❛ 𝑐𝑎𝑒𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛

@prodiguile.

sisters stare at each other across the doorway. despite being twins, they could not look more different in this moment, though both are disheveled. may’s hair is disarrayed from the pillows, her lips swollen and her neck marked. nick’s shirt tickles her thighs. amy’s makeup is hastily applied over tear stained cheeks, her eyes red, and her clothes unknowingly rumpled due to the late hour. the twins stare back at each other, unsure of what to make of the other. amy’s face is angry. may’s is confused.

“ nick! get in here! ” may calls over her shoulder, eyeing her sister warily. why is she here? as far as she knows, nick and amy aren’t friends. they haven’t spoken about anything other than their families’ shared involvement in politics in years. then again, until recently may herself had avoided seeing nick altogether.

amy, on the other hand, knows exactly why her sister is here. nick may as well have planted a flag on her sister, between the bite marks and the attire may wears. may came back to see amy’s daughter, the child that didn’t deter jason from announcing he was leaving her, and now amy finds her twin here: in the arms of the one person she wanted meaningless comfort from. when nick finally does appear, the older twin’s face is a thundercloud of rage. “ can we talk in private, nick? ” amy casts a meaningful glance in her sister’s direction as she asks this.

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐𝘩 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 .    nick  watches  the  drops  roll  down  the  glass ,   caught  up  in  the  warm  glow  of  the  kitchen ,  the  sweet  smell  of  may  on  his  bare  skin .   cotton  trousers  hang  on  his  hips --  may  took  his  button - up ,   like  it  was  hers .   she’s  welcome  to  it --  may  is  welcome  to  anything ,   he  thinks ,  mind  catching  on  flashes  of  the  evening .   

how  little  had  changed --  may  carried  herself  differently  now ,  but  not  so  differently  that  they  didn’t  fall  together ,   that  they  didn’t  spend  the  past  few  hours  sweaty  and  alive  and  relieving  their  adolescence .   he’s  mulling  over  it ,  her  effect ,  when  may  calls  for  him .  barefoot ,  he  pads  into  the  foyer ,  fingers  stuck  in  his  hair  as  he  pulls  up  short .     ❝  ames --  ❞   nick  slides  his  gaze  back  to  may ,  marked  up  and  bare  legged --     he  wants  her  again   --   but  the  look  in  her  eyes  and  the  sharp  cut  of  amy’s  voice  put  a  dent  in  that .   has  she  been  crying ?   

repost and fill in the words you most associate with your character.

animal .  leopard  color . silver ,  midnight  blue ,  black month .   august  song .   starboy  by  the  weeknd number .   500 day or night .  night plant . evergreen  oak  tree  smell .   cigarette smoke ,  liquor ,  sandalwood  season .  summer  food .  steak ,  peach  pie  drink .  bourbon  astrological sign . leo element .  air

˚ 　　 @prodiguile​​     .　　 . ⊹     ♡   for a  starter  .

         ❝  was i  unrealistic  to ask you for your  honesty ?  ❞

he calls after her, but she does not pause.     it is not just him she outruns, but the memories of the girl she was with him: younger, lighter, though chained to a place she did not love by people she did. before june’s death, she was a child like he is. they were children together, though what she felt for him was something more than childish. now she is grown, and it hurts to look at the girl she was, knowing the suffering that girl would endure to become a woman. she snatches her own glass of champagne from a waiter, there and gone again like a wraith.

he, of course, knows all her tricks. he appears before her like magic, despite the slight pursing of her lips. yes, she knows he didn’t mean anything by it, but that didn’t mean nothing happened in that moment. may can’t help but wonder what he remembers of their time together, what he feels when he looks back on it. was it simply another conquest? does he remember the wine tinged secrets he whispered in her ear as they lay there together, utterly spent but their arms still wrapped around one another? when he woke in the morning with her gone, did he remember what the wine and their intimacy coaxed out of him? or was it simply some other meaningless thing? he didn’t mean anything by it. she’s outrun these questions in the years since she saw him last, never giving them thought, but they catch up to her now. “ hello, nicholas. ” he gets only politeness, not warmth. not yet. she doesn’t remember how to be around him anymore. not after she extracted herself from his warm arms and left him sleeping alone. that was the last time they saw each other, so many years ago. “ you look….. well. ”

𝑠𝘩𝑒'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑦 ,   and  nick  takes  it  as  a  victory --  he’s  had  cooler  words  from  women  far  stranger  to  him .   but  may --  he  can’t  imagine  a  reason  for  that  rigidity .   if  anything ,  he  is  the  party  with  a  complaint .   it  had  stung ,  that  morning ,  the  rumpled  sheets  beside  him  abandoned .   but  the  hurt  had  faded ,  and  nick  can’t  find  it  in  himself  to  be  sore  with  her .  she  hadn’t  promised  him  a  thing --  and  they  had  been  children  at  the  time ,  little  more .  he’d  happily  buried  himself  in  an  expansive  coed  campus  of  drink  and  lewdness  in  the  months  that  followed ,  anyway .  a  culture  he  still  wears .   but  she’s  different ,  now --  grown ,  with  a  new  air  about  her ,   yet  he  can  still  hear  their  youthful ,  drunken  laughter  in  his  ears .  even  as  she  speaks ,  cool  and  measured .  no  matter  how  she  changes ,   he  cannot  unknow  the  may  martin  she  once  was .

she told her father she did not want to come.   it was these events, with their attendees and their lying tongues and dead eyes, that drove her far from the place of her birth and childhood. the farther she got from the poison hiding in honey, the safer she felt. were it not for ties of family, she would never return to this place. she would simply keep traveling until the stink of it fled her nostrils, never again to be remembered. nonetheless, because her mother and father, both beloved despite their involvement in this world, asked her, she consented to go. old dresses, rarely dragged out to see the light of day, were spread across her old room as her sister delighted in ‘fixing her up’ for the event. half of her hair was pinned back, while the rest of her fuzzy golden curls spilled gloriously over one shoulder. in that floor length, midnight blue dress, she was disguised as one of them, a vision on her father’s arm with her mother’s diamonds sparkling on her neck. how she hated it.

she spots him across the room almost the moment she enters. he’s as devilish as she remembers, as handsome as well. she remembers drunken kisses, wandering hands, years of promises between their families broken as he fisted his hands into her hair. may’s eyes wander away again instantly, refusing to let herself fall too deeply into memories he likely cares nothing for. he passes from her mind again in an instant, a snap of memory floating away in the wind. she listens to her father’s conversation with one of his donors before that voice snaps her out of it. somehow, her composure is maintained as she turns, finally standing in the full force of nicholas’ attention. just as she thought: he hasn’t changed. her eyebrows soar towards her hairline at this introduction, as though he doesn’t remember her. so that’s how he wants to play it? FINE. let him have his games. it’s been many years since she’s been made weak by this boy, and she’s not about to start now. without a word, she turns away from him, from her father and his donor, and sweeps away from him, in search of literally anyone else to have a pleasant conversation with.

𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 ,        he’s  under  her  gaze ,   and  he  is  thoroughly ,  utterly  eighteen  again .   eyes  always  on  her ,  amy  some  indistinct  shadow  figure .   may  had  soaked  up  light --  caught  it  in  her  curls  and  shone .   it  was  may  who  had  been  warm ,  may  who  had  understood  it  all ,  the  awful  burdens  and  expectations .   may  who  had  made  the  bid  for  freedom  he’d  never  quite  managed .  if  she  were  anyone  else ,   nick  might  resent  her --  but  she’s  not .   she’s  may ,  and  he’s  nick ,   and  he  feels  like  a  giddy  child  once  more .   and  then   she’s  gone ,   striding  away  into  the  sea  of  purses .    nick  drains  the  glass ,  shoves  it  at  a  waiter --  and  then  he’s  pushing  through  the  crowd  after  her .      ❝ may --  c’mon ,  may ,   it  was  a  joke .   ❞      he  sidesteps  the  intoxicated  langfords .    ❝  may ,  wait  up .  ❞     

the celestial’s wings are tucked away long before the prophet realizes just who is in his home. the angel takes a moment, observes his surroundings ( the obedient soldier is he ), before venturing further into the home. though the prophet does not seem surprised by an angelic presence in his home. peculiar. perhaps he has already begun tapping into his abilities. when he steps forward, touching castiel’s hair, the angel’s stoic expression turns even more grim. “ remove your hand from me, ” his low voice is practically a growl, rippling with celestial command. “ i have been sent by michael to share with you the word of the lord. ”

𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 --      his  final  layer ,   nearly  naked  without  it .    starched ,  white  shirt ,  a  deep ,  black  jacket  of  velvet --  his  fingers  wrapped  around  the  stem  of  his  glass .   the  scene  is  appallingly  familiar ,   the  wealthy  and  philanthropic  scattered  about  the  ballroom ,   hands  in  their  deep  pockets  to  pledge  allegiance  to  the  montgomery  name .   nick’s  got  a  list  of  them ,  tucked  away  in  his  mind ,   the  weighty  donors  circulating .   he  skims  the  room  for  those  illustrious  few ,   the  ones  whose  good  will  he  has  yet  to  secure .  it’s  satisfying ,  in  the  most  tedious  of  fashions ,  having  to  smile ,  endear  himself ,  endear  his  father ,  remember  the  names  and  dates  of  infants  he’s  never  set  eyes  on  --  it’s  tedious  in  the  way  that  all  things  are  when  they  come  naturally .

headcanon 002 ➛ nick & sex workers

nick  hires  prostitutes ,  on  occasion .  he  doesn’t  need  to ,   he’s  never  had  trouble  finding  someone  to  spend  the  night  with  him ,   but  as  with  most  things ,   it  circles  back  to  richard .  

headcanon 001 ➛ nick & marybeth

nick was 16 when marybeth was born. his own, troublesome relationship with his father had spurred richard’s second marriage, and while constituents readily welcomed the second mrs. montgomery, nick recognized the marriage and his subsequent half-sister as a shameless publicity stunt and personal attempt to redo his first, failed attempt at a family. 

nick missed marybeth’s birth, and refused to be left alone with her for the first year of her life. richard didn’t bother to push back on nick’s coldness-- nick spent his days soaked in liquor or speed-dialing dealers, and the elder didn’t want his son around marybeth. shortly after her 1st birthday, marybeth threw a tantrum, as infants are prone to do. even elizabeth couldn’t calm her-- she thrashed and sobbed in her crib until richard couldn’t stand it, and threw a glass at the wall. it struck a painting, and both the crystal shards and the heavy frame hit the floor, sending marybeth into further hysterics. richard had never mastered dealing with children, had roared at her; nick was familiar with his father’s temper, had experienced it for the better part of 16 years, and heard the barrage of swears and curses from his perch on the balcony. he waited till richard left the room, ground out his cigarette, and climbed in the window. 

nick and marybeth spent the night in his room-- his insomnia kept him up till half past three, holding her to his chest, until she quieted and they both fell asleep. 

nick very quietly looked after marybeth going forward, stepping in when richard and elizabeth were absent, reading to her from his course assignments in high school and then college. it was nick she came to as she got older when richard’s temper wouldn’t subside-- they’d creep down to the kitchen at midnight to bake, at which nick would fail miserably. they’d watch films in richard’s private theater, down in the basement.  he’s there when marybeth gets her first crush, and the first time richard misses her birthday.