someone found the Detective in a compromising position, as much as he wanted to create one.

He dared to press for one more kiss, firm and swift, before lifting her from the counter. As he set her on her bare feet, she looked dazed.

"Right." Cat straightened her dress and slipped into her shoes. "Do I look okay?"

"You're beautiful." He said. "I should have said that earlier. Stunning."

"You big flirt." She accused, smiling broadly.

Her fingers curled around his collar. "I only have to stay for another hour or so. Maybe we could...go back to my apartment and hang out."

"I would like that." He murmured, leaning his forehead against hers.

"Okay." She stepped back. "Stay out of trouble until then."

"I will." He promised, dropping her hand reluctantly.

"Bye."

With a final wave, she slipped out of the kitchen and out of his sight. He leaned against the counter and sighed happily. He could rejoin the party in a few moments--for now, Adam closed his eyes and let himself follow her heartbeat.

[writings-in-ebony]

Extended Vacation - 2

Summary: You have to prove yourself to Steve’s friends and your journey finally begins!

Author’s note: Hello everyone! Why is Reader such a tease? Because SHE IS ABLE TO BE ONE! She’s a badass!

A reminder: Prompt was created by @sugarthicc​ and she gave me permission to write this.Thanks again! 

Prompt: Have reader have a personality like Meg the Stallion.

Word Count:1872

Warnings: Bad language

Chapter 2

“Steve falls off his bike, what do you do?” The questions and scenarios were seemingly endless, but understandable. You were sitting in a chair, a rather uncomfortable one mind you, facing the suffocating intimidation of Bucky, Sam and Natasha. However, unbeknownst to them, you were extremely prepared for this and any questions they threw at you. After Steve officially took you on as his assistant, you spent countless hours researching his friends, his enemies, and anything you felt like you had the right to know. You also made sure to study different scenarios and issues that might crop up during your journey. So, yeah, you were prepared for everything they threw at you. But the cold, killer expressions from Bucky and Natasha didn’t help in easing any nerves.

“I immediately pull over my car, survey traffic and proceed to help him off the road. If he sustained any injuries, I would go to my car and retrieve my first aid kit.”

“There is an attack on your hotel and the lights are shut off. All methods of contacting the outside are jammed or shut off. What do you do?” Bucky asked this questioned and leaned over the table, as if he was going to pounce you. As if he dared you to say something stupid. But you didn’t flinch because that’s what they wanted, you to break.

“I go get Steve in the next room,” you were cut off by Natasha’s hand slapping the table.

“What if he’s not in the next room? He’s in the pool, on the twentieth floor, while you are on the tenth.” She immediately made the situation more complicated.

“I would retrieve my phone since the pool is most likely open air if it’s on the twentieth floor. Quietly take the stairs since the elevators are down and make it to Steve as fast as I can.” You barely got out your last word before Sam was interjecting with his own additions.

“You get there, and Steve has a knife in his leg and a gun aimed at his head. What do you do?” Before you could answer, the door to the interrogation room slammed open and there stood both Steve and Tony. They aimed disapproving glares at the trio in front of you.

“You know when I said make sure the new girl feels “welcome”, I didn’t expect that “welcome” to be a full-blown interrogation session,” Tony ground out. He looked like he wanted to say more, but Sam beat him to the punch.

“We have to make sure that she is prepared for every situation. She is basically the only person in charge of America’s hero on this trip. Someone who just arrived only a month prior. Who has no knowledge of Steve and how- .” He stopped when he heard your chair abruptly scrape the concrete floor.

“I’m sorry to interject, Mr. Wilson. But I thoroughly researched and analyzed not only Mr. Rogers, but his enemies and his friends. Steven Grant Rogers has no physical health issues currently listed in his file. He suffers from insomnia, night terrors and nightmares, which I got by looking at his mental health notes and the inconsistent visitations to his psychiatrist. They usually occur on the weekdays but will definitely happen after a mission. He is not on any prescribed medications, primarily due to his metabolism, and his last panic attack was around three years ago.” You completely ignored the shocked expressions of Steve, Sam and Tony. Bucky kept his expression nonchalant and Natasha only raised an eyebrow. But you kept going.

“Mr. Rogers has fourteen major enemies whose whereabouts are currently not near any of the locations we will be visiting, but I talked with Mr. Fury about making sure that there’s security on standby in all our locations anyway. I also made sure that Jarvis is installed in all my devices so that he can monitor and track our locations and offer me any feedback and updates.”

“As for friends, Steve Rogers has a close connection with Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson, and Tony Stark. I noticed with the younger Avengers they look up to him as a father figure or brother. It depends. With his friends, Mr. Rogers naturally relaxes and lets out his true personality. I’ve observed that he’s sarcastic, sassy, and loves listening to conversation even if he, himself, cannot understand what the subject is or its context. In unknown or strange company however, Mr. Rogers displays shy or reserved behavior. Negative behaviors include stubbornness, irrational thinking, and the tendency to thrust himself into dangerous situations without thinking of his own health. But I can literally go on about what I found, but it’s fruitless. Ms. Romanov has already researched into me and read my file, anyway.” Tony and Sam looked dumbstruck as their gazes fell on Natasha. She didn’t even look at them, instead she aimed a smirk at you and you officially took that as a win.

“How did you know Natasha researched you?” Tony slowly asked.

“Oh! Jarvis makes a note of everyone who views the files and she and Ms. Potts already researched me and read up on me. I just wanted to check to see who read my file.” You let a small smile slip and Bucky scoffed.

“I like her,” he grumbled, obviously trying to hide a smile. “Well, if Natasha read your file and you still have both legs, I take it you fit the bill.”

“She does,” Natasha admitted.

“But why the interrogation?!” Sam looked at her as if she betrayed him.

“Because I had to scare her and see her reactions,” she shrugged. “She passed, but I’ve been watching her this entire month. She’s fine in my book.” You smiled warmly at her and she winked at you, proceeding to exit the room. Bucky and Sam followed also, but Sam was giving her an earful for her deception. Tony apologized for their behavior which you quickly dismissed and excused. He made his exit and that left you with a blotchy-faced Steve.

“Wow, you…uh…know so much about me. Like a lot,” he admitted. He was extremely uncomfortable, and you walked towards him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

“Steve, I just wanted to be prepared for my job. If I didn’t know everything that made you tick or could put you in harm, my job would be pointless and your friends wouldn’t even let me be in the same room as you, let alone accompany you on a cross-country trip. If you wanna know about me, I’ll send you my file immediately and you can read everything. I thought you would anyway.”

He bashfully looked at the ground, realizing that he should’ve done that. “I didn’t want to invade your privacy. I…uh…thought I could figure you out without a piece of paper telling me,” he sounded a little bitter and you understood where it was coming from.

“I didn’t get half of the things I just said from reading a piece of paper. This entire month was dedicated to me watching you from afar. I did my own character analysis, while asking others what they see you as. You might not like this, but you’re very transparent.” He visibly winced. “And as you’ll come to realize, I am very blunt. But just because I know about some of your secrets, does not reflect how I view you as a person. That very first day, when I called you a badass, was the truth and it still holds up. You’re a hero to America for a reason.” You lightly tapped his shoulder and walked away.

 ~~

 Steve should have known this trip was a bad idea. He should have known! He should have cancelled and claimed he had an illness. But no, that wouldn’t work because Captain America can’t get sick! He was being tormented and the tormenter was you! What could he do as you walked out of the convenience store, long legs bare and shorts riding up on your…? He couldn’t even bring himself to finish. He turned away and continued filling his bike with gas, face heating up and body reacting in ways he wishes it wouldn’t.

You were both stopped at a convenience store somewhere in Pennsylvania. It wasn’t too crowded, given there were already two cars filling up when you both pulled in. It wasn’t a small gas station, but it also wasn’t a large brand either.

Your car was already filled, since it didn’t burn that much gas, and you had decided to get some snacks and drinks for the road. And would he be lying if he said his eyes didn’t track the way you sauntered into the convenience store like you were a queen strolling past her subjects? What possessed you to wear those godforsaken shorts? And that deep V-neck t-shirt that gripped your thickness and put you on display? You were his assistant and here he was, drooling like a kid in a candy store.

“…something to drink,” Steve startled out of his stupor and turned to see you were raising a blue energy drink to his face.

“Huh?”

“I asked did you need something to drink. You look overheated, which is very uncharacteristic. Are you feeling okay?” She gazed up at Steve with big eyes, her lips parted and inviting.

“Thank you, yeah. I’m feeling okay, just a little hot and the wind…Yeah.” God, he sounded like a dumbass. Her eyes furrowed in even more confusion but looked pleased when Steve reached out and grabbed the drink. He really wanted his bike to hurry up and fill because he was running out of other things to stare at.

“So, you liking the trip so far? I know we’re only five hours into the trip, and we have two more hours before we get to Cleveland, but are you enjoying just riding?” She popped open the cap of her own drink.

“Yeah! It’s so…freeing? It’s like I can think about myself without thinking about others. It’s just me and the road. And I wanna thank you for allowing me to have that feeling,” he trailed off as he watched you drink. He fixated on your puckered lips around the top and actually flinched when you popped your lips and released a content sigh.

You turned back to him and smiled up at him, seemingly disregarding his creepy staring. “That’s good. But you know, I’m getting honked by angry citizens for your freedom.” She waggled a finger at him as if scolding him, but a humorous smirk was plastered on her face. He chuckled and heard the nozzle of the gas tank pop. Finally! He quickly removed the nozzle and screwed on the cap to the tank.

“Well, back to driving,” he beamed, swinging his leg over the bike. “You ready?” He looked at you expectantly and you threw him a thumbs up.

“Sure thing, Steve. And by the way,” she walked over to him and leaned down next to his face so that only he could hear. “You don’t have to be so bashful. It’s okay to stare. It’s actually very flattering.” And with that, she squeezed his bicep and sauntered back to her car.

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For (9/?)

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7 / ch 8

[CHAPTER 9/?]

“Whoever invented folding chairs deserves a swift kick in the arse.” He points his fork at Emma as they talk over dinner. Her eyes sparkle with joy and he knows instantly he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Jeeze, Jones, you are ancient.” She laughs, eyes rolling sarcastically, as she takes another sip of her rum and coke.

A woman after his own heart.

They’ve fallen into this easy conversation ever since he returned with the popcorn a few hours before– had he known that was the direct way to being her friend he would’ve bought an entire popcorn factory months ago. Emma watched the weigh-ins casually, knowing the ropes as much as anyone would, and it allowed them to bond a little over the sport which brought them together.

Thank God for UFC.

When she suggested they grab dinner at a restaurant beside the hotel, he hesitated at first, not wanting to push his luck, but when she took his hand and told him today should be a “cheat day”, he couldn’t have resisted if he tried. She definitely teased him for ordering a salad but he assured her that his youthful glow does require some maintenance. That’s all it took for the conversation to continue flowing as easy as ever. He glances towards his watch and realizes they’ve been talking non-stop for over an hour, Emma’s plate completely empty as the waiter takes it away.

He’s about to ask for the check when Emma speaks up, “Could we see the dessert menu, please?”

She smirks at him when he raises an eyebrow in question, before studying the small menu like she’d be tested on its contents. Emma ultimately orders strawberry shortcake before turning to him once again, “I always order dessert. I couldn’t have it for so many years when I was fighting and then with the morning sickness and then trying to get back to pre-baby weight… I just decided I shouldn’t have to live without dessert anymore… sure, I have to work a little harder at the gym each week, but it’s so worth it.” She’s interrupted by the waiter returning. He sets the red sugary cake in front of her and she turns to smile and give him her thanks before digging in.

Killian watches her in awe, entirely convinced there isn’t a single thing he doesn’t like about her.

She realizes he’s staring and chuckles before taking another bite, the blush rising on her high cheekbones. “Would you like some, Jones? You can’t really call it a cheat day if you order salad.”

He’s never had strawberry shortcake, but he’s positive he could never deny her anything, “Aye, Swan, just a bite.” He looks around for his fork, blushing himself when he realizes the waiter has already cleared it. She shrugs, unphased, and portions off a small bite for him. He grabs the fork from her, their fingers barely touching, but the electric currant shooting through his veins all the same. He has to withhold dirtier thoughts as he puts her fork in his mouth, now entirely aware of the tension building between the two of them. He swallows the slew of innuendos with the cake. Emma is looking at him expectantly, as though somehow his review of this entirely too sweet concoction will determine whether or not she likes it as well.

He smiles at the thought more than the dessert, but she seems satisfied. She takes her fork back and smiles. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

The question catches him off-guard. While seemingly trivial, it’s more personal than they’ve ventured thus far. (Besides the random truths Emma seems to drop out of nowhere.) He’s taken aback by her desire to know him , and has to hold down the one million questions he wishes to ask her. “I’ve never been much for dessert…” She gives him an entirely unamused look and he can’t help but laugh, “No, Swan, it’s true!”

“You have to have at least one guilty pleasure treat, Killian.”

He does. His mother’s chocolate cake. Did she just call him Killian? He takes a deep breath, knowing full well this could open up to deeper questions than favorite dessert. “Aye, love. I suppose I always loved my mother’s chocolate cake.”

She studies him, probably to make sure he’s answering truthfully, and then frowns, “Loved?”

He knew this was coming, and he wants her to know, but it doesn’t make it any easier. “Aye. My mother passed when I was 11.” He waits for pity or an “I'm so sorry” but it never comes. Instead she takes a deep breath of her own.

“That’s probably the real reason I love dessert so much. You never really get any when you’re a foster kid.”

She meets his eye and the air is taken from his lungs. She understands. It feels like a ton of bricks has been lifted off his chest, and she understands. All he can do is smile and nod, but he hopes she knows he understands too.

Emma smiles softly before declaring she’s “stuffed”. They call for the waiter and Emma insists she put it on the company card– “They’re only paying for one hotel room anyway.”

He chuckles, but nerves wash over him as her casual reminder of the situation which awaits them back at the hotel hits him like a high kick. Bloody hell.  

. . .

Killian Jones is really easy to talk to. So easy that it’s not until they’re walking back to the hotel that she even realizes she told him about her upbringing.

What the hell, Emma?

Her comfort level with Killian is something she’s hard pressed to ignore, but as they unlock the door to their room, she finds herself forced to confront it far sooner than she wanted to. She can’t help but track his every move as he leads her into the hotel room. He walks straight for the small sofa and she watches the muscles ripple through his arms as he lifts his duffle bag onto it. Sometimes she forgets he’s Killian “Hook” Jones the athlete and not just– well, just Killian. It’s times like this that she’s reminded how fit he is. When he realizes she hasn’t moved, Killian shoots a questioning look over his shoulder and Emma shakes herself out of it– whatever it is.

He scratches behind his ear and she can’t help but laugh, breaking the increasingly tense silence between them. “Uh… I’ll grab the couch, lov–Swan. I’m sure there’s extra blankets in here somewhere. Do you want to clean up first?”

Emma’s chest hurts when he shys away from calling her love, but can’t find it in herself to blame him– the word in this context threatening to hang between them like something more than a pet name. She nods in response and heads into the small bathroom. She immediately runs the cold water, splashing it over her face in an attempt to realign her senses. Emma stares at her reflection in the mirror and can’t help but notice she seems brighter, maybe even happier.

She ignores the twing in her gut telling her why.

Finishing up her nightly routine, she heads back into the main area to find Killian laying on the couch and scrolling through his phone. Emma holds back a giggle at the sight of the almost 6 foot man stretched across an equally long couch. He looks up when she flips on the lamp next to the bed and gives her a tight smile before heading into the bathroom himself. When she hears the shower turn on, she takes a deep breath, thankful for at least a small moment of alone time. She looks at the couch where he’s set up and can’t help but feel a bit guilty– the queen sized bed suddenly feeling way too big for one person.

Shit.

Emma makes up her mind as Killian unlocks the bathroom door and turns out the light. She works up the nerve to actually say something, but is only convinced when she sees him try and situate himself on the couch again. With a deep breath, she tries to hint at her decision casually, “That cannot possibly be comfortable.”

Killian jumps a bit at the sound of her voice and she snorts. The blush rises in his cheeks before he answers, “It’s quite alright, lass. I’ve slept on worse; at least I have a pillow.” He winks and she can’t stop her eyes from rolling dramatically. She knows he’d probably sleep on the floor if that was the only option, but she’s not evil .

“We’re both adults. I’m sure we can handle sharing a bed.” She doesn’t look him in the eye, finding a chip in the paint just above his right shoulder a safer place to land. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the smirk drop off his face.

“You don’t have to–”

She waves him off, finally making eye contact (fully aware he won’t move unless she does), “It’s fine, Jones. You can’t sleep on that couch, Robin will kill me if I fuck up your back.”

He laughs at the mention of his trainer and seems to relax a bit. “If you’re sure?”

She scoots to the left and pats the bed next to her, solidifying her decision. Killian smiles tightly before grabbing the pillow and blanket off the couch and sliding in next to her. Ever the gentleman, he continues to scroll through his phone.

Even still, Emma is positive he can hear her heart beating at least 180bmp.

She knows he’s following her lead, he’d probably sit up straight all night if that’s what she did. With a soft sigh, she lays down, grabbing her phone to set an alarm for the morning. “I’m gonna get up around 7. I hope that’s not too early?”

“Seven is perfect, love. I’m an early riser.” Killian looks at her when he says it – love– and she swears all the oxygen leaves her body. There’s probably nothing actually intimate about the way he’s staring at her, but the situation has Emma’s nerves firing on all cylinders.

“Oh. Great. I just usually take my morning run…” She trails off, realizing Killian doesn’t need an explanation, turning her head back to her phone as a much needed reprieve from the intensity of his eyes. She’s grateful when he breaks the silence.

“Aye, Swan. Me as well. Maybe…” He pauses and she looks up at him again. He shakes his head and turns back to what looks like a Twitter feed.

He’s nervous.

“Maybe you can join me! I’m not familiar with the area so it’d probably be safer… for both of us.” She’s not sure where it came from but her invitation is genuine. The nerves leave his face and are replaced with a boy-ish grin.

“I’d like that.” She takes in his smile and is pretty sure Michaelangelo couldn’t have chiseled someone so stunning.

Get a grip, Emma.

“Awesome. 7 it is then. Goodnight, Killian.” She doesn’t realize she called him Killian until she hears his breath hitch slightly. She rolls over, facing away from him before she does something absolutely stupid. The click of his phone locking signals his decision to sleep as well, and she feels him shift on his side of the bed. As his movement stops, Emma is able to fully relax, beginning to doze off much quicker than she expected. Right before she falls asleep completely, she swears she hears him speak in a soft whisper. “Goodnight, love.”

When she wakes up to his legs entangled in hers, she pretends to sleep as long as she can, taking in every moment of the early morning peace before she inevitably has to wake up. She manages to keep her breath even and eyes closed long enough for Killian to wake up and slowly work his way out of the bed. Even though the loss of his body heat feels like being shoved in a freezer, she stays still until she hears the click of the hotel room door. It’s then that she sits up, running her fingers through her hair and catches a brief whiff of his scent he left behind. She misses it the moment it dissipates.

Emma Swan, you are fucked.

. . .

The sun streaming through the window is the first clue that Killian isn’t in his flat– room darkening curtains being his only hope of sleeping past 5am– the second is the bright white pillow reflecting said sun beneath his head, and the third is the feeling of soft legs entangled in his own. It takes every ounce of muscle control he has not to move. As he takes in his current situation, he smells the sweet scent of vanilla which he can only trace to the mop of blonde curls which seem to have taken up residence on his chest. He subtly pinches himself in the side, positive this is just one of the many dreams he’s had of this nature.

He’s both parts relieved and terrified to realize he doesn’t need to wake up because he’s already wide awake.

He knows if Emma gets up now, any chance he has at waking up this way ever again, will run (probably literally) out the door. Reluctantly, he moves out from underneath her, feeling the loss of connection instantly and missing it just as suddenly. Grabbing his phone he checks the time. 6:30. He has another half hour before she wakes up, but he can’t risk losing her already… not when he hasn’t even had the chance to have her. He gets up from the bed and quietly leaves the room to grab them some coffee from the continental breakfast.

When he makes it back to the room, Emma is scrolling through her phone, fully dressed for their run. He checks his watch and finds it’s still before seven so she must have woken up on her own. He’s not sure what to say, but she looks up at him and he can’t help but apologize, “Good morning, Swan. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“Morning. I– uh– woke up and you were gone.” She eyes the coffee cup in his hand, “Is that for me?”  He smiles at her and nods before reaching out to give her the correct cup. Her “coffee” is basically milk and sugar with a splash of coffee, and she would probably be unpleasantly surprised to taste his black brew. As she returns to her phone, sipping carefully on the hot beverage, Killian grabs his workout clothes from his duffle and heads into the bathroom to change.

Going on a run with Emma was probably not his best idea. For one thing, she's insanely athletic, always three or four paces in front of him, but mostly it's the way she looks. Her heavy breaths up and down as the sweat drips down her sharp face… not to mention the yoga pants.

He’s going to need a very cold shower after this.

They ultimately run about 8 miles before ending up back at the hotel doubled over and trying to catch their breath. “Not bad, Jones… you know, for an old man.” He’s entirely out of oxygen but can’t help but laugh as she smirks at him and cracks a joke.

He wants forever to be like this. Has he said bloody hell? Because bloody hell.

They walk back into the hotel, grabbing water bottles from the small convenient store, and heading up to their room. The entire time Killian feels like he’s walking on air. Emma is chatty and smiling and he’s stunned that he has played even a small part in that. She walks into the room before him, turning around to ask him if she can jump in the shower first and all he can do is smile and nod. In his time alone, he realizes he’s entirely too infatuated with someone who is completely off limits. Since he picked her up at her apartment yesterday, they’ve felt more like friends than coworkers and after last night, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want even more than that.

He can’t.

It’s not that he’s worried about his career– fuck the UFC for all he cares– but Emma has Henry to worry about and she’s worked hard to get to where she’s at; he can’t ruin that for her. He vows to himself that he won’t let whatever feelings he’s grown for her affect her life. He watches how she moves about that life, determined and courageous, and he falls a little harder every single day. He can’t do anything to ruin that. Seeing her soft smile when she finally exits the bathroom only solidifies his determination to do right by her; keep things on the side of business casual and make sure her career kickstarts. By all means Emma doesn’t need his help, but an extremely successful client couldn’t hurt. He silently adds a resolution to train, fight, and promote to the absolute best of his ability to his vow. He’ll win that belt and he’ll do it for her. He’ll do it all for her.

As if there’s another option.

[ask-jaghatai-khan]

Marked

// A spooky short story for my Sylvaneth faction.

“I saw it! In the trees! Whence I was riding southward from the Fell Holdfast. Over the highlands I came, and I could see the woodline not far off. I dared not draw near, but it was an easier mark of my direction than the cliffs. The day had grown long, and by chance I spotted an odd shape among the trunks. Like any other black arbor of the western woods, but then I looked closer, and – it had near the shape of a man. I looked away for but a moment at the passing of a breeze, and when I looked back I saw two great eyes. Staring at me! Like the lamplit gaze of an owl. I was so shocked I near fell from my horse, and yet when I looked once more, the shape and its deathly eyes were gone.

Though – I could have sworn I heard something on the wind as I rode away. Almost like a song. So off-put was I by the specter that I dared not listen to the words, though thinking now on them, I wonder if I could have understood them at all. A grim experience all around; and I’ve crossed swords with heathens!”

A round of murmurs followed the old warrior’s story. Some in accord and some laden with skepticism. The horseman had attracted quite the audience from the mead-hall’s patrons, but there were plenty of unnatural tales to be heard on the borders of the Shrouded Nowhere.

“I question you, rider,” came the voice of one drinker, a swarthy man no doubt from one of the southern fishing hamlets, “You saw a shade upon the western border-woods? Were that true, you’d not be here to tell the tale. Raiders down from the mountains, or wolves on the moors – those dangers I could believe, but no man who sees the spirits of the west-woods lives to speak of it.”

“T’was only for a moment! No doubt if I’d tarried longer, I would have been taken by the fiend! It was the Terror, I tell you! One of the Old Spirits!” the traveler rebuked.

“You should make a sacrifice to the forest,” one woman spoke. A tough lady, weather-beaten beyond her few years, and a native to this particular village, “You’ll carry the gaze of the Old Spirits on you now. If you don’t plead for help from the gods, what curse might follow you?”

“You should head south,” came another warrior’s voice, “Take passage on a mist-cutter. No telling what fate awaits you at sea, but it must be better than your luck on land, horsemaster.”

“That was my plan even before I saw the specter,” the old man nodded, “But now I figure I have no choice. Either I can find a ship that might bear me beyond the Mists or I live ever in fear of the sight of trees.”

“It won’t do no good!” the woman snapped again, “You have a black mark upon you, whether you see it or not! You must pray to have it removed! Even were luck to favor you, and your ship is borne out into the greater Realm beyond these foggy shores – the Wild Hunt will follow you still! The Old Spirits have chosen you, and only the Everqueen, or Sigmar, or even the cursed Shadow King can help you now!”

“Madwoman,” the swarthy man wagged his beard, “This is why I never journey this far north if I can help it. You lot are spend more time worrying about woodland faeries than practical concerns. You know I’ve heard that barbarians have been spotted gathering in the shoals to the east—”

“What do you know, fisherman?” the girl spat, the mood of the drunken gathering turning hostile fast.

“What do you know, horse-herder?” came the southerner’s reply.

The woman’s grey eyes grew dark then beneath her wild, nut-brown hair; her knuckles white on the handle of her flagon, “My brother was taken by the Old Spirits. Eighteen years past, when we were but children. He wandered into the southmost reaches of the west-woods on the night of the solstice, and never did I see him again.”

“Smart boy.” Came a sarcastic mutter from somewhere, which prompted the woman to spin about with fury, looking for the source.

“I’ll take your advice,” the old horseman raised his hand, trying to quell the tempers his story had roused, “But what foul luck! Fifty years riding across the highland wastes, and not once have the west-woods cursed me ‘til now. Damned ghosts knew I was bound southward in my old age. No horsemaster could ever be allowed to leave the wastes!”

“Maybe not, but now I’m wondering if a strandman might stand to see a bit more of Ulgu,” the dark southerner remarked, “I should see if I can’t get passage through the Mists while I still have my better years, lest I end up like you lot.”

A round of discontented arguing followed that, though the crowd dispersed back to their respective tables before any brawl could break out. It was late, and no one was quite in the mood to get kicked out of the sole mead-hall in town. The old horseman was left alone, though the last notice he was given came from the local lady – she made no gesture, but her grey eyes met those of the old man with a dire look before she too trudged off.

The horseman spent that night in the inn just across the main road – a lopsided construction two stories high, though with sturdy walls to hold off the chilling winds of the midland wastes. There was no wall about the little village, and from his window on the upper floor the traveler was given an unimpeded view all the way out into the moors, where the grey sky and land mixed together into a veritable ocean of fog.

Though the night was growing long, and he had long miles to ride come morning, the man couldn’t sleep. His memories gnawed at him, and with the candle in his room extinguished he gazed out into the starlit moors like a deer watching for the source of a sound it thought it had heard.

And to his ears there did come a sound, then. Not one he realized he was hearing at first, believing it a fearful memory playing off the faint rattling of the inn’s timbers. Yet as the humming melody went on, the man’s breaths grew short, and his heartbeat quickened.

Lost souls wander Nowhere’s Mists

Forgetting all they had

Yet under root and soil black

They can at last be glad

With a soundless cry of abject terror, the horseman’s eyes fixed on a singular shape distinguished in the swirling fog-seas beyond the village borders. Out in the wastes, among the rocks and grass, there stood one black form like a lone tower in fields of grey. A tree. A black, gnarled tree, looking like a cursed thing which might have been used to hang untold numbers of sinners. Yet as the man looked longer, its form seemed less like a tree and more like the upright form of a man, crowned with branches as woodland king.

Oh wander not, you hopeless soul

Come to me and rest

Remember darkness left behind

With sleep you will be blessed

For how many decades had he rode the highlands? For how many long years had that traveler avoided the predations said to lurk within those black woods? And yet now they had come for him. He had lain eyes upon that which mortals were never supposed to see. He had been chosen, marked, cursed, and not even the Everqueen would deign to save him now.

Within that dark silhouette out on the moors, at that point where the tree-thing’s branches met its trunk, two lambent lights ignited. Like hellfire they burned, cold and distant as stars, yet brimming with a malign glow. He could not look away. The song continued in his mind, in his very soul, and to the mortal man it felt as though he were already dead.

In the morning when the maid came up, soon after the sun rose behind the usual overcast veil, she found the door to the traveler’s room still shut. Breakfast had come and gone, and the man had made clear the previous night his intent to leave as soon as possible, yet the stableman was waiting for him and he’d not yet handed over his keys to the inn’s owner. The maid knocked, and knocked again, but there came no reply.

The locksmith was fetched, and by his ministrations was the rough door soon sprung open, yet that offered little consolation.

He was nowhere to be seen, that horseman from the northern wastes. Nothing of him, nor any signs as to what might have become of him. The windows were shut and the door had been locked – what few possessions the man had carried were accounted for, save for a few odds and ends one might have expected him to keep on his person. Yet his axe was left behind, along with his rations and most of what would be needed for his trip. More than that, he’d never even come to collect his horse.

No one in the tavern had seen the man go, yet few showed any real regard or interest. In the end, it was left untalked about, as he’d paid his fees the night before, and it was not good luck in Nowhere to inquire after missing persons under such circumstances.

Far across the horizons, over broad highlands unbroken by tree or even high shrub, there rose at last the black line of the Mistbranch Forest. In those northern reaches were its trunks and canopy ever more foreboding and unwelcoming than even those misted borders to the south – and from within those midnight depths, there floated a sorrowful song.

[adriannasharp]

Fake Dating Fic Sneak Peek!

So about two years ago, @minakosaino posted on here that she needed a fake dating fic with Minako and Kunzite and the wheels in my head began turning. Today, I finally finished my first draft of this fic (because I very much need to write a full fic before I post it or there will be so many plot holes). For now, I’m going to let it sit for a while before I go back to edit it but in the meantime, have the first draft of chapter one! Enjoy!!

Minako sat, staring out the window. The bullet train rumbled ever so quietly as it turned through the Japanese countryside. It was a beautiful day. The sun was bright and she knew it would be hot on her skin when she stepped outside of the air conditioned passenger car. A binder sat in her lap, open to a seemingly random page but she couldn’t focus on it anymore. There was only so much of Kunzite’s life she could take in before she felt the need to gag. And no, that was not the fault of the train, as it was smoother than anything.

It was no secret to their friends that Minako and Kunzite did not like each other. If they didn’t share their circle of friends, they would most certainly never be seen together but, such is life, or however that saying goes.They were always on opposite sides of discussions and he mocked her at every chance he could. Of course, she would throw fire right back at him. He was just so arrogant and serious and never any fun.  Fortunately, after one too many rather public fights, they silently agreed that they should just stop ever talking to each other unless something nice could be said. After that, they barely spoke and always made an effort to sit as far apart as possible whenever there was a group get together. She still wasn’t sure how she would get through a whole weekend with him.

It was a few weeks prior that he asked her for a favour. She was hesitant, of course. What kind of favour could you ask of someone you don’t like? Well, it turned out he needed a date.

As the train curved past a small town, she recalled the conversation.

“You want me to be your date to a wedding?”

Kunzite’s face was its usual stoicness. Of course. He never did show emotion, after all.

“Yes. My little sister’s wedding.” He was silent after those words, hoping that was going to be enough but the disbelief on her face said that she needed more information. “If you must know, my mother has been...pestering me for some time about my single status. She has been rather insistent about me finding someone so I told her several months ago that I was seeing someone. Unfortunately I did not take into account bringing this fictitious woman to my sister’s wedding.”

“And you chose me?” Minako said somewhere in between mockery and confusion.

“Yes.” His face was in disbelief as well. “Unfortunately, my mother knows my friends and their significant others too well for me to utilize one of them. And it would be incredibly inappropriate to ask someone from my work.”

Right. He was a bigshot partner at some law firm and everyone he worked with worked under him. Yeah, she supposed that would be weird. And he was such a damn workaholic that he really didn’t have time for anyone else outside of his usual circle. But there were other things he could do.

“And before you say anything derogatory, no, I will not hire someone from an escort service.”

Damn. How did he know she was thinking that?

She looked him over. He looked surprisingly genuine with his turned down eyes and, was he fidgeting? Hmmm.

“What’s in it for me?”

“I would pay for the whole weekend, of course. And outside of the wedding itself and the rehearsal dinner, we can completely avoid each other.”

Minako eyed him skeptically.

“That's it?”

“And,” Kunzite continued as if it pained him to continue, “my firm recently gained a new client. If the weekend goes well, I could arrange a meeting with Minami Ogawa.”

Minako eyes popped. “The casting director?!”

It was true that Minako had been trying for years to get her big break in the entertainment industry. Her friends knew it, their partners knew it, and, of course, Kunzite knew it. This could make her career. But she also didn't want to quite admit defeat yet so she reigned in her excitement for one more clause to the deal.

“And you'll pay for two new dresses for me for the weekend?”

“Two?”

“Yes. I can’t wear the same dress twice in one weekend. You want me to look presentable, don't you?”

Kunzite sighed before holding his hand out. “Deal.”

Minako pulled out of her reverie. She tried to enjoy the summer sights but she couldn’t. She looked back down at the binder in her lap and mock gagged. She had insisted that they just wing it but he disagreed. He had to make things so much more complicated, as usual. She had met boyfriend’s parents before and she always come off lovely and charming and promising the mother she would keep in touch. It would be easy. Instead of winging it, he made a comprehensive binder listing details that he felt she should know. You know, things a girlfriend would know. How they met (common friends, at least he stuck with that one), where they had their first date (Ginza Sky Lounge), their second date (Jindai Botanical Gardens), the first movie they saw together (some pretentious Western movie she had never heard of), his family (both parents still alive and one soon to be wed little sister), and it went on.

At first, she tried to look at this as an opportunity to practice her acting skills. Surely, a weekend of playing a doting girlfriend would be good practice, right? At first, she took the binder with enthusiasm, determined to learn her part. But then, as she got further into the details, she found it harder and harder to continue. The thought of dating Kunzite was just…weird. And as the date loomed closer, she found herself pushing the binder away. But she was due at the station in under an hour and if she wanted to woo Kunzite’s family and get that meeting with Ogawa, she had to learn the last few pages quickly.

The wedding was in a small town a two hour train ride outside of Tokyo. They were staying at a hot springs inn a little ways from the station and the wedding was in some nearby hall she had never heard of. Well, that was probably because she didn’t venture much outside of Tokyo.

Kunzite didn’t say much about his sister in the binder. Just that she was four years younger than he was, she was a kindergarten teacher, and that the groom was an old college friend of Kunzite’s. It was weird to think of Kunzite with family. He never talked about them so she just sort of assumed he didn’t have any or he wasn’t close with them. Apparently it was the latter.

Her phone pinged with an unwelcome trill and she tried not to visibly shudder. She set his text tone separately so she knew it would be a message from him. The tone she chose was called chimes. It was a nice, pleasant sound that she hoped would balance the dread that would inevitably follow. So far, it hadn’t worked.

Did you manage to catch the train?

Only he could sound so condescending over text. To even it out, she typed back in her most sarcastic manner.

Yes. I did catch the train. I’m not a moron.

Good.

Was that really all he had to say? Jerk.

She thought about going back to the binder but she pushed it away with a grimace. Instead, she pulled up her contacts and called one of her best friends.

“Minako?”

“Hey Rei.”

Both girls paused. Rei waited for Minako to say why she was calling, but Minako wasn’t sure what to say.

“What’s up?” Rei asked. “Shouldn’t you be on the train right now?”

“I am.” She paused again before continuing. “Am I crazy? This is crazy, right?”

Minako could practically hear Rei’s smirk over the phone.

“I did say the whole thing was rather ludicrous.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Minako drawled.

“If you wanted encouragement, you should have called Makoto. You called me so you must have wanted me to talk you out of it.”

“No. I don’t want that. Just...do you think this is doable?”

Rei sighed. “If you’re both committed to it and don’t yell at each other, maybe.”

Right. The yelling. To be fair, it didn’t happen often. Their whole gang was discussing some heavier topics and, of course, Kunzite had the complete opposite opinion of her.

“What the hell do you mean?” she asked.

“Simply that if you cannot afford to have children, people should be careful about their-” he paused, searching for the right word, “dalliances.”

“So people should just never go out and enjoy themselves? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I-”

“Or do you think we should all be abstinent and boring like you?”

“If you would just listen-”

Before Kunzite could finish, Nephrite slammed his hands on the table. “Stop it both of you.” They both stopped and sat back. At least Kunzite had the sense to look mildly embarrassed. Well, as much as a piece of granite could look embarrassed. “Hearing you two argue is not what I had in mind for my birthday so if you could both just cut it out, you won’t have to leave.”

Minako shrinked back in her seat as Nephrite changed the topic. While Nephrite was usually the happiest of the group, he could be downright scary when he was mad. So Minako glanced at Kunzite and they both nodded, as if finally realizing how much their arguing was getting in the way of their friends.

Stupid Kunzite. He always had to escalate things. Since then, they just tried to avoid being in the same conversation, with some near misses.

“And how do I manage that?”

“Minako, you’re an actress. Just act like there’s something about Kunzite that you find desirable.”

Minako slumped her head against the window. “Any suggestions?”

“You won't believe a thing I have to say anyways. Pick things you can work with. He’s attractive, right? Use that. Find a few things about him that you can latch onto and talk about to his family.”

Minako massaged her temple with her free hand. “That’s going to be hard.”

“Then get off the train at the next station, turn around, and go home.”

“And miss my chance with Ogawa?”

“That’s up to you. But if you do want that meeting, you have to do a good job impressing his family and pretending like you’re in love with him.”

“Whoa. No one said anything about being in love. We just have to pretend we’re dating.”

“Minako, you don’t bring someone that casual to your little sister’s wedding. If you bring someone to a wedding, it’s someone that you’re going to be in love with.”

Shit. Rei was absolutely right. How could she overlook that? Shit shit shit.

“So I have to be lovey dovey with Kunzite?” The thought almost made her retch.

“What were you expecting to do before?”

Minako shrugged, although she knew Rei couldn’t see that. “I don’t know. Just hold hands and be lovely to his family?”

“You know Kunzite will need more than that. If you’re going to sell this, you need to do more than that. Channel Makoto. You know how lovey dovey she gets with Nephrite.”

Minako pictured the couple in the midst of one of their cutesy wutesy talks and chuckled. “Thanks. That kind of helps.”

“Good. Are you alright now?”

Minako let out a breath. “I think so.”

“Good. Because I have to go. Jadeite is burning lunch.”

Minako hung up and used the rest of the time on the train to begrudgingly learn the rest of the binder. Fortunately, it wasn't overly complicated and she was able to skip some redundant parts Kunzite wrote. Did she really need to know what his favourite food was? Or the colour of the walls in his apartment?

The final section was, oddly, about her. It would seem that Kunzite told his mother some details when pressured so, of course, Kunzite felt the need to include all those details too. According to him, Minako was a receptionist who enjoyed museums and dabbled in fine wine.

She scoffed. A receptionist? How dull and uninspired was that? Was this the kind of woman Kunzite looked for? Well, she supposed that would be perfect for him. She wouldn’t threaten his success and they could be dull and uninspiring together.  

As the train slowed to a stop, Minako heard chimes again and shuddered.

I’m in the parking lot.

Minako groaned. It was a half hour drive to the hotel they were staying at. Minako insisted she could take a cab but Kunzite seemed to think it would look better if they arrived together. And of course he had to drive. He was too good to ride the train like a normal person.

Okay she replied and resisted the urge to add a rolling eyes emoji.

She hoisted her bright yellow suitcase off of the train and wiped her brow at the sun’s heat beating down. Her wheels click clacked on the tiles as she made her way through the station and finally through to the parking lot. He was standing by his too fancy car, sunglasses on. Women stared at him as they passed and Minako remembered Rei’s words. “He’s attractive, right? Use that.”

Sure, he was attractive. She wasn’t blind. He had a strong jawline, relatively broad shoulders, and always dressed well. It was just his personality that was so unattractive. She wanted to yell the truth to the women passing by, that he was arrogant and entitled and probably wouldn’t give them a second glance unless they were models or something.

He raised his hand slightly to get her attention and Minako could feel the jealous looks on her back.

“Hi,” he said as she approached.

“Hi.”

An awkward moment passed between them before he reached for her suitcase. “I can get that. The car’s unlocked.”

She muttered in acquiescence, slid into the car, and realized she was wrong. His car wasn’t just too fancy, it was WAY too fancy. There were a ton of buttons that she couldn’t even figure out the purpose of. There was a fancy screen mounted on the dash and she found herself waiting for some kind of personalized AI to jump out of it.

The driver door opened and Kunzite slid in. The car started up again but the engine was so quiet, she barely noticed. The only sign of the car starting was the screen coming to life and a full blast of AC.

It was at this point that normal people would make small talk. He would ask how how the train ride was or tell her a bit about the hotel they were staying at. But no. This was Kunzite and he was Mr. Silent, Mr. Unfriendly. He could never be bothered to say something nice to someone else. So she supposed it had to be up to her.

“So have you been to this place before?”

“No. But that does remind me.” He reached down to the console and punched in a few things on the screen. Next thing Minako knew, she heard an electronic female voice coming out of the console, directing them where to go. Kunzite seemed to have forgotten Minako’s question and stayed silent.

So much for small talk.

Well, if he was going to be silent, she could too. She fiddled with the radio, trying to find a good station. He eyed her out of the corner of his eyes but said nothing. She found something with some fun pop and settled back in her seat. It was only a half hour to the hotel. She could manage that.

Well, she lasted seven and a half minutes.

“Are you going to be like this all weekend?”

“Like what?”

She gestured at him wildly. “Like this. All stony and quiet. Can’t you be a little more interesting?”

“Interesting,” he echoed in a deadpan voice.

“Yes. Interesting. I can’t work off a piece of granite all weekend.”

“Are we trying to impress someone right now?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “No.”

“That’s why I made the binder. No extra contact with us, right?”

Minako shrugged. “I guess. So you just want to figure this out when we get there?”

“You act as if it’s going to be difficult. As long as we have both prepped for this, this weekend will run smoothly. And I thought it best not to talk too much if it wasn't necessary. Keep the peace and all.”

Minako picked at a loose thread on her shorts to avoid looking at him. That was a pretty good point, she supposed. If the two of them ever fell into a conversation, it always escalated into a full on argument. I mean, does he have to be so disagreeable all the time?

She realized she still hadn't said anything so she muttered, “I guess that makes sense.”

The sounds of a Jpop star filled the silence and Minako decided to watch the scenery, though there wasn't much. Just lots of trees. Then, she heard the music change.

Kunzite's hands were still on the wheel but it was definitely a different station. He probably had fancy controls on his steering wheel.

“What was that for?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I changed the music. Those top 40 pop songs give me a headache.”

“So? I was enjoying it. And besides, it wouldn't kill you to listen to it for a half an hour. May I remind you that I am taking a weekend out of my life to do something nice for you.”

“Something nice?” He scoffed. It was the most emotion she heard in his voice the whole ride. “You're only here so you can meet Ogawa so don't pretend like you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

Damn. He had her there.

“Well,” she trailed off for a moment, trying to find the right words. “If I were in your shoes, I would at least try to make a guest feel welcome.”

She crossed her arms, sank into her seat, and rested her feet up against the dash.

He swatted them down without taking his eyes off the road. “My car, my rules.”

“You know, it wouldn't kill you to do something nice once in a while.”

“Like let you dirty my car and blast your terrible music? No thank you.”

Minako rolled her eyes. “That's not what I meant.”

“It's exactly what you meant. You want to have your own way.”

“What?”

He shrugged and continued as if it was common knowledge. “You do. And no one else’s opinion matters.”

She was aghast. “Excuse me?”

“Come on. At least admit it. It’s obvious.”

Her cheeks reddened. How dare he? “I don’t do that. I just want people to be included.”

“Against their will.”

Her face grew an even brighter red. “Well at least I'm not a stick in the mud with a stick up my own stick ass.”

“At least I don't always have to be the centre of attention. I understand subtlety and I don’t make everyone around me uncomfortable.”

If steam could be coming out of Minako's ears, they would be.

“Pull over,” she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow but obliged. Before the car could fully stop, she was out the door. She walked around to the back and Kunzite watched her struggle a bit before she stormed over to his window.

“Open the trunk please,” she said. Her voice was calm but her teeth were clenched.

He pulled a latch and she stormed to the back of the car again. After an awkward yank, she hoisted her suitcase out of the trunk and began walking away.

Kunzite sighed and stepped out. “Where are you going?”

“Isn't it obvious? Back to the train station. I clearly won't be respected this weekend so there's no point in me staying.”

She paused, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he glanced over her, settling on her feet. “It's probably about a three hour walk back to the station and those shoes don't seem to be built for that.”

True, her wooden wedges were less than suitable for the rocky sides of the road. “I’ll call a cab then.”

He leaned against the car, as if he had all day. “Do you even know where you are?”

She was aware of the long pause she took but she still said, “Of course”

He said nothing. He just stood there and stared at her. It was a challenge. He was calling her bluff.

“Well, I should start back to the train station then,” she said. “Anything is better than being in that car with you for five more minutes.”

With that, she flipped her long golden hair and continued walking away.

“Okay then. Good luck.”

She didn’t even look back as she reached her arm high and waved goodbye. She waited for him to get back in his car. She waited to hear the hum of an engine and the sound of him driving away. Then she remembered how quiet his car was. Damn. Did he already drive away? Should she risk a look over her shoulder?

She forced herself to count to twenty as she walked away. Then she took a glance over her shoulder.

He was still there. In fact, he hadn’t even moved.

“Are you done?” he called out to her. “Will you get back in the car?”

She turned around and took several steps towards him. “What do you mean?” she yelled back. “I’m storming off. Tell your family I was sick or something.”

“You and I both know that you’re not going to miss out on a chance with Ogawa. Now will you stop wasting time and get back in the car?”

Her eyes darted back and forth as she weighed her options. Her act of storming off was supposed to make him apologize but if she went back now, he had the high ground. And she didn’t like losing.

On the other hand, it was true what he said. She could just prolong this and hope she ended up with the higher ground. But she also had a feeling that he wasn’t going to budge. He was definitely stubborn like that. Stupid stubborn jerk.

“Okay.” She was still a fair distance from him so she still had to raise her voice. “I’ll come back. But you have to be nicer to me.”

Minako thought she saw him roll his eyes behind his sunglasses but she was too far away to tell. “Fine.”

She walked back to him, expecting him to step forward and help her with her suitcase again but he just got back in the car. She hoisted her suitcase back in the still open trunk and made sure to slam it shut with more force than necessary.

Minako stared out the window. She didn’t think she could look at him without getting mad again. Neither had said a word since she got back in the car. She thought about trying to find a neutral conversation point but her imagination kept coming up with ways he would argue with her.

Okay. Maybe he was right. Maybe they should just avoid talking to each other unless they had someone to convince that they were madly in love. So instead, she flipped through her phone and the radio stayed quiet. The only sound she heard was his dash, telling him where to go.

As they turned the corner and pulled into the hotel, Minako forgot about her vow of silence.

“It’s gorgeous!”

It really was. It was a little more modern than she expected. There were glass walls intermixed with the wood but still held an older look. It fit perfectly amid the surrounding greenery, the crisp, fresh smell of it wafted on the air.

After pulling out their suitcases, they made their way into the building. It was beautiful. Rich, traditional wood architecture mixed with more modern brickwork and glass. Rooftops rose high to a peak, making the dark wood seem more airy, and doors were wide open, letting in the warm summer air. But it got a bit gloomier when Kunzite took her hand. It felt weird. His hand was stiff and had callouses. Before she could ask why, she realized a middle aged couple was walking towards them.

“Kunzite. You made it.”

It was the woman who spoke. She had long dark hair and a friendly smile. The man with her had neatly trimmed hair and glasses and she assumed them to be his parents.

“Hi mom. Hi dad.”

Minako forced herself to stand a little straighter, her posture for girlfriend who was madly in love. At the last second, she stepped closer to him. Intimacy, right?  She didn’t miss the look he threw her. But it passed quickly. His parents were approaching fast.

His mother pulled him in for a hug and then smiled wider when she looked at Minako.

“So, you must be Minako.”

“I am. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Kunzite has told me so much about you.”

Her words had the desired effect of making his mother blush.

“I’m so glad to hear that. We haven’t seen him in ages and he kept refusing to send me any photos of you. I was starting to wonder if you even existed.”

“Well, it is hard to get him to be in a picture with me. If it wasn’t for us going out in the daylight, I would have thought he was a vampire.”

Minako felt Kunzite’s hand squeeze a little harder but his parents were laughing. It even allowed his dad to interject.

“Kunzite never was one for photos. He always looked far too serious in them.”

Minako laughed but she felt like Kunzite was getting annoyed. He overcompensated for it well though.

“Well, we should really check in. We don’t have too much time before dinner and we should get settled.”

“Oh,” his mother began, ruffling through her purse. “I actually got everyone checked in. You two are in room...” She pulled out a key card and squinted at the number, “204.”

She handed Kunzite the key card and it wasn’t until she let go that he realized what she said.

“Both of us in the same room?”

“Of course,” his mother waved her hand dismissively. “You’re an adult now.”

“And this isn’t our trip to Nara,” his father said.

“We are perfectly comfortable with you two staying in the same room.” Kunzite looked shell shocked. If Minako wasn’t so shocked herself, she would have wished she had a camera. “Now hurry up you two.” She glanced at her watch. “Kunzite’s right. There really isn’t too much time before dinner tonight and I would love to get together with you both before that so we can get to know you.”

“Of course,” Minako said, keeping her voice soft and light. “I would love that.”

“Perfect. Then we’ll meet you in the restaurant at five?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

With a wave, his parents walked away and it took Minako and Kunzite a moment before they snapped back to reality.

“Let’s go,” he said, letting go of her hand.

She was happy to let go and took the moment to rub a bit at her face. Maybe that smile had been overcompensating a bit.

The trip to the second floor was quiet and when they reached their door, Kunzite swiped his card and held the door open for her. Minako raised her eyebrows and wondered where the sudden chivalry was coming from.

“Take the luggage in. I’m going to get another room.”

So much for chivalry.

The door closed behind him and Minako was left to check out the room. It was lighter and airier than the rest of the hotel. The walls were off white with wood accents. The bed was large and looked incredibly comfortable. That was confirmed when she ran her hand over it and experimentally flopped onto it. But what really caught her eye was the view. The balcony was large with a couple of chairs and looked out on a sea of green. She felt herself getting calmer already.

Then the door opened again. Loudly. Leave it up to him to break the serenity.

Minako walked back inside and saw the frustrated look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“The place is completely booked.”

“What?”

He huffed before continuing. “We’ll just have to make do with separating the futons and not look at each other.”

Kunzite was still in the entryway. He didn't see the bed. He didn’t know.

“Umm. That might be a bit difficult. This place is a bit more modern than that,” she said pointing towards the bed that he couldn’t see.

He quirked an eyebrow and walked in to see the very sturdy, very heavy bed frame, bearing a single, whole mattress.

“Shit.”

[floral-on-main]

Back To My Roots

Lydia's blonde roots begin to show and of course Beetlejuice, the Ghost With The Most, jumps to conclusions. It's not his fault he actually kind of cares for this little asshole now. (Not ship!)

Also on ao3

Words:1621

Lydia being naturally blonde was a basic and unsurprising fact of life. Her dying her hair was also unsurprising. What better way for a girl in emotional turmoil to show just how shitty she was feeling than pitch black hair? Not to mention it fit her goth aesthetic much more than platinum blonde hair. This train of though was spurned on by her reflection starring back at her from the vanity mirror.

The golden roots seemed to mock Lydia with how they stood out against the black. With everything that had been happening she had no chance to touch up her roots. There wasn't a single box of dye in the house, not after Dad and Delia decided to go gray together. Yuck. With a little pleading, she might be able to get Delia to grab her a box of black dye.

With a heavy sigh Lydia flopped onto her bed and draped her left arm over her eyes. Even if no one was there she was going to stay true to her dramatic self.

Beetlejuice floated down the halls of the Deetz-Maitland household, semi-moist canvas clutched tightly to his chest. Delia had been trying to get him to 'paint his feelings'. Yuck. He mostly just used it as time to be a nuisance of hang out with the Maitlands, those nerds knew a lot about painting. It was hobby 69-something for Adam and 420-or-whatever for Barbra. For once he had actually sat down and painted a sandworm, which looked a lot more like a stripped sock than a sandworm.

Without knocking he phased through to door to Lydia's bedroom. He held back a snort as he saw Lydia being her normal dramatic self. They were best friends for a reason. A reason that didn't have to do with demon summoning and abandonment issues.

“How's it going, gremlin? Did Debra sit you down for a 'girls' talk' again?” He proudly held his painting out in front of him, ready for when Lydia turned to look. She was going to be blown away and super impressed.

With a groan Lydia sat up and let her arm fall lip at her side. “Nah, just teenage stuff and angst. You know how it is.” Her eyes locked onto the smudged painting of what looked like a pinstripe eel cracking open an egg with its mouth. Looks like Beej was getting in abstract art like Delia wanted. “What's that?”

Just as he was about to launch into his totally impromptu speech he noticed something pale in Lydia's sea of dark hair. He floated closer to get a better look. Beetlejuice was getting better about personal space, but it still wasn't one of his strong suits.

It was when he was hovering directly over her that he noticed a golden split in the hair right in the middle of her head. He may not understand breathers completely, but this couldn't have been normal. But it was nothing to worry about. It was probably normal and she was fine.

Who was he kidding? Something must of happened during her trip to the Netherworld and now her head was gonna spilt in half! Breather's hair didn't just change colors like that. Did she catch some supernatural malady?  If she died of broken head or half mind or whatever he would be there for her. Now, how was he going to break the news to her? Just the though of loosing his best buddy for eternity had blue bleed into his hair from the roots to the tips.

“Earth to Beetlejuice. You still in there, dummy?” Lydia waved her hand in front of his face. It wasn't uncommon for him to disappear into his own mental world, but this was concerning her. Somewhere in his train of thought the painting slipped from his fingers and fell to the shaggy carpet below. She had learned loosely what each color of Beej's hair meant and knew blue was bad news— or more accurately, sad news. As a last resort she tapped his shoulder. Physical contact usually brought him back to the world of the living.

“I'm so sorry, Lyds! I promise I'll be the best Guide ever when you bite it. And when we get to the Netherworld I'll rip apart whoever or whatever did this to you!” As he rambled his hair turned fully blue and tears threatened to fall.

“What the fu-” Her sentence was cut off by the near crushing hug the demon was giving her. Several tears made tracks through the light layer of dirt on his face. She thumped his side roughly with a closed fist. Once he loosed up a bit she took in a large, theatrical breath.

“What the hell are you talking about? I'm just dying at the normal rate.”

Beetlejuice pulled away briefly to blow his nose on his tie. He leaned back in to tighten the hug, but Lydia screamed bloody murder and managed to push him off. “If you even think about touching me with that petri dish of a tie I'll stab you again.”

“You can stab me as much as you want if it'll make you feel better.” He seemed completely unphased by her protests and just floated at the edge of her bed. Something clearly had Beej pretty worked up, and Lydia was going to get to the bottom of it. At some point the painting had been kicked under the bed, where it then lay forgotten and uncared for— never to be heard of or referenced again.

“Just take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong. Why do you think I'm gonna die now?”

He did as he was told and did his best to appear composed. This composure did nothing for the deep blue staining his hair.  “ I don't know how you haven't noticed, but there's a giant fucking split in your head. Isn't that painful? You were cursing up a storm after you stubbed your toe, but your fine with this? Wait, you need to cough. We need to see if your lungs have started to corrode yet.” Beetlejuice's voice raised a couple octaves as worry once again gripped his unbeating heart.

“Split in my head?” Lydia said the words slowly, as if they were some foreign demonic language. Then the answer hit her like a tombstone to the head. “Beej, look at me and listen carefully.”

With watery eyes he watched her as if this was the last time he would see her alive.

Lydia cleared her throat. “Listen, I'm dying, but at the rate most breathers do. Probably.” That dark thought was quickly pushed from her mind. “My hair isn't naturally black, it's blonde. I dye my hair this color and now the color is fading. It's totally normal and doesn't hurt. Just ask Dad if you don't believe me.”

A painfully silent moment passed between the two. In that moment, the blue faded to be replaced by the normal healthy green hue. The first to break the silence was the flustered demon.

“Pssh, I knew that. Did you really think I would get that worked up over you? It was just a prank and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker!” Beetlejuice was a master at lying, but even that sounded hollow to his ears. He nonchalantly waved his hand as if to dispel any doubts.

Lydia rolled her eyes and smirked. In her most sarcastic voice she said, “You got me, BJ. For a minute I totally believed your heart had grown to sizes and you cared for me.”

“Shut up, you gremlin. Are you doing to 'dye your hair' again?” The air quotes were unnecessary, but totally Beej.

“Of course. If I show up blonde Claire would tear into me without remorse. Probably claim I was trying to steal her styles. She needs to wake up and realize that not everything is about her.” Beetlejuice nodded sympathetically as if he knew the intricacies of teenage girl drama.

“Yeah, you really gotta dye it. I can't have you stealing my style. Color changing hair is practically my trademark. And let me tell you, Netherworld lawyers are ruthless.”

“Get me some dye and then we'll talk about me 'stealing your style', Beej.”

Beetlejuice was already mentally planning how to steal enough dye to keep Lydia sated, but not enough to get caught by either Charles or the Maitlands. He already had to sleep on the couch once this week and he wasn't looking for a repeat. If he was sneaky enough he might be able to even get some for himself. Would it even stick? Eh, he would just find out later.

“Now that we got that crisis out of the way, want to go collect spiders out back? Pretty sure I saw a brown recluse the other day.”

“There is nothing more I would rather do except the Maitlands.”

Lydia grimaced before responding. “I know.”

Lydia grabbed an old mason jar from her dresser and her polaroid from where it was hanging on the vanity. She was all ready to go. She looked over to Beej, who spat in his hands and used it to ineffectively slick back his hair. He caught her looking and gave a thumbs up. “Ready to go when you are.”

The two buddies then raced down the stairs— to Delia's surprise— to get to the backyard. They heard the sound of something heavy falling to the ground, but managed to miss Delia yelling at them to slow down. Turns out there wasn't a brown recluse in the garden, but Beetlejuice managed to conjure up a terrifying replacement. Once Charles got home they were both going to be on web clean up duty though.

[a-wanderin-whirlybird]

Sole Ender AU Its the Little Things

It's the little things that made Ryan feel safe with the Fakes. Like how Gavin and Michael always walk on his right side, never his left, so he can always see them. It's how Geoff makes sure that any Heists outdoors are occurring when it doesnt rain. It's how Jack always has an extra umbrella or Eye Patch for him. How Jeremy and Lindsay make sure to never make direct eye contact. Jeremy looks at his mouth, Lindsay watches anywhere and everywhere else.

Those little things always made Ryan feel welcome. Even after they found out about the experiments, the Lab, the Eye. But still, something felt missing, Ryan could never put his finger on it. But he felt, lost still. He didnt realize the Emptiness was caused by something so simple until one night while playing Trivial Pursuit.

"Authors last names? Fuck that! Every last bastard whose ever written a book has a weird ass last name! They could be Hilda Sasquatch or some shit!" Jeremy shouted. Jack laughed and Gavin snorted.

"Jeremy, you wrote a book." Michael reminded him.

"Well Dooley is a funny last name!" Gavin pointed out as Jeremy growled and slapped the Brit on the back of his head.

"Yeah, like Free is any better!" Jack was losing it in the background as the Lads began to bicker and wrestle. Ryan's nose scrunched as his chest tightened and the empty feeling began again.

"What's with the face Rye?" Geoff asked breaking Ryan's stare. His left eye was covered with a glittering purple and blue eye patch Gavin had made out of his Sparkles. It was a fine gift, one that Ryan treasured.

"Its, it's nothing really." Ryan insisted a bit hesitantly. Geoff shook his head.

"Suuuuuurrrre, it's really nothing." Geoff drawled sarcastically. Ryan rolled his eye.

"Your like a security camera." Ryan muttered. "You keep digging and digging."

"Yeah that's not weird at all." Geoff sighed. "But fine, I'll stop. Just remember you Can talk to us."

"I... I know Geoff." Ryan muttered as the fight before them settled. "Just. Not now?"

Geoff nodded and they all turned back to the game. Ryan hoped that he could bury that empty feeling and never touch it again.

It was just a Last Name after all.

Turns out Ryan couldnt avoid the feeling for long. It was another game night a few weeks later. Jack and Geoff were out with Gavin, so Michael, Jeremy and Lindsay insisted Ryan joined them for Mario Party.

"Right so what's got you so fucked?" Michael asked never looking away from the mini game on the screen.

"Oh elegantly put Jones." Jeremy teased. Michael knocked into Jeremy who went tumbling away and Ryan felt the hole in his chest open again.

"I dont know what you mean." Ryan said as Lindsay pressed into him.

"Bullshit you keep wincing at random! Your eye bugging you?" Lindsay asked this time. Ryan shook his head, he felt stupid he just wanted these people to stop caring so much!

"We arent going to stop caring dipshit that isnt how this works." Jeremy said. Great, Ryan thought, he said that out loud.

"Yeah! We're a crew and shit we ain't gonna not care! Somethings bugging you and we want to help!" Lindsay declared throwing her arms around Ryan and pulling him into a hug.

Ryan tensed then mumbled.

"Sorry what was that?" Michael smirked. "Cant hear you through Lindsay dude."

"I dont have a fucking last name alright? It's a small stupid thing but it drives me nuts! I feel even less human!" Ryan shouted, pushing away from Lindsay. Michael and Lindsay began to laugh.

"Dude chill. It's just a name it doesnt mean shit!" Michael wheezed.

"Yeah dude. No need to get your panties in a twist over it." Lindsay added. Ryan growled and silently rose to his feet.

"Ryan?" Jeremy started but with a Vwoop, Ryan teleported away leaving the three others behind. In a cloud of dull sparkles.

Ryan could teleport pretty far. The farthest he ever went in one go was 20 miles. But now he didnt want to go far, just hide. And what better place to hide than one of the safe houses?

It was a small apartment closer to the suburbs of Los Santos, it was nice, if small. It was usually reserved for when someone was on a solo mission and needed to lie low, which meant that Ryan was there most. So he got to decorate.

Back at the Labs he never got to make any space his own. Everything was sterile and empty. He hated to remember the open space and clean white walls and the smell of bleach and chemicals.

Which was why this space was filled with stuff. Sure it was tidy, nothing was rotten or moldy, but Ryan used every space available. If the floor didnt have a rug there was a table or chair. If the tables didn't have Flowers, TVs, knickknacks or something on it there was usually a cup of Diet Coke. It was filled to the brim with bright plants, paintings, photos you name it.

Ryan plopped down on the couch feeling stupid. Why was he so hung up on a name? He had given himself the name Ryan sure, why not a last name?

Ryan knew why, and as that thought rose up he pushed it away. He didnt want any memories of the Labs in his head right now. Now he wanted to just sleep, he wanted to feel less... less stupid and childish.

So Ryan went off to the bedroom and buried himself deep under the covers, like he used to, and blocked out the rest of the world.

Ryan was 13 again and he sat on his cot, swinging his legs absently.

"Why dont I get one?" He heard himself ask. "Why am I only a number?"

"Names are given by family to people. You have no family and you are no longer human. You are far better than that." One of the blurred figures said. The second scoffed.

"Better? It cant even run the most basic excersise without failing ten times. Its isnt anything but a waste." Ryan couldnhear the sneer in the figure's voice as pain shot through every nerve on his body. "Failure doesnt get you a name of any kind. You are a tool, and a broken one at that. Dont forget that."

Ryan woke up with a start. Turning to the clock Ryan cursed. 3 am. He wasnt going back to sleep. Again.

Getting to his feet Ryan didnt bother to change into fresh clothes. He had slept in his jeans why not just use them again? But he grabbed a jacket and went out into the night.

Mount Chilliad loomed in the distance as Ryan walked the dark streets of Los Santos. He could have teleported where he wanted to go, or even driven. But he didnt want to. Walking felt better, it gave agency, he decided where his feet went, no one else.

"Oh Thank Fuck! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Ryan jumped, ready to fight and run from the handlers. When recognition snapped his mind from bad memories.

Standing before him was Jeremy, holding a tiny wiggling bundle of fur. A cat from what Ryan could tell. Jeremy smiled nervously, but relief was evident in the smaller man's eyes.

"Look, uh. Fuck I suck at this shit. Let's go inside yeah? We are near a place I own. Come on." Jeremy ushered Ryan towards a nearby apartment building. Ryan followed wordlessly, but obediently. At the door Jeremy hopped around a little.

"Keys, keys. Uh Hey Rye mind.holding him for a sec?" Jeremy then thrust the cat into Ryan's hands who finally got a good look at the little fur ball.

They were a tiny black kitten, fuzzy and wiggling furiously. What stood out the most was that it was missing a front leg.

The door clicked as.Ryan made eye contact with the little kitten. His chest tightened and his mind whirled as he looked into the kittens little eyes. Then it looked at Ryan's jacket and started burrowing into one of the interior pockets. Ryan felt a purr resonating out of the tiny cat from in his jacket and through his ribs. His chest began to unclench and suddenly he was.aware he was inside a studio apartment.

There were art supplies everywhere. Everything from Yarn and Knitting needles, to paints and canvases to wood sculptures, and musical instruments were strewn about. Jeremy hopped around the room over to a ragged old bed, kicking off his shoes as he went.

"Well, make yourself at home. Dont mind the mess things just get thrown around alot." Jeremy said sheepishly. Ryan picked his way through the room, his eye moving around and soaking up all the little pieces. The space felt lived in not just visited like the safe houses.

"Is this a safe house?" Ryan asked as he sat down on the bed. Jeremy shook his head.

"Nah. It's my apartment. Before I joined the Fakes I lived here. Still try to come back, sometimes you just need your own place you know?" Jeremy explained. There was a tense silence for a few minutes then Jeremy spoke.

"Michael and Lindsay were being a bitch." Ryan tensed ready to run. "No please just, hear me out?"

Ryan froze, suddenly aware he had gotten up to leave. Jeremy had his arm, and the Kitten purred even louder than before. Ryan sank back onto the bed.

"Look. I dont know what your life was like before you joined us but it obviously wasnt even a little bit good. Actually it sounds like it was fucking awful." Ryan laughed dryly.

"That's putting it lightly."

"Yeah no shit. But it's not stupid to feel shit." A pause. " If not having a Last name bugs you why dont you give yourself one?"

"Its not..."

"Not that simple yeah?" Jeremy finished Ryan nodded as the kitten crawled out on Ryan's lap.

"Alright, well. Do you think you can tell me why?" Jeremy asked. Ryan thought, eye down on the kitten as the little guy curled up on his lap without a care.

"Its not the same. It belongs to a family. I cant be a family of one." Ryan insisted and Jeremy shook his head.

"Ok two things. One. Thats a load of horseshit and who ever told you that was dumb as fuck. And two. There is more to it isnt there?" Ryan stayed silent. Running his fingers through the Kitten's fur. Jeremy began to whisper. "You're human, Rye. Just cause someone says you arent doesnt make it true. I know that one."

Ryan froze he didnt expect anyone to pick up on that. The whole Not human but was always somewhere in the back of his mind, eating at him. Jeremy wrapped himself around Ryan hugging him tightly. Ryan shook as he melted into the other man's touch, a few tears spilling out.

"You know. My family abandoned me when I was a teenager. Said I was a monster just cause I kissed both guys and girls. Not exactly dubious experiments but it is dehumanizing all the same. I kept my last name though. I did it as a big old fuck you to them. They died during one of the Fake's heists. Got to watch then burn myself. But the name never connected me to them, a name connects you to who ever you want it to." Jeremy was quiet as he spoke, his voice against Ryan's skin as he pressed into Ryan's neck.

Something was bubbling in his brain, but Ryan had no idea what it was. And right now was not the time to figure that out.

A small Meow pulled the two away from one another. The little kitten was trying to climb up Ryan's jacket between the two. As it scrambled up Jeremy laughed, and Ryan felt a chuckle escape his throat. The kitten then flung itself over Ryan's shoulder, it's one front paw kneading his shoulder blade and purring up a storm.

"I forgot this little guy was here." Jeremy said through a laugh. A pause, then Jeremy smiled softly. "Ya know, I was going to take him to the shelter. Geoff won't let me keep any animals. But I think you should take him."

"You just said-" Ryan began but Jeremy shook his head.

"I'm not allowed any animals. Geoff never said anything about you keeping a pet. And hey! Now you have another family member! You can give him a first name and a Last name of your choice!" Jeremy beamed at Ryan who smiled a little.

The sun rose as the Battle Buddies walked into the penthouse. The morning news was filling the living room, telling the story of several Petstores that had been robbed of supplies in the night.

"And what a coincidence, you both have Pet stuff." Geoff hissed as he sucked back more.coffee.

"Yeah well, Ryan's got a cat now so you gotta have toys and a litterbox to you know?" Jeremy said as he dropped a giant bag of cat food next to the kitchen Island.

"I thought I said no pets!" Geoff shouted, his voice cracking.

"Yeah but only for Jeremy." Ryan pointed out. "Abd Finnieas isnt a pet. He's family."

Geoff paused, Ryan knew the gears were turning. Geoff groaned.

"Ugh! Fine! You can keep the damn cat!" Geoff hissed. "And Finnieas? The hell kind of name is that?"

"Ih his full name is Finnieas Gavallo Haywood thank you." Ryan insisted with an air of dramatics. Jeremy giggled and kept in front of Ryan who held the kitten before him.

"A poud name Haywood! Ancient and divine! Dating all the way back to 4 hours ago!" Jeremy exclaimed. Geoff laughed.

"Alright you dolts get a move on. I'm going to text Jack and let them know you two caused the morning rukus." Geoff said. Jeremy took off down towards Ryan's room, a bag of cat toys in hand. As Ryan went to follow, Geoff got up off the couch. He placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder and gave a lop sided smile.

"Haywood's a good name. You know. I picked Ramsey myself when I built this crew. Jack took Patillo at that time to." Geoff then walked away, pulling out his cellphone and typing.

Finnieas purred as Ryan took in the unspoken message.

A name may seem like a Little Thing, but it holds importance all the same. And sometimes you need to give yourself those Little Things to heal.

[mind-writing0]

~Chapter 9

Hey lovelies!! So I’m going to be starting a tag list for this story! If you want to be part of it, you can comment on this chapter or just tell me in my asks! (just make sure it’s not anonymous)

When Virgil woke up, he immediately felt guilty and humiliated. He buried his face into the pillow, and despite its unbelievable comfort, he felt a storm of anxiety in his stomach. Virgil was telling the truth that night—he had no intentions of winning the prince's heart—but that didn't mean he had to give up his dignity in such a way.

 And to think who could have seen! Part of the forms had read that he wouldn't mind being filmed at certain parts of the day, for the Report, and he was lucky no cameras were there to document his breakdown. 

His breakdown to Prince Roman. Despite what was said, Virgil believed wholeheartedly that his time was up. Why would the Prince—a man that had so many guests solely for the Selection of a husband—want to keep someone that had flat out said they didn't want to be there? For entertainment reasons was cold, though Virgil did say he wanted to stay— 

"Sir Virgil?" One of his maids knocked, "It's time to get up, sir. It's a big day!" 

Virgil groaned into the sheets again. "Okay, do y'all—I mean you guys have to help me get ready?" 

"Yes, sir." The maid responded, and Virgil could hear the humor in her voice. She opened the door and brought in a tray. On the plate was the most exquisite breakfast Virgil had ever seen in his life, which is underestimating as he usually didn't eat breakfast. Waffles covered in syrup and strawberries, hash browns, sausage, bacon. Anything imaginable for a perfect meal was there. 

All three of Virgil's maids came in and sat at a small table near the bed. They had some tea set out, but nothing else. "

Um...do you guys want some of this? I might feel sick after eating this much so early." Virgil spoke up, but he felt dumb afterwards. 

They looked surprised for a minute, then giggled. "No thank you, sir. That's all for you." The one that guarded his door last night said. "

Do you, um, ladies have to call me sir all the time? I mean, you can if you want but...if you're going to help me, I think I should at least know your names." 

"Okay," the maid with the short brown hair replied, "my name is Katie. This here is Romelle," she gestured politely towards the blonde maid who was helping herself to some tea. "And this is Allura." A maid with dark skin and darker hair waved in a small gesture as she set out some cards. 

"We're so glad you are the contestant we are to care for. It will be an honor to work with you." Allura said. She had an odd accent; Virgil would have to ask where she's from sometime. 

As for right now, he smiled a little before digging into his breakfast. It seemed as if every time he ate something, it reappeared a moment later. Though he knew it wasn't true, it still made it hard to finish. 

"I'm getting full. What do you do with leftovers here?" Virgil asked cautiously. He sat up more in vain, knowing that nothing could make him look like the professional image his maids were expecting. 

"We...um...throw them out. Sometimes the workers in the castle eat them." Romelle replied before taking a sip of tea. 

"You mean you eat scraps like dogs?" Virgil demanded. For a moment, his voice was angry—almost powerful—until he saw Katie flinch. "I'm sorry. I just meant...that's wrong. Here," Virgil pushed his tray to the end of the bed. "I'm not hungry anymore." He had only eaten one waffle from the pile, and that was enough for him. 

The maids looked at the tray in disbelief, then back up at Virgil. "Are—are you sure, sir?" Katie asked, her voice shaking. 

"Yeah, of course. Go ahead and hurry. What's the plan for today?" Virgil asked. 

"You'll be given a make-over today by some of Ailea's finest make-up artists!" Romelle stated, her excitement only slightly overshadowing years of professionalism. 

"Great," Virgil muttered sarcastically with a scoff. 

His maids looked at him oddly, but soon dismissed his tone. They cheerfully yet professionally chatted about the palace doings, never delving too far into their personal lives. After they finished breakfast, Virgil's maids helped him into his first suit. He was fine dressing into a dress shirt and pants—he had sung at parties wearing just these—though the suit jacket and tie was something new entirely. Being told that he'd have to learn how to tie his own tie made him detest royalty even more. If he were prince, he'd establish a formal-but-not-too-formal rule. 

After he got dressed, he was lined up with the other Selected in the hall, and they were being walked to somewhere else. Down the stairs and to the right, they were shown a giant room with all of the latest technologies and commodities. Couches and chairs were all over the area, so this mansion of a place could have been a relaxation room. 

"This is the Mens' room." Their guide/instructor, Emily, demonstrated. She tucked a loose strand of straight grey hair behind her ear. "It is where you all will work on your studies or relax. That is, when you are not with the Prince. Moving on," she continued, walking towards the next room with the twenty five young men following her. 

Virgil heard a giggle, and someone clung to Virgil's arm. "Hi!" A cheerful voice whispered, and it all reminded him of Valerie. "I'm Patton. I know this sounds a little silly, but I can't wait to meet the prince! Oh, sorry!" Patton let go of Virgil's arm. "That's just something I do with my friends. Please don't be mad if I wrinkled your jacket or anything." 

"Of course not," Virgil checked his arm. This blond boy was kind of adorable, and he reminded him of Valerie so much that he couldn't be mad. "It's nice to meet you, Patton." 

Patton smiled and went back to talk to some of the others. Lance came up and walked with Virgil, though they were relatively quiet. "

What are you gonna want with your makeover?" Virgil asked as they came up to the door of a new room. 

"A mullet, obviously." Lance joked, and they both laughed at that. "

How are you going to add hair on?" Virgil asked, taking a poke at Lances already short dark brown hair. 

A maid opened the doors for Emily, and they all walked in. This room was smaller than the Mens' Room, though it was still larger than required. The stylists immediately clamored about, bringing the Selected to different tables. "

Sir Lance," a stylist stopped in front of him, "table six. Sir Virgil, table seven." 

Lance and Virgil were both hurriedly escorted to tables like ones the Twos and Threes went to for haircuts. Virgil cut his own hair and shaved the sides, though he guessed that would make him seem barbaric in the eyes of these people. 

"Lean back, please." A stylist ordered, and Virgil leaned back in his seat, cautiously handing control of his messy curls to her. She put many different kinds of goos and creams in his hair, then she got out a small pair of scissors. 

"I actually like your hair," she said, "though a lot of the Selected want different things. Whatever the prince would like, they say. What would you like, Sir Virgil?" 

"I like it the way it is," Virgil replied timidly, then he spotted a magazine on one of the counter. On it was a Two, a popular actor with brown hair. There were blond streaks in it, making it glow. "Can I get some of those, though?" He pointed to the magazine, piratically sweating from nerves. 

 "Highlights?" The stylist asked, seeming surprised. "Okay, though I warn you that it might not look professional. What color would you like?" 

 Virgil thought about it for a moment. Back home, he'd had some of these things thought out, what he'd do if he were a Two. Though he was preparing for life as a Six, so now that he was here, he had no idea. He thought of his favorite color, and then the rose that lay single in its thin vase. 

 "Purple," Virgil decided. 

 "Oh, you definitely won't look professional. But if it is what you want...who am I to argue? Let's get started." 

 The process was shorter than Virgil imagined. First, there were bleached streaks in his hair, then they were painted in dye by a small brush. Virgil imagined how happy Valerie would be to realize that you could paint hair as if it were a canvas. After drying and washing again, he was set to go. 

 "My, my, Sir Virgil, that is quite the design you've settled on," a woman in a pantsuit came up to him, a few cameras and people behind her. "What made you come to that decision?" 

 Assuming this was for the Report, and his family would be watching, Virgil smiled at the camera. "I decided on it just now, and there wasn't much to it. I just thought it would look cool." 

 "And it does." she replied, "Tell me, how does it feel to be given a makeover by some of the finest stylists of Ailiea?" 

 "It's nice," Virgil said, turning to give a more genuine smile to his stylist. "They definitely do their job well." 

 "I agree," the reporter nodded. "So, how do you think Prince Roman will feel about your change from the picture sent in?" She held up a picture of Virgil from his entree form, where he was beaming at the thought of marrying Dan. Damn, that stung. 

 "I think..." I think I don't give a damn what Roman thinks, Virgil thought. "I think he will definitely be...interested, I guess." 

 "Ah, standing out. Good idea, Sir Virgil, that will be all." She stood up and straightened her outfit, then walked off. "Look forward to the Report on Friday!" 

 Virgil clenched his fists in his lap, half out of anger, half out of anxiety. After a few more minutes of waiting, they wrapped up and were taken to a new room. 

"Good morning, gentlemen." Prince Roman sat stiffly in an intricate chair at the end of the room. The King and Queen weren't there, and Virgil wondered if he'd see them today too. 

 Virgil felt a wave of nerves rush over him, and he chided himself. Though it had nothing to with how the other guys felt—these weren't nervous butterflies—he still felt the nerves of a pre-going off. What he felt when his mother was in a bad mood, when she raised her hand up— 

 "I hope you all won't mind, but I would like to have a short talk with each of you, just to...get a feeling for your personalities." He smiled, though it didn't seem as genuine as it was last night. "I'm sure you would all like to get to lunch, as would I, so I'll try to make this quick." 

 They all sat down, and the first young man went over rather excitedly. It seemed that whoever was at the end of the table, closet to the loveseat that Roman moved to, went to visit next. 

 Virgil, being more towards the door, was to be one of the last to go. Before him went many others, and the prince was not good at keeping a poker face. Some of them obviously bored him or made him cringe. Most of them made him smile politely with about as much interest as you show to relatives. Some of them, however, made him smile genuinely and made him blush with whispers. 

 By the time it was Virgil's turn to go, he was practically shaking with nerves, though he tried not to let it show.

 "Virgil Singer," Prince Roman sang jokingly, "oh, how I've been looking forward to seeing you again, my dear." 

 "Don't start," Virgil muttered, but he couldn't help smiling. "You are?" 

 "Oh, yes." the prince sighed, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "Some of these young men are...unbelievably boring. Or lying. You're not going to lie to me, are you, Virgil Singer?" 

 Virgil tried not to blush at the closeness of Roman's voice, but he shook his head. "No, you'd find out anyway. So...you're not going to kick me out?" 

 "Of course not, my—Virgil. As I've assured, I find you rather—" he looked up at Virgil's curls. "You put purple in your hair." He noted. 

 "Yeah," Virgil sighed, "the reporter and the stylist both claimed you wouldn't like it, but I said I didn't mind." He crossed his arms as if challenging the prince to argue. 

 "On the contrary, it's...it's pretty." Roman turned around and crossed his arms as well in a joking pout. 

 "What's wrong, Princey—oh, sorry!" Virgil laughed at the accidental nickname. 

 "It's just that you're so...ugh, you're so cute, I can't even look at you. You come into what is potentially my kingdom, looking the way you do, giving me a nickname, and you are still the only one that swears you are not here to win my heart." Roman scoffed. "It's unbelievably unfair of fate." 

 Virgil sat in the loveseat, taken aback, yet annoyed. "I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Your Highness. Though I do have another idea." 

 Roman turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Yes?" 

 "I could...oh, this sounds stupid...we could be friends?" Virgil questioned. "You said that the guys here lie, but I'll be brutally honest. I'll tell you who's doing what behind your back." 

 Roman looked intrigued, "That sounds...interesting, Sir Virgil. In all honesty, I don't really have any friends. It sounds like a fine idea! Now, Virgil, as much as I'd like to continue talking with you, I do have other Selected. I do hope we talk again soon." 

 Virgil nodded and smiled weakly, still fighting his nerves. No, he breathed a sigh of relief as he got up from the loveseat to sit back down with the others, he would not be going home today. 

 He watched as a few more young men sat and chatted with Roman. After the last one left, he stood. "Thank you all, for your patience and...interesting personalities. If I have asked you to stay, please do. Otherwise, please feel free to follow Miss Emily to the dining room for lunch. I will be with you shortly." 

Suddenly crowded, Virgil felt obligated to move with them to the hall.

"I wonder why he wanted to see them for longer." Virgil wondered aloud to Lance as they were lead down the hall. 

 "Probably arranging dates already," Lance sighed with a grin, "they're so lucky to stand out." 

 They entered the dining room, in which the king and queen sat at what looked like less-intricate thrones. There was a chair to the left of the king that was empty, and that was where Prince Roman would sit. 

 All of the young men stood and gave the royalty a bow before sitting down. After waiting a moment to see how everyone else was eating (how did these different forks work?) Virgil decided to start eating. 

 A few minutes later, Prince Roman entered, seeming tense but smiling nervous. Sitting in his spot, he whispered something to his father, who gave him a firm pat on the back. He cringed at that. 

 "Where's the other guys?" Virgil asked to anyone at the table. It was quite for a minute, and then Bill Cunningham spoke.

 "Don't you get it?" Bill asked rhetorically, his voice full of venom. "They're gone. They were eliminated." 

 Virgil refused to believe it at first. Why would the prince—someone who seemed relatively nice—eliminate several people so quickly? Though as he looked around, none of the guys came back, and Roman seemed to nearly be sweating with nerves. 

Virgil looked around, mentally counting. Seven. He'd eliminated seven potential soulmates within the first five minutes of meeting them. 

 They were now down to eighteen.

Next Masterlist Previous

Taglist

@marshmallow-the-panda

[nyxwordsmithwrites]

Not so bad

*So this takes place right after the second chapter, starting at like 2am or so lol

-----

“Fu-ck! I can't-” a gasp, “I can't catch a goddessdamned break-nggh!”

  And it was this- as strange as it was- that woke Logan out of his exhausted slumber.

  Only slightly confused and a bit more than peeved, the demon stood up-body only wobbling slightly- as he headed towards the maker of the reverberating noise.

  It shouldn't have been a surprise that Remy chose the room closest to his own- considering how loud the other's moans were-but what was surprising; the door was open. Logan's brow arched.

  Bit of an exhibitionist are we?

  Without much preamble, Logan simply waltzed into the room.

  He was expecting to either see an embarrassed or lustful fae sprawled out before him, possibly both. For which he had some choice comments, that would include quite a few foul words, under the pretense of getting Remy to shut up-or at the very least be less noisy when dealing with himself- but the sight before him had his words dying in his throat.

  True the fae was sprawled...on his side at least; his pale wiry frame and milky skin- speckled with tiny scales- was exposed before him, unhindered by neither shirt nor pants, as said items of clothing were thrown onto the floor in a heap, his shades somewhere along in that mix. The only saving grace to his modesty were some thin, cheap and faded boxers. That of which were barely hanging onto his thin hips- they were slowly dipping lower with each ragged breath that Remy took.

  The fae was panting, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving; as sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and rolled down his face. Both his hands were digging into the bed sheets-

  “nghh”

  Logan frowned,

at himself.

  Here he was about to chastise the poor fae, when he himself was at fault for ignoring his senses. There was no scent of lust, nor pleasure, instead the entire room was clouded with agony and pain. Something he should have noticed from the moment he woke.

  Remy's back bowed one second, then arched the next, his thin body shuddering as a tremor of pain ran through him. Pain no doubt coming directly from his wings.

  “nggh”, another groan left him.

Logan bit at his lip, he could actually see the spasming of the feathery, streamer like limbs. How the muscles of it rippled and coiled...ever cramping and tightening.

  It stopped for a moment, the fae’s entire form sagged and he huffed in relief-

  Only for it to start up again.

  The demon winced in sympathy, the spasms in Remy's wings had restarted so violently that it literally tied some of the free moving feathers into knots- and with each tremor the muscle pulled tighter...

  “nghh”

  Making up his mind Logan moved closer to the bed.

  Remy's eyes snapped opened.

  “Shouldn't you be asleep?”

The demon blinks, he has no doubt that his own hair is a mess and his current clothing is nothing if not rumpled but he did not expect the fae to speak so clearly, despite being in obvious pain.

  How long has he endured this pain to be able to do so?

  “I was”, he started after a beat, “ but your sounds woke me-”

  Remy sits up at that.

  “Oh I'm sorry”, he winces, “I'll just keep my mouth shut and suffer in silence-”

Logan isn't sure if he means that literally or sarcastically at this point.

“Go back to sleep Logan, you're swaying”

  “I am not, I'm standing perfectly still, you however are swaying-”

  “Oh- hey, what are you…?! Let me go!”

  “Calm down, and lay on your stomach-”

  “Like hell! What are you-?!”

  “I'm trying to help you!”

Logan huffs, still pushing the fae down on the bed, “you need to sleep and I need you to shut up”

  “Oh sure, it's a win-win for everybody, eh? It doesn't make a difference boo, my wings have been doing this shit for a while-”

  The demon rolled his eyes, still pushing down, “then this will ease the pain, relax and let me help you”

  Remy groans but let's himself be pushed down, hell knows Logans grip is painful, and he sure as fuck doesn't need anymore pain right now.

  Remy near screams when Logan touches his wings. They were still spasming of course, but the demon somehow managed to separate the individual mess of the tattered, tangled mesh of his feathers back into its proper three pairs.

  It's been a while since he could see the small of his own back. He was so used to having his wings hidden, worse yet when he was branded; especially considering that one of the brands was smack dab on the left side of his center wing and the closest to his spine. He felt that burn for ages after it was made. He never let anyone touch them after that. So when Logan runs a finger through the now visible crease of his spine, he shivers, feathers puffing- as tangled as they were-thoroughly unused to the feeling.

  Usually he could separate his feathery wings on his own, not completely because of the atrophy but he could do it on his own. Just...not when they were like this, never when they were like this and now they were knotted-goddess it hurt.

  He squeezes his eyes shut and he swears the grip he has on the sheets might tear them.

  “Shh, it's almost over, only two more are still tied together”

  Logan was being surprisingly gentle, but each slow pull of the ever-so-slowly-loosening-muscle was sending volts of hot agony throughout his body.

  Logan winced as Remy cried out again.

  The fae's eyes were shut tight, but that didn't stop the reflexive tears from slipping through them.

  The demon pulled the bridge of the tied feathers as gently as he could- wincing once more as Remy's pained whimpers echoed out at the action. He pulled, once, twice, three times more before the last knot finally gave way. Now loose enough, he easily moved the cinched feathers away from each other.

  That was it, no more knots.

Remy sagged in relief, giving his wings a tiny tentative flap. They weren't spasming anymore- well for now that is- so he wouldn't complain. He could sleep with his wings now at least.

  “Thanks”, whispers the fae hoarsely.

  It only takes him a second to realize that Logan hasn't moved and instead still held on of his feathers between his fingers. The demon had a pensive look on his face, one that unsettled Remy down to his stomach.

  “This isn't only caused by the atrophy, is it?”

  Remy shook his head, “nah, it's the everyday wear n’ tear, plus the overuse of the glamour and the-”

  “And the brands?”

  A rhetorical question. He stated it as fact, growling as he did so- the fae could only nod.

  Flinching a bit, Remy started to sit up, only to be pulled onto Logan's lap and pushed back down again.

  The fae blinked, eyes wide and body near frozen in terror. Did Logan expect ‘repayment’ for helping him?

  “Is there anything else that could cause your wings to behave in such a manner?”

  Remy swallowed thickly.

  “Uh-um… I did kinda get slammed into a wall by a demon today so-”

  Logan didn't say anything,he just gave a non committal “hmn”

  “...or- or if I sleep on them wrong I guess? Come to think of it that's probably what happened...”

The fae trailed off, really not liking the demon's vacant stare. What was Logan going to do to him?

The demon still didn't say anything, his brows furrowed and his pensive look grew more intense.

  Sleep on them wrong?

  The wall was definitely his fault but...when he charmed Remy…

  Was his placement of the fae in the Taxi also at fault?  What about the chaise?

  He had been tired and for as gently as he assumed he had placed Remy down, both times could have counted for the spasms of his wings.

  And no doubt the brands burned onto him...

  His fae should not be in pain at all.

  A small whimper cause him to blink out of his thoughts, the fae in his arms was trembling. Without thinking, he brought Remy closer to his chest.

  “I promise, no more pain shall befall your wings. I am no healer but I'm sure they can make a full recovery, especially now since you won't need to use your own energy for a glamour”

  “...ok…”

  Logan's brow arched. Remy's voice was soft, barely a whisper...nothing but lingering pain and fear glazed the room. The demon instantly assumed that the fae's wings were still sore- well that was nothing he couldn't fix.

  He grabbed a pillow from behind him and placed it opposite his lap, before sliding the still shaking Remy onto it. Leaving his torso and legs over the demon's. With fae prone like this, it was easy to access his wings and even easier to see all the damage the poor, abused, appendages went through.

  “I'll remove the kinks and bends from your feathers, so you can rest easy. Tomorrow we'll get some food into you, and possibly find a healer. I need you healthy-”

  Remy simply nodded…

  “This...this isn't going to be like one of those happy ending massages...right?” A weak chuckle punctuated the fae's question. But the thought still lingered and it left a bitter taste in the back of his throat. It's not that the demon wasn't attractive...it was just...he didn't...he didn't want too. But he made a deal, he'd have to regardless. He shuddered, it would be easy, wouldn't it? All he had on was a pair of boxers-

  “If you mean a happy ending in you having less back pain and me actually getting some sleep then, yes-”

  Remy couldn't help it, a sudden bout of laughter bubbled out of him, “that's not- yeah, ok. Sounds...sounds good hun”

  He was worried, about this guy doing something like that? It was still a possibility sure but just that reply, that simple bit of little naivete in that answer...he could trust Logan not to hurt him.

The demon had no idea what he had said was so amusing, but the scent of fear had dissipated so he'd take it as a win.

  “Good, then do brace yourself. While I doubt this would be as painful as before, I'm quite sure that it would still feel rather uncomfortable”

  Uncomfortable couldn't even begin to cut it.

  Remy groaned as Logan's deft fingers pinched, rolled, rubbed and squeezed at the muscles beneath his feathers. It didn't hurt per say but it sure as hell didn't feel good.

  The best way he could describe it was when your leg fell asleep and you'd have to stand on it. The staticky, pins and needles like sensation made him squirm.

  It was Not a good feeling.

  Sometimes the sensation would run down his leg, causing it to twitch, or it felt like heat at the back of his neck. He had bit his tongue once or twice, the influx of tactile information his wings were getting- he was practically overloaded. His toes curled and his fingers clenched the sheets harder. It hurt, but it didn't.

Goddess, he hated the feeling.

  To make matters worse Logan wouldn't give him a break to catch his breath or adjust. The demon just kept moving. Slowly unwinding and detangling feathers from each other and then pinching and squeezing them to remove the bends and kinks.

  While Remy's wings could be described as feathery streamers, they did not necessarily act like streamers, they were made muscle after all. The kinks and bends-after being squeezed and pinched this-way-and-that to promote circulation- would disappear without a trace; leaving a happy feathery muscle in place.

Too bad the sensation of getting them like that was God-awful. Damn it's really been forever and a half since he properly groomed them.

  One particularly hard squeeze from the demon cause Remy to help, his left leg kicking out involuntarily.

  “You need to stop squirming”

  “Sorry, I can't...I can't help it. I just- it feels so fucking weird-”

  “Elaborate”

  “It hurts but it doesn't? Pins and needles like...kinda? Just worse, a lot worse”

“Hmm, the nerve endings must be shot. Here”

The demon grabbed the fae's arms and placed them straight, next to his head”

“...what- what are you doing?”

Logan didn't answer, instead, he was running two fingers up and down between the space of Remy's wings, practically on his spine.

  The fae squirmed.

“Hush, just lay still, I'm looking for it-”

“Looking for what-?!”

Logan, seemingly finding what he was looking for, pressed down.

Crck!

  “Oh~”

  Remy's wings drooped, they completely went lax, and so did the rest of his muscles- fuck that felt good.

  “Glad it did-”

  Remy hummed, only just barely caring that he had accidentally spoken aloud.

  Logan nonchalantly moved his fingers up, pressing down on certain areas along his spine…

  ‘Crk!’

  ‘Crckk!’

  ‘Crk-pop!’

“Mhngh~”

  Whatever the hell the demon was doing, Remy had no fucking clue, but he was certain that he almost never wanted him to stop. Still, he was known to be the curious type…

  The fae's tongue felt rather heavy for some reason, but he tried speaking anyway. “ t'was that?”

  Close enough.

  “Those were pressure points, it should help restore some proper circulation to your wings, lessening your so called pins-and-needles”

  “ ‘n ya doit ‘gain?”

  Logan chuckled, it was rather amusing to see the spitfire fae like this, eyes half-lidded and body lax. His slurring words only added to the demon's amusement.

  “I can do the rest if you'd like?”

  “Mhm, plz”

  Logan just chuckled some more.

  Starting from the tense muscles in the neck, shoulders and the free area around his shoulder blades. Paying keen attention to the fae's more abused right side, Logan slowly worked his way down Remy's back. Nimble fingers moving in a small circular motion as they pressed slowly and deeply into the tissue, the tight knots and strained muscle didn't stand a chance and really neither did the fae. Pleased hums and small moans spilled from Remy's lips as his muscles and joints cracked and popped in relief. His moans soon grew louder without him ever being conscious of it. All he knew was that the fingers pressing gently on his spine were making him feel like mush. Happy sleepy, fae mush. Good mush. 'Crrk' 'Crakk' "Mnngh~"

The Demon meanwhile, simply chuckled, Remy was just about sinking into the bed. Considering how tense the fae was, the impromptu massage went on for a while, enough that by the time Logan finished, Remy was practically on his way to sleep, that of course didn't deter the demon. He continued where he left off with the fae's wings. He hated to leave things half done after all.

His wings were so used- scratch that, he was so used to pain-that the moment Logan touched Remy's wings, the fae jumped, tensing and shocked out of his sleepy state.

He hadn't expected the demon to continue with his wings, he had thought that Logan had only wanted him to shut up and sleep so that he, could actually get some sleep. It truly surprised him that the demon was grooming him.

  He hadn't groomed his wings proper in so long and he can't even begin to tell you when last he had been groomed. He had forgotten how it felt like...

The demon above him raised a brow.

  “Still pins and needles?”

  Remy shook his head, chirping out a small ‘no’, he exhaled, willing himself to relax again...Logan wouldn't hurt him...it was just grooming.

  Goddess he hadn't been groomed in ages.

Logan watched as the fae resettled, he was no fool. He knew very well that the wings of a fae were sensitive and vulnerable, so Remy allowing him to continue, especially since he was no longer in pain, was a sign of tentative trust.

  He had never groomed anyone before but the premise was simple no? Separate, detangle and remove the kinks and bends, besides, the wings he held most definitely needed it.

  With patience he wasn't usually known for, he gently pinched and rolled the bent feathery muscle beneath his fingers until it straightened. Would massaging it bring better results?

  Shrugging internally, the demon grabbed a single feather and  tried just that…

“Mnn~”

Massaging it worked better than he expected, kinks and bends filled away much faster and the feathers practically detangled themselves as they puffed up.

  “hnm~”

  Oh and Remy seemed to enjoy it, very much, quite frankly, if the fae sank any lower into the mattress, he'd fall through the bed.

Rolling his eyes, in, what was no doubt, fond amusement, the demon continued to groom his fae.

Remy's wings were clean, just a mess. Likely from only ever washing them in a shower and patting it dry with a towel. Even atrophied as they were, the demon could still feel the strength beneath it. While fae wings were usually fragile, it didn't mean there weren't a few with power. Something in his chest swelled with pride, that even at his weakest, his fae's wings were rather strong. All he needed was a proper grooming and a healer.

  The healer would be found tomorrow, he make sure of it, but for now he'd continue the grooming.

  Logan found the methodological movement very calming. He had originally expected himself to grow bored with the tedious action but it had the opposite effect instead. A plus, was the litany of pleased hums and moans from his fae, a nice filler for background noise.

The demon continued.

  And by the end of the high hour, soft, puffed feathers were open, laying neatly- separated by the junction at the spine- on Remy's back. Not a bend or kink to be found. Remy's wings were beautiful, even with the tears, scratches and burns- those the healer could fix with ease- but right now they were absolutely beautiful...and puffy.

  Honestly it looked like a baby chick with its newly coat of downy feathers. It was rather...cute.

Though he knew they would easily tangle again if he left them all ‘fluffed’ like that.

  Gently he ran his hand down them to smooth it out. Marveling at its softness. Sure he had been holding them for over an hour or so but only now did he get to freely run his fingers through them. Slowly smoothing them as he went-Remy didn't seem to mind it.

  Speaking of-Logan leaned down to listen closer- indeed he was, the fae was purring.

  Actually purring.

  The air in the room was doused with the taste of and sleep. A slow sugary flavor that the demon usually found too sweet and cloying. This time he was pleased to find it more of a honey and lilac than sugar and caramel.

  How amusing.

  Grinning and peering over the newly groomed wings, Logan could see Remy fighting with his eye-lids, literally nodding off.

“Go to sleep little fae~”

  Remy sleepily chirped out a response and it took a moment for Logan to realize that he could not, for the life if him, understand what the fae had said. So far gone was he, that Remy had slipped back into a mother tongue, the actual chirps-and what sounded like a whistle- where absolutely lost on the demon, but nonetheless amusing.

  “Shh, we'll figure it out tomorrow. Sleep~”

  That seemed to placate Remy enough, he chirps out something else but quiets down quite quickly after that. The fae's eyes finally fluttered shut, body completely lax as he falls into a deep sleep

  "Remy?"  

  He gets no reply, but the purring grew louder.

For some reason that makes Logan smile.

  The demon continues to stroke the soft feathers of his fae's wings.

  Smoothed out and as neat as they were, it was very easy to view their lovely colors. The dark gradient of purples, blues and greens was definitely unique but quite fitting for Remy.

  He'd bet they'd be even more beautiful if they were unmarred. A protective growl escaped him as his fingers traced over the brands on his fae.

  He would find a way to remove them, the burns and tears would be healed, but the atrophy… it would take quite a bit of physical therapy for Remy to be able to fly. Still, he had no doubts, his fae would manage.

  By the looks of it, if Remy's wings were fully healed, they probably would have been able to be used as additional arms as prehensile as they were…

  That brought an idea to his head, some beings were able to use their extra limbs as weapon...if fully healed, Remy would well be able to use his wings as whips, quick and powerful ones…

  Yes, a healer would definitely be found  post haste.

He liked that his Fae was strong-

  Remy's purring upped a notch

  -and soft.

  Bonus:

  When Remy woke up he was warm, very warm and very comfortable.

  He blinked sleepily, still not fully awake yet and stretched a bit; wings flaring out and fluttering a little- ohh, that felt good~

  What felt even better was the gentle petting of his wings. It was nice...soothing enough...to put him...right back... to sleep…

  Wait.

  Remy almost jumped, thankfully his memory of last night kicked in, or he would have probably hurt himself.

  Logan, in what looked like dead sleep, had one arm draped around his waist.

  The hold was not tight at all- yet still secure enough that if Remy had accidentally jumped out of his arms, the strong muscle would have likely left a bruise on his thin frame. His other arm was splayed across the fae's back, softly brushing down his feathers.

  Remy had to wonder if he had been fussing in his sleep for the demon to be petting him even as he slept.

  Either way it was... nice.

  And he probably couldn't move anyway so why not go back to sleep and enjoy a bit of pampering? After all he couldn't tell you when last he was ever this warm or even had a proper bed. If the Demon wanted to cuddle who was he to deny that?

  The Fae decided that things could be worse, Logan was...different.

  But not so bad.

    When Logan woke, he was warm-

  And there was a purring Remy on his chest.

  The fae had apparently made himself very comfortable, his ear pressed against the demon's heart, likely lulled under by the steady slow beat.

  With Remy this close, the bags under his eyes seemed prominent. The Demon bit at his lip, the sun was already up, meaning that they were to find a healer today, but looking down at his peacefully sleeping fae...maybe they could wait till later.

  Logan sighed, still running a hand through soft feathers. His fae was going to be a handful, he was sure.

  But for now, in his current circumstance…

  It was not so bad.

Nyx: I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, THANK YOU (Dont ask how I managed this, it was a long process :P)