#i tried out wavy haired L because he was looking way too close to shadow the hedgehog for my morale

[monakisu]

fanart for @dykelawlight‘s fic “You Have to Understand the Way I Am”

i can’t believe i received such a spectacularly scrumptious fic as my secret santa gift!! thank u!!! (���º ﾛ º๑) i did not possess the anatomy skills for this BUT I DREW IT ANYWAY ˘̴͈́ꈊ˘̴͈́🧨💥 the lengths i go for lovely bitchy light driving his man insane…!!

[bookishofalder]

Joke of a Batman

Spencer Reid x Male!Reader

Request: @meowiemari Okie dokie!!! So Spencer x male reader where the reader is the driver for the robbers. They arrested him after finding him in a gas station getting snacks. While driving in his car with Morgan, Reid, and Hotch, the reader is in the passenger seat telling them the location because he was just there for the money. Hotch and Morgan went while Spencer stays to keep an eye on him. Reader’s playlist in his car plays old Justin Bieber songs and it’s gonna be me by NSYNC. Spencer sees his embarrassment and  awkwardly sings a bit so he doesn’t feel shame. Later in absolute a few minuets the two started singing and as soon as Morgan comes back with Hotch, they both quickly turn off the playlist and exchange numbers. :)

Warnings: Swearing, implied SMUT (super brief)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I loved writing this, and hope I you enjoy. This was my first time writing the reader as male-so please tell me if I can improve! Tried to keep reader description as vague as possible. Thank you to @mermaidxatxheart​ for encouraging me to get writing :) 

“That’ll be $11.75, please.” The bored gas station attendant droned, staring at you expectantly. You began to pull out a few bills from your wallet, ready to get home and eat your pint of ice cream in peace, but before you could count out what you needed, a voice behind you cut in.

“He’s no longer going to be making a purchase today, actually,” Spinning around in alarm, you find yourself face to face with two imposing men, one with a deep frown and overall authoritative air with his crisp suit, the other a handsome but tall and physically intimidating specimen.

With a gulp, you stuff the cash in your wallet. Who were these guys?

“Y/F/N?”

You nod as heat creeps up your neck, burning your face. Fucking Peter Robbins, you always knew, was going to be the death of you. And now it looked like your latest foray into his questionable life was going to land you in jail. These had to be cops.

You knew you should have ignored his call. You’d been telling yourself for years not to help him, he was just going to get himself in trouble again and call again, and you got nothing out of it. He used you because he knew you liked him. The two of you had been friends for years, and it didn’t take him long to realize the ways he could manipulate you because of how you felt.

It took you a lot longer to catch on to what he was doing.

But fuck, you still came running when he called, didn’t you? Like you were some joke of a Batman and he was shining his light into the sky calling for you. If only.

“That’s, yeah, that’s me.” You replied, slowly shoving your wallet into your front pocket before holding your hands in front of you in surrender. Whatever happened, you decide at this moment that you never want to see Peter again. Because giving that man a ride in hopes he’d one day say he was interested was not worth this.

“Mr. (Y/L/N), we’re placing you under arrest,” The frowning man held out his badge, showing you he was one Agent Hotchner from the fucking FBI. You tuned him out, your ears suddenly ringing, alarm shooting through you. Getting arrested was one thing, but the FBI? What in the living hell had Peter gotten into? Got you into?

He called you for a ride. It was just supposed to be a ride.

You were surprised when they didn’t cuff you, but you weren’t stupid enough to question them. They led you outside, where the gas station was quiet, only their large black SUV and your Honda Civic parked out front. You kept your eyes down, a sting threatening the corners but you were not going to cry. You needed to take this one step at a time, and not overreact. You surely didn’t fuck up that badly, did you? They’d said ‘suspicion of aiding a crime’, only suspicion.

“Listen, kid,” The bald Agent whose name you learned was Morgan turned and faced you, his expression serious. You bristled slightly at him calling you ‘kid’, but based on the crows' feet around his eyes, maybe he was older than he let on. “We know that you were just the driver today, and that you’d probably have no clue what’s going on right now.”

You raised your eyes to meet his, “Peter Robbins has ensured I fuck up my life at least once a year for nearly a decade. This is just...a new level for me.” You shrug, trying not to think of what your family was going to say when they found out. Would you lose your job?

“We’ve been watching Peter and his associates for a while now,” Agent Hotchner replied, and your brows raised in surprise. “Yes, he’s escalated from petty crimes that upset the local sheriff to armed robbery. Unfortunately, one of his partners happens to enjoy killing. Which is why we were called in.” He stops speaking abruptly when another Agent, you assume from the gun on his belt, steps around the SUV and up to your group.

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. This Agent is stunningly handsome, much younger than the other two. His eyes, which met yours for only a moment before flitting away, were a soft honey brown that sucked you right in. He had a bit of a shadow along his jaw, his wavy brown hair unkempt in the best kind of way, as though he’d just rolled out of bed looking that perfect. And you could tell he didn’t even realize the power he had. Standing next to two burly, thick muscled Agents, you could understand why. But in your brief assessment of this new man, you could see the lean strength of him, the muscles of his lower arms, veins in his hands. He was tall, too, taller than either of the other men, which was saying something.

“What’s up, Reid?” Morgan asked, and the new arrival-Reid-held up his phone.

“Garcia can’t pull anything from the Honda, it’s, her words, an ancient species.” He spoke quickly, almost as though the words couldn’t find their way off of his tongue quickly enough. You tried not to fixate on his mouth, because damn it, his lips were perfect.

Absentmindedly, you crossed your arms across your chest, feeling tense and tired. When Reid’s eyes followed the movement, you felt frozen under his gaze, watching with your breath held as it dragged slowly up to your face. His expression was unreadable, yet you still felt your cheeks grow warmer.

“Listen, (Y/N), we know you don’t have any real part in Peter’s crimes. We intercepted his calls and texts, we know he asked you to pick him up today, last minute.” Agent Hotchner said, his eyes burning into yours.

You looked away from the other men, shame flooding through you. “Peter always calls, and I always answer. But I really don’t know anything about what he does, I didn't know he was even with anyone else today. He asked me to pick him up right out front of the pharmacy, that’s all.” You couldn’t help the edge to your voice, the wordless plea that they understand you had no clue what was going on. And if innocent people were dying, you would do anything you could to help them put a stop to it.

Reid tilted his head slightly as he watched you, “We’ve seen the messages, (Y/N), we know how he treats you, giving you a little, yet taking a lot,” The tears almost threaten now, so you glance away, looking at the ground as you nod, “And he doesn’t even tell you what he’s taking, the danger he’s putting you in. He’s going to go away for a long time, but you don’t have to.”

At this, your head snaps up and you look between the three men, expecting them to laugh and finally cuff you. But they all wear the same neutral expression, all watching you.

“Like I said, I don’t know much abou-“

Reid shook his head, politely interjecting, “We understand. But you know where you took him today, right?” At your nod, Reid stepped a little closer, peering down at you, “We need you to take us to him. And tell us any other addresses you can remember picking him up from or taking him to in the last year. Can you help us? You won’t be under arrest if you can give us what we need to stop Peter and the men he’s working with.”

You almost wanted to laugh. Of course, you would help, regardless of whether you were still under arrest; you had no loyalty whatsoever to Peter. You only ever showed up for him because you hoped, each time, that it would be the time he would go beyond flirting. That the feelings were mutual. But if he was committing crimes-fuck, robbing people, working with a murderer, then you were done with him.

“I can tell you addresses, and I can show where he is now, I just,” You paused, closing your eyes briefly to pull in a breath, steadying yourself, “Please, don’t hurt him, if you don’t need to, I mean.”

Reid’s eyes, which you found the moment you opened yours, visibly softened at your words. He seemed a little surprised, you thought, though it was hard to tell. He was difficult to read, and you’d only just met him. He nodded reassuringly before looking to Agent Hotchner expectantly while you waited, your insides in knots.

“(Y/N), Spencer is going to go with you in your vehicle, and we’ll be following behind. Take us as close as you can without being obvious. Reid,” He turned to the handsome agent, “We’re going to check the car first, can you-“ He gestured wordlessly in your direction, which made you frown in confusion.

Reid nodded, and you watched as the two other agents moved to search your car, while he moved toward you. “I’m going to search you for weapons, okay?” He explained, holding his hands out as if waiting for your permission.

You stared, perhaps a beat too long, at his long-fingered hands. With a shy bob of your head, you looked to Reid, “Of course, I understand.” And the agent began to pat you down as you stood awkwardly.

It wasn’t as though the action was intimate or affectionate, but for whatever reason, you did feel his touch was hesitant. He was gentle, considerate...it surprised you. And then his hands slid up your back as he stood in front of you, and you became acutely aware of the thin cotton t-shirt your wore, instantly becoming self-conscious. You wondered what he thought of you, of your body.

Mind out of the gutter, you told yourself.

It was then, when Reid leaned back, his hands sliding from your back to your chest, that time seemed to stand still, just for a moment. They moved across your stomach briefly, and as they began to pull away, the search complete, you looked up. Reid was staring at you, his cheeks flushed, eyes heavy. You caught your breath, his gaze was so intense, but before you could even try to think of what to say, he was swiftly stepping back, breaking eye contact with a heavy swallow.

You were kind of relieved. That had been almost too intense, whatever that was. The relief lasted only moments until Agent Hotchner called out that your car was good to go, and you remembered you had a twenty-minute car ride alone with the Reid.

Fuck.

+

The first few minutes of the drive are bearable enough, Spencer takes the wheel as you give him directions to the subdivision where you had dropped Peter off. It’s when the silence starts to press in, and you don’t know what to say to fill it, that things swiftly change.

Sensing the tension, no doubt, Reid reaches out to the audio power button and hits your stereo on. With an internal groan, you suddenly wish you could just jump out of the moving vehicle when the song you’d been listening to picks back up.

'Cause I've had everything But no one's listening And that's just fucking lonely I'm so lonely Lonely

You had put on a playlist you considered your ‘sad songs’ compilation for whenever you were let down by Peter or any other man. You enjoyed wallowing in self-pity for just a little while after each encounter. But now, as Justin Bieber crooned sadly, you didn't feel sad, just humiliated. You were in your car with a fiercely hot FBI agent who had given you some kind of fucking bedroom eyes just minutes ago as he pats you down, and this song plays.

Your expression must have been obvious, as you saw Reid look at you a few times out of the corner of your eye, frowning somewhat. When the song ended, you didn’t get a chance to be relieved before ‘Somebody to Love” began playing. This time, you sighed aloud, sinking somewhat into your seat and wishing you could dissolve into a pile of goo like the Wicked Witch.

Until that is, you glanced up and saw Reid’s fingers tapping gently on the steering wheel to the beat. Surprised, you looked around to the agent and he was mouthing the words, singing along with the chorus. Stunned, you just watched him for a moment, quickly finding yourself enraptured by the way his plump lips moved around the words, how his tongue would wet them between lines, how his eyes-

Fuck, he was looking right at you. You smiled quickly but looked away, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You really had much bigger, more important shit to be concerned with right now, yet here you were wondering what the hell this perfect man, this FBI agent that was far too handsome for his own good, was doing singing along with the silly song, and why the look he gave you had butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Not to mention, the guilt that accompanied those thoughts, brief as they were, of what the lips would feel like on yours. What they would feel like on your body. Wrapped around your cock. Fuck.

He hadn’t said anything, but his fingers continued to tap along with the beat with ease. Eventually, when you directed him to the final turn, you chanced another glance at him. As if expecting your gaze, he turned his head and smiled at you, “I’m Spencer, by the way, Dr. Spencer Reid.” You blinked. Doctor?

“Oh, uh. Wow. Nice to meet you, Dr-“

“You can call me Spencer,” He cut in, his expression somewhat amused.

You nodded, “Nice to meet you, Spencer. Though I wish it were under different circumstances, perhaps where I wasn’t a criminal piece of shit.”

He pulled the car over, stopped at the community mailbox you had described as the perfect place to park. Once he’d turned the engine off, he turned to face you, those warm eyes giving you a gentle look. “You aren’t a criminal piece of shit, (Y/N),” Oh, you loved the way your name sounded coming from him. “I’d go as far as to say you’re a victim in all of this.”

You scoffed, waving a hand in protest, “No, I really should have known better than to help Peter.”

But Spencer shook his head, “As I said earlier, we saw the messages. He manipulates you, and he doesn’t ever tell you what he’s actually doing. He just gets you to give him rides, acts like it’s a way to hang out when really he’s using you as a cover because, in reality, you’re a law-abiding, hardworking, kind man. Men like him don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, (Y/N).”

Letting out a breath, your mind went blank at Spencer’s words, failing you entirely. You believed every word he’d said, and you felt warm all over at the intense way he watched you, it was almost...protective.

Before your mind could reboot and you could trust yourself to open your mouth and not simply drool, a tap on the window drew your eyes beyond Spencer. Agent Hotchner stood there, waiting patiently with his arms crossed.

Spencer climbed out of your car, but you stayed put, glad for a moment to close your eyes and try to steady your beating heart. After this was over, you were climbing into your bathtub and staying there for the rest of the week. Maybe the rest of the month.

“Prentiss and JJ are parked at the North end, they’re going to come with us. Can you wait here, with (Y/N), and call Garcia and have him give her the other locations?”

You heard Spencer agree and bid his fellow agents goodbye before climbing back into your car. He smiled warmly at you, and you couldn’t help but return it, your own shy and uncertain. “You heard what our task is?” He asked you, his head tilted again, watching you curiously.

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. But first, can you give me your phone, please?” He held his hand out expectantly. You handed it over, first pointing it towards your face to unlock it. His fingers brushed yours when he took the phone from you, and if you hadn’t been looking at him already, you wouldn’t have believed it was intentional. But it was because at the slight contact, your eyes had widened and Spencer...Spencer had smirked.

He clicked around on your phone for a moment, hit one final button and then passed it back to you, looking satisfied. When you took it back, his phone chimed in his pocket. Confused, you peered down at your screen to see he’d added his name to your contacts and sent himself a text from your phone. Well fuck.

He was watching you with an amused expression, “Once this case is over, (Y/N), I’d love it if you would allow me to take you to dinner.”

“I, wow,” You stammered, nervously running your hair through your hair. His eyes followed your movement, and you saw a glint behind the warmth, of desire. Hunger. You didn’t think twice. “I’d love to, Spencer.” He grinned at you.

And surprising even yourself, you reached out and squeezed his hand. And when he returned the pressure and ran his thumb softly across the back of your hand, all thoughts of Peter left your mind as *NSYNC played in the background and you didn’t feel lonely anymore.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

✨Taglist: @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711 @snitchthewitch

[megastarstriker]

~{Unfortunate Events}~ 𝑨𝒛𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓  𝒙 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒚 ---------------------------------------------- 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓛𝓞𝓖𝓤𝓔 •·················•·················• ===============

“Faithful Encounters”

   Part One

=================================

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: Aziraphale x reader x Crowley

𝙁𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙢: Good Omens

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1,298

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: She was just the new angel that day, only to be casted out on the spot, like a baby bird being thrown out of its nest to learn how to fly on its own against its will. She was an outcast and had no place or purpose there or even in the pits of fire. Now she finds herself reliving her traumatizing nightmare when she was child, as she counts the final days of the world’s demise as she plans ruining ‘The Lady Above’s Great Plan’.( I do not own Good Omens or its characters only the ones I create.)

𝑲𝒆𝒚𝒔 :

(Y/N) = Your Name 

(S/C) = Skin Color 

(B/T) = Body Type

(H/C) = Hair Color

(H/L) = Hair Length

(H/S) = Hair Style

(Y/A) = Your Accent

(C/N) = Country Name

(P/N) = Pet’s Name

(F/C) = Favorite Clothing

=============================================================

Falling..........

Falling...........

I  was Falling..........

At least that’s how it felt. The strong pressure of the fall and whistling of the wind as my eyes were closed not daring to look at what was happening and not being able to almost as if it was forbidden to me. I screamed but my voice was silent and only pitch ringing of church bells stroking were only heard through my ears. As my wings carried me downwards as I tried to flap my way up, I felt a burning sensation at the tips of my wings feathers. A haze of smoke traveling through my nose  causing me to panic. The pain of the burns wasn’t excruciating but it was indeed painful. Moving downwards I could picture the pure white clouds in the sky; feeling their delicate and soft touch grazing barely against my skin through my outstretched arms, small beads of sweats hanging at the tips of my (S/C) toes. My eyes releasing a cold liquid substance onto my (S/C) rosy cheeks, sticking to my skin as my (H/C),(H/L) hair flew gracefully in the wind surrounding me.

Was it the rain in the sky falling or was it my tears silently leaking down my face?

 I would never find out..

Because as soon as I opened my eyes...

I saw a group of shadows above....

a choir of laughs and whispers reaching my ears.......

Although blurry, my sight was focused on them...

I begged them, screamed, and shouted for help as I tried to fly my way out of harm’s way and towards them.

But they then disappeared...

Vanished.....

I was angry at them for being so selfish and insensitive that they couldn’t help...

I tried my best to steady my wings and force them to go up as I hissed in pain.....

But as I looked down to see the state of my hurting wings.....

I realized that my wings were missing and there was nothing residing on my back at all only glimpses of what looked like to be solid ground a couple a feet or miles away from me.......

I screamed at the top of my longs as soon as the solid ground were only mere inches away from my falling, (B/T) form.

__________________________________________

I bolted upright on my bed, as beads of sweat rolled down and dripped my freezing forehead, as I gasped for air. Propping myself on my elbows, I turned the lamp on my bedside table, and looked at the clock on the wall. As it was making a bell chiming noise, that alerted me it read.

𝟕:𝟎𝟎 𝐩.𝐦.

Then the chiming from the Victorian clock dissipated as soon as it hit ‘7:01′ A few moments later.

❝Stupid Clock❞, I muttered angrily in my American/(Y/A) accent.

Grabbing and throwing my pillow that was resting on my bed, at the wall a few feet below were the clock was pinned up, but purposely trying to hit the clock.

I groaned tiredly rubbing the dirt of my sleepy eyes and stretching my eyes as a small yawn came out of my lips. I then stood up, causing a slight creak as my weight left the warm, cozy covers and comforts of my bed. I approached the curtains and tugged them to the side to reveal the bright world and beaming sun from the other side of my window. It was quite sunny without a doubt, a great day for outside activities, like picnics, and walks on the park. I smiled a bit as I thought of going for a walk, as I looked down at the people who were walking across my apartment on the streets of London. That’s Right.

I live in Soho, London.

Not the grandest thing like I would’ve liked back in Sweet America/(C/N), but well enough to enjoy, I guess. Besides, I could switch countries whenever I want, its really one of the perks and miracles of well you know an angel.....or a demon....I really don’t have a clue right know, but I really couldn’t care less right know as much as I wanted to. My mood quickly changing its sour and angry demeanor to a sweet and giddy one as I watched the world doing its wonders and works. 

❛Speaking of works❜, I thought as I remembered my ‘human’ friend,❛Gotta get ready, wouldn’t want her to scream her head off because of me.❜ 

I laughed softly to myself wondering the look on her face, the color of a cute tomato in fury as she yelled at me for being late to meet her at the Ritz for some ‘sweet news’ and ‘gossip girl talk’ on her job as she liked to call it.

❝Well, better not keep her waiting❞, I muttered softly as I looked ahead at the window’s view from outside.

❝Right, Socrates❞, I said while not turning my head and still keeping my gaze fixated on the view.

I then heard a slight hiss from the glass box near the table next to me, keeping the beady and slit-pupiled eyed creature secured who was looking at me in a sassy manner.

I laughed lightly at its response. I had many names for Socrates, because well I didn’t know a name good enough for it to be official, so usually I would call him Socrates or (P/N) just to be respectful.

As I brushed my silky and soft (H/C),(H/L) hair, I thought about that horrible dream much said nightmare last night. It felt real, thinking about it gave me chills and goosebumps. Never even want to mention it or talk about it much.

I shook my head in thought and looked myself in the mirror after I finished brushing my hair and did it nicely into a (H/S) style. I then made my way over to the closet and picked what I thought would look nice and was great for days like these. I picked out a gallant looking suit it was grey and looked very sketchy but cute overall and it hugged my perfect figure nicely. It almost made me look like a business woman of sorts. I was still debating whether to wear this or something else from the other clothes I had, but I guess I’ll go ahead and try this for today and if the weather gets a bit hot for me I can always bring my personal (F/C) to wear later.

I then went down stairs and went to my bookshelf of my old collection of editions and went and grabbed one entitled ❛The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri❜ 

I hummed satisfied as I looked at the polished cover and took it with me in case I was bored and wanted to read. I put it in my bag and as I finished putting on any needed accessories on myself. I was off the doors of my household and walked down the pavement of the streets of Fancy Soho, London. Happily humming a sweet tune of  ❛Crazy Little Thing Called Love by Queen❜  as I walked with each step of my feet as a sort of dance.

Halfway at my destination I swore I spotted a familiar vehicle parked a few feet away from...a very classy Bentley and a beautiful one too. A very similar now that you can remember. I then heard a horn going off as I walked halfway past it abruptly stopping as I did. I then stopped and looked at it closer.

❛Hmm....❜, I squinted a bit at it but then kept whistling and humming Queen songs as I did and occasionally a few classics like Beethoven,❛ It couldn’t be ....I’m just imagining things ,huh.❜

Then as I kept walking through a crowd of people, I could catch a glimpse medium and wavy flaming red and ginger hair walking between the crowd of people. Then while I was distracted, I bumped into someone causing me to stumble slightly. I then looked up and saw something that made my eyes widen slightly and my heart beat faster. The person had ginger flaming medium length hair that swayed freely with each step and wore Jet black glasses, a very nice combination of outerwear consisting a leather jacket and greyish black shirt and pants with very classy dark shining shoes. What made him stand out the most was unnoticeable hidden tattoo of a snake below his sideburn.

❛ Crowley !!❜ , I thought.

But before I could confirm my suspicions he was gone in a flash and I lost sight of him.

❛ That could’ve been any ginger head man.... Right?❜,  I thought as I made my way to the restaurant.

----------------------------------------------------------

This part one of the Prologue of my Good Omens Series on the next part we will maybe have an encounter with a lovely angel friend

I hope you enjoy~

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Dad Fluff: Ohana

A followup to this very short drabble about Mina drawing a family photo! 

CW: Vague references to Danny’s past torture, but nothing specific. Brief referenced to enforced malnourishment/near starvation.

“You’re officially obs-… obsessing,” Nate says softly, dropping onto the couch next to Danny, leaning over and tilting his head to try and get a better look at his face. “L-Love, talk to me. You’ve been looking at th-th-the picture she drew for… longer than can be g-good for you.”

“I wasn’t in the picture,” Danny whispers, still holding it in his hands. Looking at the stick-figure attempts to draw Nate and Mina herself and even Toto, a ball of black and brown squiggles with eyes. “I don’t know why, why she wouldn’t-”

“Danny,” Nate says seriously, taking the paper from his hands and turning it over. “You are the p-p-picture. Look at you, here.” He points, tapping his finger against the drawing with a soft crackling sound as the paper shifts in his hand. “You’re so… you are s-s-such the center of her life that she didn’t have en, enough room to draw you if you didn’t have your very own s-side.”

Danny’s lips press slowly together, and he nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “I never drew myself in, um, in the pictures, either,” He says, finally. “I used to draw Mom and Dad and Ryan on one side, and… and, um, then myself over in the corner or on another paper, because that’s how it felt-… sometimes I didn’t draw me at all…”

“Danny.” Nate set the drawing down entirely, laying it carefully on the coffee table, taking Danny’s hands in his. “Look at me, love. Please.”

Danny’s jaw is locked but trembling as he raises his eyes, slowly, to meet Nate’s.

They’re both older, and stronger, and Nate likes to think wiser, but Danny’s eyes are still the same. Bright sparkling blue, the only time in his life Nate has seen the color blue and called it warm. His freckles have deepened with time, rather than faded, and Nate lifts one hand to cup his face, rubbing a thumb slowly over an old scar on his cheek, feeling the shift in skin texture under his touch. 

“This is n-not that family.” Nate keeps his voice gentle but firm, not quite insistent. Danny nods, but he’s scared, and the fear shows through even when he tries to hide it. He’s never been a good liar, and he’s a worse liar with Nate. “I kn-know we all bring things from our childhoods-… but we are not your parents. And Mina is not Ryan, and she isn’t y-you, either.”

“It just felt like-”

“Like you weren’t part of us,” Nate says softly, and Danny nods. Nate sighs and slides his hand down Danny’s neck, over the hints of scarring there, then curves his palm around Danny’s shoulder, pulling him close. Wavy red hair tickles against the side of his neck as Danny’s tension collapses. “This is your family, Danny. We w-worked hard to build it. We… we worked so hard to get the fucking ch-chance to build it. This is our f-family. And you’re her whole world.”

“She drew my scars. She drew them in bright red, they’re what she sees, it’s all anyone ever sees, is what h-he left on me-”

“Ssssshhhhh. I know that was h-hard to see.” Nate closes his eyes, tries to remember what he and Dr. Rosa had talked about when it came to helping Danny through his dark moments, encouraging him to keep talking, to pull himself back. “Did you h-hear what she called them?”

“My… my pretty marks,” Danny whispers, and Nate begins to run his thumb on Danny’s shoulder through his long-sleeved shirt, thinking of doing this in Alberta, feeling the shift of bones under his thumb when Danny had so little weight at all. Now there is a gentle roundness, strength he’d rebuilt in himself year by year. “She called them pretty marks.”

“There. She didn’t see them as bad, D-Danny, she just sees them as part of you. The same way she calls that weird thing on your hip your ‘blue spot’.”

“It… it is an actual blue spot on my hip, though,” Danny says doubtfully. “I stabbed myself with a marker at the last group home before Mom… It is a blue spot.”

“And your marks are p-pretty to her.”

“I just… it hurts, to see me not in the picture again, Nate.”

“I know. But she’s n-not you. She didn’t d-d-do that because she didn’t think you belonged with us, but because she c-c-couldn’t fit how important y-you were when the rest of us were in the way.” Nate’s efforts are rewarded with a nearly-silent huff of laughter from the man in his arms. “I know it’s h-hard not to bring it with you… I sometimes want to g-go to confession and I haven’t b-been Catholic since I was s-s-seventeen…”

“What’d you confess to?” Danny asks, curling more against him, and Nate sighs with a kind of relief as he pulls him closer. “Just… sucking dick?”

“Yes.”

Danny blinks and pulls back, looking up at Nate with surprise. “Did you actually? To a priest?”

Nate grins, and watches Danny’s internal battle between his need to still be sad over the injury in his mind and the idea of a sixteen-year-old Nate Vandrum talking about blowjobs in the confessional booth. “Couple of t-t-times. Some oth, other stuff, too. I was a really bad C-Catholic.”

“If you did it and still went to confession, you might actually have been a pretty good one,” Danny says, and the two of them break up into relieved laughter, Danny’s hands splaying over his face not to hide his scars but just to hide his smile.

“Danny, you are M-Mina’s family. You’re w-w-with her every day, all day-”

“-Except during Mom’s Morning Out, which, I really wish they’d change the name of that fucking group-”

“… let me finish, D-Danny. Mina wants for nothing. She is warm, and fed, and educated, and clothed, and l-l-loved.”

“I was most of those things,” Danny says, softly, but he’s coming back, Nate can tell. Pulling himself out of the spiral inside his mind, starting to feel more present, less like he slipped beneath the surface of a dark pool. 

“You were some of th-them all of the t-t-time, but you never had them all, all of the t-t-time. And she does. You were the one who brought up adoption, you are the one who taught her the alphabet, you were the one to d-d-decide we weren’t going to watch those episodes I d-d-downloaded of Mister Rogers any longer and we’d let her watch s-s-something made in the last ten years-”

“I still watch them,” Danny says, softly. At Nate’s raised eyebrows, he shrugs. “Call it my confession. Forgive me, Father, for I have watched educational children’s programming from the eighties-”

“Hey, now. Some of us recovering Catholics like the ‘Forgive me, Father’ stuff, but… I’m n-n-not one of them.”

Danny flashes him a bright smile, and Nate feels an absurd sense of victory. He wants to raise his hands in triumph. He settles for pulling Danny in for a kiss. 

“Sorry, Professor,” Danny murmurs against his mouth.

“Now, see, I l-like you calling me Professor…”

Danny laughs, softly. “Put your tie and jacket on and I’ll take it right back off you again, Professor Vandrum. But… I… I get it. She drew me bigger than everyone else because I am important. And she probably thought, since it’s the same paper, that it still counted as being all together…”

“Kids tend to d-d-draw themselves larger than they really a-are, compared to other people,” Nate says softly. “If they feel secure, and s-safe. You saw how big M-Mina drew herself.”

“Right. Bigger than you,” Danny says, blinking, looking back down at the paper. “And I was the biggest person.”

“I h-hate admitting this, but you’re the one she g-g-goes to first when she’s scared, or hurt, or has a n-nightmare or feels sick to her stomach. You’re the one she asks for juice and ah, applesauce. That’s all you, Danny. You’re not part of our family, you are our family. We built every single thing we have because of you. You chose me-”

“-… was made for you…” Danny murmurs, and then stops when Nate shakes his head.

“No, love. You chose me, and didn’t l-let go. You chose to say y-yes when I asked. You chose to agree when Mina’s birthmom liked us in our profiles. You chose Toto at the H-Humane Society, you chose every single thing we are. You built your own f-f-family, love, and she can’t picture us without seeing you as b-b-bigger than everyone else.”

Danny nods slowly, rubbing at his face, at his eyes, leaning over to rest his elbows on his knees. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“I know this is hard for y-you, love, and always will be, but… this is your family. You, and I, and Mina… and Toto… and, fuck, even your brother.”

Danny’s smile widens. “What do you think he’ll say if I send him a photo of what Mina drew and tell him she called them ‘pretty marks’?”

Nate shakes his head, leaning over to hold Danny’s face in one hand again, kissing his forehead, feeling the worry-wrinkles smooth under his mouth. “He’ll say, ‘it’s ab, about time someone other than Vandrum and I noticed you’re gorgeous’,” He says, softly.

Danny snorted. “He’s never called me gorgeous in my life or his.”

“Not to your face.”

Danny’s smile is infectious, and Nate pulls him in for a kiss knowing the tightrope has been walked, they’ve cleared the worst part of the shadows that threatened to sink their claws in - at least for now. 

They’ll have this conversation again, in a hundred different ways, every time something pushes Danny towards the fears and worries built by a lifetime of having to earn the love that should have been his birthright. They’ll have it every time Danny is reminded or forced to relive years spent desperately trying to earn the mercy of a man hellbent on his slow, inexorable destruction. 

But they have the foundation. They’ve laid the path, together. When one of them falters, the other holds the weight, until they can find their own way out. That is their marriage, and has always been, and will always be.

That is Danny’s family.

“It’s sm-small, and b-b-broken, but we made it ourselves,” Nate murmurs, and Danny lets out a peal of surprised laughter, loud enough that Nate shushes him, worried about waking Mina so soon after she’s fallen asleep. 

“Did you just quote Lilo and Stitch at me?”

“No.” Danny raises an eyebrow, and Nate puts his hands up in surrender. “I quoted it to m-myself!”

“No, it’s fine, I like that movie, you know I do.” Danny slides arms around his waist, holding him tightly. 

After a few beats of silence, Danny says softly, “Ohana means family, Professor Vandrum.”

“Family m-means nobody gets left behind.”

[whatta-babe]

When Life Gives you Lemons| Peter Parker x Gender Neutral Reader

WARNING: THIS IS SET POST-ENDGAME! CONTAINS SPOILERS SO READ WITH CAUTION! Also, super mediocre writing, so I’m really sorry.

Summary: It’s hard trying to go back to the way things were before the Snap, but hopefully with Ned and MJ’s meddling, Peter can start coping and even be happy again. Maybe the dog named Lemon and her pretty owner can help with that...

As much as Peter tried, he couldn’t quite get used to his new life. How could have the five hours he was gone really be five years?

Losing Tony was even harder for him. His father figure and role model was now gone for good. Sure Happy was trying, but it would never be the same. No one could ever rival Tony’s personality, jokes, teasing, nicknames, aura. The only one who came close was Morgan, and he was excited to see how she would turn out to be. Luckily, Pepper and her would drop by once a week or so to catch up.

A week after the second Snap, school resumed as if it had never even stopped, but the world around Peter had changed. With half of the world population gone it wasn’t like there were any technological advancements or anything but still. For example, his chemistry teacher had grown significantly wrinkled and gray- not from just age but with the grief of losing everyone he loved.

And Aunt May, oh god, it was impossible to imagine what she had to go through in those five years alone- first she had lost Uncle Ben and them her precious nephew, no, son. That had been a very tearful and unforgettable reunion.

At least the teen had MJ and Ned. With them, Peter could almost pretend that everything was normal, that he wasn’t falling apart inside, but they noticed that he was not the cheerful naive little nerd they knew and loved. And when it became clear that their dear friend still wasn’t adjusting to their new reality, they did what any concerned friend would do: put up a Facebook ad to find some cheap one-on-one dog therapy sessions. What? They had been all over the Internet before the Snap!

They knew that Facebook was an old people site, but one has to admit, word travels fast there, and so two days later, there was no surprise when a promising application came in.

Y/N L/N was a sixteen year old just like them, and while their dog wasn’t technically an official emotional support animal, they were offering a super affordable price. Ned booked two sessions a week for one month to start out- he had to see where it was going to go before booking more. He was really hoping that it would- one, because he wanted his best friend to feel better, and two, because-

“Not gonna lie, that puppy’s hella cute. I would totally steal it.” This type of praise from MJ was unprecedented.

Ned couldn’t help but agree. “I texted May and Old Captain America for permission- which I still can’t get over. How is he still so handsome when he’s practically one hundred years old?”

“Focus, you dweeb!”

“Oh- right, right- sorry. Hmm- yeah. The first session is in two days, so now we just need to somehow get Peter to the Avengers’ Compound 2.0 without being too sus or him figuring it out. It definitely would have been easier if we could do it at a park, but he needs some peace a quiet for this type of thing, you know? The dog owner won’t be too questioning about the location, right?”

Thus, operation “When Life Gives You Lemons” commenced. MJ, being the clever and sarcastic girl she was, had come up with the name- the dog’s name was Lemon.

Somehow, some way, Ned and MJ managed to get Peter to Upstate New York without him getting suspicious. Well…

“Where are we going, guys? To the Avengers’ Compound? Why would we be going there? Happy would have texted me to let me know if I had to come up-” The poor boy was squeaking himself into a frenzy.

After many more anxious questions (which received no answers to Spider-Man’s great annoyance), the three teens finally arrived, and it was just after they got out of the car when Ned put his hands on Peter’s shoulders.

“Look, bro. You’re my best friend, so you must be dumber than Jar Jar Binks if you think that I, your Man in the Chair and most amazing guy on the planet, didn’t notice that you were really struggling. You should have told me, Peter.”

The boy being scolded could only look down in shame. “I know. I should have… I’m sorry.”

“No hard feelings. Just talk to me next time.” Their “secret” handshake sealed the promise.

“This is tooth-rotting stuff, dorks, but there’s an appointment that can’t be missed.” Of course MJ decided to interrupt the moment. This was totally the opposite of the pain and suffering she loved to witness.

“Wha-” A dog’s bark cut through Peter’s confused exclamation.

The friends looked around to find a gorgeous teen jogging slightly towards them as a puppy pulled on the leash.

Once there was only a twenty yard gap between them, the newcomer released their grip on the leash and therefore released the only thing between the group and the hyper dog.

Lemon's brindle colored fur blurred into a streak of brown and black as she galloped towards them. On instinct, Peter kneeled to the ground with his arms open, and not 2 seconds later, she was in his arms, yapping happily as she licked and nipped at his chin in delight.

Peter giggled his cute little giggle as Ned and MJ quietly began to walk to the compound in order to let him be alone with Y/N and Lemon. It was only after they stopped in front of him that he looked behind him for support and found his friends gone.

He gazed up at you, but due to the harsh sunlight coming from above, all he could see was a halo of light as the rays hit the hair surrounding their face a creating a shadow that obscured their features.

Oh right! You have to introduce yourself, you idiot! "Hey! I'm Peter Parker." He clumsily stood up after putting the jumping dog to the ground.

His heart stuttered in his chest when he finally made eye contact with the stranger. He has never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. Sure he was Spider-Man and had amazing vision, but he hadn't been paying much attention to anyone but the dog when they were initially walking over. It was only now, face to face, that he could see them clearly.

~~

You're body tingled at his stare, and you stuttered a soft hello before introducing yourself. You had not been expecting to see such a handsome boy, and you ached to thread your fingers through his wavy brown hair.

~~

A hacking cough interrupted both teens’ daydreams, and they looked to down to see the pup chewing away at the grass. With a clear tsk of disapproval from her owner, Lemon stopped immediately, and they took this as their moment to explain what the situation was because Ned had let them know of the surprise part of the situation.

"This is Lemon, my 3 month old Dutch Shepherd, and your friends hired me to bring her here for a little bit of puppy therapy. Do you know what that is?" Peter's nod prodded them to continue. "For sessions of one and a half hours, two days a week, you can play with Lemon, hold her, talk to her, pet her, let her lay on top of you, anything like that. I always say that she loves strangers more than she loves me, and I can already tell that she’s obsessed you." Like me.

~~

As a hopeless romantic you always wanted to believe in love at first sight, but the realist in you constantly nagged against it. But here this was, a feeling that you had never felt before, to the boy that was a stranger.

But you weren't going to let go of him easily. No, you had one month's worth of appointments that had been booked, and you were not going to waste any time in wooing him.

~~

Peter was sure he was in love with this angel, and he was convinced that (eventually) he would win you over with his adorkable personality. His strategy? He could definitely use this dog as a way to both cope with the changes that coming back from the Snap brought and connect with her owner too. You know, when life gives you lemons...

[fiery-assassin-arc]

𝒥𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝐸𝓃𝓉𝓇𝓎: 𝑅𝑒𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓉𝑜𝓃

Triggering content under the cut: emotional abuse, physical abuse.

Remington Asher.

Age: 19 (MKX), 23 (death)

Hair: Curly and Black.

Eyes: Hazel (Outworlder), Red eyes (when angered).

Height: 6'4 approximately.

Weight: 145lbs.

Abilities: Shadow manipulation, Darkness manipulation and shadow generation.

Species: Outworld-demon hybrid.

He is cunning, charming and cold, lying his way into nobility. A Lord with his family consisting of his sister and mother. From the moment he drew breath, he knew what he was capable of. With a devilish smile. His father, a demon from the Netherrealm, “died” two years after his birth. He was raised by his mother, a Outworlder countess. Sweet and warm, she wanted him to be raised without succumbing to the influence of his father who whispered in his ear that he was destined to take what he wanted.

POWERS

As most Outworlders often have supernatural ability, his mother did not have any to pass over. His father, however, did. Powers to manipulate the darkness and shadows around others. As a child, he was able to blend in the darkness, appearing to scare his mother at times. It didn't scare him when he was able to hide in the shadows, he found absolute comfort in the fact. In a way, he believed he was closer  to his father.  His mother did say to him, “Your father always liked the darkness so much, so much that fire was something he despised.”  

His powers over manipulating shadows occurred at the age of 14, when he had gotten into a fight with his little sister.  They got into an argument. She insulted him for being born of a demon, while she is fully-blooded Outworlder, and Remington, angered by the fact, crafted a knife made out of pure shadow and stabbed her in the shoulder, darkness slipping inside her body. It made her ill and tired for days.  When he kills others or senses a kill, he can feel their soul leave this realm and pass to the Netherrealm.

PERSONALITY + LIFE

,Remington's title was able to get him into the deeper part of royal politics to get close to the Kahn as part of the royal court,. So he was there for it all. Mileena's rise to the throne , and Kotal's coup to usurp the throne.  He once aided Mileena, but then chose to be with the Osh-Tekk.

He has always been one for getting what he wanted, and that's not just because of his title.  If it had anything to do with power, appearance, anything,  he uses his charms and silver tongue to have things work in his favor. He has a need for control, to have things go his way.  Clothes ironed where there is not a single wrinkle in the fabric, hair combed to the right to accent his face,  everything to standard. If it is not up to his idea, he will ensure that it is perfected.  

ROLE IN IRIS'S LIFE

While Remington was aware that he may not live forever, he knew that there some secrets from other realms. Such as Sorai when it was merged, known for inhabiting dragons.  Hybrids together can make someone practically immortal. But Remington wanted to know the secrets to their longevity, not just for himself but for Kotal's  soldiers during the rise of the civil war created by Mileena, the former Kahnum.  So, upon finding out the young princess was looking for a betrothal, he sought out the opportunity, even if she was at the bottom of the royal food chain.  

“She is, by far, the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. Fair skin decorated with freckles the color of cinnamon, wavy hair red as the flames I know she inherits. A voice as melodic as a symphony. And her eyes, so bright, it's if you are staring  into hell itself. And her personality, too. It's too . . . wild. Innocent. Ah, she's perfect. Perhaps she's the one who knows.” - Remington seeing Iris for the first time

At first, Remington only “liked” Iris for the assumption she knows something about Soraian lifespan, putting up the act that he is genuinely interested, going through the typical stages of courting, flowers, compliments, taking her to events. But then he noticed things about her, her beauty, her attitude, the crown. The Crown. Sure, being  a part of Kotal's Kourt is well fun and all, but nothing compared to having the secrets of a long forgotten race, have this kingdom of the last of the Soraians, dragons.

He realized that he could shape her to his image of the perfect bride. She's young, so her mind could be easily warped to fit his design. She'll agree to him, listen and love him. If she showed her defiance, responses would be anger lacing his tone, or fierce grabbing by the arms or face, leaving thumbprint-shaped bruises on her skin to get his point across, sometimes using his powers to amplify the pain.  And during their courtship, to public eye their relationship looked like the perfect power couple, but alone with Iris, he scolded,  mocked her. Chose her outfits, limited her interactions with friends, dismissed her choice of clothing and opinion, made her choose when to be quiet.  Chipped the pieces away that made her the strong and confident type, into someone  who had low views of herself.

As things were getting serious, with Iris losing parts of what made her who she was prior to meeting him, he planned how to have the kingdom all to himself.  But first, he needed what he came here for: the secrets. Believing Iris was lying to him, he hired Kano to beat the information out of her when he finishes planning his attack on the palace.  If, by some miracle, she'd survive, he'd make her his bride with her now conquered kingdom. Then her friend Mia stumbled on his meeting coming to an end with the assassins, and eliminated her from the picture to keep her quiet. Her death drove Iris closer to him, where he further continued to make her into his design.  When the palace was attacked and she was supposedly 'dead,' Remington began to obsess over her, thinking of how a beautiful queen she would have been, and how she will belong to her always.

So, months later upon hearing of Iris's return, he grew enraged. He expected her death to happen should she not have anything to say, but he did picture alive for months. Remington decided, after arranging a meeting with her in the throne room, to reveal what he had done, saying it was for his own interest. She was easy prey; and he didn't expect to like her, much less love her to a point she infects his waking thought.

“Marry me. Marry me, and your family will be free. You'll be safe.” He whispers ever so sweetly that it tastes like venom. “No one will hurt you. You will be my Queen. If not, you'll be executed for abandoning your kingdom.” - Remington.

After throwing her into the dungeon for her kicking him in the chin, he attempted to convince her to marry him or she would die at the first sign of dawn. Her family, her life would be spared if only she just agreed, and it should have been so easy. But Iris refused, no matter what he said, even when he choked her, nearly cutting off her air with his thumb at her windpipe. As she rejected him once again, he arranged for her death, until she tried to escape the very next morning.  Since she wanted to run, she'll die doing just that: running for her life. He sent her to the coldest region, not caring where, and two assassins to torment and kill her.

If he couldn't have her, no one will.

HER RETURN & HIS DEATH

“Son of a bitch.. How can she be alive? It's if I have to do it myself. However . . .  I am admiring the look. Muscle accents her arms, her face has lost the baby fat. The bangs on her forehead are swept to the side, exposing the scar I gave her. Her eyes are more beautiful since I've dreamed of them late in the night, and there's something about them. Vibrant red hair is turned into a braid, resting on her shoulder. She is so beautiful.” -Remington

When Remington saw her again after three years, he was completely enamored with her, and surprised by her saying she would marry him within a month's time.  That she had said she loved him, would be his wife, even mentioning her fallen family. Which weren't really fallen, much to his chagrin. When he was waiting for the assassins to come back, his mother and sister had apparently freed her family from their prison and had them in Outworld. He didn't bother to go after them, since he managed to get some information on Soraian blood, how powerful it could be.

For the past 31 days, Remington was very pleased with the new Iris. She was more docile, calm,  demure, sweet. At dinners, breakfasts, lunches, she always gave him a smile, or occasionally  graze her shoulder against his. In public, she gave him kisses on the cheek. She was so agreeing to everything, while they planned the wedding. Finally, he had her in the shape he wanted her. This perfect bride, perfect wife. Until the day of their wedding, that is. Before they even said I do, there was a knife in his shoulder, ensuing a fight.

He was infuriated being fooled by her, not holding back with his shadows to attack her, using shadow monsters to hold her back while he attacked. He certainly didn't expect her to be trained in the arts of kombat, knowing how to evade and use her fire to slice through his creations. To even the playing field, he sent them to the Nether, in a dark area of the realm, where the shadows obey him. He had the advantage, not giving Iris a chance to get a strike in before he had her on the ground.

“Doesn't this bring me back... Oh, that's right. That's the face your little friend made before she met the fatal blade. Guess you two were like sisters, after all. A shame, my Rainbow. You would have been an amazing queen.”

He leaned down, pressing a b l o o d y kiss against her lips, inhaling as he formed a knife out of pure darkness. But before he could do that, Iris slammed her skull against his, and retaliated with wave of fire coming towards him, knocking him flat on his ass. When she dug her hands into his chest, he screamed out, trying to stop her, screaming that she will regret it. The last thing he saw was her clutching his still beating heart in her hands with a sadistic smile.

Even though he had died, Remington's words and actions upon her still impacts her on a daily basis. Giving her  insecurities about herself, confidence doesn't seem to be strong. Occasionally, she will rub a scar above her right eyebrow, where he hit her with his shadows. It is the only place on her body that feels cold. He made her extremely cautious to expose her heart to others she feels a romantic connection to, fearing they would use it against her. Nightmares will plague her in the night, of him coming back to life, choking her, finishing the fight she started. After his death, she feared her own shadow, thinking he could hide in them.  

[urbigbiddygothgf]

Rolling snake eyes

Roman stood beside his twin, mother, and father near the throne as all the wealthy lords and ladies danced and talked. It was their birthday, their eighteenth birthday. Excitement rushed through his veins as many royal families came to greet the young males on their special day.

"Roman, Patton, you should go dance. Meet new people," His mother, the queen giggled.

"Maybe even a bride." His father chuckled. The smile slowly faded from Roman's face as he nodded, excusing the next family about to greet him. Patton gulped, and quickly rushed after his brother.

"Ro, where are you going?" Patton asked, noticing his brother was making his way outside and into the garden.

The prince stopped, and inhaled. The moon so bright that the prince's shadow told it's own tale.

"He's not coming back, is he?" Roman whispered over his shoulder. "Virgil's not coming back.. I don't know why I bother." Roman sighed, continuing to walk along the stone path. Patton followed behind.

"Roman-"

"Two weeks. Two weeks since he told me he had important business to attend too, Patton. He just, left. I don't know why I actually thought he'd come back, why I ever convinced myself I would see his face again." Roman spat out like venom.

"Roman please, stop." Patton pleaded as he grabbed hold of his twin's wrist, his eyes landing on their identical birthmark. "Virgil will come back, he has too. You just have to-"

"Believe?" Roman whispered, tears stinging his eyes. "I wish I could.. I-I really do, Pat. But you can't get everything you want by believing it'll just be there." Roman sobbed out as he pulled his arm back, and rushed back to the grand palace, leaving his brother alone near the fountain.

Patton's eyes were full of tears now as he hugged himself. He hated seeing Roman cry. Better yet, upset.

"Patton?" The prince turned around, and there stood Logan Scanaburr, palace sorcerer.

"Logan.." Patton sniffled as he fell into the man's arms, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. Logan almost fell back, but kept an arm around the prince.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Logan questioned.

"It's Roman.. why are you out here?" Patton sniffled. Loagn gulped.

"Do you remember Virgil's brother..?"

***

Roman made up an excuse to get out of the party early. He just wanted to cry. A good cry never killed anyone. He sprinted up the long spiral staircase and down the hall towards his bedroom. He opened the tall door and closed it, a sob escaping past his lips.

He completely left Patton alone out there, what a brother he is. Roman cursed himself as he made his way across the room and out into the balcony, looking out at the garden. In his view, he could see Logan walking Patton back into the party, which made him sigh in relief.

"Hey."

The prince gasped as he whipped around. His eyes must be deceiving him, because he sees Virgil. His tattered long coat with a stitched hood, black fingerless gloves, messy yet wavy hair. It was him.

"Woah-.. I-I didn't mean to startle you-"

Virgil gasped as Roman ran over and hugged him, quite tightly. His nose was buried against the pale man's skin, which caused him to chuckle.

Roman's eyes filled with tears as he met the others gaze, his heart pounding out of his chest as he stared into those gorgeous dark green eyes.

"You.. you came back-.." Roman sobbed, a big smile on his face.

Virgil smiled back, keeping the prince close.

"Did you actually think I would miss your birthday? What kind of person would I be?" Virgil laughed. Roman's heart melted. He missed his voice, his face, his smile.

"I-I missed you.." Roman mumbled, as he buried his face back against his friend's neck.

Friend.

Friend..?

Virgil made it so Roman was looking at him, so he placed two fingers under the prince's chin. "So did I.. my prince." He leaned forward slowly. "Happy birthday.."

Roman's eyes widened as a pair of chapped lips were pressed against his. His face turned all shades of pink as Virgil placed a hand on his hip, the other one placed gently on his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut as he kissed back, their lips moving in sync as he cupped the archer's face.

He was lightly pushed back against the balcony, Virgil pressing his whole body against the prince's, which caused Roman to gasp.

"Virgil-"

"Shh.." Virgil mumbled as he reconnected their lips. Roman lightly pushed him back, and gasped at the horror.

Virgil's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and yellow snake eyes glowed, also a long snake like tongue slipped past the grinning male's lips. Roman shoved him back harshly to the point 'Virgil' had completely fell back.

Before the male could regain himself, Roman stook a knife to his throat.

"Who are you?" Roman growled. The man smirked.

"Not Virgil, if that's what you're curious about. But may I say, you are one good kisser." The man said, dragging out the s.

Roman flushed red as he swiped the knife upwards, missing Virgil. The fiend behind the yellow eyes wore Virgil's skin, a fake. The yellow eyed creature kicked the prince in the stomach, making him winded as he fell against the balcony railing, inhaling harshly. Virgil grabbed at his ankles and dragged Roman across the balcony, hissing as he flared out his teeth to show the two sharp daggers and venomous saliva dripping from his teeth.

The prince kicked at the invader, grabbing hold of the bottom part of the door frame to stop being dragged away. The fake hissed violently as he slammed the balcony door shut on the prince's fingers, causing Roman to let out a cry and lose grip. The yellowed eyed creature started laughing as he straddled the prince to keep him still, placing his hand harshly under his chin to expose his neck. He wanted to plunge his teeth deep into the prince's neck, inject him with every ounce of his poison.

"St-Stop! You- You won't.. win!" Roman yelled as he fumbled for the knife out of arms length, but grabbed it and slashed a deep cut across the man's cheek. The creature hissed as he covered the wound.

"You little prince!" 'Virgil' growled as he started to choke out the prince, wrapping his hands harshly around the other's throat and squeezing. Roman fumbled to grab his wrist, a vile sound escaping his throat as the man gripped harder.

"Goodnight, Prince Roman.." The fake chuckled. Roman started seeing stars as the door slammed open, which resulted into the yellow eyed creature to looked over his shoulder. The prince eyes slipped closed as his breath was taken, shallow gasps being heard as he tried to get some air.

"Keep your hands off the prince." Virgil growled as he fired an arrow which went through the creature's shoulder. The fake Virgil cried in pain, and it morphed into some man with scales.

"Hello, Virgil." The man hissed angrily, covering the bleeding wound.

"Deceit." Virgil mumbled as he aimed another arrow at his brother's head. "Don't think because we're family I will not hesitate to murder you in cold blood and not feel bad." Virgil said under his breath. His eyes landed on the unconscious prince, which made his stomach turn. Virgil took three steps forward, his bow aimed higher to perfectly angle it.

"What did you do to him?" Virgil whispered, worry coating his voice. "Tell me! What did you do to him!"

Deceit smiled menacingly as he looked over at his piece of art laying on the floor. "Nothing."

"Did you bite him?"

"I said, I did nothi-"

"Did you bite him?!" Virgil hissed.

The man rolled his eyes. "No."

The two fell silent, Virgil keeping his bow raised high.

"Leave. Or I will shoot."

"Oh sweet little brother, you see, you won't do that." Deceit said. "And you know why? Because you love him. And you know in a snap of my jaw, I can inject him with poison, and we know how that'll end, don't we?" Deceit chuckled.

Virgil gasped under his breath. "You wouldn't dare. I won't let you lay a finger on him. Now I will not repeat myself, leave." Virgil growled. Deceit placed his hands up, as if surrendering. He turned on his heels towards the balcony, but ofcourse, the 'killer' always comes back for one more scare.

He threw a dagger at Virgil and grabbed the prince, quickly trying to drag him out onto the balcony. The archer dodged the blade and shot an arrow. Deceit was shot in the same shoulder, which caused him to let go of the prince to cry in pain. Virgil took out another arrow, but was to late.

His eyes widened in horror as his brother had morphed into snake form, and plunged his teeth into the prince's neck.

"NO!" Patton cried from the door. Virgil took a shot, but Deceit had slithered off the balcony, out into the night. Virgil shot around as he saw Patton's eyes filled with tears. He ran over and fell to his knees beside his brother's body. Tears and sobs escaped him as he placed Roman's head on his lap. Virgil stood there, speechless. In shock.

Logan gasped for air as he ran inside the room, his eyes landing on the crying Patton and unconscious Roman. Then Virgil.

"Oh no.." He sighed. Virgil was shaking.

"Logan I-.." The sorcerer walked right past him and kneeled beside Patton, whispering. Patton's face said it all as Logan lifted him to his feet.

"No... no- no! He's not gonna die! L-Let me help him!" Patton sobbed and he tried to get out of Logan's iron grasp. "Let go of me! He's my brother, my twin, my blood! Unhand me! Logan, stop it!! Let me go..! L-Let me go.." Patton felt weak as Logan carried him to the side, shielding his eyes away from the body.

Virgil teared up as he slowly walked over, falling to his knees. Tears fell as he placed a hand on Roman's cheek, his skin still warm. He placed the prince's head on his lap, carding his fingers through the soft wavy chestnut hair.

"I should've never left.. we could've avoided this-.." Virgil smiled sadly. "You.. stupid egotistical prince, why did you have to go and make me fall in love with you?" Virgil choked back a sob.

"You know I-I can't let you die.. so that's why," Virgil closed his teary eyes, and once they opened again, purple snake eyes appeared instead of dark green ones. "I have to do this.." He adjusted himself so Roman was laid out on his lap. Virgil moved hair out of the prince's face, his veins glowing yellow through his skin. Virgil clutched his eyes shut, and bit down.

Patton gasped and Logan was shocked. All this long, all this time, there friend was.. this.

Patton couldn't watch somehow, even though he knew Virgil was just trying to save Roman, but to see his friend pierce his teeth in his brother's skin- Patton hid his face against Logan's chest, not wanting to see.

The sorcerer's mouth hung open, in awe and shock. Virgil squineted as the vemom passed over his tongue, with a mixture of blood. He popped off of Roman's neck, wiping his mouth. Virgil lifted Roman's head, examining the relaxed features of his face. A sob escaped as he took hold of his limp hand.

"Wake up.. please? Y-you have to get up, Princey.. so many people will miss you." Virgil looked over at Patton. "I'll miss you. So goddamn much.." He breathed out as he connected their foreheads. His structure started to crumble as a few sobs escaped his mouth. He broke down over Roman's body, mumbling apologies for leaving him.

"I'm sorry.." He mumbled placing a kiss on Roman's parted lips, sweet and full of pain.

Patton gasped under his breath as he saw Roman's hand twitch from the grasp of Virgil's, but squeezed his hand lightly.

Virgil gasped as the pair of lips kissed back, ever so gently. He cupped the prince's face, his tears falling onto Roman's cheeks. They departed with breathy laughs. Roman raised his hand to push the bangs out of Virgil's face, and was met with his purple eyes. The archer hid his face in shame. The prince made the archer look at him.

"You're beautiful.." He whispered, a weak smile grazing his lips. Virgil scoffed, placing a kiss on the prince's temple.

"And you're my prince.."

[anuschkalova]

No Words Needed (Newt x Reader)PART 1

A/N: Okay, so here is the Newt x artist!Reader series. Most of you voted for this story and I’m glad you like the idea. So to sum it up briefly: Reader is an shy artist who lives in London, but has a hard time becoming successful. However, through an incident she meets Newt and his friends and gets the opportunity to draw the illustrations for his book. Newt and reader grow fond of each other and spend a lot of time together. But after the celebration of his published book, something happens that gets them apart...

Enjoy! :)

Pairing: Newt Scamander x artist!Reader

Words: 1,679

Part 2  Part 3 Masterlist

A sigh escaped your lips at the sight of the endless numbers on the papers.

It was the end of the month, and the bill of utility cost came on the dot, as always. You in comparison weren't a great example as you trended to pay not punctually. It was a miracle that your landord hadn't kicked you out yet, but maybe the old woman believed in you becoming an famous artist so she could preen herself with your glory.

You snuffled at the thought, letting yourself fall on your couch.

Today was a rather bad day. And you had a lot of these latley. To be more accurate, since 54 days. That's how long since you had been moving to London.   Your head leaned lazily against the leather cushion, eyes observing the passing grey clouds. A sea gull fought against the storm, but lost. It was forced to take the other direction.

You turned your gaze away and focused on the canvas instead. Most of them were painted, others were still blank. You stood up and walked over to the little table next to the entrance door. There was a bag with freshly baught paint inside.

You were so excited when you had spotted this striking navy blue colour in your favourite shop this morning. Of course you had to buy it, the shop-owner gave you an all knowing smile as you walked away with the purpose to use it immediently.

But as you arrived home you were greeted by those blocked out bills.

Being an artist wasn't easy in a big city like London. The market of successful selling paintings was huge, the chance of becoming one of them was very low.

Tiny paws tiptoed quietly over your wooden floor, the soft noise making you look up. You smiled at the black cat who eyed you curiously.

“Maybe I should start painting you... You are a very beautiful cat, ain't you?”

The cat meowed, rubbing her furry head against your leg and jumped elegantly on the window bench.

“Just think about it, okay?” You opened the window and the cat disappeared into the the grey, cold fog called London.

You took a deep breath, the fresh air filling your lungs. It blew the negative thoughts a little away. You still felt down, but that was nothing a hot chocolate could fix. So you grabbed your cout, keys and bag with your most needed belongings.

...

You had discovered this nice little café a while ago. Even though it had a shabby look from the outside with the cracks and squeky plaque that was being rocked by the wind, the inside was quiet charming. The door-bell announced your entering and you lowered your head as some curious eyes landed on you.

You took a seat close to the door with your back against the wall. It was the perfect spot for observing people. The waitress took your order and you used the waiting time to study discreetly the guests. A lot of them were familiar, but one face caught your attention. It belonged to a blonde woman. She was sitting on a table with two people, a woman and a man, both sitting with their backs to you. The blonde woman however sat opposite of them.

Your hot chocolate arrived and after you thanked the waitress you pulled out your sketchbook and pencil. You waisted no time, starting to draw the woman. Her smile was so warm and full of sympathy as she talked to her friends. Her short wavy hair bounced feathery as she shook her head laughing. You tried your best to capture her beauty. It was refreshing to witness such a bubbly personality among this stiff faces.

You didn't notice the door-bell. Your pencil shooed over the paper with precise strokes, adding shadows to give your drawing depth. You were so consumed by your doing that you let out a little scream when someone bumped into you. Your sketchbook dropped on the ground and the stranger apologized.

“So sorry, Miss, I was in a hurry.” The man was out of breath, cheeks reddened from running. You just nodded and avoided eye-contact.

“It's okay, no harm done.” You reached out for your sketchbook, but the man was faster. He picked it up and your heart stopped beating for a second.

He stared at the drawing and it only made you more nervous. He must be thinking you were a total weirdo, drawing strangers in a café. But as you tried to come up with a sentence, the man grinned widely. You frowned.

“Hey, Queenie! Darling! Look at this!” He yelled, making you wish the ground would swallow you up. The blonde woman looked over to you, causing her friends to turn around as well.

“She drew you! Ain't it beautiful?” The woman eyed the sketchbook that the man wiggled excited in the air. The other woman, who had the same haircut but in a dark colour, smiled and turned fully around. The man next to her kept his position, his eyes peeking over his shoulder, wandering between you and your sketchbook.

People started to whisper, some giggled and some followed the incident with an amused expression.

It was too much for you. Without saying anything you grabbed your bag and left the café behind with your sketchbook and untouched beverage.

You heard somebody screaming after you, but your feet didn't stop. You just had to get away. The possibility of confrontation scared you and after all, you didn't ask for permission to draw her. So, instead of facing the most likely consequences, you ran away. You hated yourself for doing it, but it couldn't be helped.

You were grateful that your apartment wasn't too far away as your legs started to hurt. Panting, you heaved yourself up the stairs, grabbing your keys from your pocket.

You smashed the door behind you, threw your bag on your couch and laid down on the floor. The cold surface was cooling and felt wonderful against your heated skin. The running had exhausted you, but it was much needed to release the anger.

“Why am I like this?”, you asked into the silence, fully aware that there won't be a response. But when somebody knocked on your door it made you jump up on your feet.

You looked over with wide eyes and held your breath. Nobody ever visited you, simply because you hadn't made friends yet. It was silent again, so you tiptoed a little closer to investigate who was standing behind your door. Maybe it was the police? The woman must have complained about you and now you were in trouble. As you were just a meter away from it, the knocking came back.

You flinched, pressing your hand against your mouth to hush any noises.

“Excuse me? Hello?”, a male voice spoke with an heavy british accent. He didn't sound like a police officer, the way he talked was too... unsettled.

You debatted wheter you should open the door or not, but in the end you decided to face your fear and grabbed the doorknob.

“Hello”, you greeted the stranger through the crack in the door. He seemed reliefed and offered you a crooked smile.

“Hello. I am really sorry to bother you, but could I come in for a second?”, the man asked and as you'd guessed, his whole body language was unsettled. This eyes went everywhere except yours, and he held a brown leather case in his hand.

“S-Sorry, but I'm not interested...”

The man met your eyes, surprised. He followed your gaze and the realization hit him as he looked down on his case.

“O-Oh no! No, I don't intend to sell anything to you. I'm just... hold on...” He fumbled with one hand into his long blue coat and held something familiar out: your sketchbook.

That's when you regonized him. He was sitting at the table with the woman that you drew.

Amazed, you took it.

“Thank you, but... how did you know that I live here?”

A quiet “Oh” escaped the man's lips as he lowered his gaze, the messy long fringe hiding his embarrassed smile.

“I may have followed you. I didn't want to scream after you and potentially scare you. I'm sorry.”

He peeked through the curtian of hair to catch your suppressed grin.

“Don't worry, it's okay. I am the one who should apologize.”

You bit on your lower lip, feeling ashamed for your behavior at the café. The stranger looked up at you, his expression puzzled, as if he had no idea what you were talking about.

Then, he offered you his hand.

“Newt Scamander. Pleased to meet you.” He gave you a short smile that revealed his perfect white teeth. The wrinkles around his eyes let the freckles on his sun-kissed skin dance.

You took his hand. “Y/F/N Y/L/N. The pleasure is mine”, you said politly. You both shook hands and then you stepped aside. “Would you like to come in?” In your head, you begged that the stranger would refuse your offer, but luck wasn't on your side this day.

Instead, the man walked straight inside your apartment, nodded as he passed you.

He came to a halt in the middle of the living-room, his speedy eyes examined every corner. You felt slightly uncomfortable, but you pulled yourself together.

“Do you want some tea?”

“Ah, yes please!” You smiled shly and disappeared into the kitchen. You couldn't explain it, but this man behaved odd. As you fetched out two mugs from your cupboard you realized that you forgot to ask him which type of tea he preferred.

So you walked back into the living-room.

“Excuse me, Mr. Scamander, but do you prefer black or gre...-” You stopped as you caught Newt riffling through your bag.

His alarmed look met your surprised one.

You pointed at the door without a second thought. “Get out! Now!”

Part 2  Part 3 Masterlist

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BTHB: Grabbed by the Hair

New @badthingshappenbingo​ piece: @special-spicy-chicken​ requested: Bthb grabbed by the hair for Nate? 

Grabbed by the hair for Nate it is! Remember, bloodstain = requested, puppy sticker = fulfilled. Feel free to request off the bingo card or just, you know, anything - I’ve had requests for “please for the love of god let them be happy for six minutes”, “dog kennel/cage for Danny”, and my favorite ask so far “just please more Ashley please”.

Timeline: More than a year into Nate’s initial captivity with the Denners

CW: Knives, blood, forced shaving, manhandling, restraints, and some serious noncon-dubcon kissing and, uh, a bit more than that. Call it rated R? You have been warned/welcomed/disclaimed.

Tagging @bleeding-demon-teeth​ and @spiffythespook​!

“I really don’t see why I h-have to do this,” Nate says, testing the leather buckled tightly around his wrists, subtly pulling to see if there’s any give. There isn’t, but he didn’t really expect there to be. Instead, the leather digs hard into his forearms and only seems to tighten with every hint of struggle, forced back and behind him, the inside of his elbows digging into the chair. He had to push himself against the wooden back, posture uncomfortably straight, just keep from aching. “I am perfectly capable of sh-sh-shaving myself.”

Shit, where the fuck did the stutter come from? He can’t even remember exactly when it started, a few weeks, maybe a couple of months ago. Like some connection between his brain and his mouth had gotten interrupted, living here, wires crossed. Breathing their air, cooking their food, sleeping with Bram, lost in his eyes every single time and it felt like it took longer and longer to come back, after.

Something had been snapped, inside of him, and he struggles now to speak where it had always, always been effortless before.

But he tries not to think about before. Bram always says it only makes things harder to try and remember a life before him. It’s easier if he doesn’t remember how proud he was to get his first teaching job, the time he’d spent putting together plans for that very first semester… just easier to live like he never did anything but wait around to be chosen, to be found.

(what kind of life did you live before me? no life at all, baby, so just forget it)

It’s just easier, to think of it that way - and still, in the back of his mind, Nate wonders if he can ever teach again. If Bram would let him, maybe, if he promised he’d come back home every day…

Don’t do this - this isn’t your fucking home. Don’t start thinking of it as home.

“I need the practice,” Ashley says with a shrug. She’s been back from a hunt for a few hours and she’s lit up from the inside out like she’s walked out of a lightning strike, wearing tiny black pajama shorts and a black tank top that does nothing to disguise the scratches she’s covered with, wounds from someone trying to defend themselves right to the end. They’re littered across her shoulders and neck, one thin mark up the side of her face. Her hair hangs lank and unwashed, totally unlike Bram’s shimmering waves of white-blonde, but predator snaps and cracks around her in the air, the deepest base-instinct part of Nate’s brain begging him to find some way to run.

When she leans over to look at him, the hairs stand up on his arms and the back of his neck. His hackles go up, around Ashley, and Nate hadn’t even realized people had hackles like this before her. He’d never been such a slave to his instincts before, to what he used to disparagingly call his ‘reptile brain’.

Reptile brain - primate brain, all the long millions of years of ancestors and evolution - begged him to do something, anything, to get himself out of this.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I gave a man a good shave?” She sighs, mournfully, and her eyes are so like Bram’s but where things shift and move beneath the ice-blue surface in his, Ashley’s eyes are flat. Featureless. Empty.

If Bram’s eyes are a lake with monsters lurking just beneath, Ashley’s are a glacial desert where all the life has long since been desiccated and blown away in the wind. There might be bones inside Ashley, but nothing more.

“In general, or wh-where he survived the shave?” Nate is proud of the sarcastic note in his voice, his refusal to let his nervousness infect it. He settles himself back into the kitchen chair they’ve moved into the upstairs bathroom, eyeing the items laid out on the sink. It’d be a little reassuring if his ankles hadn’t been tied to the chair legs, at least, but no… he’s pretty thoroughly strapped down at this point, and he trusts Ashley Denner with a straight razor about as far as he can kick her.

Not that he technically wants to be anywhere near her, but with the two of them, he doesn’t get much of a choice.

Ashley snorts. “Oh, they rarely survived it. But they could have, if I had wanted them to. I just…” She waves one hand carelessly in the air, and Nate tries not to watch her fingers move. There’s always blood under her fingernails and ground into her knuckles, like a farmer’s hands caked in ancient dirt. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Nate says evenly. “I d-don’t.”

“You will,” She replies, a hint of irritation in her voice - but it’s a resigned, affectionate irritation, and he watches her eyes move to Bram, the indulgent smile on her face. “According to my brother, if he ever gets off his ass to dedicate you.”

“Not ready yet,” Bram says from behind him. “You know if they’re not ready, it doesn’t work.”

“Like me,” Ashley says, thinking, one bony narrow hip jutting to the side. There’s a flash of pale stomach were her tank top rides up, just a little, and Nate swallows back disgust at the deep fingernail scratches there, too - slowly closing up. By tomorrow morning they’ll be gone. “I wasn’t ready, and it didn’t work all the way.”

“Not like you, Ash. You were still ready. It still worked. Just… well. You came out of it just fine, right?”

“Did I?” Ashley’s eyes go down to Nate’s. There’s a flash of a smile, bright and shining, just like Bram’s smile but entirely devoid of the warmth, the affection, the love he gives. “Did I come out all right, d’you think, Nate?”

Nate doesn’t flinch away from her. Never flinch, they hate it when you pull away from them. Instead, he raises one eyebrow very slowly. It’s a skill he practiced over and over in the mirror, once upon a time. “That r-remains to be seen,” He says, and his voice is low and deep and perfectly even. It gives absolutely nothing away

Ashley’s smile widens, something dangerous and murderous there, and she spins to pick up the straight razor and leather strop. Nate lets out a breath of air all at once, telling himself he won this round.

“Ssshhhh, you’re okay,” Bram murmurs behind him, sitting on the edge of the old claw-footed tub. He’s perched there like some malevolent fucking pigeon in his own loose pants and shirt, feet resting on the spindle on the back of Nate’s chair, just below his hands.

Ashley and Bram might be dressed, but Nate has to be naked for the whole goddamn experience, apparently. Which he absolutely does not appreciate, especially not because when he looks up he can see himself in the mirror, the thinner face and shadows under his eyes, the bruises across his neck and body, bandages where Bram cuts him every fucking night.

If only he didn’t get so lost in Bram, lost enough to like it, he might be less ashamed of them.

“I know I’m okay,” Nate says softly, turning his head a little to catch the flash of clean, shining wavy hair behind him, the hint of Bram’s black shirt and pants, the curve of a shoulder. It’s all blurred in his peripheral vision, but still, he can see it well enough.

Bram’s presence is a constant cold along his back, the knowledge that he will melt away and fade, sooner or later, like he always, always does. But Nate turns his eyes back to Ashley, for now, and his mind stays clear.

Ashley slides the blade of the razor back and forth on the strip of leather, humming tunelessly to herself, and Nate finds his eyes caught on a particularly deep scratch that runs up her left arm, nearly from elbow to shoulder. “Wh-why did you l-let yourself get hurt like that?” He asks, and she pauses in her movements, a slow smile on her wide lips, nostalgic and starry-eyed when she turns to look back at him.

Schlip. Schlip. Schlip. The razor picks its rhythm back up, the sharp blade that will soon be at his cheeks, his chin, his neck.

“Because I was bored,” She replies, simply. “And starving. I let him think he had a chance, for a while. I like to play.” She sighs, dreamily, and Nate thinks of one of his students sitting in his office one day, sighing like that about one of the books he’d been teaching, thinking the hero was so romantic, and misunderstood, and Nate had thought to himself, Percy Shelley would have loved you. Briefly.

“When I’m done, I want him to cook me a steak,” Ashley says not to Nate himself but to Bram behind him. Schlip, schlip, schlip, goes the slow and steady rhythm of the razor on the strop. Nate tries not to listen, but feels something in him relax in relief - if she wants him to cook her a steak, she’s not going to kill him.

Not today.

“Mmmmn, when you’re done I need about forty-five minutes with him first,” Bram retorts, and Nate’s heart drops to his stomach, his eyes lowering to the tile floor. He’s scrubbed this grout for hours to get it clean after years of their mostly-benign neglect. “Then he’ll cook you a steak. He’ll be bloody, though.”

Ashley is silent, but Nate doesn’t look up, not this time.

“I like it bloody,” She says, finally. “I always like it bloody.”

“Mine,” Bram warns her, and one cold hand slides over Nate’s shoulder and down over his collarbone, fingertips skimming the line of the bone under his skin. His voice goes low and serious. Wolves fighting over an elk leg. “Not yours. He’s mine.”

“I meant the steak, of course, you jealous baby,” Ashley says with an affectionate sneer, and puts the straight razor down for the moment. She turns on the sink, and with a low gurgle of ancient pipes, the water starts to run in a constant, reassuring rush of sound as they wait for it to warm.

The main bathroom in this old house is halfway between the two largest bedrooms, right in the center of the hallway, just next to the staircase down to the first floor. Nate keeps it as clean as he can - Bram and Ashley don’t clean for themselves, and Nate had at first promised himself he wouldn’t turn into some kind of fucking servant, but that had lasted until he couldn’t take their squalor any longer.

Now it was all clean, which at least was reassuring, since he was pretty certain he wouldn’t die of an infection, even if he died of whatever they did when Bram lost this weird delusion he had that they were in some kind of relationship.

“Now, Nate,” Bram says in a voice that’s not quite a purr, right into his ear so he jumps at the sudden loudness of the sound. How does he move so fucking silently? “Ashley is going to give you a shave, with a straight razor. They used to do this way back-"

“I know,” Nate cuts in, his voice slightly softer for Bram than it is for Ashley. When Bram’s fingers graze the back of his neck and slide up into the back of his black hair, he swallows against the little shiver of pleasure down his spine, the faintest curl of warmth. Bram knows him by now, every inch of him, knows exactly where to touch and when and how much. “I know h-how shaving worked. I t-t-taught fucking 18th and 19th century lit, Bram. Historical context is k-kind of important. Everyone’s s-seen old-style shaving now, anyway, in Sweeney Todd or s-something.”

There’s a pause, and the arm over his chest tightens. Ashley shrugs, carelessly, her eyes on Bram behind him, and Nate finds himself laughing a little. The sound is a low, warm rumble pulled out of him against his will, and next to his ear he hears Bram hum a little in appreciation at the sound.

Nate doesn’t laugh very often, here. Not when his mind is still his own. When his mind is Bram’s, and he stops fighting the pull, sometimes he laughs all the time in the dark.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what Sweeney Todd is.”

Ashley frowns, turning back to the array of tools laid out on the sink, her back to him. There’s a scratch along one shoulder blade, a couple of bruises. They’ll heal up over the course of a day and be gone. Nate has seen it happen, over and over and over again. Small wounds simply disappear, like they never happened. But deeper wounds stick - Ashley came home with a bullet in her shoulder weeks ago and she’s still healing from that - and there’s something there he can use, if he can only figure it out.

“We don’t do a lot of popular entertainment,” Bram says, fingernails scratching gently into his scalp, soothing and pleasant. “Maybe you can take me out sometime, Nate. I’ll see a show with you.”

Nate goes still, mind working, and Ashley laughs at him. “Oh, don’t look so hopeful. You’d be lost the whole time. He’s not stupid. Now let’s get that shit off your face.” Her eyes, identical to Bram’s but somehow totally different at the same time, flick up to meet her brother’s just behind his head.

“I like him better clean-shaven,” Bram says, his voice low and sweet and Nate finds himself curling his fingers until his hands are fists, cuffed together behind the back of the chair. “Always have. I think he’s been refusing to shave just to bother me.”

“Honestly, Brammie, just make him.” Ashley flashes a sharp-toothed smile, turning to the sink to pick up a washcloth as steam began to show from the water running from the faucet, finally hot. She stuck her hand right under the flow of water, letting the washcloth soak it up. That was another thing Nate had noticed, and didn’t know if he could use - they didn’t seem to feel heat very easily, either of them. Dead nerves, maybe? He’s been here for a year or so, trying to figure them out, trying to decide how to escape, and slowly beginning to wonder if there would ever be a chance for that. “He’s yours, right? Just look him in the eye and tell him to shave.”

“Hm, tried that.” Bram’s arm tightens a little around his chest, almost defensively. “He’s not so good with dexterity when he’s like that. Cut himself pretty badly.”

“Oh.” Ashley pauses, chewing on her bottom lip in confusion, then brightens. “Oh! I remember that. I thought you did that to him. You know, like…” She gestures at the bandage across Nate’s shoulder, the newest one from last night.

(listen to you… you like that, huh?)

Nate turned his head to the side, trying not to feel the way his face reddened at the reminder.

(every second of the life you lived without me was a waste of your potential, darling, we’re going to make something special out of you)

“Sadly, no. You know I don’t want to fuck up my darling’s face, Ash. Come on, let’s get him shaven. You’re the one who said you wanted to do this. I’m the one letting you. So let’s get it done.”

Ashley grins like light glinting dully off a rusty, bloody blade. Nate holds perfectly still for her, letting her rub the hot washcloth over his chin, his jaw, up over his cheeks and down his neck. The cool air kisses the wet skin afterward, making him shiver, goosebumps rising up his arms.

Bram’s arm around him tightens, and the grip on his hair slowly pulls his head back and back and back, until he can see Bram looming over him, the gentle sweetness of his smile as he leans down to slowly kiss Nate’s forehead, lingering there for just a moment.

Nate closes his eyes before he can look right at Bram’s.

He needs to be in his right mind for this, but he couldn’t have said why. Being in his right mind never did him any good.

Ashley takes a small boar’s hair brush with a knobbed wooden handle that fit perfectly in the palm of her hand, the end somewhat pale with what Nate was beginning to think might be centuries of use. She holds that under the hot water, too, taking up her humming again.

“The solitary bird of night,” Ashley sang, in a cracked soprano, vibrato trilling in her throat like an actress from the 1950’s. “Through the thick shades now wings his flight…”

She dips the brush into a small bowl, swirling it around. Nate keeps his eyes closed, listening to the clink of the brush against the side of the bowl. He could picture it, because he’d tried shaving the old-fashioned way a time or two himself (with a safety razor, because he wasn’t a murderous psychopath), the way the soap lathers up in a rush of whitish liquid and tiny bubbles. The scent of something clean drifts his way.

“Brammie, will you do the honors?” Ashley asks as she turns back around.

Bram’s grip on his hair tightens even more and he’s bent over the wooden back of the chair, the back of his neck digging hard into the old, worn-smooth wood. His back arches as his throat is fully exposed to her, and Nate holds back a nervous whine, just barely swallowing it back.

The only sound he makes is a gasp.

“Hold still for my Ashley, okay, sweetness?” Bram presses a kiss to the side of his forehead again, as Ashley leans over him.

Too close, the predator is too close, the prey instinct in him is screaming. Run, you have to run, the predator is too close.

His hands yank hard at the leather cuffs again, he’s breathing in audible panting gasps, his heart pounding in his chest in a sudden burst of fear. Ashley smiles at him, leaning over and steadying herself with a hand on his leg, thumb digging hard into the flat space just inside his hip, ice-cold palm settling over his thigh.

Run. Fucking run. These are the wolves and you are the wounded deer. Run.

He can’t run. He’s tied to a chair in a bathroom in a home he woke up in one day with no idea where he is. He’s being held by a brother and sister who seem to bristle and brighten at his fear, who look at him with pinprick pupils, whose eyes will drag him down into the darkness with them.

She lathers his neck and face with the little brush, and Nate clenches his eyes shut, trying to keep breathing through his nose, while Bram’s grip in his hair just grows tighter and tighter. She won’t kill me, he won’t let her kill me was a comforting thought but it wasn’t like it didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him. God knew Bram hurt him all the time…

But usually Bram wanted him to enjoy it, and he is not being forced to enjoy this.

“He’s so scared already,” Ashley whispers playfully, bopping the end of his nose with the lathered brush, leaving a dollop of the white soap there. “I haven’t even started shaving yet. Hey, little man, what makes you so scared of me?”

Nate doesn’t answer her - there’s a retort in his mind, some kind of witty reply, but the connection between brain and mouth has been totally severed by the panic pumping adrenaline-soaked blood through his veins.

He doesn’t see her pick up the razor, but he flinches hard at the first pass of the cold blade, gentle as a whisker's brush from a cat, along his cheek, pulling his head to the side.

Ashley hisses. “Bad,” She snaps. “Hold still for me or this is going to get fucking bloody. Brammie, he knows the rules.”

Never flinch. Never pull away. Never flinch away from Bram or Ashley. Never pull away

Don’t flinch don’t flinch don’t flinch

“S-sorry,” He gasps out, as her thumbnail digs hard into his hipbone, a subtle, small flash of pain. A reminder. “Sorry, I f-f-flinched, g-g-give me a sec, I just, give me a s-second-”

“Sshhhh, I’ll allow it this time,” Bram murmurs, loving and sweet. His head aches where Bram is holding him but his fingers are so twisted into the thick black hair that Nate can’t possibly hope to pull himself free. “Breathe, baby. Breathe. There you go. Take it slow... slow and deep.”

"That’s what Nate said,” Ashley says gleefully, and she laughs, the shattered-glass sound, a broken echo of her brother.

“I really regret letting you watch that show,” Bram says, but there’s humor in his voice. “You’ve never stopped doing that since.”

“Oh, like you let me do anything,” Ashley snorts. “I do what I want. Now hold your fucking Prince Charming still or I’m gonna cut the shit out of him.”

“Will you hold still for my Ashley, now, Nate? Please, baby? Be good for me.” Bram coos the words more than says them, and Nate manages a silent, terse nod, letting Bram bend his head back again.

“I-I’ll be good,” He whispers, barely moving his mouth, words for Bram alone. “I can b-be good for you."

Bram hums, low in his throat. “I love you so much, baby,” He whispers just as the straight razor touches Nate’s cheek again. This time he holds still, he’s as still as a statue, as still as the bloody Jesus in the church when he was a child and his grandparents were still alive. Still as the saints at their weekly mass. Still as the God who never answered his prayers when he made them, and who seemed horribly dead and blind to him now.

Nate holds himself as still as the grave that waited, somewhere, for Bram to get bored of him.

Ashley lets the weight of the razor do most of the work, a gentle shave he can really barely feel, the blade only just touching his skin enough to shave off the stubble he had been stubbornly growing. His breathing starts, slowly, to calm.

Both cheeks, across his chin, just above his upper lip. Her movements are quick and expert, gentle as a lamb. The blade isn’t a cut, it’s a kiss.

Down his neck, and he tenses again, but his body is tired of trying to throw adrenaline at the problem and it’s easier to keep still this time. He focuses on the pull of Bram’s fingers in his hair, on the cold arm across his chest, on the thumb still digging hard into his hip.

Being naked felt vulnerable. Baring his throat to a fucking animal wearing a woman’s face feels worse.

She lathers him up again, takes another pass with the razor, slower this time. Taking her sweet, sweet time. And the longer it goes on, the more his heartbeat slows, the stronger he feels. Not so bad. It’s not so bad. She’s not hurting him, beyond the bruise he thinks will be on his hip in the morning from the pressure of her thumb.

Bram won’t let her hurt him, as long as he’s good. As long as Bram still loves him, he will get to stay alive.

Have to be good.

Stay alive.

Finally she steps back to grab the washcloth, washing the remaining bits of lather off his face and the end of his nose, surveying her work. “What d’you think, Brammie?”

Bram lets go of his hair and Nate gasps in relief, letting his head fall back forward. The arm is removed from his chest and Bram slips off the edge of the tub and comes around in front of him, the siblings standing side by side.

So alike, and totally different.

They cross their arms in front of themselves, and Nate fights back a hint of hysterical laughter at the image, looking at them from beneath the sweep of his hair, his chin still slightly tucked. Bram sighs and leans down, taking him by the chin and lifting it hard so he’s forced to look up.

Nate closes his eyes immediately.

He wants to stay here, as long as he can, in this place where he has his own mind.

“I think you did a great job,” Bram says after turning his face side to side, looking him over. “Didn’t miss a spot. You’ve always been so good at this, haven’t you?”

“I like razors.” Ashley shrugs and turns back to the sink. “Something wickedly sharp, right up against the blood under the skin. What’s not to like? I need to clean all of this. Take your boy and go.” She turns to look back at them, and catches Nate’s eyes. Something mocking is in her smile. “I’ll give you an hour, I’m a generous woman and I’ve decided to take a bath. Then I want my goddamn steak.”

“An hour it is.” Bram drops into a crouch, undoing the ropes that tie Nate’s ankles to the chair legs with quick movements born from long experience. Nate could kick him in the face like this, he thinks, but it wouldn’t do him any good and he doesn’t dare.

When he pulls Nate to his feet, he stumbles a little, but there’s an arm around him and a kiss to his damp neck, and Nate tilts his head back for it, swallowing hard against the curl of disgust and something darker deep inside him.

“She did a god job,” Bram whispers into his jaw, and Nate shudders. “Thanks, Ash.”

“No problem. Ugh, you’re disgusting with him, Brammie.” Ashley waves a hand at them, rinsing the brush out under the hot water again. “Get him the fuck out of my bathroom and go fuck him blind already.”

“I'm on it, big sister.” Bram laughs, barking and high-pitched, and Nate closes his eyes against the flinch he has to force down inside of himself, with all the other true feelings he has to hide, layered on each other like corpses in a plague grave.

“B-Bram, my… my wrists, will you m-maybe take the, the cuffs off?” He asks it softly, keeping his voice low and maybe a little flirty, the way Bram likes. If he can just have control over one thing, just one small thing, it’s easier.

Bram pauses, then the arm around him tightens. “No, baby. I want them on.”

Nate lets out a breath and slowly nods, looking down at the ground as Bram leads him out of the room. He's stumbling a little on legs that had fallen asleep while he was in the chair, pinpricks and static straight up his ankles as his feet were forced back awake.

“You want this, baby, right?” He blinks in surprise at the question, looking up, realizing only too late that it was a trick. Bram smiles as their eyes meet, and after a second, Nate smiles back at him.

Screaming in the back of his mind, hoarse and deafening, furious and helpless.

“You b-bet I do,” Nate breathes out loud, low with the sudden push of desire inside of him, and when Bram tilts his chin up for the kiss Nate moves forward first, pressing his lips to Bram’s, warm life to cold death, and he lets the dead thing take him, lets Bram pull him down the hallway by one arm, smiles when he’s shoved onto his back on the bed, arching his spine to try and take some weight off the arms still forced behind him and cuffed together with leather.

It’s easier, to let it take him, to let the dark things pull him under.

Just an hour.

It’s only going to be an hour.

He can go away for an hour, and that won’t be so bad. Then he'll come back again.

Bram on top of him is ice pressing down on his lungs, seeping under his skin, infecting every blood cell. There's a knee on either side of his thighs, a cold hand sliding up over his ribcage on one side, and Bram's mouth licks up his neck, trails of wet he blows cool air over that lights a heat in him, an electricity under his skin. Nate shifts under the attention, squirms a little when fingernails scrape over sensitive spots, press lightly against yesterday’s and last week’s bruises.

“Mmmmn, smooth,” Bram whispers as he kisses his neck, nips at the skin, teeth grazing just deeply enough for a hint of pain. Nate breathes in, holds for five, breathes out. His heart beats hard against his chest, but there’s no fear left, and his heart pounds for a different reason entirely now.

“Such a close, smooth shave,” Bram murmurs into the line of Nate’s jaw, and Nate swallows hard, pressing his hips up into Bram’s until the pressure is a warm rush of pleasure that shatters his thoughts, gives Bram an invitation for more. He pretends that he can’t hear the screaming trapped in the back of his own mind.

He pretends he is smooth, and cold, and empty. He pretends he is just like them.

Just for an hour.

And then again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. It stretches out ahead of him, endless days of this. When Bram picks the knife up off the bedside table and slips it into the skin along his collarbone, cutting him apart as easily as silk, he hisses at the pain at the same moment Bram bites hard into his neck and the cold hand slides down his hips and finds him hardening under the attention.

"L-look at me," Nate manages to whisper, not quite begging. "J-just look at m-me, Bram, first, please. Before you... before there’s more."

Bram lifts his head - and the pain and pleasure mix in him. When the ice eyes meet his, he can't tell the two apart any longer, and his hips buck to meet the seeking hand, the cold fingers, to ask for more even as warm blood trickles down his shoulder to soak into the sheets.

"Y-yes," Nate breathes. "Just keep looking at me. J-just like th-that."

"I love you, baby," Bram says, so sweetly, and the new slice along his collarbone bleeds and aches and Bram's hand moves and he is lost, he is so fucking lost.

Nate moans softly and smiles up at him, dazed and foggy and gone somewhere far within his own mind. "I l-love you, too, honey," he says, low and hoarse, his voice heavy and slightly thick.

One day I'm going to get out of this.

I just don't know how or if I'll be alive when I do.

"Please," Nate whispers, his hands clenched into fists against the sheets, cuffed together behind his back, Bram's hips moving against his. "Please."

"What, baby?'

"Just please d-don't stop looking at m-m-me when you hurt me."