#this is child's play. squeeze the soul out of him. at least knock the gun away.' goading him. you know?

[quietwingsinthesky]

anyway episodes that sam's psychic powers should have come back during. imagine him arguing with this 'i'm a real psychic' guy and then yanking his gun out his hand with his own powers. fully on accident but it happens.

now see there's some drama for him and dean! that would work! sam tried to hide his hallucinations but couldnt. but theoretically he could hide this. and he should! because his brother literally just went and killed a woman for being a little too on the monster side for his liking. for being so evil that she couldn't possibly change. and so if sam's powers came back now? sam's powers? that he has because he has demon blood? he would be so fucking sick with stress trying to hide that from dean.

because. you know. if dean's already jumping for a reason to 'deal with' sam because he's hallucinating, a thing he can't even control. then what else is sam supposed to assume will happen once dean knows about this?

[imaginenola]

Young and Beautiful

Dwayne Pride x reader

Words: 2,154

Warnings: angst, pure sadness

Notes: loosely based on the song Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey. this is the first imagine I’ve ever written so it might not be the best. also big thank you to @dwaynepride for helping me make this account & story a reality! thanks for believing in me (: also the spaces might be a little wonky, sorry! I worked really hard on this so please don’t steal it, all work is my own. enjoy!!

I’ve seen the world, done it all

Had my cake now

Diamonds, brilliant, in Bel-Air now

When you interviewed for a job at NCIS in New Orleans, you were a young and eager cop. Only a few years out of the academy, you had made more cases than most could make in their entire career. Your boss and partner both pushed you to apply after you expressed interest in NCIS. A few days after your interview, you received a call from none other than Dwayne Pride. You had been chosen for his team.

Hot summer nights, mid July

When you and I were forever wild

The crazy days, city lights

The way you’d play with me like a child

It began with slight flirting, just for fun. You never meant to get involved with your boss, but things soon escalated. You were both experts at keeping your work and personal lives separate. You two weren’t partners anyway, so for the most part, it was easy to not let feelings get in the way of doing your jobs.

A few months in, Pride asked you out for drinks after work. The two of you made your way to a jazz club, where you drank and danced and drank some more. Pride twirled you around and around until you had no memories of what happened that night. The next morning, you woke up naked in your boss’s bed.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

I know that you will

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Six months after that night, and you were still going steady with Pride. He was the perfect gentleman, and working together had only brought the two of you closer. You were only a few years older than his daughter, but he always made sure you knew that age wasn’t a problem between the two of you.

Your partner, Tammy Gregorio, kept telling you she ‘sensed’ that Pride was going to propose soon, but you weren’t so sure. Of course you had a strong bond and everyone believed you were a match made in heaven, but it made you nervous to think that you might have to leave the team. Sure, two co-workers dating could be overlooked, but married co-workers? Especially between an agent and their superior? You didn’t think so.

I’ve seen the world, lit it up

As my stage now

Channeling angels in a new age now

Hot summer days, rock and roll

The way you play for me at your show

And all the ways, I got to know

Your pretty face and electric soul

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and you were out on a walk around New Orleans. You barely ever got a day off, but you made sure to enjoy it while you could. All of a sudden, you were being pushed into a black SUV, door locking behind you. You pulled your gun out of your holster until you recognized your captor: FBI Agent Isler.

“What do you want, Isler?” You asked, remaining calm and collected. You knew this man well, and you knew whatever it was he needed help with had to be important. Isler never dropped by just to say hello.

“Hello, Agent (y/l/n). The FBI needs your help on an undercover mission in Los Angeles. Once we get to the motel, I’ll give you the case file. It’s a highly classified operation involving corrupt Naval officers and a drug trafficking ring.” Isler said, shifting the car into drive. “Wait! Isler, I didn’t agree to this. Stop the car, now,” you demanded.

“I’m sorry, Agent (y/l/n), but you don’t really have a choice. This is a joint investigation between the FBI and NCIS, and you were picked by the big boys. I’m the only person in Louisiana who knows about this, and we’re keeping it that way.” You rode the rest of the drive in silence, until Isler parked in front of a decrepit motel on the outskirts of the city. The motel room was stale and unwashed, the air thick with swamp water.

“We’ll be staying here for a couple of days to prepare you for your mission. Once you step off that plane in Los Angeles, your undercover identity will be all you know. You will eat, sleep, and breathe this mission from start to finish, Agent (y/l/n).”

“How long do you think I’ll be gone?” You asked, afraid of the answer. Isler looked at the ground for a moment, then passed you a box of hair dye. Black. The girl on the picture seemed happy with her hair color, but you weren’t so sure.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

I know that you will

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

“Hard to tell. Could just be a few months. Eight, maybe. Possibly a few years. Hopefully nothing more than five, six.” Five years? Six? You would be in your thirties by then. How different would things be? Pride might find someone else. Forget about you. The whole team would probably forget about you, by then.

“There’s one other thing,” Isler trails, “by now, your family and friends will be receiving the news of your gruesome death.”

-

Today was your last day in New Orleans, and you didn’t know for how long. After three days stuck in a hotel room with Raymond Isler, memorizing your new persona (Heather Watson from Montana, by the way), you were going stir-crazy. That was how you convinced him to let you attend your funeral. He thought you were crazy, you knew you were crazy, but Isler did feel bad. He knew about you and Pride’s relationship, and since he couldn’t give you Pride, the least he could do was give you closure.

The balcony of St. Patrick’s had been closed off due to unstable ground, but you arrived early in order to slip up to the balcony, lay on your stomach, and peer through the small slit under the bench. To your surprise, everyone you had ever worked with at NOPD and more had arrived. Friends from the academy flew in, and family members you hadn’t seen in years were there. You felt so, so horrible for tricking them like this. For this hole you had gotten into and you probably wouldn’t ever get out of. Six years undercover, living and breathing the life of someone you weren’t? You’d rather die, maybe. Rather die as yourself than live as Heather Watson. You only wished you could’ve said goodbye.

Dear lord, when I get to heaven

Please let me bring my man

When he comes tell me that you’ll let him in

Father tell me if you can

All that grace, all that body

All that face, makes me wanna party

He’s my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds

You knew it was all over for you when Pride arose from his seat, wearing his black suit. You could see the tissue peeking out from his pocket, full of tears he cried for you. “(y/n) (y/l/n) was the strongest, most determined, an’ most loving human I have ever known. I knew she was the one from the day I laid eyes on her. I hope she knew how much I loved ‘er, and how much all of us at NCIS appreciated her. She’s always been a light-” Dwayne’s voice broke. The occasional tear spilled down his cheek. You could hear the desperation caught in his throat, the need to wrap his arms around you and tell you everything was going to be okay. But as far as he knew, you would be six feet under in a few hours. A closed casket for the horrific boating accident you died in. Your limp body caught in the blades. They could barely piece your limbs back together.

“-I was plannin’ on proposing to her at dinner Sunday night. I had this diamond ring picked out, and now it’s just sittin’ in the box. I wished I could’ve said somethin’, wished I coulda saved her. She- she was tha love of my life, and I know she’d want us to remember her as a dedicated cop and a-a beautiful young woman who was gone- gone too-” Pride choked out, sobs overtaking his body. You could feel your heart breaking into microscopic pieces as Chris got up from his seat and assisted Dwayne. They sat down and Chris gave Pride’s shoulder a quick squeeze in solidarity. The rest of your team respectfully placed a hand on Dwayne’s back for his courage in facing your memory, your mourners. Your family, his future family. If only it hadn’t been for this goddamn mission.

Tears rolled down your face. Oh, how you missed the comfort of Dwayne’s arms wrapped around you when things got tough, when you became sad and he was the only one who could help. Now, even less than a hundred feet apart, it felt like there were planets between you. He was going to propose? Tammy had been right all along.

-

Your silent sobs combined with your uncomfortably warm outfit and position in the hot balcony suddenly prompted your exit. It was easy to slip out of the church unnoticed as your sibling gave a heartwarming speech about your childhood. Isler was sitting in his car in the parking lot, working on his computer, when you knocked on the window. He unlocked the door and let you in. “How was it?” He asked without looking up. “I shouldn’t have gone. Big mistake. Pride was supposed to propose to me that night. This is sick, Isler. Everyone thinks I’m dead. I might as well be, for what it’s worth,” you fumed, tears clouding your vision. You weren’t thinking straight.

“We’re going to have to drive to a more concealed position. I just have to get a few more papers emailed from HQ and we’ll be all set to head back to the motel. From there, I’ll drive you to MSY and you’ll get on your flight. Then, it’ll be out of my hands and into the hands of your new FBI case agent.”

-

You sat in the parking lot of an abandoned building. You knew it was near NCIS, which made it near Pride’s bar, which was where your reception was going to be held. The place you once dreamed of marrying Pride in, dancing to the jazz music as newlyweds. Now, it would never happen. You weren’t dumb; you knew with an undercover operation this long, it was likely someone would find out your secret and brutally murder you. As long as you got intel, that was all that mattered. No one cared if you were collateral damage.

Before either of you knew it, you were reaching across Isler at the speed of light and unlocking the passenger door. “(Y/n), wait!” Isler yelled, chasing you as you ran away from his car. Something told him where you would be heading.

Will you still love me

When I’m no longer young and beautiful?

Will you still love me

When I’ve got nothing but my aching soul?

I know you will, I know you will

You knew the song, one of your favorites. It reminded you of your and Pride’s whirlwind relationship, of the appeal and the secrecy, the pure love and affection. Percy was singing, the only flaw in her beautiful voice being the rawness in her throat from crying. Pride was next to her on the piano, playing along what he knew from when you would sing with him. When you didn’t have a care in the world, when it was you and Dwayne and no one else. Nothing standing between your love for each other.

Suddenly, the music stops and people crowd around Pride’s piano. Laurel, your co-workers new and old, and your family stood behind Dwayne as he picked up his glass from the top of the piano, raising it as far as his arm could extend. You couldn’t see him, but you heard his voice ring out, “a toast to (y/n), tha best cop I’ve ever known. wherever you are, babe, I hope you’re raisin’ some hell.” to which everyone joined in, “cheers!” Tears fell down your face as you watched as Pride began your favorite song once again, reminding you how you fell in love with the man with an electric soul.

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful?

Will you still love me when I’m not young and beautiful?

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Look in Her Eyes- Chapter 28

***While on a case, Dean and Sam meet a beautiful woman, Ava. She makes a large impression on the brothers, and ends up convincing them to take her on the road with them. It isn’t long before the shared experience, car rides, motel rooms, and risky cases pushes Ava and Dean together in an unlikely story of love, family, fate, and friendship. ***

Chapter Twenty-Eight, I Can’t Promise Forever

Dean

I woke up with a groan. The night was a blur, at best, but I was in bed alone when I woke up. I stretched out yearning for Ava's healing touch when it occurred to me. I'm getting married today. What the fuck? How did I trick her into that?

I stood up with a slight stumble. My head was pounding. Shit I need to get it together. Don't fuck this up, man. I told myself as I walked slowly to the bathroom.

The door was closed, and I could hear the sound of vomiting. "Sam?"

"No." Ava groaned.

"Baby? Are you okay?" I tried the door knob, but it was locked.

"Just... morning sickness."

"Not cold feet?" I asked lowering myself to the floor. I leaned against the door, wishing I was next to her.

"Of course not, idiot." She vomited again.

"Let me in. I'll hold your hair."

"It's bad luck, Dean." She whispered.

I put my palm against the door, and I swore she did the same.

"Nothing with you could be bad." I whispered.

"How're you feeling?"

"Better now that I'm talking to you."

"Shut up." I could hear her laugh. "Seriously. Still want to do this?"

"More than anything."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Ave?"

The door cracked open a bit, and I just saw her hand slowly creep out. I took it in mine. "I love you." She whispered.

This was what joy felt like. Happiness. I squeezed her hand, and pressed my forehead to the door. "I love you, too."

"See you at the altar."

"See you then."

She let go of my hand, and I watched it disappear back into the bathroom. It was the most sobering experience I've ever had. I wasn't ready to lose her. It didn't feel like enough time.

You already did lose her. I reminded myself, as I saw her dead body in my arms. You're doing this for her.

I stood up and walked to the kitchen to get some coffee.

"Morning." Sam said with a raised eyebrow. He handed me a coffee.

"Eyy." I said with a nod, happily taking the coffee.

"Son." Dad said, stepping out of the back room. "Today's the day."

"Yup."

"Are you ready?" Sam asked.

"To have a wedding? Not sure. To be with Ava for the rest of my time? Definitely."

Sam grinned. "Let's do this, then."

Ava

I wished my Mom was with me. I missed her all the time, but especially now. Especially today. I looked at myself in the mirror and applied some blush to my cheeks. All the vomiting earlier made me flushed. I was still nauseas, but I didn't think it was from morning sickness. It was nerves.

I wasn't nervous for marrying Dean. I was more nervous about what it meant. To death to us part was only a few months away. It felt like we were playing pretend.

I looked down at my stomach, and I touched it. I wasn't showing yet. I had an appointment in a few weeks to check on things. To tell us the gender. I swallowed hard. I was worried that things weren't going to work out. It all seemed too good to be true. Well, at least for us.

I put my red lipstick on and braided the last piece of my hair. It was natural and down, but with a braided crown around my head.

"Hey." Sam said, knocking gently at the door.

I turned to look at him as he opened it. "Hey." I said quietly.

"Wow, you look amazing."

"Thank you."

"Are you okay?" He asked, slowly sitting down in front of me. He was wearing a suit, and his hair was brushed. He looked handsome.

I reached forward and touched his cheek. "I'm okay. Just nervous. Does he really want this, Sam?"

"He does." Sam grinned. "He's happy."

"That's all I want from him." I exhaled with a smile. He was happy. He deserved to be happy.

We deserved to be. I sucked in my breath.

"Hey." Sam said, pulling me into a hug. "It's okay."

I buried my face in Sams neck and tried to get it together. I didn't want to cry and ruin my makeup. "I just love him, Sam. I'm not ready to lose him."

"Neither am I." He said squeezing me. "Don't worry. We will figure it out." He rubbed my back. "Besides," he whispered. "It's your wedding day."

I pulled back and wiped my tears. "Did I fuck up my makeup?"

He wiped under my eyes. "Good as new."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you really think we can save him?"

"I have to. I have to believe it or I don't think I can make it." He squeezed my hand. "I better check on your groom."

"Hopefully he won't run." I laughed a bit, trying to get myself out of the hole I was digging.

"I wouldn't worry about that." Sam laughed. He reached forward and kissed my forehead. "He loves you. Nothing else matters. Not today."

Dean

"Is she okay?" I asked, anxiously wringing my hands as Sam walked back into my room.

"She's fine." Sam laughed shaking his head. "Now I know how Bobby feels."

"How I feel about what?" Bobby asked, popping his head in the door.

"They're all worried about each other."

"Yeah, you boys do that." Bobby laughed and tossed me a beer.

"Thanks." I said opening it and taking a swig.

"Sam, give us a minute?" Bobby asked eyeing me.

Sam shrugged. "I'll go check on Dad."

I swallowed another drink of my beer nervously.

"I know I don't need to say it." Bobby began, sitting across from me. "But I'm the only one here to say it." He met my eyes. "Don't you hurt her. I'm forever in your debt for what you've done for her, but I'll end ya if I find out you did something to ruin her honor."

I smiled and shook my head. "Bobby I could never do anything that would hurt her. Never. I will take care of her as long as I can."

Bobby reached forward and pulled me into a hug. "I know, Son. I just had to say it since her Dad isn't here to say it."

I put an arm around Bobby. "Thank you for everything."

"I am so proud of you."

"Alright." I said letting out a puff of air, shaking my head with a smile. "Let's get me married."

"One more thing." Dad said, stepping in with Sam. "Can we talk?"

"Sure." I said, rising to meet him.

We walked out of the house and along the side of the house. He took out a cigar and lit it, handing it to me. I took a few puffs and we leaned against the house. "I have something for you." He said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm." He reached into his pocket and took out a small wooden box.

He handed it to me, and I opened it slowly. Inside there were two cuff links that looked like small guns. "They were from my wedding with your mom." He said softly.

"Dad, this is too much."

He waved me off. "Let me show you how to do them." He said, taking my wrists. He clasped the pieces in place. "The day I married your mom was the happiest day of my life, apart from you and Sammy being born."

I'd seen the pictures. Dad grinning from ear to ear wearing a tux. He looked so different from the way he looked now. He was my age, strong and young. Now he was graying, and his face was wilting from the years of pain and killing monsters. Losing Mom took its toll on him. I wondered how Ava would look once she lost me.

"I need you to know," he began, meeting my eyes. "I need you to know that I tried to save you. I tried to sell my soul for yours. A trade."

I stood up straighter. "No. No way." I shook my head quickly. "The demon said if I tried to get out of it they'd ice Ava and the baby... I..."

"Son, they wouldn't do it. They wouldn't make a deal with me. Whoever has your contract scares them. Hell, I've never seen a demon afraid before."

My chest felt tight. It wasn't me not to fight. I wanted to with everything I had. I didn't make deals with demons. I didn't stand in cross roads and beg. I thought about Ava walking towards me in a white dress, carrying our child inside of her.

It is me now. I will back down to save her. I'm still fighting, but now I'm fighting for something that matters. That's honorable. For once I feel like I'm making the right choices. I'm being a good man.

"You and Sammy need to stop trying to save me. If there's a risk that it'll hurt Ava and my kid then I don't want it. End of discussion." I put out the cigar that had been burning away between my fingers, and I handed it back to Dad. "Thanks for the cuff links. It was a pretty normal father move. Shame you had to bring up the demons and fuck it all up."

Ava

"Ready, kid?" Bobby asked, popping his head in my room. I stood up slowly, and turned toward him. His hand was placed above his heart and he had tears brimming on his eyes. "You look just like your mom."

I sucked in my breath.

"I have something for you." He said digging in the pocket of his button up. He handed me an envelope. I raised an eyebrow at him and tore it open. Inside was a folded piece of stationary. Immediately I got a whiff of floral perfume and my heart sunk.

Moms perfume.

"Bobby, what is this?"

"Just open it, kid. I'll meet you out front when you're ready." He backed out of the room and clicked the door shut behind him.

I slowly lowered myself to the seat by the window and unfolded the page.

Dear Ava,

Today is your wedding day. It is the day I've dreamed about since long before you were born. I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me, and baby girl all I want is to be there next to you. I know your Dad is taking care of you, though. You will always have him to watch over you.

As I write this you are still a little girl, playing dress up and causing mischief wherever you go. You're so happy. That's all a mother wants for her child. I wish I could see the happiness you will feel today as you marry the love of your life.

I hope that he is loving, with beautiful kind eyes. I hope that he will protect you, and that you will care for each other. Marriage is wonderful, but it isn't easy. Always remember to not go to bed angry, and to never take each other for granted. Life is so short, sweet Ava. Cherish every moment you have with the ones you love.

I love you so much. I can't stand it. I hope one day you will have children so you can feel the joy that I feel when I look at you, but don't feel the need to rush. You have plenty of time.

Have a beautiful wedding, sweetie. Know that no matter what I am always with you. You are a part of me, and I will always be a part of you.

I love you.

Love,

Mom

I held the paper in my hands. The tears wouldn't come. I felt them bubbling up inside me, but I couldn't let them go. She knew that she would die. She knew she wouldn't be there. She sold her soul for me. Just like Dean. Now he won't be there for our baby.

I touched my stomach. Nothing could compare to the pain I felt. It touched my soul. My very being was tainted. I pinched the inside of my arm to bring me back to reality. Today was supposed to be happy. I could be happy for a little, right? I folded up the paper and tucked it into my top to keep her close to me.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I did look like her. We had the same eyes, mouth, face shape. I wore her black curls. I closed my eyes. One more second to be sad. That's all I would allow.

I stood up and flattened my dress. I opened the door and greeted Bobby. He wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. "She would've been so proud of you."

I squeezed him back. "I hope so."

"Love you, kid."

"You too, Uncle Bobby."

I took his arm and we walked out the front door together.

I would've never pegged Sam as a wedding planner, but fuck did he plan a beautiful ceremony. I kicked off my sandals when we got to the sand and Bobby's grip on me intensified. I looked towards the water to find Sam, John, and Dean standing in front of an altar covered in flowers. There were petals littering the sand.

My heart squeezed as I saw him, and everything else melted away.

Dean

I couldn't have pictured her any more beautiful than she was in that moment. She took my breath away. Her dress hugged her curves, and her hair fell down her shoulders in effortless curls. I felt my eyes give way to the emotion that was bubbling up inside of me.

She met my eyes and smiled. Her perfect red lips curling to expose a perfect line of white teeth. I could see the wrinkle on her nose from even this far away.

She was everything. The breeze caught her hair sending it dancing behind her in a veil of black. I hoped our child looked just like her. I just wished I could find out.

Bobby smiled at me and I nodded to him. If it weren't for him answering the phone our meeting would've been so different. I would've never talked to her for long. I wouldn't have fell in love with her.

She wouldn't have died.

I shook the thought away. She is alive. That's all that mattered.

She made it to me and Bobby handed her to me. I took her hands in mine and she squeezed them. All my worries disappeared when I felt her hand touch mine. That familiar electricity rolled through me, restarting my heart.

Sam smiled and us. "We are gathered here to celebrate the union of Ava and Dean."

I winked at Ava and watched pink heat up her cheek bones.

"My whole life it's just been my brother and I. We were fine with that. We didn't have anything or anyone else. We are Winchester's, we don't believe in love. We never have, but just because you don't believe in it doesn't mean it isn't real. It doesn't mean it isn't meant for you, and I can say with confidence that Ava is made for you. You were made for each other. In our lives that's more than we could've ever dreamed." He put his hand on my shoulder and I grinned at him. My baby brother. "We are here to celebrate two lives being joined together. Love is a light in the darkness, and our life is full of it. Ava, all I've wanted my whole life is to see my brother as happy as you make him. I'm so happy I get to have you as my sister. Would you like to say your vows?"

She nodded and squeezed my hands. "I didn't write anything down." She admitted. "I couldn't really form into words how I feel. I love you, Dean. More than anything. I never knew that I could love someone like I love you. Hell, I barely like people." She laughed, and I grinned back at her.

"I was alone before we met. I thought my life was enough, but you cracked me open and showed me another world. It scared me, but not because of the monsters. I was afraid of how you made me feel. I didn't know then, but I want to feel that way for my whole life." She touches her flat stomach. "I can make you three promises, in light of our lives and how they tend to go. I vow to love you as long as I live. I vow to take care of our child and love him or her with all that I have. Lastly I vow to never forget the sacrifice you've made for us." She was crying now and I touched her face, to wipe away the tears. "It won't be in vain. I promise that."

I closed my eyes and got my composure, because it was my turn to talk. "Ave. There's nothing I can say to you that will be enough. Nothing is enough." I swallowed trying to gather my thoughts. "I fucked up, baby. I did. The worst mistake I ever made was talking to you, because before I thought I was happy. Killing monsters, beer for breakfast, and the occasional strip club were enough. The moment that I met you, though, everything changed. I never wanted a life or a family, but when I met you I was finally showed what I could have. I saw that maybe this son of a bitch could be worth more. Maybe I could have a real life. I've gotten a little taste of it. All I want is to be with you. I don't have a lot of time left, so I can't make any promises. All I can tell you is that I will love you until I stop breathing. As long as I'm here, I'm yours, forever. End of story." I leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry I have to leave you. It's my one big regret. That I won't be able to watch our baby grow up." I sighed and pressed my lip to the place behind her ear. "I know it'll be okay, though, because you will be there. You're the best person I've ever met. I love you."

"I love you too."

Sam smiled at us. "Dean, do you take Ava to be your wife? For better, for worse, sickness, and health, until death do you part?"

I grinned at her. "Hell yeah."

"Ava? You can still run." Sam grinned at her.

"Nah. I think I'll take him. Better or worse, but I'll take him for longer than death. I've got him forever."

"Deal." I said to her under my breath.

"I now pronounce you, from the state of California, and the internet, as man and wife! You may kiss your bride"

I pulled her forward and grinned before dipping her. I could feel her weight in my hand, as I balanced her with my hand in between her shoulder blades. I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. I smiled against her mouth. I have a wife. What the fuck?

I pulled her back up and watched her grin as the color came back to her complexion from me whipping her around back up to me.

"I now pronounce Mr and Mrs Dean Winchester!" Sam said with a grin.

I looked at Ava. She was grinning from ear to ear. If I didn't already love her, the look in her eyes then would've done it.

—————

Chapter Twenty-Nine, Home

Get caught up!

Forever Tag List:

@foreverwayward

@xjamiedennettx

[odderancyart]

Retribution

Chapter 8

First

Last

On AO3

Summary: A late night, after yet another unfruitful day with no work, Detective Edge Serif receives a phonecall from the countryside. There seems to have been a murder.

Warnings: Murder, Violence, Swearing, Past Abuse, Past Rape (of a character not in the story)

His head aches as he slowly regains consciousness, blinking against the blinding light. As he tries to lean forward, he finds he can’t. He jerks at his hands, finding he can’t move them either. There’s something keeping them stuck to the arms of the chair he’s in. What happened...?

Images. They flash before his eyes. A bedroom, letters with the British royal crest, Papyrus with a fire poker. He’d been knocked unconscious. Edge twitches as it all comes back to him and he throws his eyes open, even as his head throbs at the sudden assault of light. He’s still in the bedroom. By the writing desk, Papyrus stands, stirring a cup of tea as he watches him. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed himself to get so distracted that he didn’t notice Papyrus coming into the room? His eyes catch on the gun lying next to Papyrus on the desk. His gun.

“You’re awake,” Papyrus notes. “Good.” The spoon chinks as it hits the walls of the porcelain cup, painted with roses. The cook smiles, almost apologetically. “I am terribly sorry I had to tie you up, but you really shouldn’t have come and ferreted around my room. It’s terribly rude.”

Edge tries to speak, but as he does, only muffled noises comes out. His eyes widen. In his stupor, he hadn’t realized he had a cloth stuffed into his mouth. When he glares at the other, Papyrus only tsks. “Don’t look so mad. I can’t have you yelling, you surely must understand that? I’ve reached my goal – getting revenge on the bastard who destroyed my brother’s – my entire family’s – life for many years because of something as stupid as racism. You Americans should know something about that, shouldn’t you? But it works somewhat differently home in Europe.” Disgust covers his face as he sips his tea. “I’ve lived my entire life in Wales. I was born there, and so was my brother. And our parents. But because our grandfather came from Bulgaria, from Eastern Europe, apparently we cannot be trusted. Lazy, they call us. Thieves. Not that you’re different here. Had I attempted to enter with my own name, I am certain I would’ve met a lot more resistance.”

There’s so much bitterness in his voice. Edge stares at him, and Papyrus stares back. “What do you say? Do you think they would’ve been as happy to let in Nikolay Todorov as they were to let in Papyrus Safont, Doctor Gaster’s personal cook? Would your Immigration Act have let me? Even though I’m two generations British?” When Edge remains quiet, he grinned humourlessly. “I didn’t think so.”

And he was right. Maybe his British citizenship would’ve been enough, but Edge has seen the distrust for Southern and Eastern Europeans first-hand. They are seen as threats – competition for jobs and housing, and people fear they’ll undermine American values and cause Bolshevik revolution similar to the one in Russia during the War. Stupidity, Edge would’ve said if anyone had ever bothered to ask for his opinion. If they came to America, he can only imagine it is because they wanted to live in America, not in Russia.

After putting his cup down on the desk, Papyrus saunters over to him, smiling sweetly. “Never mind all that. You look like you want to ask something.” He holds up a vial with powder. “If you make any unnecessary noises, I will shove this down your throat, and you’ll die an incredibly painful death. So better not do anything stupid, alright?” Edge nods slowly. Papyrus – Nikolay – beams. “Wonderful! See how simple things are when you cooperate?”

He pulls the gag out of Edge’s mouth, and Edge coughs, opening and closing it a couple times. Oh God, his mouth feels like a desert. Concern glimmers in Nikolay’s eyes, and he takes a few steps over to the bedtable, where a water pitcher stands, together with a glass. After pouring some into the glass, he offers it to Edge. Edge eyes it suspiciously, and he rolls his eyes, taking a sip himself. “See? It’s not poisoned. Drink, friend.”

As he puts it to Edge’s mouth, Edge does as told. Both because he does not wish to make him mad and because he genuinely needs it. When it’s empty, and his throat feels less rough, he sighs in relief before looking up at Pa- Nikolay. He looks genuinely sorry for what the situation has come to. But why would he? If he didn’t mind framing Stretch, why would he be care about Edge? That’s his first question.

Nikolay shrugs. “In all honesty, I wanted Blue to be the one. His loyalty to the Gasters is sickening. Can’t seem to see any of their faults, even when his own brother is being abused. But since anyone who knew him would know how he poured his soul into serving them until the point that’s what his life is about, and they would’ve realized he never would have, Stretch was the second best. Doing it to Sir Razz would’ve simply been stupid: his family is incredibly powerful. At least this way, I get to Blue somehow. He adored that family nearly as much as I hate them. In all honesty, I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Plus, I haven’t missed how he speaks about my heritage. He’s just like everyone else. Up on his high horses thinking he’s better than me because he’s a pure-blooded Englishman. And now his own brother is getting sentenced for the last Gaster’s murder.” He hums, the bitterness gone as fast as it came. “You get two more questions, and then I’m afraid I’ll have to get rid of you before it’s too late. I am not an unkind monster, I’d feel awful to kill you when you’re so close to solving the mystery.”

“How did you do all of this? Why wait so long?” Edge’s head spins with all the new information, but he forces himself to focus. The longer he can keep Papy- Nikolay rambling, the more time he has to get out of here. Dying is not in this week’s schedule, especially not by a cook.

The other’s smile widens. “It wasn’t hard. When your brother is a former MI6-spy, falsifying papers and learning about poisons is a child’s play. We simply made up a reasonable backstory, fixed some papers, and then I went to search employment at the Gasters. As for why so long? I’m a patient man. I very much did not wish to be new as I did it – my foreign ancestry already made me suspicious enough, since everyone’s bigoted. And your third question?”

His last.

There were multiple things he wants to know. Why, exactly, he is doing this. How he’s managed to keep this act up for such a long time. If he hasn’t grown fond of the brothers during the time he’s worked with them, even a little? How he can do such a thing to Stretch of all people. But in all honesty, there is one thing that’s more pressing to him than anything else.

Edge’s soul pounds in his chest as he stares into Nikolay’s eyes. His eyelights are soft as he meets his gaze, almost remorseful. Nonetheless, they’re determined, and Edge has no delusions about him changing his mind and letting him go. “What are you going to do with me?”

Nikolay’s smile softens. “Oh that’s easy. I’m going to give you some Cerbera odollam-seeds. The former owner of the manor had a poison greenhouse and I’ve been caring for it. I’m very sorry to tell you it won’t be painless. Then, once you fall into a coma, I’ll shove you off the west wing. It’ll look like you fell.” He crouches down so he can reach into the secret compartment. Picking up a vial holding several brown seeds, he shakes it gently. “I doubt you’ll get the sort of investigation he got – you’re a nobody, aren’t you? No family to speak of, no money?”

Edge remains quiet, face paling. He’s right. There’s a much too big risk that he’ll simply get written off as an accident or a suicide. Especially in these times. After the Crash, so many committed suicides, and he was born into a short life-expectancy group.

“Thought so.”

The house creaks around them as Nikolay steps forward. Edge feels his palms start to sweat as he leans backwards in the chair, as far away as he can. He squeezes his teeth shut as his breathing shallows. Something moves behind Nikolay, silently, slowly. A hand grips his jaw tight, starting to pry it open. Edge fights him, eyes trained at the other’s face. Nikolay’s expression is determined as he digs the tip of a phalange in between Edge’s teeth.

Edge struggles, throwing his head to the side and rocking the chair, which makes the other’s expression harden. The chair legs scrape against the floor. The finger slides in deeper, and Edge lets out a squawk as his mouth is bended open. Triumph shines in Nikolay’s eyes as he plops the cork of the vial with his thumb. It falls to the floor with a quiet thump. The seeds rustles inside the vial. A dark shape appears behind Nikolay, making his soul skip a beat as he attempts to throw away with his head again, to no avail. The cook has an iron grip on his jaw, his fingers hooked into it, keeping his mouth open.

His eyes flicker to the shape behind, widening. Apparently, Nikolay notices.

“Wha-” he says, turning to look over his shoulder. Thuck.

Edge gapes as his eyelights roll back in his eyes and he sinks to the floor with a groan. Behind him, holding a broomstick raised in the air, stands Blue. His face is still red from tears and his suit is crumpled, but fury is written on his face as he lowers the broomstick, glaring down at Nikolay in disgust. Edge can’t help but stare at the right-hand man in shock. Without a word, Blue drives the end of the broomstick into Nikolay’s head once more before shoving him to the side, facing Edge.

“Are you alright, sir?” he asks. Edge nods mutely. “I was looking for you. Inspector Fuente wanted to speak with you.” He picks up a handkerchief from his pocket, rubbing his red cheeks. “Let me untie you.”

“Yeah,” Edge says loftily. Holy shit. His mind spins as he tries to process the last few moments, now when the adrenaline is sinking away. “Please.”

Nimble fingers soon loosen the ropes keeping him stuck to the chair around his waist, arms, and legs. “I can’t believe-” Blue stops to stare at the body of the murderer he’s just knocked out. “Yes, he’s-” He shakes his head. “I know I said I suspected him, but I can’t believe he’d frame my brother.” New tears welled up, which he was quick to wipe away with his handkerchief. He smiles wetly. “But that means my brother is innocent. I knew it. I knew Stretch wasn’t a murderer.”

“So did I,” Edge murmurs, and Blue’s smile widens.

Once Edge is free, standing up and stretching his stiff limbs, they stare at the body.

“So what are we doing with him, sir?”

Edge smiles faintly. He’s shivering – almost getting murdered will do that to you. “We bring him to Inspector Fuente and get your brother back.”

Soon, he carries the unconscious Nikolay like a potato sack over his shoulder upstairs while Blue brings the evidence. The vials and the letters, and some of the ropes Edge had been tied up with. They use the others to tie up Nikolay.

Inspector Fuente and Sir Razz are standing in the main hall, conversing, as they show up. Both of them stare as Edge drops the unconscious cook on the ground.

“Here’s your murderer,” he says.

For a few beats, the room is completely silent.

“He nearly killed me too,” he adds, “but Blue knocked him out.”

Another couple seconds of silence follow. Blue holds up the poisons and hands over the letters to Inspector Fuente.

“The murder weapon, the attempted murder weapon, and his motivation.” Edge rolls his shoulders. God, Pa- Nikolay is heavy. But he is, of course, a grown man so nothing else was to be expected, really. He looks at Sir Razz. “It seems as though your husband, sir, destroyed his brother’s career within MI6 because of their Bulgarian descent. Because of racism, clear and simple.” He gives them a brief summary of the last hour.

“May I have my brother back now?” Blue demands, stepping forward and actually glaring at the inspector. Sir Razz blinks in surprise. “He’s innocent. As I said.”

Inspector Fuente huffs, shock, amazement, and amusement all playing on his face as he looks between Edge and Blue. He nods. “Yes, we’ll go into Deadford and get him out of the arrest. This case took an unexpected turn.”

If he’s worried someone will say anything to the Police about him being wrong, or if he even cares, he doesn’t show it. Nonetheless, Edge puts a hand on Blue’s shoulder, receiving a questioning gaze, before he nods back. “I do believe we have solved this case,” he says.

The inspector raises an eyebrow, but nods, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards. “Yes… It seems we have.” He dips his hat to Sir Razz. “Well, sir, we better get going.”

Sir Razz nods as well before turning to his right-hand man. “Blue, you go with the inspector and get your brother. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that the most.” Blue nodded quickly. “And Detective Serif, come with me and I’ll pay you what I owe. And a bonus for almost getting murdered.”

Edge can’t help but grin. “I appreciate it, sir.”

…

And then he is back where it all began.

He regards his reflection in his office window before looking outside at the dark street. A beggar sits bundled up in some stairs, a wild dog wanders by. The rain is, as always, pouring down over Deadford, smattering against asphalt and windows. It’s in the middle of the day, so the occasional car comes by and some pedestrians walk by, too used to the rain to bother with trying to escape it. It’s still dark: the clouds are black as coal as they spit heaven’s fury down over the town, as lightning and thunder flashes and booms.

For the first time in his life, he’d opened a bank account. Sir Razz had paid him seven hundred dollars for his services, and he’s never had that much money in his entire life. And since he does not feel safe keeping that money in his office or his shared apartment, the bank seems like the most logical choice. For once, he does not worry about ending up on the street eventually. He’s not about to buy any frivolities, though, like some others may have. In times like these, that money is best kept as backup in case he’ll lack food or be unable to pay the rent one day.

A purring comes from the side and he smiles as a white cat steps on the hand he has planted on the windowsill, demanding attention. He scratches her ear before stroking his hand down her back. Luckily, being away hadn’t destroyed his relationship with that beautiful cat on the street: in fact, once he came back, she’d been willing to move in with him. Her name is Doomfanger now. A beautiful, hairy cat with a scar running down along her right eye and torn ears that has seen better days. He loves her already.

His fingertips slide over the cold glass as he pets her, making him shiver, and she licks them, looking pleased with herself. Taking her into his arms, he walks over to the desk. Details from a new case already covers his desk: with Sir Razz’s commendations on his resumé, he suddenly turned into a highly sought for private detective. For now, he does not need to worry about money at all, for the first time in his life.

It feels good.

It knocks on the door, thrice, and he raises an eyebrow as he opens his arms so Doomfanger will jump. She lands on the floor with a quiet thump, staring at him in offence. The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. Apparently he isn’t allowed to put her down already. She lounges in the back of the room as he steps over to the door. Who would visit him at this time of day, in this weather?

The door creaks as he opens it, and a dark shape is revealed in the dark hallway. Once his eyes get used to the dim light, he hums in surprise. Dressed in a huge coat with its collar pulled up halfway over his face, stands Stretch. Edge steps to the side, gesturing for him to come in, and he does, waterdrops sliding off his coat and down on the floorboards.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you?” Stretch asks, folding down his collar to reveal his face. His teeth chatters, and his smile is nervous.

Edge shakes his head, smiling. “Not at all. I am very sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but I was worried about overstaying my welcome.” He gestures toward the coat-hanger before stepping back a few steps so he can pull out a bottle whisky from his desk drawer. Alcohol may be illegal but literally who the fuck cares? He places two glasses on the table. “Whisky? You look cold.”

“Thank you,” he says as he pulls of his coat, hanging it up next to Edge’s. Doomfanger stares at him from behind the desk, distrustful.

Once Edge has poured up two glasses with honey-brown liquid, he hands one of the glasses to Stretch before sitting down in one of the two old leather armchairs by the wall, gesturing for the other to do the same, which he does. The armchair squeaks and sways as Stretch sits down, and for a moment worry flashes over his face, as though he’s wondering if the armchair is going to break beneath him.

“And I understand.” Stretch smuts at his whisky, sighing in relief as he drinks. “Sir Razz can be intimidating. I came to say thank you. You know. For not stopping investigating.”

Taking a gulp of his own whisky, feeling it burn pleasantly in his throat, Edge shakes his head. “Of course. I- There was something about it that didn’t feel right. I didn’t think you were capable of doing such a thing… And you weren’t.”

“No.” He stares into his glass as he swirls the liquid around it. “I hated Dr Gaster. Hated him, with all my soul. I would’ve resigned the day I turned eighteen and taken employment in the factories, if Blue hadn’t- Yeah. I couldn’t leave my brother. He would’ve been heartbroken, and mother and father would’ve broken all contact with me, and made him do so too, just like they later did with Clara – our older sister-”

Edge nods. The sister who ran away to run a Scottish tavern in Minnesota with her partner. He can only assume that meant she isn’t married. In all honesty, he can’t help but admire her guts.

“-but no, I couldn’t hurt the doctor. Not that I didn’t occasionally want to throw wine in his face, damn the consequences, but no. Never.”

“You’re a better person than me,” Edge murmurs. “If my foreman is still alive, and I met him, he’d be lucky if I only punched him.”

Flashing him a quick smile, Stretch downs the rest of his whisky. “Well. You’d be justified. At least I was never physically hurt.” He sighs. “But now when I know how disgustingly he acted during the War – I didn’t even know he was in the War, we all got to hear he spent a year at Université Paris-Sorbonne – I feel even more that he truly did deserve what he got.”

“He did.”

Even if what Nikolay did was truly abhorrent as well. But the trial was coming up, and with the evidence against him, Edge didn’t doubt he’d spend a lot of time paying for his crimes.

By now, also Stretch has finished his whisky. He glances at the clock, and then at Edge. There’s something wishful on his face as he moves to stand. “Maybe I should go back before it gets too late. I just wanted to thank you.”

“You can-” Edge says before he can stop himself before cutting himself off. Stretch’s eyes flicker to him, something almost hopeful shining in there, and Edge relaxes. “One of my roommates is out of town. If you’d like, you can borrow his bed. It’s not as fancy as a manor, but it’s warm and dry. That was you don’t have to travel back in this weather.”

The smile that lits up Stretch’s face makes it impossible for him not to return it, smiling just as warmly.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

The End

[thickasthievesrpg-hidden]

WELCOME TO THE HEIST, SAM!

YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF TOMMASO CAPECCHI

A note from Admin Risa: This week has truly been the week of the Capecchis - and I’m glad of it! It’s such a joy to have the eldest Capecchi child among us again, and having seen all that you can do, I’m certain that you’ll bring Tommaso to great heights, Sam. Your request to change Tommaso’s faceclaim to Michiel Huisman has been granted, and I’m very excited to see another Capecchi join us! Congratulations on your acceptance! You’ve been to the museums, the banks, the isolated manors with their black dogs and gilded keys. You’ve stolen their necklaces, their jewels, the prized heirlooms in their vaults and their safes. They’ll watch out for you. Please visit the after acceptance page and submit your account within the next 24 hours – we’re excited to have you with us!

OOC

Name/Alias + Pronouns: Sam She/her

Age: 23

Timezone + Activity CET/GMT+1. You guys know how my activity is; I go back to university in April, too (after taking a break for two years rip me) so it might drop down to a 6-7 by then. Between lectures and on the weekends I’d def have more time though. I love TaT and rping with y'all so I’d never abandon you if I could help it <3

IC

Desired Role: Tommaso Ettore Capecchi

Analysis:

sexuality/romantic preference – Tommaso Capecchi falls, first and foremost, for people. If someone is able to catch and hold his attention, to make him muse and wonder, lost in his own head to his own wishing thoughts, he’ll be intrigued. While it was Juliet’s beauty and elegance that drew him to her, it was who she was as a person whom he fell in love with in the end. Aware of the ‘traditional’ relationships that are expected from him, Tommaso keeps quiet about possible attractions to the same sex.

birthdate – September 16th, 1983. A son of late summer, he is just as lovely. The warm chill on your skin once the sun started to disappear behind the treetops and still, the sun lingered in your bones.

birthplace/hometown – Palermo. Palermo, oh Palermo, his heart and soul clings to this city, intertwined with it, two entities lost in an eternal dance. Despite the painful memories of his mother leaving them, Palermo is the one city Tommaso will always return to. His one true home. When he left he needed to, and when he returned it was for the same reason. But he doesn’t see it as forced. Family is his duty, before anything else. When they call, he answers.

occupation – He could be the new face of the Capecchi name, could be the legacy his father dreamed him to be. He could be, and when once, that notion twisted his stomach in a way that made it hard to breathe, it is now an opportunity. A chance to shape his own future, that of his siblings and his family name…perhaps to something better.

criminal occupation – Partner-in-crime – a right hand man, the one with ideas, the head behind the strings his father pulled. Sometimes, Tommaso wonders if he’d understand the world around him better if he had killed Salvatore all those years back, but he knows that murder doesn’t have to define him in the way it does his father. He has nothing but respect for Lorenzo, the two are simply two sides of the simple coin. His father’s side just happened to be splattered in blood.

Eleanor – From all his siblings, Tommaso believes he remembers her best, had the most time to spend with her, and that is exactly what hurts most. Every day, he misses his mother, wishes her back, yearns for the safety of her embraces, wonders what it was that drove her away from them. What cruelty did she see? What horrors couldn’t Lorenzo hide from her? Should Tommaso ever marry Juliet, he knows he’d try to do it differently. Try being the word – he'd tried with Talia, and lost her.

Migraines – He gets them, from time to time, and they’re a dully pounding pain in the confines of his skull. Managable. Other times, he gets them and it feels like they’re splitting open his head and spine, the tiniest ray of light hurting his eyes in ways unimaginable. When the bad ones hit, Tommaso retreats in his room, blinds closed and in his bed, waiting it out, enduring.

Four Characteristics:

+ Caring:

Before he left, he was that kind of brother who’d gather all his siblings during a thunderstorm to hide away with them in a blanket fort, who’d read them bedtime stories if they asked him to, and who’d, sometimes, for his own entertainment, scare them in dark hallways. He remembers playing with Alessia in the backyard, braiding Violetta’s hair while she told him a made up story, or even accompanying Santino to kindergarten at occasion. To this day, his siblings are the most important thing in Tommaso’s life, but he is aware he needs to earn their trust again, knowing that the gaping chasm between them is his fault and his fault only.

+ Good-willed:

Perhaps something of Eleanor��s rubbed off on Tommaso after all, but unlike some of his siblings, he doesn’t have a mean streak in his body. Of course, if pressed, or if the situation calls for it, he can change into something unknown and snarling. But he prefers solving his problems in a civilized fashion and approaching people with a gentle smile on his face.

- Naïve:

Tommaso, despite knowing better, despite coming from a family that has trained him to know better, believes that there is something good in everyone. Sometimes he wonders if that makes him a fool, if he’s stupid for thinking that people are gentler, kinder, softer than the world makes them out to be. He wants to believe it. If Tommaso knew better, he would have seen just how much Ciro has changed his demeanor towards the eldest Capecchi child from the very start. It’s this naïveté that makes him hope he can get through his life without ever having to kill someone, even if he knows better…

- Cautious:

Caution isn’t inherently a bad thing. But sometimes, caution hinders you from acting in a situation that needs quick acting. Tommaso isn’t brash like his father – he likes to think before he dives in head first, not as hot-blooded as Lorenzo…not yet, anyways. It can make him seem cold when he’s talking to new people, too, especially when it’s someone like Charles Villiers.

Expansion:

Santino Capecchi: The relationship with his baby brother might be the only one Tommaso can actually fix. Things have been just…different, ever since he came back; entirely his fault, and he is aware of that. Ciro is not the boy he remembers, and there’s a distance between Alessia and him, too. Violetta’s plagued by her own demons, but Santino? He was just a boy when Tommaso left and he wonders if his brother even remembers him well. But he wants to try to at least be close to him again, to save something.

Lorenzo Capecchi: ‘Daddy issues’ would be the words to use here. Tommaso has nothing but respect for his old man, don’t get him wrong – and the trust Lorenzo puts in him is not misplaced. They share the scars of heartbreak but a part of Tommaso can’t forgive his father for thrusting that gun into his hand and ordering him to kill Salvatore. They, too, need to mend what Tommaso has broken down, and he’s willing to try.

Para Sample(s):

“You should probably ring the bell, you know. Or knock. Knocking’s also an option.”

The chuckle that draws out of Tommaso is dry, and yet, he squeezes Juliet’s hand in silent appreciation. Her hand is warm in his, always is, soft, gentle. It’s what tethers him to this realm, what makes him think clear; what grounds him, what gives him the courage to face what is to come. He’s the cowardly lion, then, on his old home’s doorsteps. Isn’t that why he had run in first place? Not enough heart, not enough confidence, to face what his life actually is. He sought for a new one in hopes to be reborn, and for a time, it seemed like it had actually worked. It seemed like he could rebuild himself, set himself together bone for bone. But the past never really stays in the past, does it?

So he’s back in Palermo, back where it all began, back where he started, this tiny boy with hopes and dreams and the beating pulse of life in his heart’s ventricles. When he was soft kindness, and cheeky grins, when he ran the streets with his best friend and later lover, uncaring of all the dark things that would eventually catch up to them both. When they did, Tommaso was hardly prepared for it. He should have, he knew what was coming, and yet, he’d let it wreck him in every possible way. To be consumed by a simple scratch was weakness, wasn’t it?

Juliets gives his shoulder a light nudge with her own, and Tommaso looks over to her. She’s beautiful – of course she is, radiant and brilliant, her eyes so familair by now that Tommaso finds comfort in them with just one glance, like now. He takes a deep breath through his nose, looks back at the door, then Juliet again. “They can be…much,” he tells her, his voice soft. “Especially my father.”

Juliet shrugs. She leans into him, and Tommaso feels his own gravitation shift, meeting her halfway. “I think I can handle.”

“So take everything they say with a grain of salt.”

“Okay.”

“They’re good people, you know.”

“Tommy.” The old nickname almost feels wrong leaving her lips, the cold whisper from a life past, but Tommaso’ll take it. He cracks a grin; lazy, not genuine, not with the image of Violetta half-dead in a hospital bed, not with thoughts assaulting him, making him wonder if he could have protected her from this if only he stayed. He lets go of Juliets and takes a step forward, rings the bell, an unpleasant chill settling in the pit of his stomach.

He waits. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three.

The door opens.

Starter Example:

His skills had become rusty in the time he was gone, to say the least.

Or perhaps he had just aged badly. Wine that was rotten, that should have been beautiful to the taste and colour and yet, Tommaso believed that along the way, during the ten years he spent travelling the world and seeing more of life than he ever could have dreamed off, a drop of vinegar found its way into his bloodstream and ruined it all. He sat there, next to Lorenzo, head propped up in a hand: thumb against his jaw, index and middle finger pressed against his temple. It looked like he was simply resting, listening carefully, but if you looked closely, Tommaso was rubbing soothing cirlces into his temple. A feeble attempt to chase away the headache that’d began to pound dully about an hour ago. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

They were under attack. They were on high alert. This, Tommaso understood. What he didn’t was why everyone thought this could be fixed by loudly yelling at each other about whose fault this exactly was (the name ‘Lohovary’ was dropped quite often).

“I think we need a different approach to this.” Finally, Tommaso spoke up, the hand on his face dropping to the table slowly. His palm pressed against the cool surface, appreciating the change of temperature against his heated skin. “We have to be smart about this or all we’ll accomplish is draw more attention towards us. We can’t put our family, and the Society, in even more jeopardy.”

Freestyle/Extra:

You can find a Tommaso mockblog (also the blog I’ll eventually use should I be accepted) here!