#( of course he'd go all childish and pouty )

[playroom-sekaii]

2, 8, and 12 for tsukasa? for the ask game :3c

Of course!! :D

2. Do they have a specific age or range they regress to, or do they just go off of vibes? Tsukasa's age range is about 2-4, and he's somewhat pouty about it, he's supposed to be a big kid after all! He tries not to let himself use things like pacis and such, they're much too childish! But deep down he very much wants them, and his cgs are working hard to show him that he's allowed to use them <3

8. In what ways are they different when they're regressed? He's much more shy and clingy, parts of himself he tries to surpress when he's big. He absolutely hates being alone, especially when he's upset. His showmanlike tendencies are still there to an extent, but they're much less intense, unless he's trying to hide that he's small. More excitable, the childish parts of himself he'd normally try to hide becoming clear to see. Like when he was an actual kid, he worries a lot about bothering people or taking up their time (Saki needed the attention more after all!), so asking for things is a bit difficult for him.

12. Do they have any specific nicknames for when they regress? He will absolutely melt if you call him your little star, makes him veryyy happy. His cgs also call him his little one a lot, or their sunshine. His nicknames for his caregivers usually lean towards sibling-like ones (Emu-nee, Rui-nii, Ne-neechan, etc), though the older Virtual Singers get more traditional nicknames (Kaito is his Dada, Meiko and Luka are his Mamas)

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: marc spector x gn reader (main) steven grant x gn reader (little bit) jake lockley x gn reader (mentioned)

req: no | wc: 1k

summary: When Marc asks if he can have some of your favorite milk, your face responds before your voice.

a/n: based off a recent interaction (wrote this last night) update: IT'S FUCKING GONE

Chocolate milk was a sacred drink.

Or, at least, it was for you.

When the day dragged on and on, the nine-to-five felt like a seven-to-eleven. When your coworker made a mistake they didn't bother to correct because they were a couple minutes away from sweet release from their shift, you had to fix it. When your other coworker that worked the next shift called in sick within a couple minutes before the exchange, you had to work overtime. When your supervisor came with the plea, they made a promise: you were going to get paid and it was going to be worth it.

When your eyes set upon the setting sun through dirty, fingerprint-stained bus windows only moments after closing, you had one question in your mind, "What were you going to do when you got back home?"

The answer was simple, "Drink a nice, cold and sweet chocolate milk carton."

The milk was a comfort drink. You started buying it ever since the local grocery store started selling the best offer of your life: three sweet, savory chocolate milk cartons and Sugar Flakes cereal combo. You've been buying it every weekend ever since. At this point you had more cereal boxes than milk.

Of course, you'd never admit to it. To the world, if you came to it, you were buying solely for the offer. It was a childish thing, that milk. It came in cartons, after all, like an elementary school lunch.

Anyway, you were only limited to three cartons a week, so you had to make another question each day, not knowing what would happen in the next. The question being, "Was this day hard?"

Tonight, the answer was also clear, "Yes, absolutely it was."

Of course, you could only treat yourself to this delicacy at the right moment. First, take a shower; clean yourself off of that disgusting, nonexistent grime you've built up over the long workday. After that, dress up in your comfy pajamas. Luckily, everything was comfortable when your boyfriend(s)'s clothes were readily available.

Then, only then, was it the right time.

You made your way to the fridge as you towel dried your hair, only to be interrupted by the aforementioned boyfriend(s), who was slouching over the opened fridge. "(y/n)?"

"Yes, Marc?"

"Can I have one of these?" He turns to you, lovely chocolate milk carton in hand.

"Um.." 

You don't quite respond, but Marc turns back to return it anyway. You can barely catch sight of his face with how fast the interaction goes. "Nevermind, sorry."

"What?" You ask, dumbfounded.

"Hm?" He hums in question, not knowing what you're inquiring about.

"I didn't even respond, Marc."

"Oh." He says, and it's his turn to be confused. "You did, though?"

"I didn't say anything."

"Oh, yeah. Well," He shoves something in his mouth, which obstructs his either way non-eloquent speech, "you gave me this look. I thought that was your response."

"What was the look?"

"I don't know. Sort of, pouty? Furrowed eyebrows and all?"

You purse your lips at yourself, "Did I?"

"Yeah, I think so." He replies nonchalantly, another bite of something in his mouth.

You hum in acknowledgement. "Could you-?"

"Look, I know how much that milk means to you." You hadn't told him that, and he hasn't asked. Marc turns back to you, apple in his hand and a chunk of it in his cheek. You purse your lips again to prevent yourself from objecting. "I understand if you don't want to give any to me."

You can stare at his face now. Clearly, Marc has had a long day too. He's got a bandaid over his nose and a cut along his cheek that's sort of not enough to warrant a bandage or medicinal tape, or perhaps you've run out of all that. His curls are in a mess too, and wet, like he'd only just hopped out of the shower.

"Tough day today?"

Marc shrugs, "I guess. Had to fight this one guy who I had to chase after he started feeling hopeless, which ended up being him leading me into his gang of friends, although they were easy enough to beat. Then there was this other guy…" He trails off into different details of his day.

You take notice of the fact he looks calm through it all as if it were day to day trouble. It also seemed ten times as harsh as your job. Although, you suppose his sort of colorful work beats the monotony of your repetitive tasks.

Yeah. Maybe you were having equally awful days.

"D'ya know what, Marc?"

"Hmm?" He hums curiously.

"There's two left in the fridge, right? We can have both today." Marc's eyebrows raise and you chuckle, "My treat."

He laughs in disbelief, "Really?"

"Yeah."

Marc takes both remaining cartons out of the fridge and, despite it being the middle of the week, you let it happen.

He hands one to you, and silently–despite the crinkle of the plastic wrappers–you pop out the straws at the same time. You stab the protective seal of the opening open together as well.

He holds out his carton to you, you do the same. "Cheers." 

And so, you clink the cartons together as if grand flutes of champagne and drink like champions. (More like Marc downs the little thing in one go and you sit by Gus 2.0 to savor it.)

This little interaction gradually becomes a monthly (generous, for the nectar of gods) tradition. Steven gets to indulge sometimes, too, when his days are his days and he's on inventory again. (Because how can you continue being vegan when the other two who share your body are big fans of the non-vegan?) Jake, on the other hand, agreed that it was a little childish but he wasn't going to get in the way of it.

That is, until one night, you arrive home one tired day to find something treacherous.

The milk carton in the fridge is lukewarm. It's Friday.

It was Marc, of course. Could only be him. Your giftshoppist boyfriend could never be conniving enough for a plan like this.

Marc bought replacement milk cartons so that he could have the cold ones for himself to fool you. He'd dwindled your financial situation by buying the carton outside of a sale, and that was just this week! Who knows if he's been doing this for months?!

"MARC!"

"AH!" Your startled boyfriend shouts at his desk, "MY NAME'S STEVEN WITH A V!"

[ry0chann]

A grumpy Sukuna because he feels jealous. He decides to give you the silent treatment and just pouts for hours so you end up trying to get his attention by kissing his cheek, poking him, playing with his hair, tracing his tattoos, or doing anything moderately annoying until hell speak. Idk why but grumpy Sukuna seems super cute. He's like a little kid who wasn't allowed to buy a toy they wanted.

see no bc grumpy 'Kuna is adorable and i love him

unnecessary silence

pairing // Ryomen Sukuna x gn!reader

genre // fluff

wc. // 609

warnings // modern au, soft!Sukuna kinda

notes // i had to rewrite half of this so i ended up changing almost everything and the plot is a bit different from your ask kms. still inspired me to write something tho, so thank you :)

Such a pouty expression wasn’t uncommon to see on him, you saw it frequently, actually. The smallest things would tick him off and soil his mood. Perhaps he was more irritable than one would assume. And today specifically, he wore that cute little pout the majority of the day. Unfortunately this time, the cause of his irritation was you. Well, technically it wasn't you; a cashier happened to compliment your appearance a bit too much, resulting in Sukuna verbally interfering.

Of course, it’s expected he’d get a little jealous. He hated seeing other people admire you; you belong to him, only he has the privilege. Seeing you turn pink with embarrassment didn't make the situation any better, either. Being the slightly over-dramatic person that he is, he assumed you were enjoying the attention, which would not bode well.

As soon as you both arrived home, he ignored you. You'd try to lighten the mood— sitting on his lap and playing with his hair, showering him in affection which he wouldn't return— yet he wasn't having any of it. He'd tolerate it, but he'd still go silent when you asked him what was wrong.

You'd think he'd get over it by now— it wasn't that serious and it happened hours ago. However, he wasn't over it. Which is why you're both lying in bed now, his back facing you while you stare at it through the dark.

Delicately, your fingers trace along the markings on his skin as you try to find the words to say. Despite how often he seemed to get jealous, he's never dealt with it like this before. You move a bit closer to him, placing a kiss on the back of his neck which causes him to shift under the covers.

"You're not still upset with me, are you 'Kuna?"

"I was never upset with you." he mumbles.

His actions would beg to differ, though very rarely would he ever lie to you. He was quite blunt when it came to most things, however today he was quiet, which worried you.

"You sure? Talk to me... Please?" you ask, lightly touching his arm.

He sighs, finally turning to look at you. He's never appreciated how you coddle him, but he doesn't protest when you cup his cheek. He rolls his eyes, leaning forward just a tad to kiss your forehead.

"You're mine, alright? Don't forget it." he speaks close to your skin.

Your cheeks flush, a bashful grin spreads across your face. He's always been the possessive type, you found it cute. You give him a subtle nod and a giggle, running your fingers through his hair.

"You're a real piece of work, y'know that?"

He simply whispers an "I love you" in response, disregarding your rhetorical question. Sukuna sets his large hand atop of yours which still holds his cheek. He gives a small smirk, kissing your forehead once more. It was nice to have him finally be affectionate after the day of silence you had. He's lucky that you weren't mad at him for the way he acted, but you couldn't bring yourself to be. He was quite cute when he wore such a glum face, especially when he didn't have a reason to.

To have him give you the silent treatment over something that was out of your control was almost unlike him, and yet it happened. It was funny, in all honesty, how childish that was of him. He knew his behavior was immature, there was no way he didn't. He'd never admit that though, but his sudden need to litter your skin with kisses would make up for it.

[universallychaoticpan]

Ask me for real

hawks x reader

fake dating to lovers trope

brief mentions of getting drunk

"I need you to go out with me."

Your mouth hung open dumbly as Hawks repeated his statement. So you didn't hear him wrong. You sighed as you leaned back on your desk, pinching the bridge of your nose as you felt yet another headache brewing behind your eyes.

"What is it this time?"

His face broke into a relieved smile as he let out the breath he was holding. Sometimes you wished he was holding his breath around you for a different reason.

"Ok so it's this hero gala in a couple of week and the commission is on my ass..."

/

You and Keigo had been friends for years. You were assigned to him as a fledgling but promising publicity agent by the hero commission and from there, had actually become close friends with the winged hero. Sure, sometimes he could be a little childish, and his antics did get a little overwhelming when it came to smoothing them over to the press, but he was a sweet guy, and you were glad to know him. Of course, nothing could be that simple. Because as he'd climbed the hero ranks with you at his side managing all the details behind the scenes, you were slowly falling in love with him. You cursed yourself internally when you'd realized that you'd followed the kind of overused romance trope you'd laugh at with your friends when you were bored. But being mad about it didn't change the fact that you were, despite your best efforts to deny it, in love with your best friend.

This fact was made worse by the fact that as of late, Keigo had become a fan of a little habit that drove you wild: attending ridiculously lavish hero events on his arm to keep the press and the hero commission off his back for a little while. Every few months or so, when people once again started whispering and the fan girls started throwing themselves at him again, he'd ask you for yet another favor and, because you were hoping that maybe one day he'd ask you for real, you kept saying yes. He was confusing as hell, texting you good morning and goodnight each day, making fun of you for the time you'd woken up completely hungover in his apartment after getting dumped, and throwing you the kind of glances that made romance movie covers, the ones that seemed way too sweet to be between two friends. But you weren't an idiot. You knew people flirted with their friends for fun all the time, and it certainly wouldn't be out of character for Keigo to do the same. And plus, you'd seen him turn away a myriad of girls far more suited for him than you before. You recalled once you'd woken up to a particularly nasty headline everywhere after he'd turned down an American supermodel who he'd been getting cozy with. Yeah. He was out of your league. It was easier to just enjoy the times you could pretend he saw you in a different light.

So two weeks later, you did your makeup, zipped yourself into a sweeping dress that hung off your body perfectly, afforded by your considerable paycheck, fastening your favorite pair of heels against your ankles before swinging the door open just as Keigo was about to knock. His hand, still raised and poised to come down onto the wood of your door, fell as he took you in. For a second, he forgot how to breathe, how to speak, how to do anything but admire you. You couldn't tell, but he felt as if his heart had suddenly risen up and settled in the hollow of his throat. Your lips were pouty and red as the feathers that ruffled behind him, eyes accented with black ink like his were. Somewhere, he was aware of an odd strangled noise leaving his throat, saw your head dip as you laughed a little. God, he loved you laugh. But he was already late, and he needed to get going. So he offered you his arm and you stepped out together, heart beats quickening in tandem at the contact.

/

The bright lights flashed against your eyes, the people all around you glimmering like the stars outside. On the steps of the hall, media and press reps were crowded around like hordes like vultures, circling and watching for the latest and greatest in hero society to arrive. You'd only just made it inside, after a good chunk of time letting your mind wander as those same cameras were trained on you, the only clear thought in your mind being Kiego's hand on your waist, warm and solid as he guided the two of you away from the fray. He'd vanished into the crowd in favor of finding you to something to drink, leaving you to find a fairly secluded table to sit and rest. Only 10:30 and your feet were aching. You watched the people around you dance to the waltz music echoing from the string quintet at the front of the room, moving in calculated circles as the lights from the chandelier swathed the scene in blushing pink and shades of burnished sunrise.

Keigo appeared at your side once again, a glass of champagne bubbling in his hand. He offered the delicate glass to you, which you took with a grateful smile. Suddenly, you had an idea, one that you were sure would leave you reeling for days after if he said yes. Pulling him down gently until his ear was by your lips, you whispered to him your query. He tried and failed to mask the slight shiver than ran the length of his spine as you did, nodding and taking your hand once you'd released your hold on his tie.

Dance with me?

Carefully, he stepped tentatively onto the floor, hand once again on your waist with the other clasping your hand. This time, it was your turn to shiver as his warm skin radiated heat onto your own, flushing under the soft lighting as a new song began. Gently but surely, Keigo began to guide the two of you along to the rhythm of the romantic waltz, eyes never leaving yours as you spun along with the other pairs on the marbled floor, skirts flaring and jewelry flashing on necks and wrists and fingers as the music warbled on. Song after song passed and the two of you kept on, your movements sweeping and enchanting, decadent and sweet as rose colored candy and sugar dusted lips. The hours ticked by, sweat beading your brow as you ignored the growing pain in your feet, Kiego starting to worry for you as he noticed your flush spreading from your cheeks down to your neck, your chest heaving as you kept on. Part of you wanted to stop, yes, but it didn't overpower your need to be close to him. Focusing even more on the solid feeling of his body on yours, you pushed past the whirling in you head, the blood pounding away in your ears, the color that were blending together and oh- when did it get so hot?

That was your last thought before you collapsed, falling to the ground as your legs gave way underneath you. It was all your frazzled partner could do to get you out of the crowded room, saying hurried goodbyes on your behalf as well as his own before finding a secluded balcony and taking off with you in his arms. As much as he liked to play around and make things harder for you sometimes, there was no way he was about to put you through the media circus of the paparazzi catching the number two hero whisking some unknown woman away into the night. You'd probably scold him for it anyway, told him people would get the wrong idea, that he should've sent you home with someone, called a car, anything to preserve his image as a carefree playboy. He knew he needed to project a certain image as part of his success. But part of him really wished he could just kiss you in broad daylight and not care for once, what other people would say.

He landed on the balcony of your apartment and pulled at the sliding glass door, praying it'd be open. It was. He sighed in relief as he came inside your home, placing you gently on your sofa before going to get you a glass of water. He'd always told you not to leave your back door unlocked, what if someone got in? You'd reply that if he needed you, he knew your door was always open. And plus, you lived high enough that you felt sure no one was about to go scaling the building just to get to you. When he returned, he found you rubbing your eyes, a look of vague confusion on your face. When you caught sight of him, that confusion changed into horror as you quickly started pushing him towards the door.

"You can't be here," you huffed, body feeling slow and limbs heavy as your friend simply picked you up again and sat you down. "You need to get back to that party! Oh god if anyone saw you leaving I-"

He pressed the glass of water to your lips and held it there until you swallowed, the cool liquid wetting your dry lips and soothing your throat.

"Relax," he murmured, "I covered all the bases. I even left out the back so no one saw. Trust me, you're fine. Now I'm just free to hang here with you. Now how about you get out of those clothes and we just watch a shitty movie, yeah? I think you need it."

You couldn't deny that sounded more than appealing. Nodding, you rushed into your room, cleaned the makeup off your face and slipped on your pajamas before heading back to your living room where Keigo had opened Netflix on your TV.

"Remind me I gotta change the password on that account. You're the number two hero for god's sake, you can afford your own Netflix account."

Settling in beside him, you stared into nothingness as the movie played, feeling the heat of someone else beside you and relishing it. With a muffled hmph he pulled you in so that you were practically laying on top of you, your ear pressed against his chest so you could hear his thundering heart. You tilted your head up so your chin was resting on his chest instead only to find his golden eyes staring into yours. He looked away, the blush on his cheeks noticeable even in the dim lighting. Bringing you hand up to his cheek, you guided his eyes back to you until the both of you were only inches apart, tv flickering across your faces. You were hyper aware of the compromising position you were in, that this was not something one did with their best friend.

"What is it," you asked softly, the breath leaving your lips ghosting softly over Keigo's skin.

"Nothing," he replied, voice soft and quiet, as if he was afraid if he spoke too loudly he'd scare you off. The both of you were moving as if you were approaching a skiddish animal instead of the person you'd grown closest to over the years. Under you, Keigo almost couldn't believe that this was real. You really were here, pressed against him, your warm skin on his own after you'd danced for hours under a golden ceiling, with your eyes gazing into his own and your lips- oh those lips- slightly parted as you nibbled nervously on the soft skin of the lower one. "Nothing," he repeated, "you're just pretty. It's nice to look at you."

You laughed a little, as if you didn't believe him. He scrunched up his nose, as if he was offended.

"I mean it," he insisted. "You're gorgeous! And besides that, you're just amazing. I can't tell you how many girls I've tried to be with hoping I'd find the one that would make me forget how much I-" he cut himself off, but as your curiosity had been peaked, you weren't about to just let that go. A flicker of hope began to spark deep in your gut. Was he about to..

"How much you wanted to," you questioned, begging him with your eyes to tell you. He never could say no when you looked at him that way.

"How much I wanted to do something like this," he finished.

And then his lips were on yours.

His lips were on yours and your fingers were trailing up through his hair, nose slipping against his as he tilted his head to deepen the soft kiss. You saw stars behind your eyes and felt all the things romance movies had taught you didn't really exist. Only they did. They had to. Because you were feeling them right now. There, with only the two of you as witnesses, you gave your hearts to one another whether it had been known or not. For once, you weren't at all worried about what people would think, about how hard it would be to navigate this new territory. For once, the two of you simply were, letting the night pass as you sat in your hideaway or sweet kisses and the warmth of someone you loved next to you as you fell asleep to the rising sun.

/////

I had so much fun writing this and part of me was tempted to make it more of a slow burn but I wanted that ending so here you go! I hope you enjoyed reading this, and if you did, feel free to check out my other fics. Likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always welcome <3

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Nineteen: A Psychotic Break

Rated PG

Masterlist

~Oh, she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she screamin'

"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

Oh, she's sweet but a Psycho~

"HOW DO YOU KNOW SAM AND DEAN?!" He shouted.

It took effort, but I didn't flinch. I blinked and, slowly, raised that eyebrow again. Though I couldn't see his eyes, I could feel the annoyance rising in his mind.

"Tell ya what," I said, putting on my best 'let's make a deal' face, "I'm a reasonable girl, so if you tell me just one thing, then I'll tell ya anything you want to know."

"Hmmm..." The guy studied me, walking in a circle around my chair and eating his lolli-pop.

Normally, I'd be scared out of my wits. This entity in front of me, whoever he was, was clearly immensely powerful; warping reality on that scale isn't exactly a party trick. Just by looking at the scene around me, I knew this guy wasn't Loki. Loki was never this powerful. The Norse god wasn't capable of a full-on reality shift. As long as you knew it was an illusion, Loki couldn't make his illusions solid. Whoever was talking to me now, however, had made four solid copies of himself. It would take an immense amount of raw power to do something like that. One would think that a being with this much power would scare me more than Loki just on principle.

But he didn't.

For some strange reason, he didn't. There was just something about this guy, quite opposite to the original owner of the face he was wearing, that told me he meant no real harm. I didn't want to mess with any more heads but a quick poke around his emotions told me that this guy was a friend to the Winchesters; he was fond of them actually. A part of him looked up to the Winchesters and another part felt like he owed them something. So, if I was their friend, then this entity wasn't going to harm me.

All mind reading and prior knowledge aside, I just wasn't intimidated by him. Maybe it was the cherry-flavored lolli-pop stuck in his mouth. Or maybe it was the height. I'm not one to talk about being vertically challenged but this guy was no Sam Winchester, that was for sure.

"It's up to you." I shrugged, spreading my hands. "But I want you to know, that I have literal days to sit here and not say a word."

The man chuckled and pulled the lolli-pop from his mouth.

"Well, I'd like you to know that I am very good at getting people to talk." He paused, tilting his head to the side as if thinking about something. "Not as good as Castiel o'course. Now, that guy could make em' sing. Wowie!"

The man didn't seem to be making a threat as much as an observation. I could feel my nose scrunch up with discomfort for thoughts of what Castiel might do to me if he ever found out my secret. Would he torture me?

I pushed the thought away and wiped the discomfort from my face, replacing it with a smirk. Now was not the time for grim thoughts.

"I think you'll find that I have an extraordinary talent for saying 'no'," I said, leaning forward and folding my hands together on top of the table.

"You think so?" He challenged, amused by the tiny child that thought she could beat him.

I shrugged.

"It's one of my charms. Besides, are you really gonna torture a kid?" I pointed out. I had to remember to use my physical age as the tool it was.

"Of course not!" The man scoffed, waving a hand, "That's low; even for me."

"Guess we're at a stalemate then!" I sighed.

"Hmm." The man twisted the stick of his Lolli-pop in between his fingers. "What if I were to ask really nicely?"

"I'd say 'no'."

"What if I said 'please'?"

"I'd say 'no'."

"What if I gave you candy?"

"I'd be tempted, then I'd be creeped out, then I'd say 'no'." I grinned at him. The man frowned and pointed his lolli-pop at me accusingly.

"You know, for an eight-year-old or whatever you are, you sure don't act like a kid," He said, I couldn't see past his stupid reflective glasses but I thought he was narrowing his eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Is this better?" I cleared my throat in a very mature way before giving him my best pouty frown and doe-eyed puppy look.

"Mommy tol' me nevur to take candwy fwum stwangurs," I said in an innocent baby voice.

"Hmmm. It's close, but you're still acting just a smidge too old. Maybe a 'goo-goo ga-ga' would help!" He smirked. He'd turned my own sass against me. This guy was good. I kinda wanted to punch him.

"Nah, I don't think it would work," I said, smiling thinly.

"Aw, that's a shame. So how old are you really?" He asked.

"No."

"C'mon!"

"No."

"Geez, kiddo. You are really good at saying that, aren't you?" He tried.

I didn't answer. I just smiled at him, pleasantly. The man rolled his eyes, cursing under his breath.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," He muttered. He turned to me. "Fine! What's your question, kid?"

I folded my hands in my lap and collected my thoughts. He couldn't read my mind, I knew. I felt like a sphinx of stone. Speaking as calmly as I could, I asked my question.

"Earlier, when I called you Loki, you said 'wrong religion' and you said you'd killed him; I'm guessing for a slice of revenge. So, my question for you is this: What's the name of the one that talks to you when you're all alone?"

The man shifted his weight and tugged at the collar of his stupid police outfit. The color drained from his face and all his muscles tightened. He clenched his lolli-pop in his teeth, pressing so hard that it shattered. Moving to grab another, he stuck quivering hands into his pockets, but he didn't remove them. The man raised an eyebrow at me and forced a laugh. He was uncomfortable, deeply so, and afraid of something. Afraid not of the thing itself, but the memory of it. Something was haunting him. I could see it in his eyes. All that time alone.

Using my power, I pulled on that fear.

"That's it?" He scoffed faking nonchalance. I shrugged, simply.

"That's it."

"Call me the Trickster." The man smirked. He ripped off those stupid sunglasses and leaned into a mocking sort of bow. "Pleasure to meet ya, kiddo! No, I don't answer fan-mail."

I tilted my head and kept smiling at him, raising an eyebrow expectantly. I didn't speak. The man's smirk shrank from his face as he slowly straightened back up, regarding me with a suspicious and cautious expression. His feet shifted him a little further away from me.

"What's that smile for?" He asked.

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Trickster." I kept my voice that same unsettling calm and pulled harder on his fear, feeling it rise and crowd his mind. The guy calling himself the trickster pretended to think about my statement.

"Yeah, no; I'm pretty sure I did." He said, nodding. I smiled wider.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Your question doesn’t make sense, kid.” His voice was harsh and biting.

“Yes, it does.”

“Well, I sure as Hell don’t understand it.”

“Yes, you do.”

The man forced a laugh, but it only came off as nervous; he shook his finger at me.

“Are you a sphinx or something?”

"Only in the metaphorical sense, and you are not so clever as you think."

The man glared at me, his lip curling into a scowl. He leaned against the table and looked down at me. I'd made a wrong move; he was angry now, but I could still fix this.

"And you are way too clever for a kid."

"You're right." I nodded.

"Ya gonna tell me why?"

I leaned forward, looking him dead in the eyes. I grasped onto his fear and yanked on it as hard as I could without making it too suspicious.

"No."

The man scowled, glaring down at me. I kept my face impassive and stared back up at him. It was a battle of wills. Who would be the first to look away? Who would be the first to break?

Not me.

The man cast his eyes to the ceiling, throwing his hands into the air.

"GABRIEL!" He shouted. "My name is Gabriel!”

“You’re the angel?”

“Archangel and yes. Ya happy?!" He asked bitingly.

I smiled again, this time in a much more childish way.

"Yes."

I released my hold on Gabriel’s emotions and folded my hands in my lap. Gabriel nodded briskly. His stupid police getup disappeared, replaced by his outfit from earlier, a white t-shirt beneath a brown leather jacket, and a pair of standard jeans. Across the table from me, a second metal chair appeared out of nowhere and Gabriel pulled it out and sat. Folding his hands in front of him on the tabletop as I had previously done, he studied my face.

“My turn now, right?” He asked.

“That was the deal,” I replied with a shrug, returning to my usual sarcastic ways.

“Alrighty. You like games, kid?” He spoke the word as if he didn’t believe it was true. “Let’s play a game.”

“Ooh goodie! What game? Is it checkers? I’m great at checkers.” I rubbed my hands together in faux excitement.

“It’s easy,” Gabriel smirked. “You think you’re clever? Let’s see how clever. I ask you up to fifteen questions per topic, and you have to answer them. But, here’s the catch: You can only answer with one word. Got it?”

I was about to open my mouth to speak but, taking a look at the expression on the archangel’s face told me that this confirmation of my understanding was his little game’s first round. I pursed my lips, reforming my reply.

“Why?” I asked.

“Why only one word?” He clarified.

“Yeah.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened a bit and he nodded as if understanding something.

“Well, because I’m a professional liar and I know that it is much harder to tell a lie if you can’t provide details. You lie, you lose. And I don’t have to read your mind to know if you’re lying. So, one word,” He explained. I nodded.

“Ready to play?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, we were sitting in the bunker’s library. Gabriel was smirking at me. The game was on.

It was time to see if I was smarter than a five-billion-year-old cosmic entity. My bets were on no.

***

“Let’s start out easy, shall we? How did you meet the Winchesters?” Gabriel asked.

He watched her face. This game was a test, it was all about the words she chose and the way she said them. The more abstract the child’s answers, the cleverer the kid was. Details of the story she was barely telling registered in the Archangel’s mind; one after the other, like lines on a page.

“Alleyway,” The child answered. Interesting already.

“What happened in the alleyway?”

“Salvaged.” Thinks herself lesser in value.

“From what?”

“Idiots.” Views some as beneath her. Strange.

“Why did the idiots attack you?”

“Inebriated.” Drunk. Why not say drunk? Why choose the word inebriated?

“Were the inebriated idiots all the Winchesters salvaged you from?”

“Abridged.” Another abstract answer. Yes!

“What else was in that alleyway?”

“Suffering.”

“Physical pain or otherwise? Elaborate.”

“All-encompassing.” Hyphenating, clever move.

“Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater! Who said you could hyphenate?” Gabriel spoke accusingly. The girl shrugged with an innocent expression on her face.

“Unstipulated.” Exploiting loopholes; perfect.

“So why was this suffering of yours all-encompassing? What was causing it?” He asked, getting back to the point.

“Shiver.” Not shivering but shiver. Why only say shiver?

“Were you in danger of dying by hypothermia?”

“Agony.”

“But not death?” This question was more directed toward himself, but the girl answered anyway.

“Enduring.” Fierce pain but not death.

“Enduring for what?”

“Victorious.”

“Why do you want to win?”

“Obligation.”

“Obligation to what?”

“Brother.”

“Why?”

“Nevermore,” She said, coolly.

Edger Allen Poe: The Raven: Verse 14; Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”

Time to switch topics.

“Why did the Winchesters help you?”

She shrugged.

“Screamed.” Simple enough. Disappointingly simple.

“Why were you in the alleyway?”

The girl paused.

“Caution.” She said, slowly. Yet she had been attacked. That was an interesting answer.

“Caution for what?”

“Harm.”

Gabriel nodded, that was a little confusing, but he was sure he would figure it out eventually.

“So, were you looking for the Winchesters, or did they find you by chance?”

The girl thought about this for a bit before answering. Just the pause she had taken was interesting, that meant the answer was more complicated than a yes or a no.

“Watching,” She decided.

“Why were you watching?”

“Waiting.” This was getting better by the second.

“Waiting for what?”

She paused again.

“Seek.” There was a secret smile in her eyes when she answered this time. She thinks she has an advantage. Maybe she does…

“Where was this?”

“Michigan.”

“What town?”

It was a trick question; her answer would have to be two words; there was no avoiding it. Only a few minutes into his little game and he was already trying to trip the girl up. That wasn’t cheating or anything; if this kid thought that beating him was going to be a cakewalk then she had another thing coming.

“Two,” She replied.

“The town’s name is two words?” He asked her only to be sure of the context.

“Yes.”

“Okay, answer the question anyway. If I don’t know the town when you give me the word, then you lose.” He challenged. The girl took a second to think.

“Ferry.”

“Was the town Copper Harbor, Michigan?”

The girl grinned.

“Yep.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and nodded, the smirk on his face growing wider. This kid was clever. He was getting excited. For the first time in he didn’t know how many millennia, Gabriel had a decent game to play, and for the first time in just as many years, he finally had someone to play with. For as long as the archangel could remember, he had loved a good game. He had always relished the challenge of solving a brilliant puzzle or capturing an opponent’s king. When chess had been invented, he had become a master. Gabriel adored beating people at things. He loved to best them, yes, but not only that. He loved to teach them something too; to show them how they could be better. But for as long as he had lived, Gabriel had never been given a real challenge. His brothers could have given him one of course, but they were so predictable and they had always been fighting. They had never cared to really play with him; not the sort of game he had wanted. A game of wits. A game of minds.

For someone who had been stuck on Earth as long as he had, things just got so boring. It wasn’t as if he could leave the planet; despite how much he had desperately wanted to. He had to stay and honor the terms of his witness protection agreement with Loki. After a while, no game on the planet could capture his interest or cure his horrid boredom. The only minor distraction he’d had was the humans.

Gabriel thought humans were wonderful things. Though, for a much different reason than his little brother, Castiel, did. Castiel loved humans for their hearts; Gabriel loved them for their minds. Not all of them were entertaining of course; he wasn’t lucky enough for that. The fact of his life was that there was only a disappointing handful of interesting individuals out there to entertain him. The archangel had had a hay-day when he’d met Einstein! (And you wonder why everyone thought he was crazy.) Though it was somewhat fun for him to watch the boring majority of humanity stumble and fall whenever he tried to teach them a lesson, it wasn’t ever enough.

Gabriel had longed for someone, anyone, even a human, he could play a game with. Now, suddenly, here she was. Someone clever, someone who knew what clever meant, someone who actually wanted to play a real game. Gabriel had seen it in her eyes the moment he’d given her the chance to ask him her question. She was bored too. This was exhilarating for her too.

As if all that wasn’t good enough, Gabriel couldn’t read her mind. This fact probably should have concerned him more than it did, but he couldn’t focus on a tiny detail like that. No, this was too good of a chance to pass up. Not even his nephew had been able to give him a decent challenge. Gabriel was too excited to focus on something so seemingly trivial. He was excited, he was high on the thrill of the chase. No one ever said you couldn’t fool an archangel, and Gabriel didn’t know it, but he had been fooled. He had been fooled by a tiny girl with the face of a child.

Another entity as powerful as he was would most likely consider it beneath them to play a game of wits with a child, to be challenged by a child. But not Gabriel. He had been waiting for a chance like this for all of his existence; age simply didn’t matter to him anymore. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t curious, however.

This was his element. This was his obsession. This was his chance. It was time to have some fun.

“Now all that’s out of the way, let’s ask some things about you. What’s your name?”

“Marty.”

“Nice name. How old are you, Marty?”

“Enough.” The girl smirked. She was good. But he was just a little better.

“How many years have you been alive?”

“Fourteen.” That was her answer. There was darkness in his eyes this time. Interesting.

“How many years have you existed?”

A look of fear crossed her face, like a deer caught in headlights. But the look vanished as soon as it came and was replaced with a confident smirk.

“Conservation.” She answered.

Gabriel cursed internally. The law of conservation of energy; energy is neither created nor destroyed. Of course, she would say something like that.

“Okay, miss-smarty-pants. How many years have you been aware of your existence?”

Marty swallowed and looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Nineteen.” Now they were getting somewhere.

“Riddle me this, Batman. How can you be fourteen and nineteen at the same time?”

She glared at her folded hands.

“Trapped.” The way she stressed the word told Gabriel that she was more than resentful of her condition.

“Trapped how? Elaborate,” He demanded.

“Skin,” She said, nearly growling.

“Elaborate,” He repeated, nodding.

“Cage,” Her voice quivered.

“Why?” He leaned forward now, waiting. This would be the crucial response. Marty looked up, there were ghost tears in her eyes.

“Neverland.”

Very interesting. Time for a new line of questions.

“Why did you come with the Winchesters?”

“Invited.”

“Which one invited you?”

She smiled a little.

“Jack.”

“Why did he ask you to come here?”

“Protection.”

“What led him to offer you protection?”

“Mendicant.”

Mendicant. Definition: One who begs. So, did she ask to come or was she invited? And if she was begging, that begs the question of why.

“What were you begging for?”

“Life.”

“Why were you begging for your life.”

Marty tilted her head.

“Guillotine.”

Her use of the word guillotine could be a metaphor, or it could mean something very literal. Gabriel had the suspicion that it meant a little of both.

“What did Jack offer to protect you from?”

She shrugged.

“Monster,” She said as if it was obvious.

“Yours or someone else’s?”

“Everyone’s,” Marty whispered.

There it was. That was it. That was the clue.

Gabriel laughed; he was winning.

“Tell me, Marty, how long ago was your family massacred?” He asked. Marty looked like she’d been stabbed in the gut and Gabriel felt a pang of guilt, but he brushed it off. It was nothing compared to his excitement.

“Five,” She replied after a moment.

“Five what?”

“Years,” Her voice cracked. Gabriel nodded.

“How have you spent those five years?”

“Alone.”

“If you’ve been on your own for so long, why accept help now?” He prodded.

“Tired.”

“What are you tired of?”

“Running.”

“That’s the practical reason, what’s the other reason?”

Marty pursed her lips.

“Name.”

“Of what?”

“Character.”

“Say it.”

“Peter Pan.” Two references to the same story in one conversation. Definitely not a coincidence. She was comparing herself to something, but what was it? What was he missing?

“Okay pumpkin, just a few more questions; then we’re done ‘cause I don’t have all day.”

“Nice.” She smiled.

"Why should I believe a word you've said to me?"

The girl grinned in a way that was meant to be friendly, but fell critically short.

"Psycho."

That response unnerved the five billion year-old archangel. What was this kid?

“What do you think of Jack?” He continued, he didn't miss a beat.

“Viridity,” She replied. Viridity; noun: Naïve innocence.

“What do you think of his parentage?”

“Irrelevant.” Gabriel had heard many words used to describe his family. Irrelevant was definitely not one of them.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?”

Marty’s answer was unexpected.

“Back.” Her voice wasn’t desperate or wistful; it was cold and hard.

“Describe yourself. Who are you, Marty?”

She had to think about this one. When she had her answer, the genius girl grinned. It wasn’t in a happy way.

“Domino.”

“Alright, one last question, then you’re free to go.” Gabriel leaned forward, his face a grim mask. “Do you have a crush on my nephew?”

Surprised by his question, Marty blinked but before long a smirk split across her cheeks and mischief gleamed in her eyes.

“Talent.” That was all she said. Gabriel knew that meant; ‘The answer may be yes, but I will say no until the day I die.’ The archangel reached a hand across the table; Marty grasped and shook it.

“Good game, kiddo. Mind telling me where Sam and Dean are now?”

“They’re on their way to New-York. They’ll be there in a few hours,” Marty said.

“Cool beans. Now go get some breakfast and I’ll see ya later.”

With a nod of his head, Gabriel was gone. The reason why he had originally come to the bunker was completely forgotten. Now he had only one thought on his mind.

He needed to find Sam and Dean.

He needed to warn them about the girl they were protecting.

When it came to individuals, there had never been something that Gabriel couldn’t figure out.

Never. Not one thing. Until now.

Gabriel had no idea what that child was.

That thought―that question mark unnerved him. That notion shook him down to his very core.

That blank space child, that missing piece little girl.

She was more terrifying to him than anything he had known in five billion years.

~You're just like me, you're out your mind

I know it's strange, we're both the crazy kind

You're tellin' me that I'm insane

Boy, don't pretend that you ain't just the same

Oh, she's sweet but a psycho

A little bit psycho

At night she screamin'

"I'm-ma-ma-ma out my mind"

Oh, she's sweet...

But a Psycho~

Lyrics from: Sweet But A Psycho by Ava Max