#or maybe I just have to accept that I might have a slight country accent bc I grew up in a small ass country town

[allofuswantgwinam]

it’s really funny to me when people say i have an accent bc like i really don’t 😭😭 im not even country i just grew up in Kentucky idk man 😭 the cornbread just comes out of me when i say certain things i can’t help it 🤣

#this really cute girl said something about it one time #not flirting but like she was really nice she had a bf 🤣 #and i was like “’really? I don’t think I do’ 🤣 but she wasn’t from here so ig to her I did #and then my friends say shit soemtiems and I don’t have a fucking accent i s2g 😭😭🤣🤣 #only certain word #idk #I am not country #it’s not bad to be country it just doesn’t make any freaking sense to me lmao #it baffles my brain #bc i think people need new ears #or maybe I just have to accept that I might have a slight country accent bc I grew up in a small ass country town #bc tbh sometiems when i say things I’m like ‘oh yikes ok that’s what they’re sayin’ 🤣🤣🤣

[khaosrealms]

A CAPTAIN’S OFFER. / john price x reader —- after a hard day’s work, sometimes the only choice you have is to follow your coworkers to a local cigar bar.

a/n: this was something i had stewing in my old docs page that i never finished or released so, with the release of modern warfare 3– please enjoy! i thought you all might deserve some captain loving 🧡 perhaps some sade will accent the experience of this for you all.

“You might just be the first and only person to ever reject a cigar in a cigar lounge, you know that?”

You could play the fool and pretend this wasn’t your ploy, but you’d known the second he’d made the first approach that you had been made.

He’d caught your eye two months back when you first visited the lounge with a pair of coworkers. Cigarettes weren’t your choice of oral remedy but it was for your acquaintances and so— you’d budged. It was a nice-looking place, low light and the alcohol was fine but not cheap. It seemed like it’d be a one-and-done type deal. The kind where you’d talk about the night in off-hand reflections with your acquaintances about how work had been going. “It was really nice”, you’d say, and they would say “That’s great!” in proper response. Rinse and repeat ad nauseam.

You felt ill-fit here. Talking between the smoke and droplets of alcohol that would occasionally spray in your direction from their lips. Retreat seemed inevitable. All the air tasted of under your tongue was burnt ash and chemicals.

Maybe you’d drifted to him almost out of reflex. To something actually alive and breathing sitting there at the bar.

He��d been wearing a beanie then. Black t-shirt and rustic pants. Partially, you’d say he seemed almost— plain. Purposefully. No watch, no rings. Quiet voice, rich and smooth, that type that seemed to dip into the background. An accent, out of state, out of country. Transparent. But it was the scent of him that hooked you. Aromatic, like a dozen spices all pushing out from his lungs, springing out from the cigar smoke that left his lips. Warm earth and rich cacao. You weren’t the type to stare but you could admit that there were occasions. A necessity, perhaps. He’d been with a companion, a woman of fair hair, and you couldn’t help but feel that it made you hesitant.

He was gone by the time you’d left the bathroom to wash your hands.

The convincing took a bundle of confidence and a cupful of energy you hardly had left after your shifts but your coworkers were allowing. Three times you had gone, once without sight and twice with glimpses, and everytime he’d share the company of the same woman. Older than him, but you knew better than to assume, so you hesitated once more. Peeks. Moments. Taking an empty cup to the bartender to make their job easy for the sake of taking one last look. And he’d give. The slightest bit. Enough to let you know, but not enough to allow. You’d asked, once, when he’d left in silence, who he was out with out of curiosity and slight inebriation, and the only answer you’d received was a chuckle and five words.

“Funny. He’d said you’d ask.” Motherfucker.

The bar was empty when you’d arrived, stagnant, bustling elsewhere, but the hustle of the lounge never traveled even close to the bartender. It felt planned, but you knew it was a mentality— you wanted it to be empty. So you ignored the few passersby, the occasional patrons who’d come by requesting a drink, the scent of expensive cologne and cheap product. You’d thumbed through the pages of the drink menu for the good half hour. Sampled a wine, finished a cocktail, sipped through an two thirds of an old fashioned. It almost felt discouraging. Almost, if you weren’t so certain today would be different.

You’d been nursing the last sips of your drink when a hand wandered in from the corner of your eye. And when you lifted a hand to motion against accepting the offering, the face that held it was smiling. Almost betting your response. The scent of his tobacco held between his fingers almost as rich and warm as the smell of it soaked into the fabric of his sleeve.

“You might just be the first and only person to ever reject a cigar in a cigar lounge, you know that?” You’d come to expect the type of anger that came with rejection. The men who’d frequent the cigar bar and scoff at being told no. But not him, no. He’d seemed almost pleased. “Never had a taste for them, that’s all.”

He took response as a sign of approval. Sliding into the seat beside you without the need for hesitation, filling the open gap in there with ease. He’d foregone the hat this time and it’d done wonders at softening his features— but failed to make him any less as catching as he’d been from the moment you’d seen him across that bar two months prior. You’d never realized how blue his eyes were, but here, up close, they were dilated enough to skim the touch of dusk. They smiled with him as he spoke; slight wrinkles that tugged at the ends of his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. Late thirties, maybe forties. Sitting beside him, you can only pretend the rush of blood to your cheeks was from your drinks alone.

“Perhaps—” There’s a heft to him as he adjusts in his chair and sets his untouched cigar on the bar counter between you both. Musculature that shows momentarily in the hint of skin you get from his wrist as his sleeve lifts. Gazing down for a moment at him and his offering. “No one’s ever taken the time to help you acquire it.” A taste. “If you’re willing.” There’s no curtailing the smile that sticks to his words. It’s no question; it’s a request, one he knows you’d be willing to accept. One that he’s hoping you will.

“Do the honors.” You abandon your last sips of scotch in favor of partaking in his poison. Pushing the glass towards the end of the counter; canting your seat in his direction. He follows in your movements. With his eyes, with his hips. Inclining himself towards your presence as he trimmed the end off the cigar. Catching it in the palm of his hand and setting it down out of sight.

“Here.” He’s so very precise, you’ve noticed. A measured slowness as he raises the cigar up to your nose; allowing you to breathe in the scent of the tobacco. “Smell.” Hypnotizing. With his words and his voice. When you inhale, the dry scent of maple and black pepper greets you. Teasing an aroma of dark cacao in the back of your throat. You do not miss the look of satisfaction that settles in his eyes as he leans back to light the cigar. Illuminating his features with warm, golden light. When the first puffs of his smoke clears and all that’s left is his form, legs wide and arm rested, it almost seems to be his own words left unspoken. Come, he says. Don’t hesitate now. So you resist— and lean forward, just enough to force him to lean as well. Turning the smoldering cigar towards your lips.

“Don’t inhale.” He rumbles, the vibrations of his voice following to the tips of his fingertips as you breathe in. The taste of molasses and dark chocolate laying itself over the expanse of your tongue. “Out.” You obey without hesitation, and the smell of almond stays in your nose as you exhale; blowing rolling smoke out onto the top of his strong hand. You resist the urge to cough, but it teases at your throat and in noticing, the man can’t help but chuckle. All but a stranger nowadays to that pain.

“Taste enough to catch your interest?” He can try and feign innocence. Maybe all he could mean would be of the cigars and the bar the two of you sat within, but you can still taste the sweetness on your saliva as you breathe in once more. The sensation of him; there at the back of your throat. You catch the corner of his lip tug when you lean back as well. See the blue in his eyes turn navy when the side of your shoe rests against his calf.

“I might have to savor it with something else to keep it down...” A good bourbon, maybe a fine scotch. Or maybe, a name— your long pause leaving him the room to fill it. “John.” So simple. It almost seems as elusive as the rest of him. “John.” And so simple, you know it’ll roll off your tongue just fine for hours. “What do you think?” After two months, it’d be a miracle if he’d get you to stop. But, guessing from the look in his eye, he looks hopeful you won’t. “A bottle should be enough, I’d say.”

#modern warfare x reader #x reader #price x reader #captain price x reader #john price #mw3 #mw2 #captain price #i want to do indescribable things #to this man’s c**vix by god #enjoy! #i am always glad to go #a certain direction 😋 w. this #hopefully i tagged it well #it might not do a lot of numbers #but price and his cigars are so 🤤 .. . . .. #khaosrealms

[cazimagines]

Try not to forget me

Synopsis: Anon request: Can we have a reader who slept with Zemo when they were younger, they were basically each other’s first times. Reader was brought to the mission and when Sam mentions Zemo she only limits herself to saying that she knows him assuming she knows him from civil war. At some point, Zemo mentions it to Sam and since he can’t contain himself he has to ask reader to be sure. Maybe some smut, like ‘I don’t remember you being this good’

Word count: 8.5k

Author’s note: Welp it took me a while but it's finally here! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am such a sucker for the trope of seeing someone you once dated years after not seeing them again. Like give me all of that. Also I changed a little bit of the request but not much.

Warnings: Gun shots, SMUT (for mature audiences), Fingering, Vaginal sex, Stripping

Masterlist

(Please check out my master list to see what I will be writing next and if requests are open or closed)

Cross-posted to ao3 under the same username

Fingers fumbled with the clasp, the feeling of lips trailing up your thigh, sweet whispers in the air,

‘My princess, my everything’

His kisses on your neck, the desperation in his voice

‘I need you, all of you’

His fingers dug into your hips, his body moving like waves on top of you.

You call out his name to the night, losing yourself in the passion that consumed you.

Your hand tangled in his hair, tugging roughly which elicited a moan from his lips.

His eyes sparkled as he reached his first climax with you, ‘You’ll always be mine’

You woke up still with the taste of his lips upon your mouth. You felt the ghost of him linger on top of you, clinging to that long-ago memory.

But all things fade with time and the cold reality pulled you from the once pleasant dream drenched in sorrow. Sighing you pulled yourself off the made-up bed on the floor, already grabbing a hair tie to pull the bird’s nest of your hair out of your face. You hop over to where your prosthetic leg laid and strapped it onto your thigh.

Grabbing your phone you notice a few miss call from an old friend, calls you must have slept through. Pressing the number you hold it up to your ear as you wander around the apartment preparing for your day.

On the third ring, he picked up.

“Sam?” you ask

“Y/n! I wasn’t sure if I would hear back from you, it’s been a while”

“Yeah, things have been keeping me busy. It’s not like how it was when we were in the army”

You could hear him chuckle down the line, “It’s strange, I would have thought my time in the army would have been the craziest part of my life, but it’s hard to beat all the stories I have of aliens”

“At least you have stories to tell, what do I have? I served for a few years as a new American citizen, almost died a few times till one day I got shot in the leg”

“I don’t know losing your leg is one hell of a story, but speaking of almost losing your life. You remember that time I was able to pull you away from a landmine and you told me, ‘oh Sam thank you so much, I owe you so much’” Sam says down the line in a squeaky voice

“Since when have I ever spoken like that Sam? And why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like where this is going”

“Well that’s because it is time for me to cash in that favour”

That’s how you found yourself arriving at an airport, searching around to find Sam. As you walked around the corner you could make out what seemed to be three figures in the distance. As you got nearer one of them noticed you, and started waving exaggeratingly making you chuckle.

You finally reach him as Sam pulls you into a firm hug. “It’s good to see you again y/n,” he says as you pull away.

“Yes, after all these years of avoiding me” you quip making him laugh

“You know I’d never avoid you! It’s you who has always found an excuse to get out of meeting up with old friends”

“Well I’m here now”

“Speaking of old friends, let me introduce to you this man, 106 years old, dermatologists hate him”

The man Sam referred to now stepped forward, holding out his hand, “Hi, I’m Bucky” he says, smiling slightly as you shake his hand.

“Y/n, you look good for your age”

“He moisturises” Sam buts in making Bucky send him a look, “It’s complicated” he mutters and you nod.

“I met Steve once, I understand,” you tell him, making his eyes light up at the mention of his old friend.

“Super soldier serum, the ability to be almost immortal, another reason as to why we have all gathered here to prevent it”

A shiver ran through your spine as you heard that long ago accent which you had removed from your voice. You focus on the man behind Sam, someone you should have noticed when you first appeared.

It had been over twenty years since you had last seen him yet you could still recognise the way his lips twitched up at the sides but dipped in the middle, the softness of his warm brown eyes, and the slight angular twist his eyebrows had. His hair was more well kept than when you had last seen him. Then he was still going through his rebellious phase, letting his hair grow unkempt but now he had a sense of refinement about him. He knew he was ageing like fine wine and now instead of trying to rebel from the prestigious life he had like when you knew him, he lavished in it, enjoying the money that was of so easy access to him and spent it on all the finer luxuries of life.

“Y/n, this is Zemo. You might remember seeing him on the news, he’s the one who framed Bucky”

You knew him more than that, more than any of them could ever know him. The dream from this morning swarmed your thoughts again, taunting you as if your brain knew what was to come.

Sokovia had been your home country, a place you had longed to forget, leave dead. Zemo, Helmut, was your childhood friend. You couldn’t remember the time when you first met as it felt like he had always been in your life. Everything you two did, you did together. Attending the same schools, going around to each other’s houses, exploring the wildness together. You two were closer than siblings. Your family had nowhere as near the same money as Zemo’s family had, yet that didn’t seem to matter, at least not when you were children. It was no surprise to people when eventually you two started dating. There had been bets on how long it would take for Zemo to gather the courage to ask you out. You and Zemo had been each other’s firsts, first partner, first kiss, first making love, which is where your dream had come from. It was cringy to say it but you felt like you loved him with every inch of your soul, and you knew Zemo was just as dedicated to you.

That’s why the break-up was so messy.

You were the one who called it. You had to. Zemo might have been blind to what it meant to be a Baron at that time but you weren’t. His parents allowed him to have his little indulges, allowed you two to be friends, to date. But at the end of the day, he would always be from the higher class and your family from the lower class. They would of never let you two marry so you had to call off the relationship before you got too deep, to save yourself some pain. You’d hoped that you two could still be friends, though it would have hurt, you still wanted to be around him but that was never meant to be.

At first, he didn’t believe you, he laughed it off as a good joke till he realised you were being serious. Then was the confusion, he wouldn’t let you leave. He needed to know what he did wrong, what could have happened for you to want to break up with him. Then was the obsession. He wouldn’t leave you alone, turning up to your house every day to beg for another chance, following you around trying to pick the relationship back up, threatening any guy that went near you. Then the heartbreak when he finally accepted it was over. He didn’t leave his house for months, you heard rumours he drank himself to sleep most nights, till one time at the dead of the night you found him pounding on your door, shouting to let him in. He was pissed and crying, imploring at you to give him a second chance, begging for you to tell him what he could do to get back with you. He would do anything, give you all his money, abandon his family and run away with you. You helped him back home and told him to leave you alone. And to give it to him he did because then came the anger. You would see him outside and he would pretend he didn’t even know who you were. You’d walk past and accidentally hit shoulders and he shouted at you to watch where you were going. Soon he would be seen with lots of different women, taking them to all the places he took you, dancing at parties. Whenever you looked over to them they were making out and it pained you deeply for what you had to give up. Eventually, you ran away. You couldn’t keep torturing yourself seeing Zemo move on with someone else while you were still suffering on the inside, not just for losing the boy you love but the person who had been your best friend for as long as you could remember.

You left Sokovia to live in America, completely ridding yourself of your whole past identity. There you decided to enlist in the Army which is where you had met Sam, served with him for a few years till you were forced to retire early due to losing your leg. You checked up on Zemo every once in a while, it wasn’t too hard with the Sokovian news constantly obsessing over him. He married the woman he moved onto, the one you always saw making out with him. You suppose he truly must have loved her because it was your birthday when his son was born. While he celebrated the happiest day of his life you spent the day at the bottom of a bottle drinking away the loneliness. You still remember the moment you found out what had happened to Sokovia. You hadn’t been back there in years but it was still your home, where you had all of your fond memories, now all gone.

You didn’t see anything in the news about Zemo after that, he and his family completely vanished so you had to assume the worst. Till you finally saw him on the news. It was hardly like the boy you once knew. The Zemo you knew was kind, empathetic, caring, beautiful in every way he could be yet the man you saw there was a murderer, cold-hearted, reckless. What had happened to the boy you once knew?

You could make guesses, his family was nowhere in sight and you could only imagine how losing the woman you love and your child could hurt you. You hated imagining all the pain Zemo has gone through.

“Yes, I remember seeing him on the news,” you tell Sam. Both you and Zemo stared at each other, your eyes unwavering.

He knew who you were. He knew from the moment you turned around that corner. As he watched you warmly greet Sam and shake hands with Bucky. He watched the person he never thought he would see again stand right in front of him, not even noticing him.

But now you stood there, staring him down. Both of you almost speaking through your eyes. Would the other one bring up the past? Try to acknowledge all that has happened between you or is that dead, left forgotten. Will you two pretend to have never met before, letting years of memories fade.

Zemo was first to speak.

“I see my reputation isn’t too favourable”

“That’s what you get for blowing up the UN,” you say scowling at him as you cross your arms

Zemo opens his mouth to say something but Sam gets here first, “Y/n served in the Army with me so you better be careful with what you say Zemo”

Zemo’s eyes then flicker back to you tilting his head, like he always used to do, in interest.

“Why is he even here?” you ask, finally pulling your eyes away from him to Sam and Bucky

Sam turns to Bucky with a plastered on a fake smile, “Why don’t you explain Bucky”

Bucky sighs as he glances over to you, “As Sam mentioned to you on the call we are trying to track down this group of super-soldiers called the Flag Smashers. We need Zemo here to help us track down where they got the serum and help us so no one else becomes a super-soldier”

“And you trust him?” you scoff, glaring back to Zemo who just smirked at you

“We have no other choice” Bucky mutters, scowling over at Zemo

“I can assure you, I won’t do anything to betray your trust. For once all of our goals are aligned that it would do us no good to go against each other.���

“I’ll hold judgment till later,” you reply bitterly.

Swifty Zemo swings on the heels of his feet, turning around to start walking away, obviously expecting all of you to follow him. Sighing in annoyance you trail after him.

As you had predicted both you and Zemo were pretending to not know each other, perhaps for the sake of the mission or perhaps for the sake of your well beings. You’re not sure if you could cope even acknowledging the past you two had. He’d been the person you had been closest to, someone you shared all your secrets, all your thoughts and feelings with. Someone who you would have taken a bullet for in the blink of an eye and to suddenly lose all of that, it wrecked you. You had finally managed to build yourself up again, to try and move on and then he comes straight back into your life. It’s as if there is some strange omnipotent god up there and it loved to torment every waking moment of your life.

“So all this time you’ve been rich?” Sam asks and you all catch up with Zemo and see him walking towards what you assumed was his private aeroplane.

“I’m a Baron, Sam, my family was royalty till your friends blew up my country”

There was a slight change of tone for when he said ‘my’ not enough for Sam and Bucky to pay attention to it but enough for you to feel the slight twist in your heart as you thought back to the country that used to be yours, long ago.

As you got closer you observed a man standing by the plane, ready to welcome Zemo aboard and you felt your heart stop for a moment. Oeznik. The man had aged since you last saw him, he had fallen to the tolling of time but he still had those warm, caring eyes.

Memories swept over you of your childhood as you observed him. He has always been Zemo’s assistant, hired by Zemo’s parents when they were much younger. You could remember times when you and Zemo would be running down the corridors, not where you were supposed to be and Oeznik would find you two, not telling you off but smiling at you two, saying how Zemo’s parents were looking for him. He would sneak you two Turkish delights even if it was only an hour before dinner. Anywhere you two wanted to go he would drive you there. Whenever you slept over he would prepare your favourite meals, making sure everything was just how you liked in the room you would stay in. He was almost like another father figure to you and Zemo.

And now there he was, greeting Zemo. Zemo kissed him on the cheeks fondly before heading inside. Sam and Bucky both follow up but you take a moment to turn to look at him.

“Oeznik” you whisper

He smiles warmly down at you, placing his hand on the side of your arm. “It’s good to see you again madam”

You nod your head, unable to say anymore without letting your emotions get the better of you so you choose to head inside.

You could feel his eyes on you as you enter. You glance up to him and you know he knows why you took a little longer to get onto the plane. It was that knowing look in his eye, the slight twinkle of amusement but also sadness.

You frown realising you’d have to take a seat opposite Zemo, Sam and Bucky already choosing to sit on the other side, showing their dislike for him. You freeze for just a moment making Zemo gesture to the seat in front of him, smirking as he tilts his head. You huff, not bothering to hide your displeasure, taking the seat in front of him but refusing to even look at him.

A few minutes later Zemo chuckles as Oeznik brings out two drinks, a glass of champagne which he offers to Zemo, and a glass of rum which he offers to you. You’re favourite drink. After all this time he still remembered.

You kindly thanked Oeznik, taking the glass as you avoid the confused eyes of Sam who was wondering why you got a drink and he didn’t and the eyes of Zemo, which held an emotion you couldn’t quite recognise.

“The food is out but I will see if there is some good food in a gallery,” he tells Zemo and starts to turn away but then Zemo speaks.

“If it doesn’t pass the food test, give it to them,” he says, speaking in sokovian and gesturing to Sam and Bucky.

You weren’t prepared for the surge of pain in your heart as you heard Zemo use the language of your people. Though it had been over twenty years since you last heard it, you could still remember it perfectly.

Oeznik laughs, “It’s good to have you back sir,” he says, then nods to you before leaving again. Zemo smiles at Sam and Bucky, enjoying the notion of how they didn’t know what he said, before his eyes swiftly turn back to you, knowing you know exactly what he said.

He takes a swing of his drink before speaking again, “It’s kind of him to remember your go-to drink” he says in Sokovian.

And there it was. The first acknowledgement of the past between you two. Your eyes burn into his head as you realise just what he was doing. It was a test. He spoke in Sokovian for just you to understand, seeing if you were to take the bait and talk back in Sokovian. He wanted to see if you were willing to acknowledge the past between you two as well.

But Sam and Bucky had no idea where you were from. As far as they knew from your accent you were American and you planned to keep that secret. You weren’t going to play in Zemo’s little game, you refused to take your turn. Instead, ignoring what he had said to stare at the ground.

He waits for a few moments before accepting you weren’t going to reply. Sighing he turns to Sam and Bucky.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be locked in a cell” he starts “Oh, that’s right, you do” he then carries on, taunting them. If he can’t mess with you then he’ll mess with them.

“Why don’t you tell us about where you are going” Sam replies, ignoring Zemo’s attempt at taunting.

Zemo then instead turns to the book in his hand, thumbing through it. “Sorry, I was just fascinated by this. I don’t know what to call it but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?” he asks turning to Bucky

Instantly Bucky was out of his seat, his hand around Zemo’s throat pulling him back as he leans in towards his face.

“If you touch that again, I’ll kill you” he whispers

Zemo nods as Bucky lets him go, letting out a slight breath he had been holding in. Bucky glares as Zemo has he takes his seat again.

“I’m sorry. I understand that list of names. People you’ve wronged as the Winter Soldier.”

“But you’re not sorry” you abruptly say, making all eyes turn to you. “Ever since we’ve sat down you’ve been taunting us, trying to stir up trouble. Soon your annoyance will outweigh any use you have for us”

“I’m sorry if I have caused you any offence, Princess, it is never my intention to upset any of you”

But it was. It fucking was. Because he knew just how much pain that nickname brought to your heart. Princess. That’s what he had always referred to you as when you dated. In his eyes, you were a princess, his princess. You clench your jaw, trying to stop the tears that swelled in your eyes. Something Zemo picked up on and himself felt pained seeing your reaction.

“Don’t call her Princess. Her name is y/n” Sam says, glaring at Zemo.

“My apologies, it was my fault to refer to your girl like that”

Instantly both yours and Sam’s eyes widen at his words.

“We’re not, that’s not-” Sam starts to say, fumbling with his words

“We’re just friends” you but in, glaring at Zemo for you knew why he said that.

“Y-yeah” Sam replies, looking between you and Zemo as you stare at each other. Zemo tilts his head slightly, the edge of his lips twitching up.

“I see”

“Now perhaps you could stop taunting us, Zemo, and answer Sam’s original question about where the hell we are going”

If you had blinked you would have missed it but just for a split second, as his last name fell from your lips, you could see him flinch. These days everyone referred to him by his last name, never his first name. And although in the past you had always called him by his first name, you, like them, were using his last name. That hurt more than he thought it would.

“I’m afraid I can’t say just yet, but all will be relieved in due time’

You just groan, rolling your eyes and then choosing to stare out the window trying to forget all about the man that sat in front of you.

Hoping to alleviate the conversation Sam nods to the book Bucky took back from Zemo.

“I’ve seen that book, it’s Steve’s book for when he came out of the ice. I told him about trouble man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What did you think?”

“I like 40’s music so…” Bucky grumpily replies

“You didn’t like it!?” Sam exclaims leaning forward

“I liked it”

“It’s a masterpiece James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African American experience” Zemo buts in, speaking with his hands as he looks over to Bucky

Sams’s eyes face moves from looking at Bucky, to looking at Zemo then back to Bucky.

“He’s out of line, but he’s right. It’s great. Everybody likes Marvin Gaye”

Inside your head, you scoff at Zemo as he talked as if he was sophisticated with music, ‘like you didn’t listen to Nirvana all the time’ you thought. From that point you ignored what they were saying, sipping your drink as you stare out the window. Today had taken a complete turn from what you ever could have imagined it would have turned out to be. And little did you know it was about to get a whole lot messier.

-

“No fucking way. You can’t make me do that”

“You have to if you want to blend in for the mission” Zemo explains

“She can blend in, in many other ways, she doesn’t have to pretend to be your partner,” Sam says arguing for you

“They will be suspicious of her though and it could risk the whole mission but if she was my partner they wouldn’t be suspicious”

“He’s right y/n” Bucky adds, “I don’t want to be doing this either but if we want to find out where the super-soldier serum has come from we need to”

Zemo nods to Bucky in thanks and then looks to you, the corner of his lip twitching up in amusement that Bucky was backing him up and seeing your anger.

He was deliberately trying to antagonise you. Making you pretend to be his partner for the mission, was his way to get back at you for the pain you caused him when you broke things off. You didn’t think you could cope with having to pretend to be his partner for it, it would just bring up all the pain of what had been lost between you two, what you had to let go of. But they were right. You had to do it for the sake of the mission. If Bucky could pretend to the winter soldier again for the mission the least you could do was this.

“Are you seriously taking his side Bucky, if she doesn’t want to be that then-” Sam starts to argue but you cut him off.

“It’s okay Sam, Bucky’s right I need to do it”

Sam opens his mouth in surprise and then moves over to stand in front of you, placing his hand on your shoulder. “No you don’t y/n, don’t listen to them”

You place your hand over Sam’s hand on your shoulder, rubbing it slightly. “I’ll be okay with it Sam. It’s not like I’d be dating him”

Your eyes flicker to Zemo who had been glaring at Sam now turned his eyes to you, his lips almost twitching into a frown but he stops them.

“I won’t wear that dress though,” you say, your eyes looking down to the short dress Zemo held in his arms.

He opens his mouth to argue against that as well but you stop him, “No Zemo, I won’t be wearing that, that is final”

He bites back his words, smacking his lips together as he nods, “If that is what you wish”

You weren’t ashamed of your prosthetic leg. It was a reminder to you for all you had given to people. But you weren’t about to walk around Madripoor with it being showed off to everyone. And a part of you wasn’t ready for Zemo to see you with it, though you don’t know why.

You hadn’t been to Madripoor before but it didn’t surprise you that Zemo knew the place well. It looked like the shady place you would find him in. As soon as you stepped out of the car Zemo’s arm wrapped around your waist. It fitted like nothing had changed in the time between. Your face instantly turned to him to tell him to let go but he held his finger up to your lips to stop you, “For appearance y/n, you are after all, for this evening, my partner”

Begrudgingly you accept it and don’t try to move his arm away as you walk together. Sam walks up beside you and as you turn to look at him he rolls his eyes. You chuckle at Sam then felt Zemo’s grip on your waist tighten.

As you walk into the bar Zemo takes a seat on the stool. You glance around but all the other seats had been taken. Smirking Zemo pats his lap, “Hop on princess”

You grasp onto his shoulder, pinching it harshly to cause him some pain as you position yourself on his lap, but he just chuckles at your reaction, his hand instantly going to rest on your tigh which was thankfully covered by your trousers.

“Don’t call me princess” you whisper angrily to him

He leans forward, his lips by your ear as you feel his breath, “We have to make it realistic princess, plus I think that would be the sought of a nickname I would give you if we were dating”

He presses a lip to your cheek as he pulls back from you, chuckling as he sees how your cheeks heat up and the glare you grace him with.

“Hello gentlemen and lady,” the barman says finally coming over to you, “I wasn’t expecting the smiling tiger”

“His plans changed, we have a business to do, with Selby,” Zemo says, trying to take over all conversation so no one gave themselves away.

“And she does as well?” he asks, nodding to you

“Anywhere I go she goes with me” Zemo replies, chuckling as he looks at you with a smile on his lips

“Isn’t that right princess?”

You try your best to push back the anger you felt, instead, forcing a smile as you look back at Zemo, “Of course my love” you tell him then leans forward to place a quick peck on his lips.

As your lips lightly brush against his you could hear the slight hitch in his breath and as you lean your head on his chest you wonder if he could feel how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

It’s just for appearances, that’s all you tell yourself but even though it was brief you could still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that comforting feeling that you hadn’t felt in so long and it was as if all the buried emotions you had come flooding back. Here you were sitting on his lap, kissing him as if nothing had changed and for a moment you wondered if that could be the case. Could you two go back to what time was like before?

But you couldn’t. Not only was it down to the fact that Zemo was a wanted criminal, but he had moved on from you. He fell in love with another, he married her. Any feelings he had for you were long gone and this was just him messing with you, and you didn’t want to let him know the feelings you still had for him after all this time.

The barman seems to accept your display though, choosing to focus on Sam instead as he makes him his ‘usual’ drink.

Zemo orders you and him a drink which you thankfully take from his hand, hoping to drown your feelings away with the alcohol.

A man comes up behind you and instantly Zemo lifted you off your lap, pushing you behind him as he stands up to face the man.

“Got word from on high, you’re not welcomed here,” he tells Zemo,

“Hm” Zemo replies, nodding as he takes the man’s words, “I have no business with the power broker, but if he insists he can either come talk to me...” he finishes, nodding over to Bucky

“Or bring Selby for a chat”

The man leaves as Bucky looks over to Zemo. As Zemo turns around once again his arm wraps around your waist.

“A power broker, really?”

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just pray we stay under his radar”

“Do you know him?” you ask and Zemo looks down at you amused by your question, “Only by reputation”

“In Madripoor he is judge, jury and executioner”

Zemo’s eyes focus now on another man coming towards him. Turning back around to the bar he speaks to Bucky in Russian just as the man places his hand on Zemo’s shoulder. You all turn around to watch as Bucky grabs the man and starts to attack him. You’d seen violence before but it still made you wince knowing how Bucky didn’t want to do this.

After one particular nasty hit without thinking your hand grasps onto his hand, needing something to hold on to. As soon as you realised what you had done you swiftly try to pull your hand back but Zemo holds onto it tight, refusing to let it go. You could feel his gaze turn to you but you choose to ignore his cocky face and instead focus on Bucky.

You stand out of the way as Bucky slams the man onto the table and Zemo leans forward to let Bucky know not to take it too far. That was your ticket though as then you were being shown the way to see Selby.

The meeting itself wasn’t too bad. Zemo held onto your hand as he pulled you over to sit with him. He talked to Selby while you just sat on his lap. Selby didn’t pay any attention to you, which you were thankful for. Things were going smoothly until Sam’s phone ringed.

That’s how you found yourself running along with Bucky, Sam and Zemo avoiding gunfire. As you ran you heard one gunfire and felt your prosthetic leg move slightly as the bullet went straight through it.

Zemo must have seen what happened as well, but not knowing you had a prosthetic leg, he wrapped his arms suddenly around your legs, picking you up bridal style. He ran off to the side, leaving Bucky and Sam behind as he hid you down an alleyway.

“Zemo let go of me!” you hissed, hitting him in the chest as he stopped running. He instead places you on the ground, growling at you not to move as he starts to check all his pockets in his coats. Instead, you do move, getting up off the floor and he looks at you angrily. “I said don’t move! You’ll injure yourself more”

You lean down and jank up slightly the trouser leg, showing the fake metallic leg underneath.

“I’m fine Zemo! It’s fake. Now we need to go and find Sam and Bucky”

But Zemo was frozen, staring down at your leg in shock. Because at that moment was the realisation for him. All this time he had been teasing you, testing the waters of how far he could push you to admit to the past. Messing around with you as if you were two lovesick teenagers again. But you had both changed, and he was refusing to realise that until now. Because he didn’t want to acknowledge the fact you were no longer the woman he once knew. The one person he knew better than himself and he had still half-believed that was the case until now. You had a fake leg, lost in what he assumed was the army which you and Sam had been in. He didn’t know because the truth was you were almost a stranger to him now, and he hated that. He just wanted things to be the way they once were. That’s what he desperately craved but it couldn’t be.

“Okay,” he simply says and nods, finally pulling his gaze away from your leg and up to you. Following your lead, he chases after you to find out where Sam and Bucky had gone.

-

Sam paced around the main room of Sharon’s house. His mind was occupied with so many thoughts it was hard to concentrate but there was one that stuck out like a splinter in a thumb. What the hell was going on between you and Zemo? He wasn’t stupid he could pick up on something, the looks two you gave each other, the tension in the air, the way you reacted when you first saw him. Sam considered himself your best friend, though you two hadn’t seen each other in ages. So it bugged him how this was obviously something big to you, and he didn’t know what it was.

Zemo sat at the table by the side, quietly drinking some whiskey. Both you and Bucky had decided to retire for the night while Sam decided to stay up just so he could find out the truth.

“You look like you are trying to burn a hole through my head by the way you are staring at me Sam” Zemo says, finally looking up from his glass to Sam who was glaring at him.

“Is something the matter?” he asks

“You and y/n. What’s up with that”

Zemo chuckles, looking back down into his glass, “Ah that”

“I’m her best friend, I know everything about her, apart from this apparently”

Zemo’s eyes snapped back to Sam but this time there was no amusement in them, instead a angry glaze as he frowned, “Best friend?” he repeats, standing up and walking over to Sam. “You hardly know her at all”

Sam scoffs as he raises an eyebrow at Zemo attempting to get into his face. “And you do?”

“Yes” Zemo instantly replies, “I know she was born in Novia Grand, Sokovia. Just like me. I know which schools she attended, the same as mine, I know what her favourite meals are, we had them whenever she came round to my house. I know her favourite band, I took her to their first concert. I know everything little thing about her Sam, and you know nothing”

Sam’s eyes widen at Zemo’s confession, realisation dawning on him. “You were childhood friends”

“More than friends Sam, we were lovers. We were the first people we dated, we were each other first kiss, we were each other first time” Zemo claims as if bragging to Sam

“Yet you didn’t know she was in the Army, you didn’t know she had a prosthetic leg did you?” Sam asks and when he sees the slight fall in Zemo’s face he smiles, “You used to know her Zemo, but obviously, you don’t know the person I know now”

-

With a pair of tweezers lent to you from Sharon, you pull your trouser leg up and search around in your prosthetic leg attempting to find the bullet lodged inside and pull it out. You could see the bullet but you couldn’t quite get the right angle to pull it out making you groan in annoyance.

You were about to throw the tweezers across the room in anger when you heard a knock against the door. You were currently sitting in one of Sharon’s guest rooms as lot were staying at Sharon’s place for the night to rest up then go and find the scientist tomorrow morning.

“Y/n?” you hear his voice call out from the other side

You sigh rolling your eyes, “What do you want” you snap

“May I come in? We need to talk”

“I don’t want to talk”

You hear the click of the door and Zemo pushes it open to stare at you in a slight annoyance. His eyes then move down to the tweezers in your hand and your leg. He takes a few steps towards you, his hand out as he closes the door.

“Let me”

You hesitate for a moment but finally, give in and hand him the tweezers. He pulls out a seat beside you and gently puts the tweezers through the hole in your leg.

“How did it happen?” he asks as he concentrates on your leg while at the same time trying to create polite conversation.

“Like most injuries out there. One of the soldiers was on the floor, shot a round of bullets into my leg. The doctor there couldn’t save my leg so I had to get it amputated”

He nods, finally grasping the bullet with the tweezers and started to pull it out. “Serving in the army, it’s admirable. Something very like you. I was in the Sokovian armed forces. EKO scorpion”

You nod as you watch him pull the bullet out and place it to the side. “I remember reading about it in the news”

His eyes, flickering to you, glimmer with amusement. “So you kept track of me?”

Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as he caught you out. You glance away from his intense stare instead to the table. “Did you really expect that I didn’t? You once were my best friend Zemo. It’s hard to let that go. I saw you got married, had a child. I’m sorry about what happened to them”

It was Zemo’s turn to look away now, feeling the pain in his heart ignite as he thinks back to his previous family. “My son, he was born on your birthday”

“I’m surprised you remember my birthday”

He smiles slightly, finally turning his eyes back to yours, “Of course I do. Every year I’d drink a toast to you. You said that I was your best friend and hard to let go of that. Well, it’s the same both ways y/n. I couldn’t just forget about your existence.”

“I had to leave” you whisper

“I know. I know why you left, and I know why you broke up with me in the first place”

Your eyes flash to his in surprise and widen seeing how they were swarmed with tears. “Because of my family, they never would of let us marry because of your status. Y/n I would have left all of that behind for you, without a second thought”

Shaking your head you reply, “I couldn’t have asked that of you Zemo”

“And that’s one of the reasons why you are so perfect. You always put me before you, now this time I am asking you to finally let yourself choose. If you want me to leave say and I will leave. But if you don’t say I will stay with you, and I won’t let you leave again”

“We’re not who we once were, Helmut” you mutter, finally letting yourself use his first name and with that, he already knew your choice. His hand goes up to cradle the side of your face gently, moving it nearer to him.

“Then let’s discover each other, all over again”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he pushed his lips on you, fitting perfectly against yours as if they were made for you. He poised there, hoping he wasn’t being too forward but his lips smirked as you started to move your lips on him, crashing them on top of his for action, which he kindly gave.

His tongue poked your bottom lip, begging for entrance. One which you allow as you wrap your fingers behind his neck, getting tangled in his hair.

You could hardly believe this is where you were, once again with Zemo, his lips upon yours, desire between your legs. In the last twenty years, you had often dreamt of reuniting with Zemo, experiencing this moment again but you never thought it would happen. But here you were.

His hands travelled down your back, swooping under your butt as you wrapped your leg around his waist. Swiftly he lifts you off the chair and walks you over to the bed, placing you down on it and crawling on top of you.

His lips trail down your cheek, across your jawline and down onto your neck, sucking on that delicate pulse spot. A moan escapes from your lips and he pulls back chuckling. “For so long now I’ve longed to hear you moan for me Princess”

You just groan, your hand pushing his face back into your neck making him laugh but he quickly goes back to making a hickey on it. His fingers trail down to your shirt, slowly lifting it and once again he pulls away to be able to lift the shirt off you.

He holds back for a moment to admire your beauty. His hands move behind your back and swiftly undoes the clasps on your bra, tugging it off. He groans seeing you for all your glory and buries his head in your boobs. ‘Oh how I have missed these’

While his mouth latches onto your breasts, smothering them in kisses as his hands go to undo the buttons on your trousers. He starts to tug them down, with no sense of being gentle but rather a primal urge taking over him. He manages to tug them off you and then his lips move down even further. He trails his tongue from your breasts down your belly, leaving a trail of saliva. As he reaches your underwear, his teeth latch onto it. With a slight groan from his lips, he then pulls them off, sliding them down your legs and flicking them off to the floor along with your other discarded clothes.

He sighs in contentment as he buries his face into the side of your thigh as his fingers trail your prosthetic leg. Leaning forward he places a kiss on it, then trails upwards, littering it in soft kisses. The only softness you’ll be experiencing tonight.

As you feel him get nearer your core you let out a shudder in anticipation, as you shudder you feel his lips suddenly press against your core. He instantly latches into your clit, his tongue dancing on it, twisting it in circular motions. Your hands instantly grasp his hair, holding him close to your core, not letting him go. Not that he ever want to. Sandwiched between your legs is where he belonged.

“If I remember correctly, you always liked this part”

You let out a shocked gasp as suddenly a finger presses against your entrance and then slips inside of you, with ease from how wet you have become. He slides the finger all the way into the end, letting a moan rip out of your throat.

“It seems I do remember correctly”

“Instead of commentating everything why don’t you put that mouth to good use” you groan, pushing his face back into your crotch. His tongue instantly went back to your clit as he started to thrust his finger in and out of you, making sure it brushes against your walls. As you start to let more little moans he thrusts another finger inside, opening slightly to stretch you out.

You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening as he worked his tongue on your clit and his fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace. Then his fingers hit just at that right spot and your walls fluttered around him. You hardly got enough time to choke out a warning before you were gushing all over his fingers. When your climax started to edge away he pulled his face back from your clit, removing his fingers and while holding your eye contact he stuck his tongue out, lapping up your juices on his fingers.

He moans slightly as he licks it up, his eyes fluttering half close, ‘Mine Gott, I forgot just how good you tasted’

“Well let’s see if you are as good with that dick as you were in the past” you tease, pulling his face towards your to encompass in another kiss. As your hands hold his face to yours his fingers feel up the side of your waist, ghosting over your skin creating goosebumps.

You could sense when his fingers started to trail to his trousers though and you pull away from his lips making him whine.

“Strip for me”

He tilts his head smirking as he looks up into your playful eyes. “As you wish my princess,” he says as he climbs off you, standing at the end of the bed. Slowly he tugs off his large coat off, laying it on the side of the bed. Next, he works on his turtleneck, slowly tugging it up to his chest, then over his head. Soon it joins the steady growing pile of discarded clothes. Next, he quickly tugged down his trousers and boxers, his patience starting to wear thin.

As he pulled them down exposing his dick you hummed in approval. “Now isn’t that a sight for sore eyes”

“And you were complaining at me for talking” Zemo murmurs, stepping forward to crawl back onto you but your hold your hand up to stop him. “Put the coat back on”

“I see in our time apart you’ve become more demanding,” he says as he picks up the coat and slides it back onto his naked body. As he finally gets to crawl back on top of you, you grasp the fur collar and pull him closer to your face.

You run your fingers through his hair, making it even messier than it was before. Parts of it fell onto his forehead. His hands move down to hold his dick by your entrance, rubbing it against your folds. For a moment he hesitates, moving his head to rest against your forehead in anticipation.

“You’re still as beautiful as when I last saw you”

With that, he pushes into you, rather quickly because of how desperate he was to feel you around him. As he bottoms out he groans, pushing his face into the crook of the neck as you grasp the back of his head gasping. He stays still for a minute, treasuring the feeling of your walls clasping onto him. Then slowly he pulls mostly out of you, till just his head hung in your, and then thrust back into you.

He started to pick up speed, hearing the increase of your moans against his ear. His grunts and moans start to intertwine with yours as you both chase your pleasure.

“Gott, you are so perfect my princess. You feel so good around me” he’d groan into your ear as his hips thrust repeatedly into your, the sounds echoing on the walls of the room. His fingers sneak down your belly to your core, rubbing against your clit. Instantly your back was arched and your fingers grasped onto the coat.

“God Helmut, I don’t remember you being this good” you moan and with your words he speeds up, pumping inside of you. His head kept brushing up inside that perfect spot inside and with his fingers twisting on your clit you could feel your climax steadily approaching.

“H-Helmut, I’m going to, soon I’m-” you tried to get out between moans but there was no need to as Zemo could feel how close you were for the way your walls clung around him tightly.

“Come for me Princess, let me feel you. I need to feel you again my love, after so long”

And his words were music to your ears as you feel the knot within you snap and your wetness gushing over his dick. Zemo bites down on your neck, trying to be gentle, as he feels your walls grasp you even tiger as he thrusts into you. Not long after he felt his own release coming and as you lay there panting he thrusts in time to his release until he squeezed out every last drop.

He hovers over you for a moment, panting, wanting to remain in your warmth for just a moment longer but eventually he pulls out and collapse beside you.

He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, burying his face in your hair.

“Thank you Helmut” you whisper

“No my princess, thank you for forgiving me for everything I’ve ever done to you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I don’t deserve your love but I desperately need it. I won’t lose you again my darling”

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[lantsovsupremacist]

nikolai lantsov: august

@wafflesandschemingfaces requested a piece inspired by august, and i am more than happy to push the august agenda. THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG IM SO SORRY!!! i hope it’s okay that i worked this in as a part two of “mirrorball.”

happy AUGUST babes! this was originally going to end angsty but i was feeling generous so enjoy the happier ending :)))

he tasted like salt, which had been a rarity at home. with the prices spiking in the cities, the smaller markets in the countryside could not supply even the simplest spice. having reignited the placated desire, you were greedy for more of him.

over the last seven months, you took advantage of nearly every opportunity the volkvony offered. you strengthened your abilities at sea with the careful instruction of the two other tidemakers onboard. tamar’s twin brother, toyla, guided your interest in grisha literature and history.

certain adjustments proved more difficult than others. you were no stranger to early work or rising in a shared room. however, despite the bright flush from the use of your powers, your muscles ached under the strain of the new practice. you found your training to be an unfamiliar yet cherished consistency.

you struggled with feelings of inferiority at first. the other female tidemaker, yelena, was a stowaway from the little palace. disregarding her heavy contempt for the school there, her experience helped you immensely.

peter was also a comfort in his own way. another self-taught grisha himself, it only pained you to hear of his family’s acceptance and attempts to teach him. your family might not have thrown you to the fjerdans but they offered little to help you control the power.

time could not move backwards to prevent your wounds but it could move forward to heal them.

now, perched on the deck beside yelena, you were calmer and more confident than ever before. you watched sturmhond out of the corner of you eye, turning your head in the wind to guide a piece of hair back out of your face. his white shirt billowed in the wind, sleeves rolled up and hands in the air to help dictate one of his famous stories.

“you look at him as if he hung the stars in the sky himself,” yelena snorted, elegantly drawing up a rather powerful wave to hasten your journey south, “trust me, he’ll take the hint and never let it go.”

but for you, perhaps he had. a new constellation, at least. three stars shined brighter than before for you, now visible to the naked eye. freedom, purpose, and opportunity. his gracious offer extended to beyond the imaginable.

“i could never have dreamed of this,” you replied earnestly, lightly bumping into her hip with your own.

“kerch does not have blondes, no?” she teased, exaggerating her already thick ravkan accent.

you blushed, nonetheless, “you’re going to get us off task, yelena.”

she rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the sea with a grunt. you did not miss the small smile that barely touched her face after, however. you would have missed it if she had not adjusted your arm, lifting it higher to create a higher crest.

in truth, you did not mind. you enjoyed observing. from your station at one side of the hull, you had a suitable view of the surrounding activity on the deck. storytelling only happened to be one of the aforementioned pursuits by the crew.

—

the first time was an accident. you nearly ran into him one morning during your second week onboard. the sun had filtered through the cracks in your room, beckoning your rise. you chased the sunbeams up the staircase adjacent to the door and soaked in the warmth they graciously provided.

the sunrise was magnificent. too distracted by the beauty painted in front of you in the sky, your elbow caught the captain’s. your eyes immediately went wide, an apology poised on your tongue. growing up with seven siblings, you were accustomed to making yourself smaller to allot room for the others. what other habits would you lose during your time aboard the volkvony?

“that’s quite alright,” sturmhond replied, eyes twinkling at the pale pink flush of your cheeks, “i suppose the sunrise caught my attention, as well,” he turned his head back, “though, that might not be all that did.”

as the tempo of your heart approached a crescendo, you nodded with a nervous smile. your eldest sister’s experiences with boys were all you had to go off of. your parents were together, yes, but as you aged, you realized that the nature of their union simply secured stability for the both of them. love had been an after thought and a forgotten one at that.

“want to watch it with me?” his eyes were brighter than the sun, more vibrant than the various hues splattered across the sky.

sounding just as much of a child as did he, you responded, “i would love to.”

he waited for no counter, immediately taking your hand in his to nearly drag you up the stairs. his hand was surprisingly warm despite the slight chill in the morning air. your brain fought the feeling of his touch at first, recognizing the pressure of his fingers now intertwined with yours but refusing to reciprocate the gesture.

by the time the sun reached a pinnacle in the sky, shining it seemed for just the two of you, you had given him your hand and your heart.

you let him memorize your story, pausing when he could not remember the order of your siblings. you repeated it until he could. the mornings were filled with whispers and soft touches. you thought he was helping you write a new story—one where maybe, you could have your perspective at the forefront.

—

the pressure of his his knee shamelessly pressing into yours dominated your thoughts. you decided that it would be more disconcerting to slide away from him but each passing moment added fuel to the fire of his warmth. you did not know what to think about the way he made you feel.

“i’m not who you think i am,” the privateer spoke, deadly calm. his tone did not waver, nor did the contact his eyes maintained with the horizon.

you wanted to tease the boy beside you but one look at the frown overtaking his face gave you pause. you felt increasingly uncomfortable, which you never did with him, not even when he first introduced himself. it was all wrong.

“i’m not sure what you mean,” you whispered hesitantly, trailing your fingers in the dust of the deck before they grew too numb to control.

his jaw clenched. his eyes bore into the sea. you only heard the sound of his breath—strangled and uneven.

“sturmhond,” you tried, watching as the wind ruffled his tawny and unkept hair.

“no,” he strained, “nikolai.”

an unusual name but a beautiful name, you decided.

“i-i don’t understand,” you fought to get the words out—battling with breaths instead of bombs, syllables instead of swords.

you wanted to push it all aside for naive hope, content with your pocket of fool’s gold.

“do you remember when we sailed to the outskirts of ravka?” he questioned you, gaining control of the previous shake in his voice.

you hummed in reply, trying to put together the pieces of his puzzle before he realized you had not finished yet.

the blonde looked like he was in pain when he next spoke, “the prince,” he began with his eyes timidly locked on your own, “his name is nikolai.”

contrary to your lack of education, you were clever and thus, able to fill in the blanks for yourself.

“who else knows?” you might have hoped for something more but you were not innocent enough to believe the prince only shared his identity with the girl who had succumbed to his longing stares.

“the twins,” he began with a sigh too heavy for him to carry alone, “yelena. one or two others.”

yelena knew. for some reason, your stomach turned at that. you knew it was misplaced and unnecessary jealously but there it sat all the same, weighing you down like an unmovable stone. a similar pressure pulsed behind your eyes, forcing a collection of tears to your waterline.

he offered an apology with words, but it was his eyes that held the true sincerity, the way his fingers restlessly knotted in his lap, and that even though it was a fight, he had moved aside to give you space. you wanted to believe that everything would be okay despite the change, that it could be, at least.

your heart ached. you never wanted him further away from you. or closer. his body was too familiar now.

nikolai never belonged to you, not really. and even if ravka would inevitably melt his golden heart and carelessly mold it to their benefit, he belonged to the broken country. not to you. never to you—alone.

with that, of course, you could not belong to him, either. a farmer’s daughter who did not complete her primary studies. maybe you did have a claim to grisha power, but you knew enough about ravka to understand that you would be a soldier. you already felt like one, fighting an endless battle between your head and heart. diligence and desire.

“you let me—,” you swallowed thickly, “give myself to you. you made it so easy to be sure.” now, you were no longer as certain in your decisions.

he kicked his feet in the water, unable to carry your gaze lest he lose it much like your heart, “i hoped it could be different.”

you searched for anything to ground yourself in along the horizon, burning your eyes in the sinking sun, “you’ll have to go back, then.”

he nodded, his head bobbing more fitfully than the waves, “yes.”

your did not want to talk any longer because if you did, you were sure that you would cry. you decided that you had, in fact, been foolish. how could you live off of hope alone? your destiny belonged to the fields not the sea.

“okay.”

“okay?” nikolai repeated, voice dancing between disbelief and what might have been anger, unable to remember the next step, “that’s all that’s left?”

“i think so,” you replied airily, turning to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, “because i understand. i might not want to. well, i certainly don’t want to but—,”

you were cut off and for the blonde boy beside you to do it, you knew he had good reason. he gave you a voice simply by listening, something few had done for you before. your words had been stolen by his lips in the end.

“i might not be able to give you nikolai,” his lips were down turned but now flushed with color, “but i can give you sturmhond. i can give you nik,” he brought your hand to his heart, “that is if you’ll have me?”

you did not belong to prince nikolai of ravka. he could not be a character in your story. but, you could write another chapter. you could change the plot for the better.

you kissed him with as much fervor as he had earlier. he twisted his fingers into your hair, winding a passage to the back of your neck. you curled into the warmth radiating from his side, fisting his shirt before slowly pulling away.

“i can’t believe you’re a prince.”

that earned you a laugh. the laugh you knew you could never live with losing. if you could not have him entirely, you would hold onto anything that could be yours. just yours. for now, the heat of the sun on your faces split wide with grins was enough.

grishaverse taglist: @just-a-human-witha-pen @ilovemarvelanne1 @story-scribbler @subjecta13-thefangirl

#nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lanstov imagines #nikolai lantsov #sab fanfiction #sab fanfic #sab fic #sab netflix #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #siege and storm #ruin and rising #grishaverse #the grisha series #rule of wolves #sturmhond

[autisticandroids]

ok how would girls au work because i feel like to keep true with the theme of toxic gender roles them being cool and butch feels very at odds with that when like the girl version of that would be like christian girl with an instagram talking about country life and her future husband like it would be an interesting combo for them because john would be like ur an inherent failure for being a girl but also the expectations are lower already for them compared to john and sons

yeah it’s like weird! but i think about it a lot. i made a big fun post with it here.

basically my ideas are a combination of serious (dean) interesting (sam) and self-indulgent (cas).

like first of all i think sam is an out lesbian and i think she came out during the fight before stanford. like, i think she told dean when she was like fifteen, but she told john the night she left. she spat it in his face, actually. 

i think dean is like. dean loves her unconditionally but is also lightly homophobic to her about it, you know? they were accustomed to sharing motel room beds as kids but dean won’t do it anymore now that she knows sam likes girls. dean is also like, weird to her about her interactions with other women, and also talks constantly about men, as though men-liking were a cool exclusive club only dean is invited to.

i think sam has like butt length straight hair and doesn’t wear any makeup ever but doesn’t like. wear mens clothes or anything, like she wears plain clothes that are cut for women. on hunts she puts her hair in a braid. maybe she braids a spiked strap into it like beka cooper.

dean is like........ dean is a lot like young, pre-john mary i think. think the song remains the same. dean is obsessed with performing masculinity, while at the same time terrified of seeming mannish or queer. she walks a weird line, and ends up overperforming both masculinity and femininity. she regularly challenges dudes twice her size to arm wrestling contests in bars, but she never goes out of the motel room without a full face of makeup. like she’s obsessed with doing both. masculinity for respect, and femininity for conformity. you know that thing dean does with his voice? the harshening? the intentionally adopted accent and tough guy tones? she does that too. and her voice is raspy, like rachel miner’s. she’s just as invested in her “heterosexuality” as canon dean.

she wears dean’s same green army jacket but underneath it she ties up a flannel shirt so it bares her midriff. she wears her hair like s13 mary, except that sometimes she puts it in little pigtails. 

cas is the easiest because cas’ gender presentation doesn’t matter at all except in how OTHER PEOPLE relate to her, so it’s less a question of “how would cas do woman?” and more a question of “what would it be fun to see other people/dean specifically react to?”

so basically like. jimmy novak is a frumpy feminine christian mom. still wears the trench coat and probably a suit but when i say suit i mean blazer, pencil skirt, tights, blouse (or maaaybe a button down), low-ish heels. long hair in bouncy curls (think rowena’s hair but no bangs and black). actually jimmy novak probably pinned her hair up in a slight updo.

anyway i’ve decided that i refuse to try and remember what actually happened with cas falling in like, canon, like how close he got to human. this au’s cas gets close enough to human that she has to start like. showering. anyway she can’t take care of the hair so it gets tangled in a giant rat’s nest and dean gives her a bathroom chop. she has to borrow the winchester sisters’ clothes, because she has to start changing clothes but also because she can’t fucking walk in jimmy’s heels or in that confining skirt without the assistance of her grace. 

all the winchesters’ clothes look baggy on her because she’s kind of spindly and narrow and flat as a board. like dean and sam have big shoulders, big hips, and big breasts, and cas has zero out of three, so anything she wears looks like a smock. she keeps wearing the coat over whatever they give her. she’s tallish (five feet eight or nine inches?) but dean is taller and sam is freakishly tall. cas could probably pass for a man alone but when she’s with dean or sam it’s obvious she’s a woman just because of the heights.

when she returns to angelhood at the end of season five, she’s wearing jimmy’s white office button down, but no bra underneath because the only reasons she would need one would be to either make her boobs look bigger or to hide her nipples and cas isn’t interested in either of those things and bras are uncomfortable, no blazer on top, a set of cargo pants that look feminine and form fitting on dean because dean is in possession of an ass and hips, but baggy and dykey on cas because she is not, combat boots (also dean’s), and the coat, and her hair is just like canon cas’ hair but way choppier because dean cut it for her.

anyway, dean treats cas in a WILD way, like. they do some intricate rituals in season four? they are dean winchester and castiel, after all. but after cas butches up in season five and then stays that way dean pushes it into overdrive. “i wish you were a boy so i could date you” shit. dean lets cas put a hand on the small of her back. she jokes that cas is her boyfriend. when cas sleeps, they sleep in the same bed, “since you can’t possibly share with sam, she’s a dyke.” also she called cas cassie a lot when cas looked more feminine but switches exclusively to cas when cas looks more masculine. like it’s this whole “”””straight”””” girl intricate ritual where one is attracted to a masculine woman so one coercively masculinizes her further.

sam tries to check in with cas to see if cas is cool with this forcible masculinization and weird gender relationship, because sam is gay and Understands or at least thinks she does. she also catches wind that cas is here to smash a lot sooner than in canon. but anyway cas rebuffs her because cas hates sam. 

tangent, but one of my least favorite things that happens in mid spn, starting i think in s6, is that they start needing plausible deniability for cas, so they start pretending him and sam are like, friends. like 6.20 “i did it to protect the boys. or to protect myself. i don’t know anymore.” like there’s all this emotional stuff where cas is clearly talking about his emotional connection to dean, but sam gets included in order to make it seem SLIGHTLY less gay. and that’s annoying because of the no-homo-ness but it’s actually more annoying because 1) i liked s5 cas’ bitchiness towards sam i think that killed and 2) if sam and cas are gonna be friends after cas was a bitch and called sam an abomination and shit, develop it! develop it! don’t just Say that they are.

anyway it’s my au and i say what happens so the plausible deniability “both the brothers are important to me” shit does NOT happen and cas is a bitch to sam throughout s5&6. they do eventually bond later? like cas still takes sam’s hell trauma, and sam feels like she owes her for that (even though it was CAS’ FAULT IN THE FIRST PLACE but sam is batshit like that). so that’s what kind of gets them to eventually bond a little and become friends and comrades. 

also sam clocks cas as gay. obviously. sam tries to inform cas about being gay. because sam too is gay. it only kind of sticks. cas doesn’t really understand how human societal roles work. cas has HUGE angel autism and i support her.

also as long as we’re talking about five and six, why don’t we deal with male lisa. so obviously the kid thing doesn’t work. the thing that lisa does that makes dean like :o is not “have a kid that might be dean’s” but “tell dean he was going to propose.” this implies that they were dating in the past longer than canon dean and lisa but oh well. 

however, when dean gets pulled back into hunting, she’s six weeks pregnant by lisa and doesn’t know it. cas immediately tells her, and offers to give her an angelic abortion. she accepts without hesitating and cas does it. the fact that this - cas taking ownership of dean’s reproductive organs in a somewhat invasive way, even if it was wanted - contributes to their whole.... season six..... dynamic. dean never tells lisa about this.

that’s everything i can think of. i have work in four hours.

#spn #asks #pregnancy tw #Anonymous #girls au

[lovingrosewho]

Purgatory

Hello again! Long story short, previously I had watched Supernatural until the very beginning of season 12, because I found out what happened at the end and at that time, I just knew I wouldn’t be able to take it. Now that I’m rewatching the whole series I figured I’d might as well just keep watching what I didn’t anddd it hasn’t been much easier haha, I cried a lot and immediately started writing this, even before reaching the end of S12, so yeah that’s how bad I wanted my heart not to ache as much. Anyways, for those same reasons, I didn’t know about “the Empty” and perhaps a few things don’t make a lot of sense but I tried them to, sooo, hope you enjoy :-) Plus, some usual disclaimers: English is not my first language, any feedback is welcome, etc. <3 Ly all <3 

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T.- Angst, fluff

Word count: 3.7k+ words (yes, I got a little carried away)

Summary: you somehow get trapped in Purgatory and find Crowley

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD, SET AFTER SEASON 12, veeery slight smut, nudity(?), cursing

You don’t know how you got here. Everything’s dark. Like, pitch dark. The sounds are terrifying; growls and screams all along, sounds of beasts. The smell of blood and death ahead. 

Come on, think. What’s the last thing you remember? You were under a witch spell. Scratching and killing any single thing that got on your way. You had claws. 

You begin to walk, but the creak of the dry leafs beneath you is noisy around here, red eyes surround you and you’re forced to run in the only direction that seems viable. 

Legs trembling, you reach a clear spot between the woods. Where are you? 

“Hello darling” a voice with a british accent behind you startles you. You turn around ready to fight. A man in a ragged suit, covered in dirt and blood raises his hands in surrender “Relax, I’m not here to fight”. 

“Who are you? Where am I?” you demand taking a few steps backwards. He gazes at you curiously.

“You’re... well, we are in Purgatory, love” he reveals and you freeze. 

“No... no that can’t be right” you mumble, more to yourself than to him “Humans don’t go to Purgatory”. 

“That’s exactly what I was wondering. Fancy explaining?” he says in a smug tone. You eye him untrustfully. 

“Who are you?” you ask a second time. He looks impassive.

“Name’s Crowley. Who I am doesn’t matter” he answers cuttingly “What matters is... how and why did you get here? 

You shift uncomfortably, laying your weight first in one foot and then the other. 

“A witch casted a spell on me. I don’t remember much after that... just that I... had claws, and fierce, sharp teeth” you explain careful not to reveal too much information.

“Ah, yes” he nods and chuckles slightly “Nasty spell, that one. Never figured it sent you to Purgatory being a human, though”. 

“Me neither, must be the type of spell” you murmure, when you hear sounds coming from the woods again. Crowley takes your hand.

“Come with me” he says, and with little to no other option, you accept nervously and start walking right behind him. 

You’ve been a hunter your whole life, that is, until you stopped a year ago. You were tired, of the running, of death following you around, of the loneliness. But of course you never knew when, nor how, to fully stop. 

Crowley and you walk in silence, but the foggy ambiance and the sad landscape begin to make you uneasy. 

“How long have you been here?” you ask him, voice almost echoing amongst the trees. A few crows on the distance take flight and their croaks reach your ears, making you shiver. 

“Time doesn’t exist here” he explains after a few seconds “I don’t know how long it’s been”. 

You nod quietly. 

“Why are you helping me?” you sincerely wonder. He stops dry and turns to you.

“Am I?” he asks back, eyes in a little bit of annoyance. You shrug and he sighs, suddenly a dull aura washes over him “I’ll explain when we are somewhere safe. We’re almost there, just, hang on for a little longer, Pet”. 

You accept and start walking again, when you hear a strange hiss. Sideways, you get to see a vampire aiming for your neck. You hit it with a branch near you, but in response it throws you across the woods, hitting your back with a tree. Pain strikes you out, you’re barely able to get up, the adrenaline of hunting coming right back to you, ready to keep fighting, when Crowley beheads it from behind with a machete. 

“My, my. What do we have here?” he says in amusement, eyeing you “I know that look. That pose. You’re a hunter. I knew no common human could take that lightly being killed by a witch and going to Purgatory”. 

Before you can even answer he grabs your arm, prompting you to keep walking.

“Easy there love. If that one found us, that means there’s more to come. We’ll chat when we’re safe” he states and you nod, following him. 

You don’t know how much time passes. It feels like ages walking. Everything starts to look the same. You and Crowley reach a darker area.

“Does this mean it’s sundown?” you ask innocently. Crowley chuckles. 

“No. Nothing like that. There’s no such thing as sundown here. Everything stays the same. There’s no day nor night” he explains “No, this place is just where I come to get some rest when I can. It’s usually lonesome, but I try to keep moving anyways”. 

“It’s weird but...” you begin “I don’t really feel sleepy... I’m tired yeah but-“ 

“We don’t sleep here. We keep moving, fighting, killing. That’s the punishment” he says while climbing up a tree, not bothering to look at you “Come with me”. 

You sigh, and follow him once again. 

When you’re both far up enough, there’s no other option than to lay as close as you can to him, so neither of you fall down. You cuddle up in his chest. He doesn’t say a word as you do so, just slips an arm behind your waist so you don’t lose balance. 

“So” Crowley finally speaks “A hunter”. 

You sigh once again.

“Retired. Sort of” you try to tell and he chuckles. 

“I have it on good source there’s no such thing as a ‘retired’ hunter”. He’s not wrong. 

“Yeah well, that was exactly my problem” you say, closing your eyes for a second, but damn you, you can’t feel sleepy not even trying “Name’s (Y/N), by the way. You never asked”. 

“I figured you wouldn’t tell me if I asked” he guesses and you half smirk “I’m planning on keeping the nicknames either way”. 

You roll your eyes.

“Never told you not to” you tease and now he’s the one to half smirk “Who’s your ‘good source’?” you ask changing the subject.

“The Winchesters. You must have heard of them”. You’re not quite sure but it seems to you there’s a hint of nostalgia in his voice. 

“Doesn’t ring a bell” you confess muttering, the darkness suddenly weighing on you. You cuddle up to him even more. 

“It doesn’t?” he interrogates incredulously “That’s... weird. To say the least”. 

“Very” you agree. You thought you knew every hunter in the country. 

“They’ve stopped one or two little Apocalypses” he tells you. You laugh lowly. 

“I’m guessing you were good friends” you assume, and you don’t know it but Crowley’s heart breaks a little.

“More like archenemies” he reflects after a few moments, but you don’t believe him for a second.

“You’re not serious”.

“Deadly”. 

You stay quiet with this last statement and opt to stay silent in his arms, as the minutes pass. 

“I think I can help you go back” he murmurs. You frown.

“How?” 

“I don’t know much, but the same good source... told me there’s a way out. A portal back, if you will”. 

“That’s just a myth” you say, a sparkle of hope shinning through nonetheless.

“It got them out” he says, referring to his friends. 

You huff and shrug shortly afterwards.

“Well if you’re gonna help me go back” you talk distracted drawing circles in his chest “You can get back too right?” 

“I don’t know if it works for demons”. You gasp, you thought he was just a common... well, human.

“Demons don’t go to Purgatory” you mumble, which makes him exhale absently.

“Apparently I did”. 

His confession puts you in alert, you still don’t understand, but you know now’s not the time to discuss it, now you need to survive, and that’s not going to happen without Crowley. You’re tired, confused, and besides, at this point, being dead, in freaking Purgatory, you couldn’t care less about what he is.

Your body begins to feel drowsy, you haven’t closed your eyes at all and the lack of movement feels paralyzing. 

“Ready to get moving love?” Crowley asks you when he feels you shifting. You nod and disentangle yourself from him, slowly getting down the tree. 

What seems like days, or maybe even weeks, you spend it together. It’s getting tiring. You’ve found better weapons but it feels as if you’re just walking in circles. Maybe you are. You enjoy Crowley’s company, but there had been hunts, or more like survivals, you’ve been about to give up. He has noticed and has saved your ass more times than you could count. 

“I can’t do this anymore” you tell him one day while you’re next to a river, getting freshed up. He sighs. 

“We’re almost there (Y/N). Humans don’t belong here. The portal will spit you out the moment we get to it” he explains carefully.

“And I suppose you want a ticket out” you mock but he looks you in the eye, dead serious. 

“I don’t expect you to take me with you” he admits and takes you by surprise, his expression makes you gulp so you nod silently. He sighs again “I’ve done horrible things, love. Things you can’t even imagine. I’ve killed, I’ve kidnapped, I’ve tortured”. 

“But you’ve changed” you dare say, a slight smile appearing on his lips “I love it when you smile”. 

This time he grins naturally. You’re about to say something else when two asteroids of black mud drop to the dirt right next to you. 

“Bollocks” Crowley mutters “(Y/N) run!” 

You start seeing how the strange goo takes human form, whilst you step backwards to stand behind Crowley. 

“Go for the head” he indicates quickly, before whatever the things that you’re facing come right at you. 

You fight until they are beheaded on the floor. Crowley takes your hand, moving you away from the scene so no more of those find you. 

“What were those?” you say as Crowley pushes you to keep moving, your eyes in shock looking at the scene.

“Leviathan. I’ll explain later, now we’ve gotta run”.

You reach a safe spot in the woods and cover yourself in leafs as camouflage. 

“Crowley” you mutter almost inaudible “What the hell?” 

You are laying next to each other, his body almost melting in yours because of the need of heat and compact. 

He begins sighing, and tells you all about his life. His time as a human, as a demon, the Winchesters, Apocalypse, the angels, leviathans, him as a blood junkie, the need of love, of comfort and feelings.

You listen expectantly, you had never thought you’d see that side of Crowley. 

He finishes the story telling you about Lucifer and the Cage, how his ego, and his need for revenge, wanted to win, to see Lucifer suffer. 

“So... King of Hell huh?” you mock, speaking when he’s done, he just huffs playfully “But neither of those things were all that made you sacrifice yourself, were they?” 

He chuckles and shakes his head lightly. 

“I’d like to think after that the Winchesters finally saw that I was on their side” he admits “There was a time you wouldn’t see me fighting, I would be the one to witness the fights and do nothing... maybe God is punishing me for that”. 

“Maybe...” you say “Damn it. I should’ve quit hunting when I could”. 

Crowley chuckles. 

“Why are you telling me this anyways?” you continue timidly.

“I’m getting you out of here, (Y/N). I figured, we’re just a few more hours until we get to the portal... what is a little more softness from my part?”

“Why?” you still demand “Why would you help me if there isn’t anything in it for you?” 

“Because it’s the right thing to do” he says with a serious face. 

You keep talking for a while. You tell him a bit about your life, hunting, family, friends... and he listens attentive, stroking your hair as the words come out of your mouth. 

Afterwards, you stay silent, leaving the conversation at that. It’s been a few rough days (if you can call that days), and you two have shared more than enough to each other. 

“(Y/N)...” he calls your name quietly “Before we leave, there’s something I need to do”. 

“What is it?” you say lifting yourself up a bit to look him in the eyes. His scruffed beard almost grazing your chin, his eyes looking at your mouth. 

“Care to guess?” he says as he catches your lips in a gasp, you part them and begin exploring his mouth, letting his tongue dive into yours, deepening the kiss.

The heat is consuming the both of you, desperation and need for contact, for love, catches you two off guard, wandering for more. Your hand roams across his chest, grabbing him and closing any single distance existing in between, and then travels to his crotch. His on the other side, moves to your hair and pulls you to him, his other hand tightening on your waist, an eager grasp, but he stops you right there.

“(Y/N)” he says softly “I... we can’t”.

“Why not?” you say confused, still kissing his neck and jaw. 

“We could get killed” he explains holding you gently, making you look at him “We need to keep moving, we’re almost there”. 

“What if I never see you again?” you ask, voice cracking. He gives you a light, sad smile. 

“Hopefully, you won’t” he jokes, embracing you tightly. Sideways, you get a peek of what you think it’s a tear leaving his eye. 

You get up feeling heavy. This place has weighed on you but so has the fact that Crowley seems decided to stay behind, and you’ve come... to love him, actually. 

A few hours walking pass. The forest is in absolute silence, monsters just in the distance.

Suddenly, an electromagnetic force starts calling your senses, you feel drawn to it. 

“We’re almost there” you tell him, knees beginning to feel weak after all the walking, the fighting. You feel like you’ve been swimming non-stop all this time and just now you are about to touch mainland. Crowley smiles and nods, sensing you’re probably right. 

Finally, the portal appears in front of your eyes. Blue, electric lights, the end of the tunnel. 

Crowley stands close behind you, waiting for you to go, suppressing the need to cry and scream and curse at watching you leave. 

Unexpectedly, you turn to him and grab his hand, pulling him with you.

“You’re coming with me” you tell him with one foot on the other side of the almost closed portal.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?!” he yells “You don’t know if it’ll work!”

“I have to try!” you yell back almost in a sob, and with one last pull, Crowley’s inside the portal with you, it closes instantly and spins you around for what seems like eternity. 

You wake up in a field in the middle of nowhere. There’s no road, no signs, no nothing. And Crowley is nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it!” you scream at the sky in tears, realizing the portal must’ve bounced him right back at Purgatory. Or maybe even some place worse. 

“Quite the temper, haven’t we?” a voice coming from behind some bushes startles you. 

It’s him.

You can’t believe it.

It’s really him.

“Crowley!” you say running to him. He picks you up in his arms and hugs you as if he hadn’t seen you in decades. 

“Hello, darling” he greets softly leaving you on the ground, wiping the tears off your cheeks with his thumb. 

“I thought I’d lost you”.

“Well, no. Apparently you’re not so lucky” he mocks and you laugh, smacking him lightly on the chest. 

“So” you start “What now? Can’t you use your demon powers to zap us out of here?” 

He makes a thoughtful face for a second and then shakes his head.

“I think they’re gone” he confesses.

“What do you mean gone? As in gone-gone?” you interrogate in surprise.

“Yes as in gone-gone” he admits rolling his eyes playfully “I don’t understand why I...”

“Maybe you’re getting a second chance” you tell him with a grin, which he returns but it’s not quite sure about “Whatever, we’ll... we’ll figure something out”. 

Now’s the time to keep walking, this time hand in hand, no weapons needed, until you find the main road and manage to sneak into the back of a truck. 

When you get to the civilization, you politely ask some woman on the street if you can use their phone to call some pals. They send you some cash so you can go back home. 

You get to your apartment after what appears to be a lifetime, though your friends tell you it’s just been four months since they last heard from you. 

Both you and Crowley strip out of your dirty, ragged clothes and get into the shower together, washing down the dirt and blood, but it’s more than that, it’s a new start.

You get Crowley a towel to dry himself, which he does with you sitting on his lap, drying yourself as well. 

“What’s next, Kitten?” he asks when he’s finished, wrapping his arms around your waist, seeing as you drop the towel to the floor. 

“Well no more hunting, for starters” you declare and he chuckles “Apart from that, I have no idea”. 

You stop to think for an instant. 

“Does this mean you’re entirely human?” you ask shyly. He looks at you, a mix of fear and hope in his eyes. 

“Shall we find out?” he interrogates and you nod, placing your hand to his chest, relaxing the moment you sense his heartbeat “Go get the holy water, Pet. We should be sure anyways”. 

So you test him with holy water, salt, a demon trap, and even a demon knife you had laying around. He’s human. 

The two of you grin lightly and stay embraced for a while in the couch, taking in the scent of the other, still naked. 

He stays quiet for a bit, but then clears his throat and speaks again.

“Do you mind if I use your phone to call my... Moose and Squirrel?” he asks, tone a bit shy. 

“Be my guest” you say smiling, lifting up from him so he can put an oversized old robe you had on and call his friends. 

You hear some rings through the phone.

“Funny” he says lowly “Says none of this numbers exist”. 

“What?” you say frowning “Try again”. 

He does but the machine keeps telling him the same.

“Well, maybe they ditched their phones?” you presume “They’re hunters, wouldn’t be uncommon”. 

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t” he reflects.

“Have you got an address?” you ask “If the Impala hasn’t been stolen, we could pay them a visit”. 

He nods still a bit confused. 

“The Impala?” he questions carefully. 

“Yeah, my car”.

He goes silent again, but sighs and shrugs shortly afterwards.

“Do you have any clothes that’ll fit me?” he says doubtful.

“Yeah, I must’ve somewhere”.

You look through the drawers and find some men clothes. Must be from a friend, or an ex-boyfriend or something.

“Hopefully this’ll fit” you say handing him over a pair of black jeans, plain black t-shirt and black shoes. He sighs.

“We’re going shopping after this” he declares starting to change, you laugh and roll your eyes. 

When you hit the road, the address he gives you seems oddly familiar, but you decide not to ask questions just yet, and instead wait to see what happens. 

You feel safe with him on the road. His hand on your knee while you drive and his absent stare on the highway. 

You get to the place and... you weren’t wrong, this is your old grandparents house. 

“Crowley...” you begin as he gets out of the car and towards the door “What are we doing here?” 

“We...” he says as he tries to open the door, and can’t but notice this place doesn’t look quite similar to what he remembered, and it hasn’t even been that long. You frown and take out the old keys to open the door. He stares at you in shock. 

“My grandparents used to live here. Men of Letters and all” you chuckle opening the door, Crowley has gone silent. You turn on the bunker’s lights and inhale the book and dust scent. 

“This whole time, it was you” he acknowledges but you don’t understand.

“What do you mean me? What are you talking about?” 

“I think... I think the portal bounced me to another dimension, to your dimension, just like I was telling you” Crowley tells you after putting two and two together.

“Oh” you finally understand “Oh”.

Inevitably, your heart fills with worry. You don’t want him to leave. 

You get back to the car and just sit there, trying to process what just happened. 

“We should go back to you place” he mutters after a while “It’ll be easier to decide what to do”. 

You nod and start the engine on. 

When you’re back at your apartment, everything feels kind of different, there’s a heavy tension coating the room. 

“I’m gonna change into something more comfortable” you state heading for your room. When you’re stripping out of your jeans, Crowley enters your bedroom as you put some pajama shorts on and losing the bra without taking your t-shirt off. When he sees you, he walks slowly over you and with a playful look pulls you to the bed with him. You begin to stroke his hair while he’s laying on your chest.

“Crowley” you mumble, unsure about what you’re about to say “Maybe we can find a way back. To your friends I mean”.

“Who says I wanna go back?” he says frowning “I was tired of having a bunch of demons on my tail the whole bloody time anyways”. 

“But aren’t you going to miss them? Sam and Dean? And Castiel? And your mother?” you say worried, it’s not like you are pushing him to leave, it really isn’t, but you don’t want him to stay if that means he won’t be happy. He already knows that. 

“Mother is dead as far as I know, as for the other three Hardy boys... they’ll do just fine without me” he says a bit nostalgic but giving you a genuine smile “Besides, I have you now, haven’t I?” 

You smile back and nod.

“Then I have everything I could possibly want or need right here” he declares, turning to kiss you

MASTERLIST

#Crowley Supernatural #crowley #crowley fanfiction #crowley x reader #crowley fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural masterlist

[eryiss]

Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Fruity

Summary: Being personal security for the president, Laxus always had to be alert, particularly in a foreign country. This would be fine, if it weren't for the beautiful waiter who kept catching his eye at every moment.

Notes: This is for day five of Fraxus Week 2021. As normal, check out @fuckyeahfraxus for more content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

From the Fields of Italy

Year: 1922

Location: Rome, Italy

Dissasosaition was a key part of Laxus' job. Being a member of the President's personal security team meant he was privy to multiple private and politically significant conversations. Debates, arguments, and compromises would be made in front of him, and he would learn things that a man of his station had no right knowing. Another man might have taken the opportunity to eavesdrop, but Laxus cared little for that. His entire focus was to be on protecting his charge, and as such the politics were unimportant.

Particularly when the dick seemed to stand against everything Laxus cared about.

It had become necessary to learn to focus on other things. Counting the bricks on a nearby building, watching as people passed by, and sometimes going so far as to make up little rhymes and brain teasers in his head. It all allowed him to drown out the bullshit the president was talking about, and better do his job.

Of course, he did focus. Anyone approaching the president was immediately a danger, and Laxus had to watch every move they made, particularly when they were out of country. When Laxus had been told that the president would be undergoing a European tour to better connect with the other countries now that the war was long over, he had known it would be difficult. Anyone might take issue with the president's international opinions, and as such Laxus needed to be wary of everyone near him.

This would have been acceptable – it was his job, after all – but an issue had arisen. The waiter.

The beautiful waiter

Even thinking of the man as beautiful was unprofessional. Laxus was there to do a job, not indulge in his own interests. It was why he'd been consistently given small rooms, cheap and uncomfortable seats in the flight, and little to no respect from his employers. He was there to do a job, not to enjoy himself.

But there was something about the man that was alluring. He was of a good height, with slighter features than Laxus' own but strong in his own sense. His skin had the slight tan that came with the European sun, and a single mark below his eye was the only break from perfect symmetry. His long hair swished down his back in long, silky strands, and Laxus had found himself wondering what it would feel like to run his hand through.

The man was serving the president, who didn't give him a second glance. He brought water, food, and cutlery without making his presence known, and yet Laxus was transfixed. He was quietly elegant in his movements, walking with the slightest sway and it felt like he was dancing around the room with each step.

How was nobody else being affected by this?

Maybe they were, and just hid it. That's what Laxus was forced to do. He stood as part of a circle of six, allowing the president to eat safely in the public restaurant. No doubt the people around them posed no actual threat; even if the stop in the restaurant looked impromptu, it had been planned months in advance and no doubt all the people had booked upon hearing it, and had been checked over time and time again. It was all for show; just a gentle reminder that, although the Italian people might not be pleased about the president's actions during the war, they couldn't do anything about it. They needed to look stone faced and intimidating.

The waiter wasn't at all intimidated. He was completely uncaring towards the fact the president was before him, and instead acted as though he was any other customer. He'd even asked the president a question directly, and was unblinking at the glare he was given for his rudeness.

Watching the man was like watching a show. Laxus just didn't know how it would end.

By the time, the main course had been brought out, Laxus had regained his focus. He was there to protect the man sitting and eating, not to be quietly fascinated by the man who was bringing him his food. Laxus got passing fancies on men often, it was natural given his inclination for men and the inability to actually follow through on anything because of his duties. This was no more than seeing a man he would like to dance with at a club. The waiter just had the unfamiliar addition of not being American, and therefore felt somewhat exotic.

He'd told himself that, and convinced himself it was true, until the desserts were brought out. The waiter placed them before the president and his party and, just as he turned to return to the kitchen, he looked to Laxus and smiled.

Laxus felt like he'd been struck.

No smile had affected him, not in any way. Laxus was hardly a romantic person, and the idea that someone might smile at you and turn your world around was overly sweetened crap written in books to appeal to lonely people. But as the waiter looked at him for just the smallest of moments, hair falling across his face slightly as his white teeth split apart, he felt nauseous and ignited all at once. He couldn't think of any other way to describe it.

The man went back to the kitchen, and Laxus knew his stance had wavered and his concentration gone. For a moment he stood in a gaping silence, wanting to both flee the scene and to storm into the kitchen to demand an explanation for what had happened. Instead, he caught the eye of his commander, who glared him back to attention.

He just had to ignore the waiter. Push him to the back of his mind, and within the hour he'd be gone.

---

"What are you eating?"

The words were a silky-smooth sensation, and deeply Italian. Laxus took a moment to realise that he was being addressed, and turned with the smallest of frowns to see who had spoken to him. He was alone, and he certainly didn't know anyone who spoke in such a chocolatey accent. Nobody on his team had even half the rumbling baritone, and he found himself wondering who that voice would belong to.

When he turned and saw the waiter, he froze.

How was the man here? It was the evening now, and Laxus was nowhere near the restaurant the waiter worked at. He was somewhere tucked away, not in the tourist areas of the city but not exactly near the residential areas. He supposed this was where a pretentious man might call the 'Real Italy.' Did the man live here?

Before he could fall into questions, he realised what the waiter had asked. He looked down to the chalky lettuce and cheese sandwich he'd been given for his evening meal, then back to the man who was frowning at him.

"A sandwich," Laxus said, because what else could he say.

"A sandwich," The waiter parroted.

"Yes."

"You realise that you're insulting everyone from my country by eating that here, don't you?"

"If you wanna take it up with my commander, feel free."

"You could not buy something more respectable?"

"Not allowed to carry money around."

Why was he talking with the man? Well, he knew at least in part it was because he had been truly spellbound by the man, and the revelation of his incredible voice had only further added to the man's majesty. Laxus was not one to shy away from strong emotions – not that he felt them often – and he wasn't going to cower now that an opportunity had presented itself to him. But why were they talking about his dinner?

The man, in the dimming sun, looked radiant. He still wore the uniform of the restaurant, but his hair hung loose now, and he seemed more relaxed. Now, without the need to watch his charge, Laxus could see the sharp cut of the man's jaw and the deceptive fragility of his skin. He truly was beautiful.

"That is ridiculous, and certainly not acceptable," The waiter sounded affronted. "Come."

Laxus processed the demand a moment later, and found himself following him before he could think. Both survival instincts and training deemed this a stupid idea – he was following a total stranger through an unfamiliar city – and yet he did it anyway. The man had authority, and Laxus had been attracted by it.

"I would have thought you'd be looking after that repulsive man you deemed fit to lead you," The waiter commented when Laxus was in step with him. So he had remembered Laxus then; he hadn't been sure.

"Night off," Laxus shrugged. "And I don't think he's fit to lead. But the vote said that he was."

"And yet you still serve him?"

"It's a living."

"Hardly seems like living when you're leaning against a building eating bread and cheese because of your commander while in a cultural monolith known for its delicacies," The man hummed aloud, turning a corner, and increasing his pace. "In my mind, that it more a way to get money than a way to live."

"It is what it is."

"Your employer ate at a lavish restaurant, had four courses and larger servings than normal," The man shrugged. "It was expensive. The money could have been diverted from him to you."

"That's not how it works."

The waiter didn't say anything after that. He kept walking, and Laxus kept following.

Eventually, an open-air marketplace appeared, and the waiter walked directly towards it. Laxus kept in pace, allowing himself to be guided through the vendors who shouted for their attention and custom. Laxus' Italian was bad at best, and so the shouting merged into a mess of unfamiliar slang, and so he let the waiter take the lead completely. He spoke to vendors, passers-by, and did so with beautifully fluent Italian. Logically Laxus knew that would be the case – the man was Italian for god's sake – but it was beautiful to hear.

Quickly, they were at the other end of the market, and the waiter had accrued a hamper of food and a bottle of wine. He'd paid for it all himself and, as their conversation hadn't continued, Laxus found himself wondering where his place in the situation was. Still, he followed.

"Sit," The waiter said again, motioning to a small stone wall overlooking a stream.

"You're demanding," Laxus commented, but he did sit.

"And you work a job where you follow orders of a man you don't like, so I suspect it won't bother you," The waiter sat on the wall also, and placed the hamper between them. "My name is Freed. What's yours?"

"Laxus."

"It's strong," Freed commented, unwrapping some of the food from the hamper. He made a gesture towards the food as he uncorked the wine. "Eat."

"What?"

"Eat."

Laxus looked down to the hamper of food. It was filled mainly with fresh and colourful looking fruit, but also wrapped packets of cheese, biscuits and two small pastries. He hesitated for a moment, and glanced up towards Freed. The man was looking at him with a peculiar mix of intensity and patience, and Laxus felt himself flushing slightly as he reached into the hamper and tentatively picked up a strawberry. Freed waited patiently, watching Laxus as he slowly brought the strawberry to his lips and bit into it.

Well, he certainly didn't expect it to taste quite so… vibrant.

Apparently, his expression must have betrayed his shock, as Freed laughed openly. Laxus wanted to glare, but instead found himself hypnotised as Freed lifted the opened wine to his lips and drank straight from the bottle. Good god, did the man know what he was doing to Laxus?

"You must have travelled a lot over the past few weeks," Freed stated, reaching into the hamper, and pulling out the wrapped cheese. He pulled out a chunk of it, crumbled it and placed it onto a cracker. He then picked up a single grape, placed it atop the cheese and ate it. Laxus found himself following the movement of his neck as Freed swallowed.

"Suppose so," Laxus nodded.

"Anywhere particularly interesting to you?"

"Not really," Laxus replied. He hesitated for a moment, then looked down to the hamper of food and pulled out an apple. He bit into it before he could second-guess himself. "It's my second night off since we landed, and the first night was at a docking town so hardly beautiful."

"Good," Freed commented. "Rome will look rather good in comparison then."

"So far, yeah."

"Perhaps one day you will return as a tourist?"

"Doubt it, can't afford it."

"Shame," Freed hummed, looking towards Laxus with the same beautiful smile that sent a flicker through Laxus' spine. "You should make the most of your night here."

"Suppose I should."

They were quiet, and Laxus could feel Freed's eyes roaming over him unapologetically. Laxus didn't do anything to stop it, and instead took a bite of his apple and allowed the man's eyes to wander. He might have tensed his bicep when he knew Freed was looking at his arms, and Freed laughed but made no complaint.

He looked beautiful when he laughed and Laxus wondered how he could get better. He was quickly answered because what Freed did made him radiant.

It was nothing, really. He simply had taken one of the large peaches that he'd brought and bit into it. That was hardly anything, and yet it made Laxus' stomach churn. The way the mans eyes closed, the way his teeth closed around the fruit, the way the juice seemed to intentionally drip down his throat, coating it in an indescribable sheen of fruit-flavoured droplets that reflected the flickering lights surrounding them.

When Freed's eyes opened again, he looked directly to Laxus. He paused for a moment, eyes scanning Laxus' face, before he grinned a little. It was a private sight, and Laxus found himself copying the expression.

"As I said," Freed spoke again, voice quieter. "Make the most of it while you're here."

Laxus didn't need to be told twice. He leant forward and pressed their lips together, the tantalising taste of fruit and cheese melding as they leant into one another. Laxus did what he'd wanted to do the moment he saw Freed, and wrapped a hand deep into his hair, and slowly began to stroke it as he leant into the man. Freed groaned slightly, tilting his chin, and kissing him deeper.

He didn't care that someone might see him, it didn't matter. He was in an unknown city from a foreign country where nobody knew him, and he would indulge himself. He would take what he wanted, and delight in the company of this beautiful man and take whatever he would be given.

He deserved this, and if nothing else, he would always have the memory of kissing the enchantingly handsome man. An untainted memory for him to cherish.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #Bodyguard Au #1920s AU #Word Count 2.5k

[moral-turpitudes]

Unfinished Business: Part 2

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Mentions of past abuse, Blood, Fighting, Swearing, etc. 

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Reader

+ random character/group I made up (Romboldi & The Black Hats)

Word Count: 3,548

Summary: Y/n’s secret gets out and the gang scrambles to put an end to the Black Hats. But one thing is for certain, nothing is more terrifying than when the hunter becomes the hunted.

Requested by: @msbzowy​ 

Part 1 | Part 2 

Y/n took a deep breath before walking into the meeting room with Tommy, her hand slightly clamming up in his. Despite their love for her, she couldn’t shake the thoughts from her head about them possibly hating her.

Walking through the mahogany doors, the frenzied conversations stopped, as all eyes landed on Y/n.

Polly gasped and she immediately walked over to her, enveloping her in a huge hug. Ada followed, complimenting her new look as she made her way to her.

“What the fuck y/n you’re supposed to be ruling New York by now!” Arthur said rather loudly, coming over and pulling her into a rough embrace.

“Nice to see you too Arthur.” She said chuckling as she made her rounds around the room.

John handed her a shot and gave her a hug, with Finn and Michael joining in shortly after. She knocked the shot back and made her way over to a pregnant Esme and scowling Linda.

“Nice to see you both! Gosh I’ve missed you!” She said gently hugging Esme and awkwardly hugging Linda. She never did like her too much as Y/n noticed early on in their relationship.

After exchanging pleasantries she waltzed back over to Tommy, taking a seat by him and lacing their hands together. Polly smirked, her eyebrow raised at he interaction.

“So tell me y/n...how is New York?” She asked, taking a sip of her tea.

“Oh it’s...well it’s New York. Crowded, loud, cars everywhere. But there’s sky-high buildings that are being built, it’s amazing to see. She said taking her hand from Tommy’s and placing it in her lap.

“Do you like it more than Small Heath?” She asked.

“God no. I grew up here Poll. This is home.” She said, leaning back in the chair.

“Oi! Y/n, not to be so forward but what the hell are you back in this shit hole for?” He asked, handing her a glass full of whiskey. She smiled and took a sip, looking at Tommy.

“Is it alright if I tell them?” She asked, knowing Tommy usually handled the tough conversations.

“Go ahead love.” He said. Her heart jumped at the nickname, it’s been so long since she’d heard it.

Taking a swig of whiskey, she stood up and walked towards the head of the table slowly.

“So, I know last time we parted ways a bit harshly. But all past feelings aside, I actually came here on business...and it involves everyone here...” She said looking down at her drink in her hand.

“That doesn’t sound good. What kind?” Michael asked.

“Uh, Mafia business. Mr. Romboldi....of the Black Hats.” She said taking another sip of her drink.

“God them fuckers again? How the hell did ya get involved with those rats? He already blew our shit up last time!” Arthur said, his brows furrowing.

She looked nervously at Thomas, and he just quickly nodded for her to continue, all emotion leaving his face.

“Well, you all know how I can’t just sit around, so I went job searching when I got there. Not long after, I noticed how dangerous it was being there on my own. I was almost attacked a couple times...” She said brushing a stray hair out of her face. Gently steering the conversation away from that subject.

“Anyways...I needed protection, and plus, I had skills that other jobs didn’t need so I went to the source of why I left. I decided I’d work for the Black Hats but not to betray anyone, just to get money coming in, get some protection, and maybe some information over time. They don’t know I’m actually Y/n Y/l/n. I’ve been working undercover. I’ve been using an alias, faking an accent, and using fake papers to get my bearings in the gang. And I’m now their contract killer.” She said knocking back the last of the drink. She let the first half of the news sink in, walking towards Tommy, placing a hand on the back of his chair.

“Holy shit. Really?” John asked.

“Yeah. I’ve killed people all over the country to earn that spot. I’m not proud of how I got it, but I had to do what I had to do.” She said looking away, out the window at the people milling about.

“Oi! Bet they gave ya a nickname like one of them spies aye?” Arthur asked jokingly.

Y/n chuckled and nodded her head.

“It’s dumb but I liked it at the time. They called me Quick Shot.” She said chuckling.

“I got it on a mission when I was sniping for his men one night. The people that were on the list came up and I took them out quick, no one really knew where the shots came from but I was gone before they could find out.” She said.

“Damn.” John mumbled.

“But you’re back here though dear...why? Why does this involve us?” She asked concerned. Polly could always steer the conversations back to the problems at hand. Often times she had the most sense of the group.

Y/n walked away from Tommy and over to the whiskey and poured another glass as she spoke.

“As we all know, the last deal went sour to say the least, so he wants something else. He told me he wants Tommy’s gin. He wants to distribute it in America, and to get stocks and shit. So...he sent me here to persuade Tommy to pay full price for them running it back. He won’t be lowballed again. Over my two years there, I’ve unfortunately gotten to know how he works, and if he comes after one person he comes after the rest just the same. If Tommy refuses, he will most likely kill me and him, as well as anyone in relation to the Peaky Blinders.” She said sternly.

“My god...” Polly said, sipping her tea as she looked at Tommy. His face still the same. But y/n could practically see the gears turning in his head again, another plan in the works.

“So they don’t know you have history with us?” Ada asked.

“No. And if they find out, you might as well kiss me goodbye. They may be stupid but they can sense someone who’s faking. I honestly don’t know how I’ve made it this long if I’m honest.” She said sitting back by Tommy, sighing and rubbing her temple. The drinks going to her head slightly.

Tommy shuffled in his seat and got up, standing behind her chair, speaking sternly.

“I’ve made a plan. It must be followed exactly as I say. No exceptions.” He said, Ada rolled her eyes bracing herself for whatever wild plan was about to spew from his mouth.

“Y/n is going to call Mr. Romboldi from a pay phone to tell him I accept the offer. When they get here in a weeks time, we’re going to meet them in Charlie’s yard. I’m going to order crates to be shipped there with my fucking gin, and you all will stand by while I negotiate. To help Y/n stay out of their grasp, we’re going to place her on sniper duty. If they ask about her, don’t tell them anything, act like you’ve never met her.” He said.

“And what if word gets out? You know it travels around here.” Linda said.

“Then you’ll just have to keep your trap shut so it doesn’t. Not until this business is dealt with. I’m sure you can manage.” Y/n said annoyed. Linda glared at her. She was always a chatty one.

Tommy smirked, and looked down at his watch.

“Y/n?” Tommy asked.

“Yes?” She said looking at him, her eyes boring into his.

“You’re going to go to the pay phone tomorrow like we discussed, but try to keep it simple. I don’t want him asking too many questions.” He said.

“Alright. What time?”

“Noon”. He said, walking over and pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“Okay.” She said, before making conversation with Ada and Arthur. Her laugh filling the room as she joked around just like old times.

Meanwhile, Tommy looked out the window, the plans rolling around in his head amongst the scraping of the tunnels that plagued his mind every day. A mix of dread and happiness filling his bones. As much as he was happy to see y/n back, he couldn’t stand people being out to get her and his family. And he couldn’t bear losing her again, especially to those men. He hated that they forced her to do certain things and now that she was back home, he wasn’t going to let that happen again. He knocked back his shot, the liquid streaming down his throat attempting to numb the pain he felt as he processed what happened over the last 2 hours. Just 2 hours ago he was coming back from a meeting with Johnny Dogs. Just 2 hours ago he was out taking care of things around the shops. Just 2 hours ago his life was half empty. The only things in it at the time were his family and the sounds of shovels scraping through the tunnels, consuming his mind. But then as if a prayer was answered by some god he didn’t believe in, there she was at his doorstep. And he was determined this time to not repeat the past.

“You okay?” Y/n asked, walking over to him. Her red heels clicking along the wooden floors. He sighed and turned around to face her, his tired eyes meeting hers as he felt himself relax a bit at her presence.

“How about we get out of here?” Tommy asked, taking her hand in his.

“Are we going to your place?” She asked. He nodded and she smirked, seeing his lips turn up in a slight smile.

“Everyone be ready by noon tomorrow. I’m heading home.” He said, taking y/n’s hand and pulling her out with him. Everyone sat there for a moment and Polly smirked.

“Are they seeing each other again? After what he did?” Ada asked her.

“I’m sure of it. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder and I think that’s true for them. He never wanted her to go Ada. He told me after she left that he regretted it but I told him whats done is done. But you know him....he’s never been one to let things go.” She said taking a drag from her cigarette.

“Who would’ve known Tommy Shelby had a heart.” She said chuckling.

The rest of them laughed as they went about their business. All of them wary about what the next week would hold.

Meanwhile, back at Tommy’s estate, he gave Y/n a quick tour around, before leading her up to his bedroom.

Her eyes widening at the huge room and lavish king bed.

“Wow. You really went all out here aye?” She said smiling, running her hands along the cotton sheets. He caught her hand, and took it, turning her around so she was facing him. He smiled slightly as he brought his lips to hers. She kissed back, dragging both of them onto the plush mattress, feverish kisses being placed on her neck by the one she thought she’d never see again. They continued their escapades, their worries for tomorrow quickly slipping away as the daylight faded around them.

The next morning Y/n awoke to the sound of Tommy’s light snores, feeling his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace. She wondered how long it had been since he’s slept decently, knowing all too well how his thoughts kept him up at night.

She let him sleep though, quietly getting up to wrap her bare body in one of Tommy’s robes as she made her way to the master bathroom. She went in and cleaned up, slowly coming to as the hot water dropped over her skin. When she got out she dug through her suit case to find a black dress and light sweater and decided that would work for the day’s activities. She quickly tensed though at the thought of conversing with Mr. Romboldi in an hours time.

As she put her last bit of makeup on, she heard Thomas get up and walk to towards the bathroom.

“Good morning love.” He said, kissing her cheek. She smiled and touched it, still in disbelief that she was here with him. She hated that’s she was bitter before, but now she’s grated to be there.

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” Y/n asked.

“Better. Better than I have in 2 years.” He said. She smiled and turned to hug his bare form. He had a genuine smile on his face as he placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Tommy Shelby, I never knew such a smile existed.” She said. He chuckled as he stepped away preparing the bath.

“Are you going to go call him?” He said glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Yes. I’ll go to the shop as soon as it’s done and report what I hear.” She said gathering her things.

“Alright. If you need help call me. I love you.” He said.

“Love you too.” She said before heading into his room and out into the luxurious hallway. She took a deep breath as she got in one of the cars and drove to the payphone in town. She put the coins in the slot, waiting for the operator to answer.

The phone crackled as she held the metal device up to her ear. “Hello how may I help you today?” The operator asked.

“Hi. I’d like to place a call to 5023. New York.” She said. Then waited for the dreaded rough voice of the man who took her in, yet whore’d her out to his enemies.

“I was expecting to hear from you dear. How is that shit hole treating ya?” He asked.

“Fine. Nothing beats New York, sir.” She said in her fake accent.

“Did you accomplish what I sent you there for?” He asked.

“Yes. He will pay the full price for our services. You are to meet him at the place you went last time. I think he called it Charlie’s yard?” She asked, acting like she didn’t know where it was.

“Yes, I’ll never forget that dump. Tell him we’ll be there Monday. I’m boarding the ship in an hour. We’ll meet them at noon. Good job miss Anderson.” He said.

“Alright, I’ll pass that along to him. Thank you Mr. Romboldi.” She said.

“You’ll be back here in no time, don’t worry. We can’t afford to loose our best shooter to a grimy razor gang, plus, I have some new men who’d love to meet you.” He said, an evil tone lacing his voice towards the end as he egged on the conversation.

“Goodbye. See you when I get back.” She said hanging up. Not waiting for a reply. She took a deep breath and shook the thought of giving herself to more random men out of her head and got back in the car, looking out at the busy streets as she neared the shop.

She immediately went in and said hi to Ada and Polly who smirked at her, knowing full well she stayed the night with Tommy.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Polly asked.

“Just reporting to Tommy, is he here?” She asked glancing around.

“Not yet, but you can wait around here. I want all the details.” She said smirking.

Y/n smirked and sat down in a chair near Ada.

“Yes we fucked, what more do you want me to say?” She said taking a cigarette out of her pocket, Polly reaching out to light it.

Ada smirked “Well are you all dating or not? He hasn’t been with anyone since ya left for gods sake!” She said excitedly. Y/n’s eyes widened a bit in shock. Thomas Shelby not fucking around was something she’d never thought she’d hear.

“Well we definitely made up for lost time, but I don’t know if I’d call it dating. Hell, I just came back yesterday but I felt like I’ve never left. What do I make of that?” She asked.

“I think you should ask him. I’m sure he’s already said he loves ya. I can see it between you two.” Polly said. Y/n smiled remembering earlier at his house.

“Alright, I will.” Y/n said, watching the door, waiting for him to burst through.

Not 5 minutes later he did, walking straight into his office, his face expressionless as usual.

“Guess that’s my cue.” Y/n said sighing and reluctantly getting up.

“Good luck my dear.” Polly said before turning back to her work.

Y/n walked to the closed door before her and knocked three times, just as she did all those years ago.

“Come in.” Tommy said, his desk strewn with papers.

Tommy glanced up from his papers and motioned for her to shut the door. He quickly shuffled some of the papers away and sat up, his eyes on her as she took a seat in the leather chair.

“How did it go?” He asked taking a cigarette out of his metal case. Rubbing it on his lips before lighting it.

“Okay...I told him you’d accepted his offer and that you’d meet at Charlie’s yard on Monday at noon.” She said looking away from him.

He studied her movements, the way she fiddled with her hands, her eyes avoiding him, her brow furrowed with worry.

“What else did he say y/n?” He asked quietly.

She looked down as she spoke, tears threatening to fall.

“He said that I’d be back in no time. Meaning he probably wants me back any day now. He doesn’t know I’d be there with you all so I could just stay here as planned, but I don’t want them to find out I’m here. He said he had new men who’d love to meet me.” She said with a disgusted look on her face.

Tommy sighed and took a drag of his cigarette.

“I’m not letting them take you back, y/n. You don’t have to worry about that.” He said looking into her eyes.

“Well once his men find out I’m not back, he’s going to get word of it.” She said quickly wiping a stray tear from her face.

“If they do, we’ll just have to kill them then.” He said.

“What about the men back there? I’m not whoring myself out. I’m not doing that again. He’s a sick man.” She said as more tears fell. She hated doing things for her boss but it was a comply or be killed type of situation back then.

“You won’t have to do that anymore. You’re a blinder do you understand?” He said getting up and walking over to her. She got up and he pulled her into a hug, her cries muffling as she rested her head on his chest.

“I won’t let them hurt you. You’re safe here. Do you hear me? You won’t have to do that, I’m not ever sending you away again.” He said.

Once she calmed down, she looked up at him, his ocean eyes staring back at her.

“I love you...y/n I really do.” He said.

Y/n nodded and smiled. “I love you too.”

Later that night she got home late after joining the gang at the Garrison. Tommy was in the bathroom taking a shower while she was getting undressed and putting on a nightgown. She only had a finite amount of clothes, so luckily she was able to find the time to shop earlier during the day.

“I thought you’d be sleeping y/n.” He said as y/n sat up in bed reading one of Tommy’s books.

“I can’t, I have something on my mind.” She said, turning the pages.

“What is it?” He asked, getting in bed beside her. Kissing her shoulder as he watched her skim the book.

“Polly and Ada asked about us today. And Ada asked if we were together again...” she said, her heart racing as she spoke.

“Do you want to be together?” He asked. She took a moment to think, mad that she was so bitter before, but she decided to let those feelings go to make way for new ones. New beginnings perhaps.

“Yeah, I’d like to. Only if you promise to not boot me out again.” She said looking at him.

“Then we’re together then. And I’ve told you before love, I’m never making that mistake again.” He said kissing her shoulder before lying down. She smiled and closed the book, lying down and cuddling into his side for the night.

Over the next few days, they grew in their trust and in their relationship more. And when they weren’t dealing with the matters at hand, they decided to tell the family, which wasn’t much as they all expected it.

Y/n looked around the room at all of them, finally feeling okay with herself and with who was in her life, and by her side. But she couldn’t shake the nerves of her past, as she still had to deal with them when they got there.

Monday came around rather quickly though, much to everyone’s dismay. Her stomach lurched as she got a phone call at her new desk at the shop.

“Shelby Company Limited.” She said nicely.

“Tell y/n y/l/n we have a surprise for her. Courtesy of Mr. Romboldi.” He said and then hung up.

Her stomach lurched again, but in fear. She got up quickly, her face paling as she steadied herself at her desk, walking with shaking hands to Tommy’s office. It was an hour before noon. An hour before she had to get to her position.

She barged in frantically not caring that Tommy was in the middle of discussing the plans for today with Arthur and the boys.

“Hello y/n. What is it?” He said putting his cigarette out and sitting back in his chair with an annoyed look on his face.

“T-they know. Thomas they know my name. They know I’m here.” She said fear dancing wildly in her eyes.

Within seconds the boys grabbed their weapons and their caps and headed out the door to Charlie’s yard. Thomas on the other hand stayed behind.

“What happened y/n?” He asked gathering his things.

“I um, I got a call a few minutes ago. And he said tell y/n y/l/n we have a surprise for her. Courtesy of Mr. Romboldi.” She said her hands shaking.

Thomas paced around while checking the rounds in his gun. He pulled out a sniper rifle and loaded it as y/n stood there.

He quickly shoved the gun into y/n’s hands and stared at her.

“Y/n. Hey. Listen to me. I’m not letting him get you. I’m taking you to the rooftop overlooking Charlie’s yard ok? They won’t notice you. You’re going to go there and stay there unless we need you on the ground ok? Just take care of the men around us.” He said.

“Okay...” she said and followed him out to the car. He stepped on the gas, booking it there. It was easier for her to keep calm when she was hunting down other people, but it was terrifying knowing she’s become one of the hunted.

As they sped down the dirt covered streets they parked outside of an abandoned 3 story building. He quickly looked around and led her up to the roof to where she could see clearly. The wind nipping at her neck slightly as she adjusted her position and steadied her breathing. She could see John and Arthur standing guard below holding two suitcases and Michael, Finn, and Isiah on the opposite side waiting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tommy walk out into the middle of the area, checking his watch. As if on cue, a black dingy car pulled up as 5 men climbed out including Mr. Romboldi. They each had either a handgun or machine gun with them, along with a lone black suitcase.

She saw as Mr. Romboldi came near Tommy, sitting the briefcase on an old wooden table and opening it, revealing what looked to be a lot of money inside.

“I’m not here to take your money Mr. Romboldi, I’m here to give you your gin and your payment for your troubles.” He said as Arthur and John brought over the suitcases.

Mr. Romboldi smirked and lit a cigar. The smoke rising into the air.

“It’s not for you Mr. Shelby. It’s for y/n y/l/n.” He said.

“That name doesn’t sound familiar.” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette as he stared blankly.

“Are you sure? It sounds an awful lot like someone who we have workin’ for us by the same first name. You thought you could fool us y/n?” He said, loudly yelling the last part and looking around the rooftops.

Y/n quickly ducked down before he could look over towards the building she was perched on. Steadying her breathing as she waited.

Mr. Romboldi continued to ramble on.

“We know she’s here because she hasn’t came back to our headquarters, and my men are very fond of her. They’d know when a pretty girl like that goes missing.” He said. Still loud enough that she could hear.

Tommy blankly stared as he shook his head again, denying he knew her.

“Look, the only way we found out for sure was because one of them, a certain man she was seein’ mentioned her not visiting him. He was ya know...scheduled to see her one night this past week if you know what I mean...” He said chuckling.

“And he brought it up to my men and they contacted me while I was on that shitty boat. Now....I know we have a deal, and I’m accepting your payment this time, but I also have a deal of my own ya hear?” He said.

“I hear you. What’s the deal?” Tommy asked.

“You give me the money and the gin, and I pay you for y/n. She’s the best I’ve got in more ways than one despite her foolin’ us and I know she’s here. We researched into her little background and couldn’t find nothin’ on a fuckin’ Y/n Anderson.” He said taking another puff of his cigar.

“That’s unfortunate.” He said, growing tired of him talking. He motioned for Arthur and John to go as he sat up a bit.

“You ain’t leavin’ not with out giving me my girl.” He said. Her stomach turned over how he talked about her. Like she was some piece of meat ready for the wolves.

Tommy smirked and leaned in closer to him, one of Mr. Romboldis men pointing a gun at Tommy and walking near him until the barrel touched his temple.

He paid the gun little mind and continued.

“If she’s your girl...then why was she in my bed then aye?” He said, as he watched the older mans face grow red with anger.

“You bastard! I knew it. You can come on out y/n we have a ship to fuckin' catch.” He said yelling.

“I know for a fact that she wouldn’t want be with you. You’re just in a filthy razor gang!” He said. Tommy attempted to get up but not before the man clicked the gun a bit causing him to stop.

John and Arthur raised theirs as the other men stood guarding their boss, not getting a chance to reach for their guns. Arthur started beating one of them while John threw some punches and disarmed the other.

Y/n slowly raised her head up a little, just enough that she could get a clear shot.

Mr. Romboldi got up and took all the suitcases and walked to the car as Tommy tried to grab the mans arm to disarm him. He shot the gun, the bullet flying through the air at a random spot, hitting a building nearby.

Y/n aimed for the guys who were getting too rough with John and Arthur and quickly shot two bullets, each of them striking them in the head.

It gradually got more quiet as two of the 5 were dead. But Tommy still struggled with the man who held him at gunpoint taking a slew of punches to the face and chest. Michael, Finn, and Isiah fought the other two, giving her just enough time to find an opening to kill one of the men. She shot striking the man going after Finn, hitting him in the chest. The other guy soon ran over to Tommy, attempting to help the other man attack him. Tommy pinned one down laying punches on his face as blood sprayed up onto his dress shirt.

Y/n didn’t hesitate though, instead she shot the man who was about to attack him from behind.

As she took a moment to get her bearings, she saw Mr. Romboldi grab a machine gun out of his car, aiming right for Tommy who was slowly getting up after beating the guy to death. He unfortunately didn’t notice her boss aiming at him.

Before Tommy could pull out his own gun, he saw a shot hit the guys head. The once ruthless, balding, red-faced mafia leader from New York lying lifeless on the cold pavement as he bled out.

Tommy looked up and saw y/n. The smoke from the rifle still floating off the gun and into the air. He had never been so happy to be staring at the barrel of a gun, or more so the person behind it.

Without thinking, y/n got up and ran down the stairs and into the open area and ran straight to Tommy, not caring about the blood and dirt caking her shoes as she did so. He welcomed her with a warm embrace, as she looked up and examined his face, he was bleeding from his temple and his lip, but other than that he seemed fine. Despite his injured lip, she kissed him for a moment before he stopped her and looked down at her.

“Thank you, y/n.” He said.

She just nodded and embraced him again. Happy that she had the man that she loved back in her arms, and a job she loved to go to everyday. As crazy as it was, she wouldn’t trade this life for the world, no matter the cost.

#msbzowy #asks #peakyrequests #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders oneshots #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #katiesfics

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Sylvgrid Big Bang! I wanted to write something fantasy-esque, since I’ve always loved the genre, and with a slight homage to a series I’ve loved for a long time. I might(?) add more chapters later on (I have a general idea for the next section). I was originally planning for this to be like…5k max, and now it’s 8k and counting. Perhaps I too can write chaptered fics.

You should check out @ oclear0 on twitter for their amazing piece for the fic!

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Leaning out her window, Ingrid took a deep breath of the sweet, clean air. Well, mostly sweet. The countryside wasn’t the countryside without the occasional pungent whiff of manure. As Annette drove down narrow, dirt lanes, humming some silly ditty or the other, Ingrid quietly observed her surroundings.

 She had expected Ireland to be cramped. Back when they were in university together in Toronto, it was the number one thing Annette couldn’t get over. Canada was big. The United States was big. You could drive for hours without reaching another town. At the time, Ingrid had thought her quirky roommate was exaggerating things, but now that she was here…

 Well, she understood. Highways merged in and out of small towns seamlessly, and what should have been an hour journey at most took hours because of local traffic. The distance between places was tiny; she still couldn’t believe that another country was only a stone’s throw away. Even tinier were the cars, the roads, the houses, the people.

 Well, person. Ingrid grinned as she averted her gaze from the blurring countryside and turned back to her old roommate. Annette’s nose scrunched as she concentrated on her driving, looking as though she was about to fight a war or argue with Lysithea instead of just driving down a nearly empty road. “You know, Lysithea’s taller than you now.”

“She’s what?” Annette gaped, tearing her eyes from the road to stare at her for a long minute. Like a fish, she opened and closed her mouth a few times. “Seriously?”

 The car shook slightly as they went through a pothole and she quickly focused on the road.

 “It’s not by much,” Ingrid consoled, chuckling. Back in university, Lysithea and Annette had been competitive over everything. Well, it might have been more one-sided on Annette’s part; just like her fiery red hair, she got caught up in her emotions sometimes. Still, Lysithea had crowed over her height the second she’d noticed, and maybe it had been more mutual than Ingrid had ever realized.

 “If yer lyin’…” Annette warned. Her Irish lilt was more noticeable now that she was back home and maybe it’d take a few years before it would be impossible to tell what she was saying when she was angry. “I’ll tell Mercie you want a makeover.”

 “That…” Ingrid swallowed at the thought of her old schoolmate. Despite appearing to be the ‘Mom-friend’ of the group, Mercedes had been surprisingly aggressive and persistent when it came to getting her way. Such as wanting them to all dress up for any parties she hosted.

 Ingrid could solidly claim that she had memorized the steps to putting on makeup because of that. Which had come in handy during her job interviews, but she would never admit that aloud.

 Instead, she asked, “How’s she liking Ireland?”

 “Oh, she loves it sure!” Annette giggled, a happy blush spreading across her cheeks as she thought about her long-term girlfriend. “Everyone loves herself and she’s even got a job at the local pub on her. We’re goin’ wait like, an hour, for her shift t’ end, but then we can head on home. You good for that? Or do you need sleep?”

 “Slept enough on the plane.” Ingrid rubbed her neck. It might not have been the most comfortable sleep, but it was more than enough to fight off the jetlag for now. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a shower.”

 “You definitely smell like it, sure,” Annette teased in a sing-song voice and Ingrid had a bad feeling about what the subject of her next song would be.

 Ingrid huffed, crossing her arms. “I wasn’t on the plane that long.”

 “Airplane breath—”

 “Annette!” Ingrid growled, blocking her ears before she could hear the rest. The worst thing about Annette’s ditties was how catchy they were. Sure, they were the silliest things on the planet, but once they were in your head, they didn’t get out easily.

 And she really didn’t want to unconsciously hum about how stinky she felt.

 Laughing, Annette poked her arm. “I give, I give. But yeah, Merce’s friends with everyone now. She’s even has my grandparents wrapped around her finger.”

 Giving Annette a suspicious look, Ingrid lowered her hands. “That’s not surprising.”

 It was impossible to hate Mercedes. That was a scientific fact.

 “They all say her accent is sexy,” Annette added, sounding mildly traumatized. “And I think my mum likes herself more than me.”

 Ingrid smiled wryly. “Don’t you like her accent too?”

 “Well, yeah, but that’s because it’s funny, sure.” Annette turned the wheel, taking a sharp right at the next intersection. It was a paved road now and the empty countryside slowly melted into a more crowded city. “And I don’t want t’ know what my grandparents think is sexy.”

 It took Ingrid a whole minute to process that. Horrified, she shrank into her seat, staring at Annette with wide eyes. “Your grandparents?”

 There were some things you couldn’t unhear, and that was one of them.

 -x-

 Ballyvaughan was small. Not small in a ‘small town’ kinda way, but small in a ‘tiny, you could fit everyone into a banquet hall’ way. There were less than 300 people in the whole town. Ingrid was certain that she had more people in one of her first-year classes in university.

 That meant it was immediately obvious that she was a stranger the second she went anywhere. Even before she spoke a word, people asked if she was “Annette’s American friend—not that girlfriend, but th’ other one.”

 And then a few jabs and sly winks about how “Annette sure likes ‘em big for such a tiny girl.”

 Considering that her own family were the most uptight people she’d ever met, Ingrid wasn’t sure if she was jealous for such easy (if nosey, clearly wrong, and a little creepy) acceptance, or if she was just glad that her grandparents never did more than just pinch cheeks.

 Judging by how hard Annette sputtered from each of these remarks, a lifetime of hearing them wasn’t enough to get used to it.

 “It’s a nice place,” Ingrid said, slipping back into Annette’s compact car. They’d explored enough of the town’s hub; she wasn’t sure if Annette could take it anymore. If she could take it anymore. It was better just to wait for Mercedes in the parking lot. “I can’t believe you know so many people.”

 “It’s a small town and they’re all busybodies.” Annette groaned, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. They’re all really excited and no one knows what t’ say and—” She broke into an unintelligible sound.

 “It’s fine.” Ingrid patted her back gingerly.

 “I really do love it here and they’re all really nice people and I love ‘em but…” Annette lifted her head, resting her chin on the steering wheel. “They’re all too much sometimes. It was so nice and quiet when we lived together. Just the two of us.”

 “I remember Mercedes staying over quite a bit,” she added wryly. Curious, she asked, “Is your house crowded?” Annette had often spoken of her extended family, a chain of aunts, uncles, and cousins that had enough characters to fill a book.

 “Kinda. I mean, mum and pap live there, and both sets of grandparents. My aunt sometimes stays when she’s fighting with her husband, sure. It’s crowded, and a little awkward sometimes. Especially because of sex—” Annette bit her tongue, flushing a bright red that could rival her hair.

 Ingrid felt her skin burn too and she looked away.

 Clearing her throat, Annette continued like nothing had happened. “ANYWAYS, there’s a lotta us. So mum insisted we’d get the place remodeled so there’s enough space. They’re all staying with my aunts and uncles until it’s done, while we have the run of the house for ourselves.”

 “Oh.” Ingrid nodded, pressing her cold hands to her neck as she tried to keep her voice even. “That’s good.”

 A rapping noise interrupted them and Ingrid had never been more grateful for a break in the conversation. “Who—”

 Without warning, her door yanked open and two arms wrapped around her tightly, half-pulling her out of her seat. “Ingrid!”

 It took all of Ingrid’s reflexes to turn her head so she wouldn’t die of suffocation. Mercedes hugs were as tight as ever and she gasped, “It’s good to see you too.”

 “I’m glad you’re here.” Mercedes squeezed her again. “Did I keep you waiting?”

 “Mercie!” Annette leaned over, scrambling over the car seat as she tried and failed to pry open her girlfriend’s arms. “Yer killing herself.”

 “Oh.” Mercedes looked down and relaxed her grasp. “Oh sorry, I can’t have that.”

 “It’s…” Ingrid panted, chest heaving as she tried to get some oxygen. “Fine…”

 Patting her head, Mercedes coddled her. “Oh, you poor dear. You look so exhausted—let’s get you back to our place for some food and rest.”

 “That…sounds…good,” Ingrid breathed, certain that her state was more due to Mercedes than anything else. “I’ll…move…back…”

 “It’s fine, you stay here.” Mercedes poked her head into the car, pressing a chaste kiss on Annette’s cheek before stepping out. “I’ll sit in the back and you can tell me everything.”

 Her hand curled on her chest, crumpling her shirt as she slowly calmed down. “Everything?”

 “Everything,” Mercedes insisted, sliding into the backseat. “Starting with darling Lysithea’s height.”

 Annette spluttered. “Mercie!”

#sylvgrid #mercette #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #fire emblem three houses #Annette Fantine Dominic #mercedes von martritz #i spent five minutes trying to find the mercedes/annette ship name #they took over the first half of the fic #fanfic

[toast-connoisseur]

all the colors!

Answered these earlier so I’ll repost☺️

zinc white; how are you really feeling today? no one-word answers please! -I’m exhausted. Working and home life are draining. The current state of the world also has so much going on and I so desperately wish I could instantly fix everything at the same time.

cadmium yellow; when you think of the word “happy” what’s the first thing that comes to mind? -Laughter

lemon; what’s your comfort food? -It depends on my mood tbh but usually something chocolatey

hansa yellow; what’s your guilty pleasure song? -I don’t consider any of my music worth being called a guilty pleasure but I do like the song titled Guilty Pleasure by Cobra Starship

yellow ochre; name an artist/band whom you just discovered & can’t get enough of! -Straight Line Stitch

naples yellow; where do you feel most at home? -Right now I can’t really say I have a place. Used to be Disneyland.

raw sienna; with whom do you feel most at home? -My best friends

golden ochre; describe the relationship you have with your closest friend. -I’m lucky to have several close friends and each relationship is very different but ultimately we can speak our minds with each other and laugh about random stupidities for hours.

golden deep; what’s your favorite season? -Fall

cadmium orange; what do you like to do on your days off? -See my friends usually, but now I mostly sleep.

orange lake; do you have anyone you can turn to when you’re sad? -Yes. I hate doing that though. I don’t want others to feel sad because I’m sad and I don’t like bothering people.

titans; do you prefer slow mornings or relaxing evenings? -Relaxing evenings. Mornings stress me out no matter what.

shakhnazaryan red; are you currently binge-watching anything? -No, I already finished the newest season of Queer Eye.

red ochre; are you more right-brained (creative) or left-brained (analytical)? -I am both for sure and I think anyone that knows me would agree.

burnt sienna; is there a painting that brings you peace when you look at it? -I’m not good with memorizing the names of paintings. While I have had this experience before, I don’t recall what they’re all named.

english red; what animal do you relate to most? -A puppy. Always learning new info and has too much energy at times.

vermilion; what’s your favorite accent? -It’s a tie between a Cuban accent (looove speaking Spanish with Cubans) and an Australian accent.

cadmium red; do you have a “type” when it comes to a significant other? -I think so? I guess my type is someone who can keep up with me and make me laugh so hard I cry.

scarlet; describe your current crush/es. -Nonexistent.

ruby; what does your ideal first date look like? -Honestly just sitting somewhere quiet, like the beach, and talking nonsense about anything and everything.

carmine; what does your ideal second date look like? -Maybe something fun like a bar/club or even going to the movies (I find that very fun)

madder lake red; would you ever kiss someone (or accept a kiss) on a first date? -Yes. As long as it feels right, I’ll always accept a kiss.

rose; what’s something really positive going on in your life right now? -I graduated college! But that’s dying down so I’ll have to find something new soon.

quinacridone rose; what’s something you’re really looking forward to? -The world being a safer place in every aspect of the word.

violet rose; what does your dream house look like? -I like open spaces and lots of rooms to decorate yet do nothing with.

violet; is there any place in particular you’d like to settle down? -I’d love to stay in the LA area but it’s a big bitch money-wise.

blue lake; what would you like to do/accomplish before you settle down? -I think I be done it already. I’d love to have my dream job but I wouldn’t mind settling down whilst looking for that too.

cobalt blue spectral; what is the most beautiful place you have ever been to? -Multnomah Falls

ultramarine; when was the last time you were in a good mood? do you know/remember what sparked it? -I was getting ready to see my friends.

blue; what’s the most recent dream you remember? -Last night I dreamt that I went back in time to meet myself as a child but I encountered everyone else but me.

bright blue; what does your dream family look like? any kids or pets? how many of each? -I’d love a big family. Wife and as many kids as we can comfortable afford, preferably 4 maybe? A dog, maybe an aquarium?

blue cobalt; do you like your name? would you give yourself a different name if you could? -I don’t really care for my name but I wouldn’t even know what to change it to tbh. I tried when I became a US citizen but it didn’t work out.

prussian azure; what’s your favorite scent? -Anything clean or the smell of fresh baked goods.

azure blue; what’s your favorite type of tea, if any? -I don’t like tea.

turquoise blue; if you could start a garden, what would you plant? -I actually had this thought the other day and I want a garden so bad I feel like I’d plant whatever I could get my hands on and easily manage.

cerulean blue; if you were guaranteed to have a viewership, would you start a youtube vlog? -Maybe. Sounds super fun to do without viewers but I wouldn’t want to deal with the mean people/comments. Ruins the fun.

glauconite; describe your body without using any negative adjectives. -Curvaceous.

yellow green; picture yourself walking in a field. what do you see & hear in this scenario? -Birds chirping, butterflies flying around, a slight breeze that’s not too chilly yet saves me from the heat of the sun on my face.

green light; are you in a comfortable place in life? if not, what do you think might make it better? -Not really. I require more stability than what is being offered to me at the moment but it’s really expensive to be out on my own here.

green; name three countries you want to visit; do you have any actual plans in place to visit any of them? -I could name them all and know I probably won’t get around to many. Life is messy and expensive. France and Greece sound nice though.

emerald green; do you speak any languages besides english? are there any additional languages you want to learn? -Spanish. Both English and Spanish are basically my native languages and I speak both fluently and most times people don’t know which is my primary language.

oxide of chromium; what’s your favorite book? -Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin

olive green; are you currently reading anything? how do you like it so far? -Nothing at the moment.

mars brown; what’s a movie that always puts a smile on your face/makes you laugh? -Saved!

burnt umber; what’s something you plan to do before the day is over to take care of yourself? -Take a fat nap.

umber; have you drank enough water today? -It’s 6AM so, no.

voronezhskaya black; what or who is your go-to outlet for when you need to vent? -Selena

sepia; name five things that always make you happy. -My best friends, Disneyland, food, coloring, watching movies, and drinking

indigo; what’s the best/sweetest compliment you have ever received? -When people tell them I make them feel safe enough to tell me anything.

payne’s gray; describe your aesthetic? -I honestly think it varies on a day to day basis but mostly like retro I guess?

black; post a selfie because you are so beautiful!

[wikshots-blog]

     ( lisa teige, 22, female ) by chance have you met NOVA WIKSTRÖM yet? i hear SHE has lived in PIONEER SQUARE for THREE WEEKS and works as a SPORTS & FREELANCE PHOTOGRAPHER. i’m surprised you haven’t met them yet but for when you do, i hear they can be quite SCATTERBRAINED but also OBSERVANT. for whatever reason they remind me of CEASELESS MOVEMENT OF HAIR & FEET & HANDS, SILVER RINGS ON DELICATE FINGERS, DOING ANYTHING TO GET THE PERFECT SHOT. ( lias, 20, they/them, est )

THE STORY

--- nova and her older brother aksel ( 24 ) are both swedish ( technically a mix but a too complicated mix of norwegian and swedish to really pick out the percentages -- not that it really matters ). she was born in trondheim, NOR and her brother in örnsköldsvik, SWE, but they were both raised in the north america : minnesota in their earliest years, then london ON, and washington dc as their father jumped from coaching gig to coaching gig for various different teams. they spent and still spend their summers/long breaks in a lakehouse in sweden just outside of örnsköldsvik ( that was always nova’s favorite time of year ).

--- the money in their family comes from the men playing hockey. their father rasmus wikström had a lengthy 15 year career in the nhl as a third/fourth line winger ; not one of the superstars, no, but respectable as a player, wore an A more often than not, and made a few million every season in the process, as you do. but the true superstar in the family is aksel, drafted 9th overall in the 2013 draft by the canucks, who then had an unpredicated breakout season in the first half of the season in the ahl, got called up to the nhl and never went back. teams are still kicking themselves for passing him up. he’s three years into a six year, seven million dollar contract — and he’s proving that he should have asked for even more.

— nova was nothing like her brother. her brother was one-track, laser focused on one dream his entire life… meanwhile nova had no clue what she’s doing. she’s good at plenty of things ( drawing, writing, lacrosse, math, yes– even hockey ) but she never pursued any of them hard enough to become EXCELLENT at any of them. jack of all trades, master of none, right?? she’s never been able to focus on one thing in her entire life, probably because she gets bored easily.

— this in particular led to her outcast in her own family. their mom especially started pushing nova to find “her passion” freshman year of high school, because she believed that everyone should have a life plan. but nova had no interest in trying to figure it out and it only led to more arguments and tension in the household, which turned to long silences with curt comments undermining nova’s character. her father was mostly absent, too busy coaching or something else, too busy to really care about his non-hockey playing child. aksel was the only one in the family she really got along with because he never pushed her, put up with her sometimes meaningless rambles, and seemed to be the only one who understood her and with her brother now gone to the other side of the country, nova felt like she had no one to talk or turn to.

--- nova graduated high school quietly and still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life ( save for get out of her parents’ house ) ; no college plan, no nothing. luckily, aksel provided an easy out for her : allowing her to stay with him at his apartment in vancouver. it was in that first year after graduating that she bought her first camera.

--- she had taken a couple photography classes in high school and had enjoyed it well enough, but had never felt the need to pursue it. however now, with her camera in hand and aksel cheekily telling her to get some good shots of him on the ice, nova accidentally fell in deep love with the art. she excelled at it --- sports photography, hockey in particular since she knew the sport so well. so much of it is predicting and HOPING for the perfect shot.

--- nova had no want for connections, the path for her to get a media passes and access for behind the scenes business was easily afforded to her given her relation to her brother. and the season after that, she found herself part of the canucks photography team and only getting better. in the off-seasons, she honed her talent on other things --- freelance work and other things, though nothing thrilled her as much as sports photography and the unpredictability of it all. it kept her on her toes like nothing else and for that she enjoyed it.

--- she was quite content with her position ; she and aksel continued to share an apartment --- her practically rent free, since aksel needed rather little help to pay for it ( though of course, it left her vulnerable to dumb favors he asked of her, that she did begrudgingly with a roll of her eyes ). summers were spent back home in sweden by the lake -- the whole family together somewhat peacefully, their differences seemingly less severe with so much time spent apart...

--- until this summer. she hadn’t been planning on taking a position with the seahawks ; but the opportunity arose and when she made the final cut, she accepted. it was better maybe than her typical freelance summer work, and she was starting to desire a bit of CHANGE. she put a security deposit down on an apartment not far from the stadium and drove down in the car aksel at bought her for her 21st birthday. she doesn’t know where this will take her ( and it’ll be a little odd living alone again ) but she’s ready to see where it does.

MISC

— nova and her brother are fluent in swedish and conversational in norwegian. she has a slight accent when she returns in the fall from sweden ( mostly from speaking swedish all summer ), but it fades out pretty quickly.

— she drives an orange subaru crosstrek like the sporty legend she is ( jk not a legend, but she does drive a crosstrek ). the car was a birthday present from aksel last summer. she’ll drive up to vancouver occasionally still to check on aksel’s apartment and bc she misses the city a little.

--- nova runs a blog where she’s been documenting her time living with aksel ( with his permission ). it’s typically more candid photos with funny memoir-type short pieces she writes when inspired. she’s not sure what will come of the blog now.

--- her freelance ‘company’ is called WIKshots.

--- she almost always carries around a small unlined notebook with her that she writes or draws in. she’s forgetful even at the best of times and find if she thinks of something genius, she better jot it down quickly.

--- she’s almost always moving : tapping feet, jittery fingers, shifty eyes --- the only time she’s truly still is when she’s taking photos, but even that’s it’s only for the briefest moment. nova will also do anything to get the perfect shot, no matter how crazy she might look ( climbing onto things, laying on the ground in a busy street, truly anything ).

--- she almost always wearing four ( technically five ) rings, all silver :                       left middle: 2 delicate blue topaz w/ a thin band                       left thumb: braided spinner ring                       right index: thin chevron                       right ring: TBA but her brother gave it to her on her 18th bday

WANTED CONNECTIONS

--- i’m not sure how it turns out, but their first impression of nova is her doing something ridiculous to get That Shot.

--- gimme all the people in pioneer square that she keeps running into

--- someone who kinda grounds her : she’s so flighty and hard to keep track of sometimes -- with her brother out of the picture in seattle, it’s only going to be worse. give me someone who understands that but also works to keep her grounded when times. someone to be that rock...

--- long shot, but i’d love for her to interact with ppl who know who her brother is ( like... the aksel wikström, one of the young stars of the vancouver canucks ).

--- i love slow burn romo plots but i also have to gauge chem between our muses first

--- anything at all !!

#206.intro

[devientdeco]

The Death of A Skeptic

Spencer Winters sat at his desk, smoking a cigarette and enjoying a coffee and the sounds of “Nobody Knows You When Your Down And Out” cascading from the radio near his desk. He saw a dark shape against the frosted glass of his office door which read ‘Spencer Winters: Private Detective and Investigator’. Other detectives would have a secretary outside, but he had had to let his go. The young detective reached into his desk and undid the safety on one of his .45 pistols, cocked it, and placed it in his pocket, easily drawn if he needed it. It never hurt to be prepared, after all.

Spencer opened the door and admitted a young man, the two taking their seats on opposite sides of the desk as Spencer killed the radio with the turn of a dial. The young man was armed, Spencer saw the bulge of a holster in his expensive suit. He was tall and lanky, not unlike Spencer, and he had neatly arranged red hair, green eyes flicking over Spencer like a snake looking at prey. He smiled and extended a hand to shake before he began speaking, his voice indicating he was clearly another Nocturne City native, the Southern accent spilling from his lips like tar onto a road under construction. “Mr. Winters,” He paused to flash another million-dollar smile at Spencer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Nicholas Burnette. I represent a powerful player who has expressed an interest in hiring you. You’ve proven yourself to be quite a capable detective and an able combatant, an excellent marksman and possessing a remarkably sturdy constitution. I’ve heard of your little war with Benny Vinnoci and his bootleggers after that unfortunate business with your wife and her sticky fingers. He ended up with two to the head, and you get off scot-free thanks to your police friends. You are, thus, an able candidate for the job we have in mind.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, is this job, Mr. Burnette? How do you know so much about me?”

“I have friends in the police department, just like you do, detective, and I also hired someone else to look into your background. Please, don’t be upset. I was asked to find the best man for the job, and you're it. As for what the job entails, it is deceptively simple. My employer seeks a raven statuette from the swamp outside of town. I am sure you are aware of the perils within, so we chose you for your martial prowess.”

Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was a skeptic, through and through, not believing the tales of monsters in the swamps. Like any gumshoe, he knew if you were inclined to believe in such things, you probably weren’t cut out for detective work anyway, or if you were, you’d waste your time and your clients trying to find things everyone else knew weren’t real. He had been in the swamp on a case before though, just last year, looking for a lost boy. The boy was never found, but there was never any sort of danger there, just big trees and weirdly black water. One of the policemen had gone missing, but he was later found in the loving embrace of a mistress in a seedy motel near the swamp. Nothing supernatural there, Spencer thought, just human nature. He pushed the case from his mind and focused on his client. “The only threats I face there are the threats of tripping and getting my boots wet Mr. Burnette.”

“That is where you are wrong, detective. But if you do not believe me, you will find out for yourself. Will you take the job?”

“More details?”

“We have a rough idea of where the object is, but our previous efforts to retrieve it have been stymied by illness and madness, and in one case, cowardice. We can provide you with a rough map, and little else, I’m afraid. You will be exceedingly well compensated, detective. My employer is prepared to offer you up to ten thousand dollars if you retrieve this object for his collection, five hundred upon accepting the job, and the other nine thousand, five hundred, upon delivery of the statuette. If you succeed in this endeavor, you may be hired for more asset recovery operations in the future.”

Spencer’s mind raced at what he could do with the money. He might be able to pay off the medical bills he always incurred on his more dangerous cases, and maybe even hire another secretary. But he knew he had to keep from acting too excited, avoid seeming too eager. “Ten thousand dollars for getting my boots a little wet and finding some statuette? Your boss must really like statues. Sure, I’ll take your money. Who’s this mysterious employer, Mr. Burnette?”

Nicholas smiled warmly. “I’m so glad you agreed to the job. I doubt it will be as easy as you think, but I’m sure you can handle it, given your background. My employer is none other than Mr. Henry Sinclair, founder, and CEO of Southern Industries.”

Spencer was impressed. Henry Sinclair owned Southern Motors, among the other enterprises in the Southern Industries umbrella and was the richest man in Nocturne City. His factories had brought the city and the south as a whole an economic boom, and he was fast becoming one of the richest men in the country. Now he wanted him to find something in the swamp for him. He was distracted from his thoughts as Nicholas reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. “The first installment of your payment, detective. Thank you very much for agreeing to this. You are the fourth person we’ve hired or tried to hire. The second person to accept. We sent a team into the swamp ourselves, but they came down with some nasty illnesses and the expedition leader is currently in a mental asylum. The one detective who agreed skipped town after being given the first installment and had to be tracked down and made an example of. I’m sure you won’t make the same mistake. I hope you succeed and don’t end up dead. Good luck sir and thank you again.” He shook hands again and left after a final smile.

That night, Spencer returned home to see his wife, Scarlett, lounging on the couch. “Hello dear. You look glum. What’s wrong, tough day at the office?” She rose and embraced him. “I was hired by Henry Sinclair to go into the swamp and find something for him.” Scarlett looked alarmed. “Please tell me you turned him down. There’s all sorts of awful things in the swamp.” Spencer cracked a grin, amused by his wife’s belief in the supernatural.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Well, there is, of course, Black Mask Armitage. Victims of The Walking Plague that survived being killed way back when, cultists, freaks, all sort of things! You shouldn’t have taken the job.”

“Oh, calm down. The worst that can happen is maybe I’ll trip over a tree root. He offered me ten thousand dollars! Why would I turn that down? Besides, I never saw anythin’ weird last year.”

“Even the luckiest man alive has to run out of luck sometime. Just cause you didn’t see anything, doesn’t mean its not there.  I love you Spence, and I don’t wanna see a news article about your body being found floating on the edge of the swamp.”

He smiled at her worries. He silenced her protests with a kiss on her ruby-red lips, while running his fingers through her long red hair.

“Baby, I’ve taken on gangsters, for you no less. I killed a mob boss. I’ve tangled with the toughest thugs this city can offer and I’ve always come out on top. I can survive getting a little wet. I’m sorry, but I need the money.”

He pulled his wife off of him and started walking to his room. He opened the envelope and found it had five one-hundred-dollar bills and a map, or, rather, an attempt at a map. It had several ‘landmarks’, one of which was circled. ‘The tall black trees. It should be in the center of the clearing surrounded by the tall black trees.’, was scrawled in spidery handwriting. Spencer thought about the weird legends of the black-water swamp on the edge of town. The earliest legends were from the colonization of the city back in the 1600s, stories of weird lights. Spencer dismissed them as swamp gas. There were many stories of the horrors and cults and forbidden sects which lived in the swamp, but he dismissed them simply as folk stories. Tomorrow he would go out into the swamps and try to find the statuette.

**

In the morning, Spencer went to have breakfast at The Café V8 in his sleek Southern Motors Raven before heading off to the outskirts of town, wearing not a suit, but instead donning some well-worn boots, jeans, and a shirt and coat he wasn’t afraid to get dirty. He peered into the dark swamps and turned on a flashlight. The high cypress and oak trees blocked out what little light shone through the overcast sky, Spanish moss dangling down and blotting out the light even further. He trudged into the swamp, into the cool black water. His boots sank into the mud and snapped twigs as he walked on. Spencer frowned. This brought back bad memories. He had searched for the boy for days, and found no trace of him, save a tattered bit of cloth that might have come from his shirt, but could have been from any number of other shirts. He nearly tripped over a sprawling root somehow drawing nutrition from the water-soaked soil. Spencer found a slight smirk crossing his face, despite the memories of last year. He had been right. There was nothing here but trees and water. He was surprised to see a number of lights in the distance. He cautiously approached, flicking off the flashlight and seeing a handful of figures standing over something. He inched closer, crouching down now and pulling out one of the two .45s he always carried with him.

He looked closer and saw that the individuals stood atop a bit of ground that rose from the black waters, amidst the huge trees. They were six of them, all naked, their bodies painted in strange, organic patterns, spirals, leaves, ivy-like tattoos crawling up their skin. They stood inside a pair of overlapping hexagons made of black wood. The figures stood around a colossal black tree stump, and, to Spencer’s shock, a mutilated body. The body was that of a young man, apparently vivisected, with intricate leaf-like patterns branching off of the opened chest cavity, as though it were a tree trunk with the leaf-like patterns growing from it onto the rest of thr body. The figures bore bloody knives. Spencer cocked and undid the safety on his .45 as he backed away, prepared to defend himself as he fled. He cursed to himself as he slipped on a root and fell into the water. He arose, seeing six figures approaching him, bearing knives, chanting aloud words that made Spencer’s head hurt and his ears to ring. He raised his .45 and fired at the nearest cultist, aiming for the leg, wanting to incapacitate for now unless they made things difficult. The cultist fell to the ground, his knee shattered by the bullet. He continued to fire, wounding each cultist, though they continued to crawl toward, chanting even through the pain, some unknown and incomprehensible language. Spencer sighed and decided he’d have to kill them. He was good at killing, and while he did not enjoy it, recognized it as a necessary evil. He shot them each in the head, even as they continued to crawl forward, one of them even hurling his knife at him in desperation, though it only tore a hole in his coat as it went wide. He moved on, trying to block the memory from his mind.

As he pressed on through the water, he flicked on the flashlight again and continued onward. He was not particularly worried about killing those people; the corpses would be subsumed by the black waters of the swamp and they would not be an issue. Even if they were, his friends in the police force would understand that he was cleansing their fair city of criminal cultists. He felt his boot kick against something. He looked down and saw something that was not a tree root. He saw many corpses floating in the waters. Not one, not two, but dozens of them. They were rotten with age, yet still somehow, impossibly, had flesh and muscle, albeit tattered and decayed. Then, Spencer thought he saw one of them twitch. Impossible. Corpses cannot twitch. It continued to twitch, standing up. It and the other corpses began to stand, shambling toward him, arms outstretched, a low moan escaping from its damaged and rotten mouth. Spencer blinked, recoiling on reflex rather than reason, dismissing this as a hallucination. One of the corpses tried to bite him, and he recoiled. He leaped back. This was no hallucination. He backed up, and drew his pistol, firing perfectly aimed headshots, but panicked as he heard the click of an empty clip. He backed up, tripping over a tree root and falling backwards into the water. The things he had shot had fallen into the water, finally destroyed after centuries of unlife.  But more of them arose from the black waters. Spencer arose from the water, narrowly avoiding a grasping hand, and fled, running blindly away from the reanimated corpses into the swamp, tripping a few times and soaking himself further.

He finally got far enough away that moans were no longer audible on the wind. He slumped against a tree. What had he just seen? It must have been supernatural, for he was unable to explain this rationally. He was a man of rational thinking, and dare not think of anything irrational or strange, even religion, for many religions would not approve of his actions. He pondered on these things he had shot. According to local history/legend, in 1745, there was an outbreak of The Walking Plague, a strange form of bubonic plague. The town apothecaries and barber-surgeons donned the signature mask of the plague doctors and took up blades and eradicated the undead who had lurched into the swamp. One of them, local legend proclaimed, was infected by a bite from the undead and then began to transform. The doctor, Noah Armitage, vanished into the swamp. A few weeks later, reports of a horrible flying creature began a strange amalgamation of flesh and bone, and ravens wings, and a leathery plague mask and beak. This monstrous creature was called Black Mask Armitage, supposedly the transformed doctor Noah Armitage.  Perhaps, perhaps the legends were true. He had shot undead creatures to protect himself. Undead beings reanimated by an ancient disease. But when he had gone looking for the boy last year he hadn’t encountered anyone or anything out of ordinary, and he had gone deeper into the swamp than this, or so he thought. Thinking about the case brought a strange feeling of melancholy. He remembered the mother sobbing, asking him to take another look, because the police had largely given up after three weeks of searching. He shook his head fiercely and forced himself to stop thinking until after he found what he was hired to find.

He pressed onward, looking at the map, trying to get his bearings. He was surprised to see the stump that had been on the map. He pressed onward, the trees becoming even taller, monolithic black trees, Spanish moss hanging like tendrils reaching toward him. There was a sudden clearing, and Spencer saw a tall black monolith, a statuette of a raven sitting atop it. He approached, grabbing the statuette and tucking it into a bag. As he turned, an earsplitting screech filled the air. He stared in disbelief and horror as a figure flew towards him. It was some sort of monstrous entity, a creature with a long black beak, it’s beak long and leathery, like a plague doctors mask, arms that looked like eldritch fusions of bone, rippling black flesh, and raven feathers. Its body was a mix of black feathers and bone, black flesh showing here and there. It let out a terrifying screech and flapped towards Spencer. Spencer could hardly believe his eyes, sure he was now hallucinating. He was snapped out of this assurance that he was hallucinating by sharp pains on his arms and chest. He saw blood on his shirt.  He removed his pair of .45s and fired, Black Mask Armitage hissing and screeching as the bullets hit its chest and wings. Spencer kept firing, as he ran, his coat being ripped off as claws snagged in it. He sprinted into the thick trees, Black Mask Armitage following him, flying above the trees, the shrieks echoing into the overcast sky. He continued to fire, many of the bullets flying wild now, shooting until he heard the click of empty magazines. He was out of bullets now, and no more magazines, the extras had been in his coat. His arms and chest were bleeding more freely now, the cuts deeper than he thought. Something he did not believe in had clawed him, and he was bleeding. Perhaps he needed to be more open to the existence of the supernatural in Nocturne City. After all, not believing in it did not prevent it from attempting to kill him, of course. He continued to press on through the swamp, seeing the lights of town in the distance. He smiled weakly to himself, thinking of Scarlett when the screeching of Black Mask Armitage drew closer. He saw his car nearby, it’s sleek black form a sign of hope. If he could get to it, he could drive off and leave this forsaken swamp.

Making a break for it, he ran to the car, tossing the bag containing the statuette in the passenger seat and quickly grabbing the two extra magazines he kept in his glove box and frantically reloading. To his horror, the car rocked, and the narrow windshield broke open as the talons of the flying monster smashed it apart, leaving claw marks in the hood. He scrambled for one of the .45s, firing at the long black beak. It screeched, trying to get closer. He turned the key in the ignition and started driving, speeding off, the creature struggling to stay on the car which was quickly accelerating. He smiled with satisfaction as the creature was forced under his tires, loud bumps sounding as the creature was run over. He heard loud screeching but knew the creature would soon return to the swamp, if the legends were true, at least.

**

He staggered into the hospital, being cured by the doctors and nurses. When they asked what had caused the wounds, he simply said “Black Mask Armitage”. They were highly confused, sharing his now-dead skepticism, but treated his jagged cuts. He drove home, warmly embracing Scarlett. “Oh, Scarlett. I’m sorry. I should have believed you. There were…. things….out there in the swamp. I killed cultists. And then there were victims of The Walking Plague. God, so many of them. I ran. And ran and ran, until I came to a clearing. I found what Sinclair hired me to find, but then Black Mask Armitage attacked me. Ripped my coat off, clawed me. But I think I’m better now, just need to lay down.” She kissed him. “I’m so glad your ok Spence! I mean, you come home wounded a lot, but I was honestly worried for the first time. But maybe your luck isn’t ready to give out just yet.” She embraced him again, and stood, heading off to prepare some supper. Spencer sat and gazed into the flames of the fireplace, thinking about all the horrors he had seen. His lack of belief in the supernatural had been shattered beyond repair, like the shattering of a window as someone is defenestrated. He understood now that there existed things that he could not understand, and that a bullet could not solve every problem anymore. He had shot the bird creature many times, in the wings, chest, and its awful beak mask thing but it continued to attack. He hoped never to have to go back into the swamp. He would demand more money for the job from Sinclair, of course, to pay for his medical bills. He would believe now, or at least be accepting of that fact that strange horrors lurked in and around his beloved city.

**

Spencer drove his sleek but damaged car toward the Sinclair mansion. The Sinclair estate was a large, modern, white, Art Deco mansion situated on a jagged-edged cliff overlooking the city and the Atlantic. The well-manicured grounds were enclosed by a tall wall, preventing anyone from peering into the tycoon’s affairs. Spencer pulled into the driveway, and an armed guard came out to greet him, looking confused at the state of his car. Presenting his private detective's license as ID, he was allowed in. He was ushered into a luxurious Art Deco office. A tall, lanky man in the finest suit Spencer had ever seen stood before him, a pencil mustache, slicked-back hair. He smiled and extended a hand. “Good evening detective Winters!! I am ever so glad you are not dead! Do you have it?” Spencer handed him the bag containing the obsidian statuette, the ruby red raven eyes gleaming in the electric lights. Sinclair beamed happily. “Excellent job detective Winters! Thank you!” Spencer nodded.

“Your welcome sir, but I would like to know if you would mind covering my medical bills? I had a run-in with Black Mask Armitage. And, if you don’t mind me asking, why the hell did you want this thing so bad?”

“You did? I will, of course, pay you extra. Is that why your car is a disgraceful heap of shattered glass and scratches? No matter, I will replace the car with the newest model of Raven. Let’s see…. nine thousand, five hundred dollars? I already paid you five hundred, but let’s ignore that and give you another five hundred. And, to answer your question, I am a collector of the eldritch, the macabre and the supernatural. It….intrigues me.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. ‘Just how rich and possibly crazy was this man?, he thought.

Sinclair reached into his pocket for his wallet, and pulled out a few dozen hundred-dollar bills. He handed it to Spencer and smiled.

“Your payment, detective. My agents may seek your assistance in the future, Mr. Winters. Please consider accepting. You did a fine job, and you have proven yourself capable of doing things others will not. I am happy to have met you! Now, I must find a place in my collection worthy of displaying such a beautiful piece of artwork. Good evening!” He abruptly turned on his heels, carrying the statuette and walking off. An aide was sent to get Spencer a new Raven. A short while later, it arrived, pulling up by the door, aides, moving any personal effects from his old car to his new one. Spencer looked at the sleek black car, pleased by this unexpected bonus. He got in, and drove off into the night, NCR serenading him.

#spencer winters #Henry Sinclair #black mask armitage

[negatistic-nocturnities]

Tell me your secrets!! 1-100 even numbers!

2. How old are you?

Twenty-four as of April seventh.

4. What is your zodiac sign?

Aries.

8. Where are you from?

Oklahoma!

10. What shoe size are you?

Depends on the brand, but about 11-12 US Mens.

14. Are you psychic in any way?

! Probably not!

16. Favorite movie?

Independence Day! I blame nostalgia. Thor:Ragnarok, Into the Spider-Verse.

18. Do you want children?

I would love children, by any source, adoption or just being that cool Uncle. So yes, I would love to have children.

20. Are you religious?

In a way, to a degree. More spiritual than religious though I am open to possibility. Inquire for more!

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

Other than a speeding ticket (Back in 2013; woops, was leaving school for lunch and didn’t pay attention) and a minor collision with someone that swerved lanes and deemed my fault, no.

24. Baths or showers?

Showers!

26. Have you ever been famous?

Nope!

28. What type of music do you like?

Do I think it’s good? Then I like it. I like different depending on my mood; jazz, post-punk, punk, pop, classic country, electronic and so-on.

30. How many pillows do you sleep with?Four but I only use three at a time, at most.

32. How big is your house?

Moderately big for having five people and a dog.

34. Have you ever fired a gun?

With my great-grandfather when I was much younger.

36. Favorite clean word?

Skree, or overly conjugated words.

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

Probably when I was younger. Maybe now? But I have no clue.

42. Are you a good judge of character?

Three-quarters of the way. I trust all at first and let them prove me wrong or right.

44. Do you have a strong accent?

I try not to. But maybe slight, certainly distinguishing of my region.

46. What is your personality type?

We talking Myers-Briggs? Shooting the breeze? Here, let me take a test.

Alright so INFP-A, that’s 51% Introvert, so I’m borderline E and I. Makes sense.

48. Can you curl your tongue?

Yes!

50. Left or right handed?

Right-handed. Can do some things better with Left though.

52. Favorite food?

Fish currently. Enchiladas as well. Tex-Mex.

54. Are you a clean or messy person?

Messy but I routinely clean.

56. Most used word?

Skree. Or weird filler words.

58. Do you have much of an ego?

Yes, but in a ‘I know what I know’ sense. New info is easy to accept. Changed info is hard, and I have a bad habit of googling and researching on the spot. I am working on it and being more flexible in learning.

60. Do you talk to yourself?

Hell yeah!

62. Are you a good singer?

Depends on the song!

66. Do you like long or short hair?

On myself? Both. Currently long, I have pulled off short hair but it’s so high maintenance!

On others? All but I prefer shorter to medium hair.

68. Favorite school subject?

Anything science related or historical but I enjoyed English and Math.

Can I say that I just liked learning?

70. Have you ever been scuba diving?

Nope!

72. Are you scared of the dark?

Nope.

74. Are you ticklish?

Nope!

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority?

Yes, I am a manager.

78. Have you ever done drugs?

Not really.

80. How many piercings do you have?

None, but I have thought about it heavily, I might.

82. How fast can you type?

Fast enough, depends on my mood.

84. What color is your hair?

Brown!

86. What are you allergic to?

Nothing.

88. What do your parents do?

My mother is a social worker and my step-father is in the textile and design industry.

90. What makes you angry?

Disregard of human liberties and rights.

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they?

I have not, at all.

94. What are you strengths?

Math, loving science and nature.

96. How did you get your name?

It’s a long story, every part has some source.

Surname is a given. Some person above me was a Smith.

Ray came to my name the same way. From someone above me’s name. Seth was Biblical in origin, the reasons.. Obscure. And my middle name is from my mother, it’s an Indo-Euro influenced Choctaw term.

Mother liked hyphens. Made me Seth-Ray Pallaton Smith.

98. Do you have any scars?

This was already here.

Let me put something here.

I like Pineapple.

100. Color of your room?

White and a very subdued blue/gray.

#me #ask me #answers #RIMW

[cloudynames]

Point and Flex

hi everyone!! happy holidays!! i hope you’re all spending time with your family or friends~ i wanted to get this up before christmas but i was caught up with too much aha please accept this as a late christmas present <3

Word Count: 3,654

Rating: PG-13

Warning: one (1) swear word [shocking i know]

lets winwin!

----------------------------------

A white letter with gorgeous red lettering and a prestigious gold stamp changes your life.

Coming home that Thursday afternoon from school and holding your acceptance letter made you anticipate your graduation. Things were coming along so quickly you hadn’t even noticed how summer flew by and you were on your way to Seoul, dancing for The Korean National Ballet.

Sitting in your small dorm, you unpacked quickly and ran to the window, peering out at the city around you. Excitement filled up in your stomach, only to disintegrate when your calendar clearly marks that your evaluation day was tomorrow. Huffing and flopping on your bed, you started to realize how intense of a situation you’re in.

You’re overseas in a country you’ve never been to before! Barely being able to speak the language, the only thing you have is your dancing abilities. You would have to work as hard—no, even harder than the other students to qualify and dance for the theatre. The gravity of your situation slowly sets in while your anxieties rise and you groan.

“This sucks!” You yell into your room, directing it to no one.

The next morning you, suffering from jet lag, hurriedly burst into the studio, still arranging your hair and not even having properly stuffing your bag with everything you need for dance.

Multiple dancers turn their head to you, some scoffing and some smirking. Either they saw you as pathetic already or someone to mock. .

Placing down your backpack, you grab your pointe shoes and toe cap. Fear for your feet creeps into your body as you dig through your bag, checking every pocket.

“No, no, no��� Where’s my toe spacer?!”

“Do you need one?” A voice quips and you whip your head to them. A boy with brown short hair and a slight accent stands above you, holding out a new toe spacer.

“Thank you so much! I really do appreciate it.” You grin and he sits down besides you.

As you prepare your feet, Ten questions you, “We don’t get many foreigners. Are you new?”

Nodding and standing up, testing your pointe shoes, you respond, “Yes. I’m a first year.”

“I’m Ten! I’m a second year. Last year, I was The Beast from Beauty and the Beast!”

You awe in amazement and respond back with your name. The two of you chat for a while until everyone is called into the huge, modern dance room. You nervously shift around until the wooden door opens with a man holding the door. Your shoulders tighten at the sudden sound and you keep your best posture, wanting to make a good impression on your new instructor.

A creaking sound gradually grows louder and louder. People seem to be startled and they whisper in a tongue you don’t understand. Turning to Ten for assistance, he keeps his eyes front to the mirror.

First, you see legs and then wheels. A man with dark muddy brown hair and sharp eyes arrives in the room, and he slowly moves himself over to the center of the room. Adjusting himself accordingly, he booms with a loud voice.

“Welcome.”

A wave of relief washes over the students but you wonder who this instructor is.

And not to be noisy, but what happened to his legs?

He looks incredibly intimidating and with a huge figure, it drives anxiety up to your throat. Aren’t wheelchairs supposed to make you look small?

“Let’s take thirty minutes to stretch. You may talk quietly among yourselves.”

With that, you immediately rush to Ten’s side and while in a lunging position, you ask, “Who is he?”

“Dong Sicheng. We call him Winwin.”

“Is he nice?” You whisper, falling into the splits and remembering to point your toes.

“Nah. He’s kind of a prick but he has the right to be. He’s a good instructor and he pushes you to your limit. He truly makes you a better ballet dancer.” Ten admits, going into a backbend.

“So what happened to him? I mean his legs of course.”

Ten sputters and collapses into the ground, clearly shocked by the audacity of your question. “How am I supposed to know?”

Soon your time to stretch was over and the terrifying instructor thought it would be best to go across the floor to evaluate where some people are at.

“Let’s do a pirouette, no—make it five pirouettes. I want a grand jeté and finally a glissade.”

A slow melody of piano music fills your ears and the taps of pointe shoes hitting the floor have your head spin in anxiety.

Soon enough it was your turn and you listen carefully for the counts to start.

“5, 6, 7, 8–“

Your body tenses and relaxes all at the same moment as you become one with the music. Coming all the way from your home is scary, especially since there’s a chance that you might not end up achieving your goals. Yet, you’re here for a reason. They accepted you and you were going to shock everyone.

At the end of your glissade, you turn to go to the end of the line. Suddenly, a loud voice barks up, “Point your toes on that jeté or I’ll make you do fifty more.”

Turning your head around from hearing the sudden English, you meet eyes with Winwin and you swear you could see the flash of a smirk. Feeling your face flush red, you hide your face by staring at the wall. Ten gives you a small pat on the back while you hear snickers fill the room.

You were the first one to be called out that day.

After class, you had to go to your mandatory core classes and you were completely swamped with work.

“I can’t believe I have to write an essay already!” You exclaim, falling back into your bed and pushing your laptop aside.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s college for you.” Ten mutters, slurping loudly as he finishes his ramen. “Can you buy me another one of these?”

“Hell no.” You respond, not even glancing at him until he shrieks.

“Oh my god! The ballet this semester was announced! We’re doing Cinderella!”

Pushing yourself off your bed and rushing over to Ten’s side, you steal his phone and scroll a bit until you see the English text.

‘We are proud to announce this semester’s ballet, Cinderella! With the success of Beauty and the Beast, we knew we had to perform another Disney ballet. More information will be coming soon. Thank you.’

Ten grabs his phone back and rolls his eyes about how rude you are.

“Ten, I have to audition! I mean, it’s Cinderella! My dream was to be her while I was growing up.” You sigh happily, flopping back into your bed.

Ten shoots you a grin, “Go for it. I’m cheering you on!”

If you weren’t determined before, you were definitely more determined now. You arrived an hour early to class and after your core classes, you would go back for another two hours to practice. It was tiring, especially trying to keep your grades up, but you loved every second of it. It was lonely at times but with the support of Ten and Taeyong (a third year and a new friend!), you felt like anything was possible.

“I’ve spent at least fifty dollars on ice this month. Most of my money goes to my ballet supplies!”

Ten nods, understanding your situation completely and Taeyong laughs.

“Are you auditioning for Cinderella? Auditions are in a month.” Taeyong asks as he points and flexes his toes.

Sighing loudly and fiddling with your ribbons, you reply, “I would love to. I don’t think I’m in condition to though.”

Taeyong pats your back as an attempt to comfort you but immediately removes his hand as Winwin announces class will begin. Taking a gulp, you mentally prepare yourself for hell.

A rough four hours later, class finally was coming to an end. You were huffing and panting loudly as Winwin finishes his notes for the class. Not paying attention and playing with your hair, the sound of your name scares you and perks your head to turn to your instructor.

“{Y/N}, I want to speak to you after class.”

You could practically feel the mockery drifting in the air from your peers. Nodding a quick ‘yes,’ you grab your bag and slip off your shoes in the locker room. Outside, Ten and Taeyong were waiting for you and offered small smiles of condolence.

“Sorry, but you’re dead.”

Taeyong punches Ten in the arm and pushes him aside.

“Don’t listen to him. I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe it’s about you playing with your hair!”

Weakly smiling back and waving at them, you watch their figures slowly disappear and you mentally hype yourself up to face the one and only, Winwin.

The door creaks open just like how it did on your first day and you find Winwin on his phone.

“Pardon me…” You excuse yourself in Korean but cringe afterwords at your poor pronunciation.

“Don’t try speaking Korean. I can speak English just fine.”

You gulp and feel your body heat up instantly. A few minutes ago you were just dancing in this room and it has never felt this hot until right now. Quietly praying to whoever is out there, you ask that this session of reprimands will end soon.

Winwin finally looks up from his phone and stares at you. “I overheard you talking to your friends about the Cinderella audition. It’s true you want to audition, right?”

“Yes, it’s always been my dream.” You chose your words carefully. Obviously you were treading in deep water, you didn’t want to say something that might offend him.

“Listen, don’t take this personally, but I can help you with auditioning. However, that means more practices and I suppose you can call ‘brutal’ with my methods. Yet this is all up to you. I don’t make final decisions for anyone.”

A blank stare set upon your face and all your brain could think about is shock. Is he really offering this proposal to you? Just as equally important, why you?

You endure what seems like an eternity to you when you finally make a decision. All you hope now is that you won’t regret it.

“I would be grateful if you helped me.”

After that, weeks of grueling practice came. It felt like all you did was go to practice, school, private lessons, study, and maybe sleep while on the bus. The routine was brutal but you knew exactly what you were getting into when you agreed. Yet being burnt out was bound to come.

Eventually that breakdown did come and it happened on a Friday night. Ten and Taeyong wanted to go out and get a few drinks since they haven’t seen you outside of practice. However,  you politely declined as you knew you had your private lessons. Failing an exam the day before also put a damper on your moods. You couldn’t risk ruining their night out.

“You need to extend your body more. I need to see good posture.” Winwin barked out orders, watching you intensely from his wheelchair. After you had failed to do what he wanted, he angrily scribbled down notes which would later translate into a workout punishment.

Everything came crashing down quite literally as your attitude spin caught you off guard and made you almost trip while coming out of it.

“What the—Hey, are you alright?”

You sat on the ground, bringing your knees up to your head almost in a cradle position. A loud sob shakes your body and streams of tears soon coat your face.

It was all too much—Winwin, your family questioning about your grades, the stress of being in a new country, the lack of friends. All you wanted to do was go back home where you knew everything would be safe.

The groans of the wheelchair snapped you out of your self-pity party and you stood up once again, brushing away stray tears and breathing harshly to calm yourself down.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls out, “lean down.”

You glance towards Winwin and he has an unreadable expression on his face. His arms are extended towards you and you nearly jump in them. At this point, you don’t care who is hugging you. You craved affection and if Winwin was offering you some, you were taking the opportunity.

Sobs filled the now quiet dance room and Winwin could feel the sadness flowing through your body. He felt every bit of loneliness and anxiety. Before this, he had never understood why you seemed so tired and scared. He understood it all the second you poured out your feelings. Hating his poor conversation skills, he wish he could reach out and offer words of encouragement yet nothing seems to come out.

On that lonely Friday night, he canceled your lesson and rubbed your back as you expressed everything you had been holding back. More importantly, you finally got some well deserved rest after that night.

Soon enough, Saturday came and you were already at the studio bright and early. Tying your ribbons of your shoes and hearing two voices, you raise your head and wave to Winwin as he walks in. He held a white bag on his lap and just as you were about to start your audition routine, he abruptly stopped you.

“Wait, I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

Nodding, you continue to stretch in silence.

“Have you eaten?” Winwin asks, taking a bite out of a banana.

Shaking your head no, you reply, “No. I usually don’t have time to eat breakfast in the morning.”

Suddenly, a banana is thrown at your head, barely missing you.

“What the hell Winwin?” You fume at him, grabbing the banana and threatening to throw it back at him.

He laughs, smiling joyfully. “Eat up. You need it.”

Your body goes hot and you give him a small smile. You wouldn’t mind if you heard that laugh again.

A new routine was formed from your old boring one. You would come into private lessons and Winwin would feed you. Slowly, your relationship changed. It wasn’t an instructor and a student anymore, but a genuine friendship. Soon enough you discovered that he is two years older than you, adding fuel to your growing affection towards him. The desire of you wanting to know him better grew and you wanted to become greedy with him.

You would achieve your desires as the two of you became closer friends. After doing a continuous amount of fouettes, Winwin called you over for a break.

Slumping down beside him and drinking out of your water bottle, a container of food gets shoved in your face.

“Winwinie, I can feed myself you know!” You whine, still opening the container and eating the gimbap.

“Oh, I know you can. I just never see it.” He teases.

The two of you banter for a while, joking around with each other and soon forgetting ballet.

“Winwinie, you know so much about me, but I wanna learn more about you.” You turn over to see his reaction and his mouth is slightly agaped, shocked by the sudden confession. The tips of his ears turn pink, steadily spreading to his cheeks as well. Deep down inside, you want to just kiss his cheeks.

“W-Well, I’m actually from China. I came to Korea to study ballet and I fell in love with it. I’ve been here ever since I was in high school. My parents gave up a lot for me to be here.” He confesses, playing with his fingers.

“Ahhh, I’ve always wanted to visit China.” You remark, trying to comfort him in the smallest way possible.

He gives you a sad smile, “Yes, I miss my home all the time. Sometimes, I wish I could just quit and be with my loved ones.”

You place a hand on his, rubbing the back of his hand. “I know it’s tough. We need to achieve our dreams though.”

He nods and bites his tongue, looking spiteful. “I can’t though. Not anymore.”

You take a peep at his wheelchair and your mind begs you to ask what happened. Manners are important and you stay quiet, continuous rubbing circles into his hand.

“I can never dance again. All because of a car accident.”

How does one comprehend such a statement? Your heart tries to reject how sad he feels, but it only makes it hurt more. Winwin trembles and you look up into his glossy eyes. Reaching a thumb up, you brush away a tear that had fallen.

He is the one pulling you into a hug now, so similar to that Friday night. He tells you all his worries and fears while you comfort him.

The relationship between Winwin and you changes drastically. Ten and Taeyong even notice it the second they walk into practice on Monday morning.

“Why does Winwin keep staring at you?” Ten whispers, almost shooting eye-dangers into him.

You push his shoulder, “Oh my god Ten, he’s just looking. It’s nothing.”

Taeyong chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Just nothing my ass.”

With a ‘hmph,’ you move to a new location to stretch until Taeyong and Ten came crawling back and apologizing five minutes later.

After class, Winwin had a lecture about how important this week was, especially for those auditioning for Cinderella. Every time he mentioned the ballet, you felt like puking. You’ve been training for so long, but you were terrified that there would be no pay off.

Winwin pushed you harder than ever that week and every ounce of his kindness had disappeared. Once was his soft eyes now became sharp, pointing out every flaw you had made. Your heart felt torn apart. Every time you tried to joke with him, he brushed you off stating that you needed to work. You even once tried hugging him after a lesson but he only responded by pushing you away seconds later. Had you really been imagining Winwin being so caring towards you?

With all the heartache you’ve experienced this week, you channeled that into your audition. You felt every single emotion you’ve felt while in Korea and let it influence your performance. Imagining all the love and sadness and anxiety, you gave it your all. Walking out of the audition room lifted so many worries off your back, but you still felt numb towards it all.

Nothing feels right because of Winwin.

Saturday came and you spent the entire day in bed, too confused and tired to do anything else. You were playing a game on your phone until you received a text from Ten. Growling and almost throwing your phone, you check what must’ve been so important.

[Ten]

The results are out for Cinderella! I’m the Jester hehe~ Tell me what you got too!

Your heart rate suddenly speeds up when you read the text and you rush to your computer. Logging into your school’s site, your eyes skip around to the cast list. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you read off the first name.

{Y/L/N} {Y/N} - Cinderella

You nearly faint. Jumping up from your seat and texting all your friends and family, you start wilding dancing in your room. Excitement couldn’t explain how happy you felt at that moment. Without thinking, you text Winwin.

[you]

r u at the studio?

[Winwinie]

yes, why?

[you]

wait there, ill be there in a few!!!

You grabbed the nearest and cleanest thing around you and slipped in on. Dashing out to the bus stop, you couldn’t hold in your excitement. You were practically bouncing the entire ride.

As soon as it was your stop, you ran to the studio and bursted into the room.

“Winwin! I got it! I got Cinderella!” You yell, approaching him and giving him a wide smile.

His eyes light up the second you state that and he pulls you into a hug, dragging you down a bit as well.

“I’m so proud of you.” He breathes, hugging tighter.

You pull away and smile fondly. “Thank you for all your training.”

He blushes, “I-It’s not that big of a deal. Besides, you achieved your dream!”

You smile and hold his hand. “How about I help you achieve yours?”

You’ve been developing a plan for quite some time to help Winwin achieve his dream. Confusion spreads on his face and he replies, “How? I can’t use my legs.”

“Who said we have to use legs in dance?”

With that, you turn on your phone to a melodic piano piece. Grabbing his hands, the two of you gently sway. You only let go to turn him in a spin.

Even though it was a small gesture, the look on Winwin’s face made it so memorable. He was grinning the entire time, laughing as you spun him and tried to dip him.

As the music slowed down, you spoke up. “Why did you push me away his week?”

He sighs and squeezes your hand. “I wanted you to do well. You’re so similar to me, it’s terrifying. I don’t want you to destroy yourself over failing to achieve your goal. I would never want that to happen to you.”

You’re silent at this. No words could explain how much you appreciated Winwin. However, actions could.

You bent down and kissed his cheek. Contrary to what has previously happened, his face didn’t heat up.

He gently grabs your chin and pulls you closely to his face. Chuckling, he leans in and kisses you. There weren’t any fireworks or any bubbly feeling in your chest. You just felt warm. It felt like home and all your worries washed away for good. He nibbles on your bottom lip teasingly and you push him away, giggling right after.

“You missed my lips the first time.”

“Maybe I won’t miss the second time.”

#nct winwin #nct 2018 #nct imagine #nct scenarios #nct headcanon #winwin #nct 127 #nct u #nct china #writing #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop headcanons

[casskaykingston]

momma who bore me:

cass & olivia kingston ; sunday, january the 27rd. 11:40 AM.

tw: past and current verbal/emotional abuse

The first time Cassidy Kay Kingston II set eyes on Olivia Charlotte Dean, the first thing he wonders is where she came from, because it hadn’t been from here. He knew Wilmington inside and out, nearly every moment of his twenty five years being spent here, and he knew the townsfolk, their families, their daughters. She couldn’t have been one of them. Because if she had, C.K. would’ve tried to make his move long ago. He spotted her for the first time while at the grocers, Stetson in his hands while he waits to pick up the ham his mother wants for supper, and he sees her. Strawberry blonde hair, the deep blue eyes of an angel, and a smile that quite frankly made his head stop. Little pearl earrings catch the artificial light from above them as she stands on her tiptoes to accept the slice of strawberry shortcake from the baker, and C.K. is momentarily mesmerized by the swing of her light green skirt. Turning around, he kind of stares aimlessly at the glass in front of him, lunchmeat not processing to blue-green eyes as the mental image of that skirt flirts through his mind, taking a few moments before his stupidity hits him like a shock of lightning as he bolts towards the door.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, miss!”

A wrinkle of a creamy brow, and the mystery girl turns, one hand on her car door as she had been preparing to leave. He makes a bit of a sight, scuffed up button down with a kerchief around his neck, cowboy hat being murdered as he crumples it in his hands, dirty blonde hair with a slight cowlick and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He's handsome, sure, but not traditionally so, and it's not the smile lines by his eyes that makes her keep pausing. It's the slow draw of a crooked smile, and the words he lets drop his country boy accent as casual as you please. “I'm sorry for stopping you, but…” he shakes his head, and the wattage in that smile slides up just a tick. “I couldn't let the prettiest thing I'd ever laid my eyes on just up ‘n walk away.”

Months of courtship and a pearl and diamond engagement ring later, and twenty year old former secretary from Virginia has become a wife. Not only a wife, but Olivia Kingston, steadily adjusting to a new world wherein walking out the front door of her home normally greeted her with sweaty men and plentiful horses. Fast forward four years, and she's cradling a baby given to her by the man who'd stopped her, a boy who carried his same name. Crystalline blues blink up at her, downy blond hair on his small head, and Olivia coos at the person who already held her whole heart, rocking him in the same chair his grandmother had rocked his father. “I'm going to love you always, sweet boy.” She whispers to him, thinking there could be nothing more beautiful than he, this child she had made and would try to fill his life with joy. “You can always, always count on me.”

Cut to now, Cass and his mother taking a walk on one of the trails in the woods that framed his house on three sides. There was no snow today, but a cold rain had fallen the night before, the thin layers of ice crunching underneath their boots. Olivia, Hudson's leash in her gloved hands, having been talking to her son for ten minutes or so so far, discussing the plans she has for a new menu once the seasons change once more. That's one area of the business Cass tends to stay out of, leaving it to his very competent and qualified head chef and his only a bit less skilled in the kitchen Momma, especially after her strawberry lemonade recipe was a smash hit and helped put the as then fledgling B & B on the map. Today, however, Cass isn't much interested in what successes they've had in the past adding a specific amount of cinnamon to their French toast recipe. What he wants to do is ask his mother is something he's wanted to know since the time his father grilled him mercilessly at the table because he'd started on his chores late after going to football tryouts. What he'd wanted to know since he'd stopped depending on his mom having his back when it was against his father. It was an uncomfortable conversation to have with a loved one, especially so close on the heels of the catastrophic one he’d had with Amy barely three days before, but it was one he’d already been avoiding for years.

Pushing the past the feelings of dread that wrapped their uncomfortable fingers around his throat every time he'd imagined this semi confrontation, Cass clears his throat, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of the vest atop his fleece lined jean jacket. “Momma, I need to talk to you about something.”

The furrow in Olivia's brow that her son inherited makes an appearance at what he says, pulling a wayward strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. Smile lines crinkle as she frowns, touching his arm. “Cassidy, honey, what's wrong.”

“What's wrong,” her son begins, subtly moving his arm, forcing his steps to keep going and not lose his nerve. “Is Dad. And how I need to distance myself from him. And why...why you weren't there for me. Then. Now.” Cass's hands curl into themselves, hidden by the puffy fabric of the vest he wore, and he isn't sure his lips are cold because of the temperature or because of the words he's trying to push out of them.

“What do you mean? There's nothing you can't ask me for Cassidy; you're my son. I would do anything -”

“Yeah. Anything. Anything but protect me from Dad.”

Olivia falls silent for a moment, Hudson's overly loud sniffing as he inspects a place to pee stopping their progress, causing them to halt. “I know your Dad is hard on you. But he really does love you and want the best.”

“Does he, Momma?” The thirty two year old man's voice is rusty and short, hard on his throat. “Does he though? Did he want what was best for me when he made sure Greer and Bailey knew how much they were loved and cared for and couldn’t do anything wrong? And if I looked in the wrong direction when he was talking to me, I’d get a lecture that lasted for hours and made me feel like a piece of shit. No fourteen year old should feel like a piece of shit, Momma.”

On some level, Olivia had known that the relationship between her husband and her son wasn’t exactly the best. For the few years, maybe there had been the kind of relationship she always dreamed of for them, but when the girls rolled around she noticed a difference. Showering attention on the other two, C.K. treating Cass more seriously and differently. When he got older, and C.K.’s attention shifted to the next generation leading the ranch, Olivia had mostly left it up to the two of them. Bonding time, she thought. Sure, she noticed over the years that Cass hated being alone with C.K. Spent as much time out of the house as he could if he wasn’t working, thin lips and blue eyes that forcibly cleared of pain when they locked on her own. Their moments had been private, private and devastating in a way she wasn’t aware of. Devastating in a way that she was only hearing now.

“In the beginning, it wasn’t too bad. He’d praise me for getting a full day of work done, for making the football team. And then it seemed to be few and between, the kind words. The spaces between them were killed with nasty ones that made me feel like the lowest of the low. I couldn’t do anything to please him, Momma. Couldn’t then, absolutely can’t now. Not when I committed the gross sin of leaving. I wasn’t going to come back, Momma. Not at all. Not when he was what I was coming back to.”

“Cassidy, sweetie - “

“Actually, can you wait until I’m done?” Cass interrupts, shooting blue eyes sidelong to her. He might not be walking to a noose but every moment spent talking about this seemed to tighten around his neck, a suffocating hand of years of hurt and frustration bubbling up and anxious to escape. This isn’t a safe space the same way that Ashley’s office is, and Cass isn’t sure how to operate in it. To reveal the dark truths hiding in his Momma’s house, but then again - hadn’t she been the one to turn a blind eye? Hadn’t she been only a passive ally? It was only after the accident that she started helping him keep distance between he and his father, that dark spectre that had tainted so many things in Cass’s life. Including, it seemed, his relationship with his mother.

“On my sixteenth birthday, he gave me shit for not showing up to work that night. My friends threw me a surprise party at one of their houses, and I thought he’d be fine. He liked that I was popular, after all. A good face for the family.” The bearded man laughs, but it’s not the full and golden one he usually lets out. This one is scratchy and raw from past pains and incredulity of the sheer lack of humanity C.K. had shown him for much of his life. Something Cass would never, ever do to a loved one, much less a kid. Another pang, a reminder of the fight he was struggling through with Amy, and the thirty two year old fights the urge to grab at his heart. It wasn’t going to ease the hurt. “When I got home, you made me a cake. He didn’t sing me Happy Birthday with you and Greer and Bailey - and when everyone else went to sleep, he came to my room and told me how ashamed he was to have a son who rang in such an ‘important’ age with irresponsibility.”

They’ve given up on walking at this point. Hudson, let off the leash, eats snow and bounds around about them until the stress radiating from his owner reaches the point that even the dog feels it and tries to make his owner feel better. Stories spill from Cass, ugly ones with poisonous words and memories that still whip his spirit. The lectures of the way he wasn’t, couldn’t ever measure up. References to him in front of others designed to tear him down piece by piece. At every turn, Cass was a disappointment. A blight to his father and his name. How no matter how long he worked at the ranch, he was still the traitor who’d left the business behind. How C.K. refused to acknowledge any good that Cass did, anything that went wrong automatically was his fault. How scared he would be when bringing home a C, how many nights he stayed up wondering if his father was right. The incidents that he only recognized now, mostly on the other side of it, as anxiety attacks when C.K. was on the warpath. As he continued to talk, Olivia’s hands slowly seem to rise, covering her mouth. Horror is reflected back at him from his mother, horror and a deep seated sense of inadequacy; for all that C.K. had been a bad parent with all the bells and whistles, even if Olivia couldn’t quite believe all of it, she had failed in her protection of him. “I’m sorry.” Is all she manages to get out, whispered at intervals, soft with regret.

“Momma, he’s literally told me the only things he has to be proud of are Greer, Bailey, and the ranch. When Amy came over for dinner, he couldn’t stop talking about how I’d tricked her into being there. How I had to be holding something over her, or she wouldn’t be there. Because who would want to date his failure of a son, huh Momma?” Winter still has its grips on the landscape, inhabiting the seat sized rocks they’d managed to find on the trails, seeping through Cass’s jeans and yet not the cause of the shake in the broad mans voice. Cass was 220 lbs, almost 80% completely muscle, and six three, carrying an imposing figure that few wanted to mess with. Talking about his father, he seemed frailer, weaker, genuine belief in what had been drilled into his head for over thirty years almost making him try and fit into the descriptive terms C.K. assigned to him so many times. “All I’ve ever heard from Dad for years has been that I’m weak. Stupid. Useless. Incapable of doing easy things the right way, and always a step away from disaster. He’s always right. I’m always wrong. I’m not an iota of the man he is, to hear him say it. And do you know what’s the worst thing? It’s that I know I’m not. At the very least. I don’t use my words to hurt people. To make them feel like horse shit on someones shoe is probably of more use than you. But he’s poisoned me, Momma, and I hate it. He’s targeted me so many times that sometimes, my thoughts turn to aiming at others the same way. I just had a fight with Amy - and no, I don’t want to talk about it - and I said horrible things to her. I knew what to say, how it was going to hurt, where she was vulnerable. I don’t want to know where my girlfriend is vulnerable, Momma. If I do, I should only learn so I can figure out how to protect it. Not use it against her.”

A touch, Olivia’s hand on his knee, and Cass looks up at her with eyes that he’d deny to his grave were stinging, shaking his head, not done. “When he discovered that the other ranch hands actually liked me, that working wasn’t as bad with them, he made it a point to give me solitary assignments if I’d pissed him off. He reminds me every moment that the ranch is not mine, that it was his name first that goes on it and all its successes are his, all its failures are mine. If I lost a football game, he’d give me the silent treatment for a week. He’d only talk when at the dinner table, because you and the girls were there. He made jokes about erectile dysfunction when my friends were over. I learned how to stop bringing people that weren’t my forewarned girlfriends over the house so my dad would stop trying to sabotage my friendships. Do you know how long it took me to realize that other kids dads weren’t like that? Too long. I doubted everything. Dad made me believe I was just being overly sensitive, that he was just trying to push me to accomplish more. To reach my full potential. I should’ve known I’d never be enough. I won’t ever be, not for him.” A harsh truth, but one that Cass had come far enough to be able to say. Even if in his core, the root of him, longs for one sign of his father being proud of everything. Despite of everything. Because of everything. Hope, that hardest bastard to kill. His eyes give up the ghost, let tears slip down ruddy cheeks and disappear into a full beard, sparkes of shine in the gold. Hudson’s head is heavy in his lap, big brown eyes concerned whilst Cass’s shaking hands stroke his dogs forehead, gaze dropped as it had been for most of his unloading. Olivia, having long since started crying, just keeps rubbing his leg and nodding her head.

“For years I thought I was selfish for wanting his love, when he only seemed to have enough for my sisters and not for me. This ranch - this damned ranch, this thing that I love, this place that I call home and work and that I pour my existence into to make it work, the B & B that was my brainchild and my greatest pride - it’s a miracle that I’ve gotten to this place. Crazy that I feel about it the way I do. Because for years, I know it’s meant more to my father than my own life. I’m so angry about it, Momma. I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I hate being around him, and you have to let me cut him off. You have to.” Olivia’s arm curls around his shoulders, shushes falling from lips that kissed him on the forehead more times that he could count, and Cass holds on, even as he chokes out the last words,  a show of stark vulnerability he could only show with his mom. “You didn’t protect me then. But dammit, Momma. You’ve gotta do it now. You’ve got to…”

Sure, Ashley’s prompting in therapy had been a big push to getting him there. The recent blow up he’d had with C.K., Olivia absent as always, when he laid into him for the burned barn, disparaging words about being too distracted by his relationship to do his job properly, of blaming him for hiring pyromaniac workers, and more that Cass is sure he would’ve had if he hadn’t found the strength to book it out of there, that probably helped. Whatever the final push, this was long overdue. How his mom would react to it, only time would tell, but he’d said his truth. Laid out how she’d done him wrong, and explained how. She’d apologized. And she’d probably keep doing it, even now when his tears get absorbed by her scarf and she rocks back and forth with the two of them, a woman half his size who’d been tasked with protecting her son and who had failed. Time would tell where the revelation would take them.

#self para #tw: verbal abuse #tw: emotional abuse #( wildfire lies and humiliation ; c.k. ) #ft. ck. #ft. ck #ft. olivia #so....this is sad #don't say i didn't want you #AND YES THIS STARTS WITH A FLASHBACK #I"M THAT KINDA HOE #also i've been trying to finish writing this for over a month i'm really the worst

[saintaugustinerp]

Congratulations Jess! You have been accepted for the role of The Abettor with the faceclaim Anton Lisin. Please be sure to check out the accepted applicants checklist! Also be sure send us a link to your blog within the next twenty-four hours. Welcome to St. Augustine!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/alias: Jess Age (18+): 27 😭 (or I will be, you’re opening the day before my birthday!) Gender/Preferred pronouns: She/Her Timezone: EST  

IN CHARACTER

Desired Skeleton: The Abettor Character Name: Elias Jerabek Ballard Age (18+): 19 Gender/Pronouns: Cis Male, He/Him Hometown: Prague, Czech Republic/Brookline, Massachusetts Major: International Studies Desired Faceclaim: Anton Lisin

Character Blurb:

He stands on the platform like an out-of-place shadow—odd because he’s alone, when everyone knows where he belongs, stuck tight to the heels of another. He stands tall, a figure clad in black with a heavy brow and a tight-set mouth cutting through the bright and unforgiving splendor of the mountain backdrop. But it’s only an illusion, nothing more than a prey animal making itself foreboding and big. He’s not proud; everyone knows that he bows, and who to. It’s a pathetic thing, to stand in someone’s shadow, to come when called, to bite and snarl at their command—but if he didn’t, then who would even know his name? Better to belong to another, to be known and feared; than to be alone, invisible and unmoored.

Developed Head Canons:

FAMILY. When they whisper about him, they call him bastard. It isn’t true, or at least it isn’t fair: his mother was married to his father, but his father hadn’t told her that he had married another woman first. And his mother never found out, which Elias thinks might be kinder: she wasted away with cancer when Elias was just thirteen, and when he was sent to live with his father in America, he found he already had a family—one that there was little room for Elias in. One where he was less of a boy and more of a secret, an uncomfortable truth brought to light.

IDENTITY. Loss after loss after loss. He lost his mother. He lost the entire narrative of his life he had believed in up to that point. He lost his country. He lost his father, in a way, too: he’d seen him too little growing up, for he was very important, always traveling, but he’d always been doting when he was around—but he was better at loving Elias from a distance, maybe, better when his lives and his wives were kept separate, and when Elias needed him the most, all that affection was nowhere to be found. And, with all of these things slipping through his too-young fingers, he lost himself. Lacking an identity, he became bitter and snarling. Wanting someone to follow. Wanting someone to tell him who he is.

TEMPER(MENT). He never got used to America. Never learned how to be winsome and sweet, even though he knew he should have, never figured out how to endear himself to his father’s real wife and half-siblings. Instead he’d learned to be quiet: that way he’d never say anything wrong; that way no one could make fun of his accent. But while he didn’t speak much, he did snarl, walking through the halls of his high school or his father’s Massachusetts home with a mulish set to his jaw and hard cast to his shoulders, ready to respond to the simplest slight. He was aimless, and he was angry—or maybe he was just hurt.

ATHLETICS. He found himself on the soccer field, in school in Massachusetts. He got good grades, worked hard at his classes even when it felt like he was starting behind—(who needed multiple years of just American history?)—did it to try and make his father proud. But soccer was something he did just for himself: an outlet, something physical that took him out of his head; a game, something that felt easy when everything else felt too hard. He was an aggressive player, sometimes too aggressive for his posh and polite private school, not to mention the similarly prim schools they played. He was disappointed to find that Augustine didn’t have a team, but he set his mind to transferring his skills to rugby instead. He got laughed off the field during tryouts his first year, but in his second, has finally made the team.

AUGUSTINE. If he were following in the footsteps of his father, a career diplomat and former Ambassador who guest lectures as Harvard in his retirement, he would have set his sights there, or on another American Ivy. But his father already had two children doing just that, and so Elias set his sights elsewhere: on returning to Europe, and to Augustine. He wants to make his father proud, wants to recapture the doting affection his father had lavished upon him in his youth, but he thinks it might be easier to do from a distance. Thinks that the greatest gift he might be able to give him—(and for the rest of his father’s family, which had never come to feel like Elias’)—would be to separate himself from them once again. To carve his own path.

Writing Sample:

(End of the school year, last year)

When Elias was a first year, he was a fool. Wearing that sweater, holding it close like Augustine could be his salvation. How embarrassing, practically asking to be hazed, to be one of the first years plucked from youthful obscurity and, crest over his heart, enticed toward the frigid lake with pretty promises that he was all too eager to believe in. And, more fool he, he had gone.

Now—(on the cusp of his second year, with that night at the lake like a dark veil pulled over his formerly rosy vision)—he wouldn’t be caught dead in it. Nor could he. He knows what’s soaked into those fibres, old blood dark and matted in the knit. A tell-tale heart shoved into the dark depths of his closet, where it has stayed ever since that night. He can’t bear to look at it. Can bear even less the thought of someone finding it. Has thought more than once of asking, of begging, to be told what to do with it—if only he could bring himself to speak of it. But he can’t. It’s his problem alone to solve. And, surely, he could manage that much.

He’d longed for its warmth, once it was gone. Standing in the clearing with his jaw clenched and every muscle tensed, trying not to let his teeth chatter or shivers to wrack his frame, even though it was a losing prospect, even though the gooseflesh was plain to see, what with all of it—(all of him)—on display. He’d folded it neatly, then, placed it with care in a pile with his other shed clothes on top of a rock so that the damp from the snowy ground wouldn’t seep into it.

He’d pulled it back on with less care, hands numbed by more than just the cold. Jaw clenched against something else, too, that might have been a scream or might have just been tears. But he hadn’t been pathetic before, had been willing—before the Good Samaritan intervened, both kind and useless—to wade out into the frozen lake to prove himself tough, to prove himself worthy, to never admit to his fear. Why did he have to interfere?

That spark of anger warms him, as he takes his spot without complaint, shoving his arms underneath the lifeless corpse and heaving it into his arms, unheeding of the lifeless head that shifts with their every stumbling step, knocking into him and marking him in dark red, smeared across that once-proud crest. How senseless, how useless—he’s wading out into the water anyway, and his hastily pulled-on clothes make no difference, the cold of it still stings like thousands of tiny needles driving into his skin.

He hasn’t been back to the lake, not since that night. Had stumbled back to the school with his pants soaked to the knees with icy water, that stained sweater feeling hot like a brand against his chest. He’d ripped everything off and hidden it away. Never looked at it again, tried to let it fade from his memory—(out of sight, out of mind)—like the body swallowed by the lake.

But things buried, in lakes or in closets, don’t always stay that way. The dark water that had swallowed Frederick Wells had spit him back out again, and so there’s no reason to think that anything Elias buried that same night might not meet the same fate. And so there’s only one thing to do: destroy it. He hasn’t been back to the lake, not since that night, but as the year draws to a close and nothing of Frederick Wells left unfound, he can’t imagine a place more private.

It looks different after the spring thaw. His breath doesn’t fog in the air, his feet sink slightly not in hard-packed snow but in ground made soft by snowmelt. Alive, despite what happened there in January. It still fills him with some unnamed emotion—like a memory of the cold of that night, the terror, the guilt that had only crept in after.

He finds a section of brush that’s dry enough for the sweater to catch when he sets it alight. Watches it burn, leaves nothing but ashes behind. Back in his room, his bags are packed, ready for a summer in Massachusetts that will be both a welcomed reprieve and interminable.

He doesn’t linger.

Other: Pinterest board [here]

#abettor #rp #rpg #roleplay #accepted