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hillnerd · 2 years

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I'm not sure if this has been explored yet, but how do you picture an AU where, instead of Harry being the orphaned Chosen One, it was Ron? I've seen posts on what Harry's personality would be like if he weren't so traumatized from the get-go, and I'm wondering about how Ron's personality would change if he didn't have Molly and Arthur in his life (or even his siblings)! It's sort of a swap AU that I haven't really seen others discuss.

This one got away from me and I ended up writing a 3k AU ficlet!

I think a LOT of it would depend on who he grows up with instead.

Uncle Bilius or Aunt Muriel are the ones we know- but there might be other Weasleys he'd grow up with- but I can see Aunt Muriel feeling entitled to taking him. And Bilius (who I always pictured as dying from complications of alcoholism in the series) after losing his brother Arthur, Bilius sees this poor kid trapped with Muriel and decides to sober up so he can be there for Ron.

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

Ron Weasley, the Boy Who Lived

“So I’ve performed a kingside castling. What do you do?” Uncle Bilius asked.

“I’m moving out my knight to F6,” Ron replied, watching as the piece moved into the place.

“Then I’m moving my queen to E2 to protect my bishop,” said Uncle Bilius, a smile on his scruffy face. “Congratulations, you’re setting up a Siberian Trap!”

Ron beamed. He loved it when Uncle Bilius would come over to their house. It was rare he had company aside from the random Weasley cousin— but they never wanted to stay around long since Aunt Muriel was a battle axe.

They continued and Ron quickly won the game. He wasn’t very good at remembering the names for the different strategies, but he was good at executing them.

“That was very good, Ron! You been reading that book I gave you?”

“Er… Not really,” Ron said with a sheepish shrug.

“Instinctively knew it? Fucking brilliant,” said the older man with a shake of his shaggy head. “You keep it up and you could be a World Champion.”

Ron’s face warmed at the compliment.

“Ronald!” came a piercing yell from the other room making both of them wince.

“Coming, Aunt Muriel!” he called back.

“Been having fun with your Uncle Bilius for too long?” Bilus asked with a rueful grin.

“Yeah…” Ron smiled before his face fell. “I think I have a piano lesson coming up.”

“Do you enjoy playing piano?”

He gave a shrug. “Not really.”

It’s not like his opinion on anything mattered. There were certain things he was supposed to do and so he did them.

Aunt Muriel would remind him quite often he had to live his life for everyone that had died— so that meant doing all the things they hadn’t and succeeding at them. He needed to be familiar with all the refined activities, do well in all his studies, be respectable and know the right people by name.

Ron was familiar enough with all the refined stuff. He did very well with his tutor, but that was mostly because Mr Lupin was a brilliant teacher and not because Ron was all that good of a student. As for respectability, it mostly came down to if his shoes were polished and his hair was combed right, if Aunt Muriel’s assessments had anything to do with it— and he was far sloppier than she liked and ‘far more Weasley than Prewitt!’ The right people tended to be blood-purist prigs from Bilius’s descriptions, and definitely didn’t include his Uncle Bilius. He never got to meet the right people, of course, because he never got to meet anyone.

Bilius walked him to Aunt Muriel who was seated at her usual high back chair. She was dressed up so that meant proper company was coming.

“Took you long enough!” Muriel said, tapping her cane in front of her with both hands.

“Ron’s really coming along with his chess!” Bilius told her patting Ron on the shoulder.

"Which has little to do with you, I'm sure, Bilius,” she said with an eye roll.

“Quite right! The lad’s a natural. He’s able to do all sorts of incredibly advanced strategies without even looking at the books we give him.”

“Imagine what he’d do if he ever sat down and actually read.”

“I read,” Ron answered.

She gave a particularly powerful glare.

“Comics don’t count!”

“I read real books!" he declared before quietly adding, "I just haven’t read the chess ones much.”

She rolled her eyes. She did that a lot when he spoke. She mostly wanted reports of what he’d accomplished that day. Anything else just seemed to annoy her.

“When you get to Hogwarts we’ll see how your lack of discipline goes without a firm hand to bring you to task.”

“Give him a break, Muriel,” Bilius said, hand still on Ron’s shoulder.

“Oh? Should we just let him be a idler like his—”

“You won’t be insulting Arthur, you old bag!” Bilius roared, standing taller to his full height, chest puffing up and sizable midsection nearly toppling Ron over. “He was one of the best men in this world. Just because he didn’t have old money like you he gets trashed, but he was smart and hard working and brave and Ron’s every inch like him.”

Ron didn’t know what to do when he was compared to his dad like this. Part of him liked it— liked thinking there was any connection to his dad besides his coloring and height. But came the sting that he’d never really know if it was true. For all he knew, Bilius was just saying it to tee Muriel off.

“Tea!” she declared, looking quite scandalized by Bilius’s impertinence.

No matter how often they butted heads nor how often she noted how awful Bilius was, she still let him come around for some reason. Ron didn’t care why, he was just happy to have any company at all.

—--------

September first finally arrived, and with it excitement and dread. He wanted to do his family proud, he wanted to make friends, and he desperately wanted a chance to be away from Aunt Muriel… And then there was the ‘boy-who-lived’ bit of things.

It was easy to spot him— tall and gangling with freckles and bright red hair— the two times he’d been allowed out and about in Wizarding society he was inundated with random people wanting to shake his hand and pay respects and talk about his dead family. He’d awkwardly shake hands and say ‘thanks’ after old ladies would cry on him, saying how tragic it all was and how honored they were to meet him, which made zero sense because all he’d done is not die. He hadn’t done anything at all to do it either.

Bilius brought him to the station as Muriel had little interest in ‘finagling with teeming crowds of children and their overly emotional parents.’

“Got everything packed?”

“Yeah I think so,” said Ron, adjusting his shoulder bag and looking around the platform. Everyone else was surrounded by family.

Just down the way was a little boy around his age. He had messy black hair and was laughing as a little redheaded toddler with equally wild hair hung from his hand. Another pudgy blonde boy had a pair of parents hugging him and handing him a toad.

“Chin up, lad,” Bilius said, giving him a little cuff to the chin. “You’re gonna have a fine time! Meet some kids your own age, maybe blow up a cauldron or two, get to fly without Muriel chasing us with her cane.”

“Ye-eah,” Ron laughed, picturing the last time they’d taken his broom out and he’d accidentally snipped the top of her hedge with his broom.

Looking around to make sure no one saw, Ron put his arms around his Uncle’s full middle and gave him a hug which was firmly returned.

“Write me when you feel like it,” his Uncle said, a little hoarse.

“I will,” Ron told him earnestly. “See you at Christmas!”

Ron pushed his cart further down the train then realized he had to get his trunk on board and it might be a hair difficult. He turned around to ask for Bilius’s help, but his Uncle was already gone.

With a sigh, Ron started attempting to pull the trunk onto the train. He was strong, but it was awkward and not going well when his trainer slipped and he ended up arse-flat on the ground.

“Ron, are you alright?” came a familiar hoarse voice.

He looked up into the face of, “Mr Lupin! What’re you doing here?”

Mr Lupin was looking a bit shabby and tired, but otherwise in good spirits.

“I’m here to see my friend’s son off. He’s a first year, like you. I bet you two would like each other,” he said looking around himself. “Here, Harry! Come over, there’s someone I’d like you to meet!”

The same wild haired boy from before came running up.

“Harry, this is Ron. He’ll be in first year with you. He’s the boy I told you about.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile and a handshake. “Are you the one who’s so good at chess?”

Ron looked at Remus, surprised he’d been talked about enough for someone else to remember facts. “I’m pretty good, yeah.”

“If you have a set we can play it on the train ride there. My dad says it’s an awfully long ride.”

“I’ve got one,” Ron replied, patting his bag.

“Great! Let’s put you in with me, then,” said Harry, pulling out his wand. “I’ll help with your trunk.”

“Ah ah ah,” came a woman’s voice. She had long red hair and eyes just like Harry’s. She quickly lifted the wand from his hand. “No wand work until you’re on the train! How many times have I had to tell you?”

“Sorry, Mum,” said Harry, but he didn’t look all that sorry.

“He’s gotta get the practice in sometime, Lils,” a man who could only be Harry’s father said, toddler on his hip. He and Harry looked exactly alike, except for the green eyes.

“Yes, and that practice will be. On. The. Train,” Mrs Potter gritted out.

Mr Potter gave a besotted grin then waved his wand— with a Leviosa the trunk was put inside the train.

“Well, come and say goodbye,” Mrs Potter said, reaching out her arms towards her son.

Ron felt a pang as he saw Mr and Mrs Potter hugging their son, and the little toddler using this as an opportunity to grab Harry’s glasses.

“Reee,” she squealed, wilding waving them and nearly poking herself in the eye. The family all laughed and nuzzled her, and his parents looked so content. Had Ron’s parents been that happy? Had he grabbed glasses off of his brother’s face? Had his mother given him warm hugs and admonished the boys as they got up to no good? Had his father had a little mischief in his eye as he indulged them all?

Realizing he’d been staring for too long, Ron quickly boarded the train and found his seat.

Mr Lupin came into the compartment, and looked around with a smile. “These compartments haven’t changed at all.”

Ron gave a shrug and looked out the window at all the families, realizing he could still hear the Potters.

“Try not to get into too much trouble,” said Mrs Potter.

“At least, don’t get caught!” said Mr Potter. Mrs Potter let out a little groan but quickly they were all laughing. “And Harry, there’s something else. The boy you were just introduced to was Ron Weasley.”

“What?” Harry asked, voice high. “The Boy-Who—”

“The very same,” said his father sounding more serious. “He doesn’t need you making a big fuss about that or asking rude questions.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Harry protested.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Mrs Potter assured him. “Just be kind. He’s not had it easy.”

Ron’s face steadily pinked up.

“Have a wonderful time at Hogwarts,” Lupin said, with a pat to Ron’s shoulder, clearly having heard everything too. His once-tutor moved with greater speed than Ron had ever seen off the train. He could hear Lupin’s voice loudly say, “Well, Harry! What house are you hoping to be in?”

Ron smiled, realizing Lupin had given him time to recover and sort himself before Harry got to the compartment.

As the train got going, one of Harry’s friends, Neville Longbottom joined them as well. He’d seen him with his toad on the platform.

“Where’s your toad at?” Ron asked, as he fiddled with his chess set, not wanting to force it on anyone.

“My — Oh no!” Neville moaned before giving a smile. “He’s always hopping off. My Uncle Algie gave him to me. Bit of a pest, really.”

Ron had never had a pet. He’d hoped Muriel would allow him an owl, but she’d pointed out he knew no one to correspond with besides her, so what was the point? Maybe he’d get an owl after he’d made friends. If he made friends, Ron hastily corrected.

“Let’s look for him,” Harry said, getting up.

Neville and Harry quickly strode into the corridor, leaving Ron holding his closed chess set.

“Ron, you coming?” Harry asked, poking his head into the compartment.

“Oh right!” Ron said, happy to be included. “What’s it named?”

“Trevor,” Neville sighed before calling the name down the corridor.

They’d been looking for a while when they saw a group of boys all in wizards robes blocking the corridor, backs to them. The one in the middle looked about their age and had bright blonde hair.

Probably a Malfoy Ron thought to himself.

The other two weren’t distinguishing to look at other than their pure bulk and resemblance to a pair of bodyguards. Both were as tall as Ron and nearly twice as wide.

Behind them came a wobbly high pitched voice saying, “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me pass!”

The boys gave a mocking laugh, and one of the bodyguards did a high pitched impression of the voice.

“Clearly, friendless and Muggleborn,” the blonde said with a derisive snort. “I mean, look at its clothes!”

Ron stepped forward, his fist clenching, but Harry burst ahead.

“Hey! What’re you doing, Malfoy?” Harry barked, marching over, his wand already drawn.

“Ohhh, if it isn’t Potty,” Malfoy said, turning around with a horrible sneer on his face. “I’m surprised they let you come to Hogwarts. I was pretty sure your Mudblood mum was going to keep you running around in the mud with Muggles.”

Ron and Neville both gasped at the horrible display of racism, but Harry was already letting a jinx out of his wand. One of the bodyguards around Malfoy managed to deflect the spell right into the person the group had been bullying; with a horrid squeal the little girl fell to the ground.

Draco’s wand was out, but Harry followed up the missed jinx with a punch. Neville joined him and soon the corridor was nothing but fists and swears.

Ron gave a good step on Malfoy’s head as he went to the crying girl on the ground.

“You okay?” he asked.

She had a pair of antlers growing from her bushy brown hair, and her teeth had turned into chipmunk teeth.

“I don’t know,” she whimpered, tentatively feeling the antlers. A few Prefects had come into the corridor and were pulling the boys apart.

“What are you blithering idiots thinking!” a burly Scottish Gryffindor Prefect said, pulling Harry off of Malfoy.

“He was bullying that girl, then he called my mum an M-word!” Harry snarled, aiming a kick at one of the bodyguards on the floor.

“Did he now?” the prefect said. “Well… Well, don’t fight in the corridors then.”

“Whaaad?” Malfoy cried out, blood gushing from his nose. “He hid me in the nose! He needs a dedenshun!”

“Aye, but it’s a bit early for that without you being even sorted into houses. Doesnae start the year well, ye ken?” he said, shaking his head and casting an Episkey on Malfoy and Neville who both had bloody noses. The prefect struggled with the girl’s antlers before giving up. “Now eff off to your compartments! I need to plan out my Quidditch team!”

“But- but I still have horns!” the girl squealed from behind her hands.

“And teeth,” Ron added.

She felt her teeth before flushing a deep radish color and her eyes becoming glossy. “No. Those were there to begin with.”

Ron went nearly the same color of radish as she. “Right. Erm, Harry— you know how to fix the antlers?”

Harry had just finished repairing his glasses and raised his wand. “Yeah. Mum always makes me learn the counterjinxes.”

She glared at Harry as he undid the spell and the antlers started to shrink.

“Might take a bit for those to go away entirely. And sorry about that. It was meant for Malfoy.”

“You’re not supposed to do spells in the corridor!” she said, poking her finger in Harry’s face.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right. Ron, want to play chess?”

“Erm, sure. Yeah,” Ron said looking back to the bucktoothed girl. Malfoy had said she was friendless and Muggleborn. That couldn’t be an easy combination to start the year with. He knew what it was to be friendless. He’d been that his whole life. And his dad had always loved Muggles and Muggleborns according to Bilius. “Do you want to come with us? Play some chess?”

Harry gave him a look that clearly said not to do it. Ron ignored him.

“I would, but I found this toad,” she said, pulling a toad from her pocket. “I need to find its owner.”

“It’s Trevor!” Neville said, wiping the blood from under his nose with the back of his hand, then thrusting the bloody hand towards the girl. She shriveled with distaste at the bloody hand.

“I’ll get it.” Ron grabbed the toad and handed it to Neville. “We were looking for Neville’s toad when we ran into you.”

“Thanks for keeping him from being squished during the fight,” Neville beamed.

“So, you want to sit with us?” Ron asked the girl again. She looked at the unwelcoming Harry and bloody Neville, then at Ron, biting her lip.

“Alright,” she said, a small smile on her face, before thrusting her hand out. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

“I’m Ron. Ron Weasley,” he replied, shaking her hand.

“Are you really?” Neville asked as they went into the compartment. “I’ve read so much about you!” Hermione said, a broad grin on her face. “I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century!”

[END]

author's note So that was a fun little exploration.

Harry is much more forthright and prone to spell around as he's grown up with James Lily and Sirius all being so brilliant - and he's a bit more prone to speak his mind as he's more confident- so some more snark and lack of control on his part.

Ron is more shy and less prone to use his fists because he didn't grow up in a rowdy house- he's a bit less prone to speak his mind and more likely to sit back and observe. He's a much sadder Ron, and still insecure because he didn't get much socialization with peers- so he's a bit more patient and empathetic to Hermione.

Neville is much less shy and insecure- he's a bit more clueless and 'boyish' and confident- and just generally happier.

Also had Oliver Wood make an appearance as well as Remus.

Bilius was fun to write too

#Ron weasley #harry potter au #ron weasley the boy who lived #my writing #fan fic

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j-casper · 4 years

Text

Penelope Garcia x (trans ! ftm) Luke Alvez

aka, how they got together (in Luke’s point of view)

warning: gender dysphoria, (brief mention of) transphobia

- - -

He cuts his hair for the first time with kitchen scissors when he’s eleven.

| | |

There’s something wrong with him, he concludes weeks before when his mother sat him down and told him about puberty, about the changes his body would go through.

Only—he didn’t want to go through these changes.

A nauseous feeling settled in the pit of his stomach when he realized that the thought of puberty, of the things his body would soon go through, unsettled him and, not only that, but...it scared him.

Scared him like when his father shouted at the top of his lungs at his mother when they argued.

Scared him like the time he snuck one of his cousin’s toy cars to his own house to play with it in the secret of his room.

Scared him like the time that he asked for a lightsaber for Christmas only to get his mother’s intimidating stare in response.

He didn’t have a word for his feelings beside scared, didn’t have a word for the reasoning behind his disgust for his body.

That was until...him, Matthew—his new next door neighbor with his shaggy brown hair and built form.

His parents wrote off his admiration for the new neighbor as a crush, teasing him and prodding him every time his wide, awe-filled eyes trailed after Matthew.

It wasn’t long before he realized that he didn’t have a crush on Matthew...no—he wanted to be like Matthew.

He wanted short hair and a built form and a confident swagger.

He wanted to wear khaki pants and button down shirts, along with black dress shoes and a chain around his belt loops.

He wanted a deep voice and scruffy facial hair.

He wanted to be a boy.

| | |

His fingers ran carefully through his long hair, his other hand gripping the scissors he had sneaked out of the kitchen.

It’s 12am in the morning and he’s alone in the bathroom, staring in the mirror hopelessly at the person inside.

Her...Him

Tears ran down his face as he carefully bought the scissors up to his hair, his eyes tightening closed once a strand of hair is placed inside.

Snip.

The cut piece of hair falls on his shoulder and he resists the urge to tremble, eyes opening as he gathered more hair between the blades.

Snip...snip...snip...

Slowly, his hair creates its own pile on the cold bathroom tile under his feet.

At the end, his hair is short and terribly uneven, but, for once, his head feels light.

Tears gather in his eyes as he places down the scissors, his hands gripping both sides of the sink as he stared at his reflection.

“Luke,” he whispers softly, the name he always wished he had when he learned that he would have been named that if born a boy, “my name is Luke.”

Luke allows a single tear to run down his face before he leaves the bathroom to go back to bed.

He climbs in and ignores the pink walls and dolls scattered around the room, and allows the silence of a sleeping house to lure him to sleep.

(He can’t find it in himself to regret his choice when met with his mother’s intimidating stare and his father’s loud, angry shouting at the sight of him the next day.

He’s never felt more free.)

| | |

He gets his first binder at the age of fourteen, a gift from his older sister for his birthday.

She practically has to pry him away from the mirror when he first tries it on and can only proceed to stand there, running a lightly trembling hand over his newly flattened chest.

She’s the one that reminds him to take breaks from wearing it, the words “little brother” leaving her mouth affectionately and part scolding when she does so and he almost cries.

He doesn’t think he has any tears to waste anymore after crying over his father’s refusal to respect his identity and his mother’s judging state that would follow him, silently disapproving of every choice he makes.

He starts Testosterone when he’s seventeen after years of therapy.

The first shot hurts but he doesn’t flinch.

He’s been waiting for this moment his entire life, even if he didn’t know it at one point.

Besides, before long he’s used to the shots and is instead left to beam in delight as he notices the changes his body goes through due to it.

His voice deepens, his body hair thickens, and he even begins to gain facial hair.

He’s happy, he realizes one day as he gets ready for the day, toothbrush stuck in mouth as he pauses in front of the bathroom mirror.

He’s so happy.

By the time he joins the BAU, he’s older and a bit wiser.

His name is legally changed to Luke and his gender is accompanied by a little M on his legal paperwork.

For all intents and purposes, he passes with his (permanent) flat chest from top surgery years before and the years he has been on testosterone.

He’s happier.

He smiles and beams and jokes around.

His sister jokes that he’s a lady killer, charming and flirting; yet, Luke doesn’t really allow himself to get close to anyone romantically.

At the end of the night, he goes home to Roxy and that’s enough for him...until he meets her.

| | |

Penelope Garcia.

Technical analyst for the BAU.

Self-proclaimed nerd.

A woman who sassily comments to Luke upon the second time meeting him that she has an amazing boyfriend and Luke ignores the pain in his chest at the thought of the beautiful woman in front of him being taken as he instead smiles, doing what he does best next—continues to be charming (as his sister would say) and attempts to make a conversation only to get shut down.

He tries to pretend that he doesn’t care about her cold and distant attitude.

He pretends that it doesn’t hurt with how she treats him differently than everyone else, but not in the way he wants.

He smiles despite how much Garcia’s actions hurt and he ignores the fact that a tiny voice in the back of his head nags that she knows, that she’s treating him like this because he’s trans.

It’s nothing personal, he reminds himself, recognizing a hurt individual when seeing one, but hell if he doesn’t feel like it is.

...

“Come on, newbie,” Garcia drawled as she sipped slowly on her drink, eyebrow raised playfully as she teased him, “what’s your secret? We all have one.”

Luke laughed, taking a small sip from his beer before answering, wide smile spreading to his face as he teased back, “wouldn’t be a secret then, would it?”

It was his first time having a drink with the team and his mood brightened when they all laughed at his response to Garcia’s teasing.

Luke relaxed, untensing his shoulders at the teasing, not realizing how tense he was until then.

At the thought, his eyes shot to Garcia as Rossi dived into a story, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before looking away quickly.

He turned towards Rossi, but watched Garcia out of the corner of his eye.

Did she say that on purpose because she noticed how tense he was?

He shook his head as soon as the thought passed through his mind.

There was no way.

This was Penelope Garcia and to her, Luke is just an annoying coworker and not a friend.

| | |

“Do you hate me?” He whispers one day in Garcia’s vicinity, so quiet that he’s sure that she doesn’t hear him.

They’re alone in her lair, and once again he allows her coldness to get to him despite vowing to himself not too.

Her head shoots up, her eyes meeting his.

He can’t recognize the look in her eyes.

He stands straight, hands stuffed in his pocket.

“I don’t hate you,” she admits at last, blinking rapidly and her face looking almost...offended?

Luke shook his head.

“Yeah, I figured, but you know,” he flashed her a small grin and gave a little shrug of his shoulders, his body relaxing at how genuine she looked to be.

Her eyes bored into his for a few more seconds before she hastily looked away and to her monitor.

“I don’t hate you Alvez...far from it,” she admits at last, quietly.

Luke practically beams.

Garcia groaned playfully, “stop smirking, Newbie.”

Luke laughed, dodging her slapping hand as he practically rushed out of the room.

Outside the door after shutting it behind him, he pauses, chest heaving and smiling growing wider.

She didn’t hate him.

Thank god.

...

Garcia...Penelope...is leaving.

She’s leaving.

Leaving the BAU, the team, everyone...including him.

There’s always a silver lining though.

This silver lining came in the form of Emily Prentiss, casually reminding him that Garcia would never date a coworker.

His heart seems to pause when he realizes that they’re no longer coworkers.

They’re no longer coworkers.

He might have a chance.

He steeled himself, standing up straight and remembering everything he has ever been through.

His childhood.

His family.

His life.

He catches Garcia’s eyes from across the yard and he smiles.

Now or never.

...

He asks her out for dinner, and she says yes.

She says yes.

He goes home excited, whooping out loud once in the safety of his apartment, fist pumping in the air.

Roxy jumps excitedly at his enthusiasm and the sight of him, and he laughs.

“Guess what girl? Dad has a date.”

He’s afraid that his face will soon hurt with how much he’s grinning but he doesn’t care.

He has a date...with Penelope Garcia.

...

He wears his best button down shirt paired with dress pants, and carefully he loops his belt through and places on his tennis shoes.

Nice, but casual.

Before he leaves his apartment to pick her up, he wipes his sweaty hands on his pant’s legs.

He’s ready.

...

Penelope Garcia is a vision.

She’s always a vision, Luke concludes, but even more so today now that he’s seeing her through the view of a date rather than a coworker or friend.

Luke nervously smiles, hands pushing the flowers in his hand towards her.

“For you.”

“Why thank you kind sir,” Penelope grins, gently taking them and invites him inside.

He watches as she places the flowers in a vase and he chooses then to speak, “you look beautiful” and she did.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Newbie,” she shot back, “so where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

...

The air outside the restaurant is cold.

“So, that was pretty amazing,” Luke teased as him and Penelope slowly walked to his car and he opened the door for her.

Penelope grinned, “it wasn’t bad.”

Luke laughed, “bad? glad to know that me spilling water on my shirt amuses you.”

“I mean, it did,” Penelope giggled, avoiding Luke’s playful glare.

“Woah, nice to know my humiliation amuses you, chica,” Luke moaned dramatically as he cranked up the engine, smiling widening when Penelope’s laugh grew in volume.

Without even thinking, his right hand shot out to lay on top of Penelope’s own on the armrest, causing her to freeze, laughs abruptly stopping.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Luke admitted softly, grinning.

Penelope paused before admitting just as softly, “me too.”

Luke slowly leaned across the middle console and Penelope did the same, hearts thudding as they slowly grew closer and closer before pausing, faces centimeters away.

“May I?” Luke asked.

“Yeah,” Penelope breathed out.

“Yeah?” Luke asked, smiling.

Penelope nodded her head, “yeah” before her lips crashed again his, all other thoughts but those of Penelope Garcia leaving his head.

...

“I need to tell you something,” Luke admitted after their third date, this one being in Penelope’s apartment and involving a movie and popcorn.

Penelope turned her body towards his, giving him her full attention.

He shifted nervously.

“I’m—” he trails off, brows furrowing as he tries to figure out how to word everything correctly.

Penelope’s hands took hold of his, squeezing them softly and Luke shakingly exhaled.

“I’m trans, Penelope,” he admits quietly, stomach dropping and his breath catching in his throat as he awaits her answer.

Penelope’s brows furrowed, “as in a transwoman or a transman.”

“Transman,” he admits, “that’s why I don’t really talk to my family beside my sister and her husband and kids. My parents didn’t take it too well.”

Penelope’s hands tightened around his.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me,” Penelope told him at last, grinning softly.

Luke grinned back hestitantly, “you’re okay with it?”

Penelope sighed, mock offense due to him asking her this written across her face, “I love you, Luke Alvez, no matter your identity or pronouns or anything else...even if your ego is too big.” Her voice playful as she eased his concerns.

“Good,” Luke joked back, relief settling in his chest, “because I’m bisexual too...wait,” he blinked in shock, mouth falling open a little as he registered what she said, “you love me?”

Penelope blushed.

“I love you too, Penelope Garcia,” a wide smile splitting his face.

Penelope sighed, “you better, Newbie. I’m a catch.”

“Well, so am I.”

He dodged her playful slap and sprinted across the room, laughter from both of them filling the air as she chased after him.

#Criminal Minds #Penelope Garcia #Luke Alvez #Penelope Garcia x Luke Alvez #trans!Luke #garvez

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that-winged-rat · 4 years

Text

Trust Me

*not my gif*

Requested by @ppeachygemss: So it’s a Dean x reader who was dean best friend,the reader died years ago before the boys found the bunker and one night they find her searching through the lore books but she lost her memories and all she has is this piece of paper that gave directions to the bunker, the boys find out it was a witch that did it and hunt down the witch with the reader and while they are on the hunt the reader reminds dean how much he missed her and how he needed her back in his life. I know that’s a lot lmao-

Summary: Just as Dean is beginning to adjust to life without his best friend by his side, he finds her snooping around in the bunker’s library.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader!platonic

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer(mention of)

Warnings: Angst, slight language (one f-bomb), mention of death, fluff.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Whoop whoop first request! I don’t know if this is what you were wanting but I hope you like it. Anyhoo, thanks for the request and thank you for reading! Feel free to send in requests. Feedback is always encouraged and welcomed. Enjoy! :)

“Alright,” Dean said, snapping the book that sat in front of him shut. “I’m gonna call it a night. I think if I read anymore, I’m gonna send myself into a coma.”

Sam scoffed and leaned back into the chair, stretching. “Yeah, I hear ya,” he said. “Night.”

“Night,” Dean replied. He pushed himself up from the table and returned the book to its rightful place in the library, before heading to his bedroom. He got changed into a t-shirt and boxers, and within a matter of minutes, he was settled down in bed and drifting off to sleep.

Sometime later in the night, Dean was yanked from his sleep by warped memories of lost friends. He would’ve thought that he would be used to the nightmares that come with the life he leads by now, but each time they plague his sleep, it shakes him all the same.

The only sounds that echoed down the halls of the bunker were the sound of Dean’s bare feet slapping on the floor as he walked through to the kitchen, accepting the fact that he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep.

He stopped in his tracks just before the kitchen door, when he heard shuffling coming from the library. He sighed. Does he ever sleep? He thought to himself. Forgetting about his drink, he headed to the library, going to tell his little brother to go to bed.

But when he stepped foot into the war room and looked into the library, he knew that the person who stood at the book shelves was not his brother. Sure, he couldn’t see their face, but last he checked, Sam didn’t have a feminine figure. As quietly as he could he shuffled over to the map table and reached under to grab the gun that was strapped under the table. Thankfully, the intruder was too engrossed in the book to notice him.

With the gun now equipped, he stalked towards the stranger. Their back was facing him, which gave him the element of surprise. He switched the safety off and watched with a stern face as the woman instantly froze and sucked in a sharp gasp.

He leaned forward, gun still against her back, until he was close enough to feel her trembling. “We’re not a public library,” he whispered in her ear. “And the last time I checked, you need a key to get inside. So, one: how did you find this place? And two: how did you get in?”

“I–I–I’m sorry, I didn’t–I didn’t know anyone lived here,” she stuttered. But that wasn’t what made Dean freeze like she had moments earlier. That voice. I know that voice. “I–I didn’t take anything. I swear!”

Dumbfounded, he let the gun fall by his side, and didn’t miss how her shoulders sagged in relief. He slowly lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder, feeling her muscles tense under his touch, and turned her around, confirming his suspicions.

“Y/N?” Her name felt both foreign and comforting as it left his mouth in a whisper. Her presence lifted a massive weight from his shoulders, even though it should be impossible for her to be here. He watched as her screams died out and her heart stopped. He watched as her body was engulfed with flames. He watched as her sister broke down into tears as Sam told her she was dead. There was no forgetting that.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How... How do you know that name?” Dean frowned, searching for recognition in her eyes. But he found none.

“You don’t remember me?”

She hesitated for a moment, eyes scanning Dean’s face. “Should I?” She asked.

Dean let out a humourless chuckle. “Well, normally I would hope so, but nothing about this situation is exactly normal, so... I can’t really blame you.”

She tilted her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean looked down to the ground, the first time he’d taken his gaze away from hers. “That’s... a long ass story.” He looked back up to her and visibly swallowed. “C’mon, you should probably sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”

“Uh, no offence, but I should... I should probably get going. I didn’t know that anyone lived here and–”

“No,” Dean blurted out, catching both of them by surprise. He was silent for a moment. “This is gonna sound really odd, but do you remember anything before about... three years ago?”

“No, I don’t... How’d you know that?” Y/N asked taking a wary step back.

“Look, I can explain everything. Just... please don’t go,” Dean pleaded.

Every muscle was screaming at Y/N, telling her to just get out of there, but there was something about this man that made her trust him. She pushed the alarm bells ringing in her mind to the back of her head and found herself nodding slowly.

An hour later, Dean and Y/N were sat in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in front of Dean and a glass of whiskey in front of Y/N, upon request.

“So... you’re saying that me, you and your younger brother used to drive around the country saving people from monsters until I was boiled alive from the inside out by a witch, resulting in me dying three years ago? But apparently I didn’t die.” Y/N summarised. “Oh, and you’re friend is an actual, honest to God, angel.”

Dean scoffed. “Well, when you say it like that...”

Y/N shook her head and downed the rest of her whiskey. Dean raised an eyebrow. “So, we lived in this... labyrinth?”

“No. Me and Sam inherited this last year.”

Y/N nodded. “When you said that me and you were close, you didn’t mean close as in... y’know...”

Dean let out a loud laugh. “No. No, you were more like a sister.” She nodded again.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? I mean for all I know, you’re just a nutty guy living in a bunker claiming that he knows me,” Y/N said.

Dean chuckled faintly. “Wait here,” he said before rushing out of the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a small photo in his hand. He placed it face up on the table and slid it over to Y/N.

It was a picture of a younger version of her, Dean and two other men; one of them had a mop of shaggy hair sitting on his head, and the other was an older gentleman, a scruffy cap sitting atop his head. The four of them were leaning on the hood of a sleek black car, all wearing smiles.

“Who are those two men?” Y/N asked, looking back up to Dean.

“The tall one with the hair, that’s my brother, Sam. And the other guy, that’s Bobby. He, uh, he passed away a couple of years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Y/N said. Dean cleared his throat and smiled at her. “And I’m sorry that... I–I don’t remember anything.”

“Don’t apologise for something you have no control over,” he said.

“Dean? Who are you–” A third voice joined the conversation before it abruptly stopped. Y/N looked to the door to see a man, nearly filling the entire doorway, standing with his mouth agape and his eyebrows pulled together in a frown. He looked to Dean for confirmation; his older brother nodded with a faint smile. “Y/N?”

She briefly looked back down to the picture, recognising the man as Dean’s brother. She looked back up to the towering man.

Before Y/N could say anything, she was pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Sam. He pulled back, confused when all he got in return was an awkward chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“Sam,” Dean said, a solemn look on his face. “She, uh...”

“I... I don’t exactly remember anything,” she filled in when Dean trailed off. Sam frowned and took a seat at the table, facing Y/N. “The first thing I remember is waking up on the side of the road and getting hit by a car... Three years ago.”

“What?” Sam asked, barely above a whisper. “Like anything? You don’t remember anything?” Y/N shook her head sadly. “So... How did you find this place?”

The two brothers looked to Y/N, watching as she dug into her pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper. She unfolded it and placed it on the table for Sam and Dean to see. It just said ‘Lebanon, Kansas’, and underneath that was the Men of Letters logo.

“A few months ago, I found that in one of my jacket pockets. Someone must’ve put it there,” she said.

Sam frowned. “I just–I don’t get how you’re even alive. I mean, we burned your body—that normally means that you can’t come back. So how are you...?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N muttered quietly.

A moment of silence washed over the room, until Sam spoke up again, “Dean could I talk to you? Outside?” He discreetly nodded his head to the kitchen door before looking back to Y/N, who had her eyes on the photo in front of her.

“Uh, yeah,” he said and looked to Y/N as she looked up, smiling. “We’ll be back in a minute.” She nodded and the two brothers left the table, walking out of Y/N’s earshot.

“What?” Dean asked impatiently once they had left the kitchen.

Sam frowned. “What do you mean ’what’?” He asked, exasperated. “Are we not gonna talk about the fact that Y/N is back from the dead? That she has no memory and she just so happened to stumble into the bunker? You don’t find that a little bit strange?”

Dean sighed. “What do you want me to say, man? She’s back. That’s a blessing in it’s own.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Dean, please tell me you didn’t make a deal.”

“What? No, I didn’t make a damn deal,” Dean said. “I’m just as confused as you are. Except I’m not trying to find something that’s wrong. Why can’t you just be happy that she’s back?”

“I just know that whenever something like this happens, it’s usually too good to be true, something always goes wrong. Let’s just find out what’s going on and how she’s back... then I’ll be happy.”

Dean didn’t answer, looking down to the ground and thinking through solutions and answers in his head. “What if it was the witch?” He thought out loud a few moments later. He looked back to his brother. “I mean, it was the witch that supposedly killed her, and we both know that witches can be sneaky sons of bitches.”

“But why bring her back? It would be better for her if Y/N was dead,” Sam countered.

“Who knows why witches do anything?” Just then, Y/N walked out of the kitchen. Dean frowned at her confused expression. “You alright?”

Her head snapped up to them, looking like a deer caught in headlights. She stumbled back until her back hit the doorway to the kitchen. “Who are you?”

The brothers exchanged a worried look with each other. “Y/N, it’s–it’s us. Sam and Dean...” Sam trailed off. “Wait, what’s the first thing you remember?”

She squinted her eyes as if racking her brain. “I don’t–I just woke up on the table in there.” She gestured towards the kitchen. “Did you–Oh, God, did you kidnap me? Or roofie me, or something?” She asked, starting to panic.

“No. Hey, calm down. We’re your friends. You came here by yourself,” Dean reassured her. “You really remember none of this?” He asked. Y/N shook her head, still slightly scared.

“Okay, maybe you were right about it being a witch,” Sam said. Dean looked back to him, giving him a worried look.

Another hour later, Dean had – yet again – caught Y/N up on everything, this time including their new witch theory, and how they were going to track the witch down.

“I wanna come,” she stated, sounding much more confident than she felt.

Dean laughed. “No way in hell, sweetheart,” he said. “You don’t remember how to fight, or protect yourself. Me and Sam can’t kill this witch and look out for you.”

“Dean, this is my life. I should be able to make my own decisions. Let me come. You never know, I might come in handy.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Still stubborn as ever I see,” he muttered under his breath. He sighed. “Fine. But you stay in the car.” Y/N smiled.

---

“How much farther?” Sam asked from the Impala’s passenger seat. Dean was sat in the drivers seat, squinting through the rain pounding off of the windshield, while Y/N watched the passing scenery from the back seat.

“About fifty miles,” Dean answered. A couple of minutes later, he looked in the rear-view mirror to check up on Y/N, finding her asleep. “Someone’s tired.”

“It’s been a long day. For all of us,” Sam replied, looking back at her as well. Not long after he said that, Y/N awoke with a sharp gasp. And when Sam and Dean looked to her, she had that same scared and confused expression on her face from earlier.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Sam asked.

“Who the hell are you people? Where am I? What’s going on?” She shot out, question after question. Dean was forced to slow the car to a stop when she opened the back door and dove out.

The two brothers hurried out of the car with urgency and worry, running to where Y/N lay on the side of the road, groaning. They crouched down to her level and she cowered away. “Please. Don’t hurt me... please.”

“Hey. Hey, calm down,” Dean said, his voice soothing and careful. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re trying to help you.”

“Help me with what?” She asked quietly through the tears.

Dean licked his lips and looked to the ground, thinking of something to say. “You, uh... you hit your head.” Y/N looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Really hard. Look, you may think you don’t know us, but you do, we’re your friends. And you have to trust us when we say we just want to help you.”

For the third time that night, Y/N felt like she could trust these men. Even though they could’ve made up the whole ‘you hit your head really hard’ story, she didn’t think that they did. Even though they could be mass murderers luring her to her death, she didn’t think that they are. So once again, she found herself nodding warily and walking back to the car.

---

“I–I don’t–I don’t understand. Why are we here?” Y/N asked. They had just pulled up to a quaint looking house—flowers decorating the soil surrounding the house, and a swing seat sat on the front porch.

“We just need to take care of something. You wait here, okay?” Dean said, feeling bad for lying to his best friend. It felt foreign to him, seeing the badass hunter so confused and helpless, unable to defend herself.

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

“Great. We’ll be back soon.” And with that, Sam and Dean got out of the classic car and made their way along the path to the front door.

“You alright, man?” Sam asked, noticing the sad look in his brothers eyes.

Dean looked back to the car briefly, seeing Y/N sitting in the back, her head resting on the headrest. “I never realised how much I actually missed her until now, y’know? Now that she’s back, but she’s not... Y/N. I just wanna get her back. For real.”

“And we will,” Sam said. “Even if it’s not here, we’ll find a way. We always do.”

Dean looked up to his brother and smiled, nodding slightly, before they made their way to the door. They rang the doorbell and waited patiently, until a middle-aged woman opened the door, her smile dropping when she saw the brothers.

“Hey, bitch. Remember us?” Dean said, the ghost of a smile on his face. The witch looked behind them and saw Y/N in the car. Then she looked down, spotting the gun Dean had aimed at her abdomen. “Witch-killing bullets.”

“I get a feeling that no matter what I chose, I die either way,” she said. “I don’t think that’s very fair. I’ve been a good girl.”

Sam spoke up, “We know. Which is why we will give you a choice: if you don’t help her, we’ll kill you, but if you do help her, we’ll leave you be.”

The witch was quiet for a moment, thinking through her options. When she spoke, the brothers could tell from her tone that she was reluctant, “I’ll need her for the spell.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, having their own silent conversation, before they nodded. Dean gave the gun to Sam who trained it on the witch while Dean fetched Y/N from the car.

“Dean? What’s–what’s going on?” Y/N asked as she followed Dean up the path.

“This woman, she’s a... friend of ours. She can help with your, uh, amnesia,” Dean said.

“Seriously? What, is she a nurse?”

“Not exactly. Just trust me, she can help,” he said. Y/N nodded before continuing to the house. The front door was left open for them, so they walked in, shutting it behind them. The witch was seated on a couch, Sam still pointing the gun at her.

“That’s–Dean, that’s a gun. Why does your brother have a gun?! Pointed at a woman in her home?!” Y/N exclaimed. “Are you robbing her?”

The witch started laughing. “Wow. I mean, I knew the spell worked but it’s just weird seeing it.”

“Fix her. Now,” Dean demanded.

The witch sighed. “No fun,” she muttered. “But that was the deal. Let me get my things.” She got up from her seat and walked through to a different room, Sam following her with the gun.

When they left, Y/N grabbed Dean’s arm. “Dean. What the hell is going on? Why is that woman being held at gunpoint? What was she talking about, a spell?”

“Just trust–”

“I do trust you. For some reason, I trust you. But, please, tell me what’s really going on. And don’t tell me that ‘I hit my head and she can fix it’.”

“Alright fine,” Dean sighed, taking a seat on the couch. “You want the truth?” Y/N nodded. Dean was silent for a minute, thinking about what he was going to say. “About three years ago, me, you and Sam were on a case, hunting a witch.” Y/N narrowed her eyes in suspicion, but stayed quiet. “You matched the profile of the victims, so me and Sam were reluctant, for good reasons. But you were stubborn. We just went out for food but what we didn’t know, was that the witch just so happened to work at the diner we chose. By the time we got back to the motel room, you were screaming in pain. An hour later you were dead. And then yesterday, you were in the bunker. You said you didn’t remember anything, dying, hunting, me, Sam. Nothing. Then I told you everything that happened and a couple of minutes later you lost your memory again. I filled you in for the second time, and then on the way here it happened again.” He paused. “I should of known the witch was there.”

“Dean, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, clearly not convinced.

The two of them were silent for a moment. “So, that woman is the witch that killed me? And... she’s the only one that can get my memories back?”

“We hope so,” Dean said, just as Sam and the witch came back with bags and jars of weird things. “Alright, let’s do this.”

The witch sighed and grabbed an ornate looking bowl from a shelf. She started mixing the ingredients in the bowl, grumbling under her breath as she did. After a few minutes, the content of the bowl was now a purple liquid and she poured it into a glass, handing it to Y/N.

“And this will work?” Y/N asked cautiously. The witch nodded.

Y/N looked at Sam and Dean who nodded encouragingly. She took the glass from the witch and drunk it in one go. Nothing happened for a few seconds, until Y/N stumbled back into the wall, gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut, nearly doubling over in pain.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Dean shouted, rushing to her side and putting a hand on her shoulder. “What did you do to her?” He asked the witch angrily. Sam flipped the safety off of the gun and pointed it at her head.

“Be patient.” Y/N opened her eyes, Sam and Dean watching helplessly as they rolled to the back of her head and she fell to the ground.

---

“Dude, can you stop? Your making me nervous,” Sam requested as Dean paced around the motel room and Y/N lay unconscious on one of the beds.

“Sorry,” Dean said, sitting down on the other bed, not taking his eyes off Y/N. “She should be awake by now—it’s been a day.”

“The witch said that she’s gonna relive her whole life, that’s gonna take time,” Sam said. “We just gotta wait.”

“I hate waiting,” Dean grumbled.

“Oh, and you know how Y/N lost her memory twice again?” Sam added and Dean nodded. “Yeah, apparently that was the witch too. She made it so if Y/N ever remembered anything, her memory would be wiped again.”

“So, in the bunker and the car, she actually remembered crap?” Dean asked, Sam’s expression giving him his answer. “Oh, that bitch.”

Much to Dean’s dismay, they were still waiting an hour later. Sam was sat at the table, reading through things on his article, while Dean sat in the same spot on the bed, his chin placed thoughtfully on his on his fists, his eyes still on Y/N. He was about to stand up when he heard a groan come from the other bed.

“Y/N?”

Sam looked up from his laptop to see Y/N gradually coming to, her eyes fluttering open and her head slowly moving from side-to-side. “Ugh, that fucking sucked,” she said weakly, rubbing her forehead.

Dean chuckled in relief. “Hey, what’s my name?” He asked.

“Why? Did you lose your memory or something?” Y/N chuckled, causing Dean to copy. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss that sound.

Sam laughed from the other side of the room. “And, she’s back.”

Y/N sat up and shuffled back to lean on the headboard of the bed. She looked at Dean, who was still staring at her. “What, no hug?” She asked, pouting.

“C’mere,” he said, pulling her into a tight hug, Y/N returning it even tighter, and neither of them caring that they could barely breath. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

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broken-clover · 4 years

Text

AU-gust Day 5- Post-Apocalypse

Ah. Um. Okay. This one is...sad. I mean I guess it kind of is by nature because of the theme? I wanted this to be upbeat and I feel like I missed the mark by a longshot. Wound up crying when I wrote this and tbh it’s probably half-coherent but here please take it. I promise I’ll do something less...this, next time

A massive bonfire lit up the tepid night, licking at the sky with every breeze and stick tossed onto it. Though he could make as big a fire as he wanted with just his hands and a little magic, Sol found a subtle beauty in nurturing a small kindling until it grew powerful enough that it only needed to be contained, swiftly gorging itself on whatever it came across and standing up to buckets of water that once would have been able to smother it a dozen times over. Almost like raising a child, in a way, though at least fire was easier to keep an eye on. And less raucous.

“Hey, old man!”

Speak of the devil. Sol shook his head with a smile and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah? Thought you were supposed to be harvesting with your dad.”

Sin’s hair was as wild as it had ever been, though it took a little bit longer now for it to scrape the ground than it did before. It seemed easier and less labor-intensive to let it grow out into a shaggy mass nearly as tall as he was before lopping it all off. Sin used to be so intent of keeping it short at all times, but one could only go for so long being so hypervigilant before it turned to boredom and apathy. The only reason he even cut it at all was because of how he would trip over it while hunting and doing chores.

“I wanted to see if the fire was almost ready.” He pushed some of that messy hair back over his shoulder. “Besides, harvesting is boring, I’d rather help with the fire instead of having to carry stuff.”

Sol sighed, prodding the edge of a fire with a stick. “You’re nearly five billion years old, and you still complain about chores like a toddler.”

“Learned from the best!” Sin smirked back.

He was going to fire a retort back, but he could practically hear a little voice in his head chirping ‘Just let it go, Frederick. You know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.’

“You’re right, you’re right.” He mumbled to himself.

Sin crossed his arms and huffed. “Fine! I’ll sit over with uncle raven then!”

The pale-haired man turned as sin approached the log he was on. “I’m afraid I won’t make for the best of company.”

“Still better than the old man! You use a lot of big fancy words and don’t yell at me when I slouch!”

“Sol!” A voice called from somewhere behind. As expected, when he turned towards it, he found Ky and Dizzy following, each carrying a large basket of greens.

“Figured you’d be longer. The brat didn’t exactly make it easier for you.”

“Well, I suppose a little mischief is alright for tonight.” Said Dizzy. “We were still able to find enough in the field for all of us to have plenty.”

Ky nodded. “And still plenty of leftovers, too. Little bit of mashed fruit, some potatoes, that cheese Raven made three years back, we have a lot! So make sure everyone eats well tonight. Not like we have to save it for anything.”

The man’s expression remained bright, but Sol’s fell. He looked back upwards. The midnight sky was a pale blue, hardly darker than midday. He couldn’t remember when it was truly dark enough to see the stars. Even the moon was little more than a vague crescent. At least the weather was tolerable, even with their hardy bodies, the days had become too hot to withstand, even in the underground bunker they’d shared for the last century or so. The sun was growing bigger and bigger every day, practically enveloping the sky. The few hours of ‘night’ were the biggest relief they got, so it made sense to make the most of what they had left.

Dizzy put her basket on the ground and began pulling out cobs of corn. “Where is Axl?”

“Said he was going on a grocery run.” Replied Ky. “I’m not sure what era though.”

That got Sin’s attention immediately. He sat up stick-straight. “Ooh, he’d better bring back something really good! Chips?”

“Mmm, shame he can’t go back to my time and bring back some of the treats I had in my youth.” Raven said wistfully. “Would probably attract too much attention.”

Sol idly thumbed at the dented lighter in his pocket. He’d run out of cigarettes, and had nothing to occupy his mouth. “He’ll be back whenever, not like he has any sense of deadlines. Just our luck, he’ll skip right past-”

As if on cue, a deep black abyss spiraled in the air nearby, crackling and popping for a moment before someone hopped through, carrying several bags.

“Right on time!” Axl cawed, raising a hand and walking over. “Glad I didn’t miss the party. I brought the food!”

Sin leapt out of his seat and scrambled towards the man, eyes shining. “What did you get? What did you get?”

“Easy, mate, I brought enough for everyone.” The plastic crinkled as he pulled out a variety of different things- packaged hamburgers, snack cakes, fresh fruit, and other things Sol didn’t bother taking note of. He only moved to catch a package of cigarettes as they were tossed to him.

“Maaan, this is much better than being stuck with vegetables!” the youngest’s eyes shone like he had been presented with a priceless treasure. “Jeez, how long’s it been since we’ve seen plastic bags? I think those all broke down ages ago.”

“And to think, people always used to say how wasteful they were, and how long they would take to break down.” Raven quipped, with a blithe little smile. “And now they’re impossibly rare relics.”

“Glad to provide!” Axl did a little bow. “Today, we enjoy the last swiss rolls in existence! Technically speaking.”

The feast started up soon after. Makeshift pots were set up for boiling vegetables, the leftovers were reheated over the fire. Axl’s food was bizarrely pristine alongside everything else, but nobody treated it as anything peculiar. Merriment followed the food, though it mainly just amounted to idle chatter and reminiscing.

“It’s delicious! Very well done.” Ky beamed, though Sol just knew it was bland, at best. “Corn’s so much different than it used to be, but I’m glad we still have that much. Reminds me of that one banquet, uhh, when was it? I seem to be blanking...can’t think of the millennium. I know there were still people back then, does anyone else remember the one with the corn sculpture?”

“Hmm.” Dizzy said. “Was that the one where Leo fell into the courtyard fountain after he drank too much?”

Ky thought for a moment in silence. “...Leo?”

“Scruffy blonde guy, had his own dictionary?” Sin offered.

“It was the first time you were king.” Added Sol.

“First...ah! Now I remember.” He nodded. “Goodness, that was forever ago. It’s hard to keep track. If I told my childhood self that someday I would become the ruler of thirty-five separate nations, I don’t think I would have believed it.”

“I tried once.” Axl replied, between bites of corn. “You thought I was bonkers. Kid-me said the same thing. Guess I don’t blame ‘em. I can hardly believe it sometimes. And I’ve been at this forever!”

“Mostly forever.” Corrected Raven.

“Oh sod off, birdie. B’sides, I could make words mean whatever I want ‘em to. There’s six of us! Who’s gonna stop me from saying ‘cold’ means hot and ‘hot’ means freezin’ your balls off!”

“Alright, alright, settle down.” Ky interrupted him. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to celebrate. Sin, could you please pass me a hamburger?”

Sol couldn’t take this anymore. “I’ve gotta take a smoke break.”

They all seemed confused by his sudden outburst, but let him leave without too much trouble. He found a place in the wooded thickets that was secluded, where nobody but him could see the way his fingers trembled as he pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it.

Not even the animals were there to judge him. He couldn’t remember the last time those had existed, anyway.

So when the dead reeds began to rustle, he nearly jumped out of his skin. That was stupid of him. It had to be one of the others. Knowing his luck, it would be Sin, pestering him with enthusiasm and trying to drag him back to the fire, or Ky, with those big, soft, sad eyes that still managed to be able to throw him off guard.

“Chief?”

Shaggy blonde and dirty red bobbed in between the reeds, until Axl emerged right in front of him. How many centuries had he owned the same bandana?

“Chief, what was that about?”

Sol huffed, taking a long drawl of nicotine. “Jus’ needed a breather. I told you.”

“Don’t you toy with me.” The other’s voice softened. He pulled out a cigarette from his own pack.

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“I’ve done just about anything that can be done.” Replied Axl. “I’m serious. What’s wrong? Why did you run off out of nowhere?”

He didn’t want to start a fight, not now. But even at a time like this, it felt preferable to admitting his feelings. It felt like a boulder was on his chest. “How can they be so…”

“So…?”

“So...happy? We can’t take anymore of this. Even if the sun doesn’t consume the planet tomorrow morning, the heat will incinerate everything on the surface and then some. How can they find it in them to celebrate? I know that whole family can be naive, but you and Raven-”

“Sol.” Axl cut him off, softly but firmly. “We know. They all know.”

The answer seemed obvious, but it still felt like a blow to the chest. Sol kept his expression hard and unreasonable. “You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not.” He said back. “God, why would I lie to you now? It’s the last bloody day in the world, what do I have to lose anymore?”

The space went quiet. The weight only seemed to grow heavier.

“You know, I’m older than the rest of you.” Axl sighed in dismay. “So, so much more. I’ve done this before. Never been this kind of fun, though. I guess I just needed to get hamburgers? Hehe…”

Sol refused to meet his gaze, instead focusing on a glowing bit of ash as it fell to the ground. “You don’t have to be here, y’know. Unlike the rest of us, you can just bail.”

He was met with a slow shake of the head, a patient smile, and sagging shoulders. “I’m an old man, chief. I might not look it, but I’m the oldest thing in the universe. More than you, and Sin, and even Raven. I’ve seen the universe begin over and over again, and every step of it after.”

“And?”

“And I’m tired. I’m really tired of all of this. I’m done. The universe is falling asleep, and I finally want to fall asleep with it. The end of it all is the one thing I’ve never allowed myself to see. It was so tempting at times, but I knew that, even with all of my abilities, I was only capable of living once. I tried changing time. I tried seeing what else there was in the universe. But it all came back to this. Just a handful of people, waiting for it all to end.”

The way his jaw clenched made Sol nearly bite through his cigarette and break his teeth. “Were you the one to tell them, then?”

Another shake. “They’re smart, Sol. I didn’t have to tell them anything. I’d feel so lucky, if I were you. I couldn’t think of anyone better to spend so many eons with.”

It wasn’t right. None of it. But no matter what, Sol knew it didn’t matter. He could spend every last moment of his life screaming and clawing in an attempt to change anything, but there was nothing he could do now. Just a moment of silence before the apocalypse.

So he followed Axl back to the fire. Sol put on one of his rare smiles and hunkered down to chat, regaling dozens of lifetimes with the only people who knew could understand what such an existence was like. The rise and fall of nations, births and deaths and the many long years in between. Wars and peace and prosperity and poverty. Hope and love and crushing despair and the ever-flicking light of human spirit that let them carry on so long, even as the world had begun to end.

Sin ended up falling asleep first, slumped against his mother. Raven and Dizzy and Ky had followed suit eventually, huddled under blankets as Sol glanced between them and the fire.

“Don’t you want to sleep?” He asked his only companion. “I can take care of putting this out.”

A hand slid around his waist. “I want to be with you. Just a little bit longer.”

Sol managed a smirk. “Seems like a waste. You could use it for sleeping.”

He felt the hand trembling slightly, and cling to his clothing. “Is it...is it bad that I’m afraid of being alone for this?”

“No.” Replied Sol, wrapping his own arm around Axl’s body. “It just means you’re human.”

#AU-gust #writing #guilty gear #sol badguy #Axl Low #there are other characters #but I won't tag them

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keichanz · 5 years

Text

what the hell should i title these things? lol

@artistefish THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE ;ADJFLAJFIA;

two sketches to go along with it; i’m thinking this one is sort of like a rough draft to this one (the first two pics anyway lol)

originally i was gonna wait to post them until i had all of them written up, but i changed my mind because one i’m impatient, and two, i have no idea how long that will take lol so i’ll post them they’re completed.

a little note: i’m giving the characters their own personality quirks so they won’t be acting exactly like the characters in the movie. for example, i’m having Kagome be a bit more fiery tempered than Evy is and it shows in her mannerisms. i am, however, still following the dialogue.

[ i ] [ ii ]

Cairo Prison, 1926

“Come, come! Step over the threshold. Welcome to Cairo Prison, my humble home.”

The man that led them inside was stout, a bit on the short side, and with an unusually pale face despite no doubt spending most of his time under the hot desert sun. The dark markings on his face, a loud and deliberate boast to his status as the warden, had the side effect of making it look as if he had perpetual raccoon eyes. The white bandana wrapped around his head was dusty and sweat stained while the rest of his garb remained neat and relatively clean.

Clinging to her brother’s arm, Kagome Higurashi was severely beginning to doubt the sincerity of his words, and what he said next only confirmed he suspicions.

“You told me you got it on a dig down in Thebes,” Kagome hissed, warily looking around at all the prison workers as they followed the warden deeper into the prison.

“Yeah, well, I was mistaken,” Miroku returned, looking five times more uncomfortable than his sister, and if Kagome didn’t know any better she’d say he even looked a little nervous.

“You lied to me.”

“I lie to everybody. What makes you so special?”

“I am your sister,” she reminded him, as if that would make him feel even an ounce of guilt.

It didn’t. “Yes, well, that just makes you more gullible.”

“Miroku, you stole it from a drunk at the local casbah!” she heatedly reprimanded, sounding truly appalled to be related to such a deplorable character.

“Picked his pocket, actually,” Miroku corrected, sounding a bit harried and then suddenly he was swinging her around, urging her back toward the entrance. “So I don’t think it’s a very good—”

“Miroku, will you stop being so ridiculous,” Kagome huffed, pulling on his arm and forcibly turning them back around to cross the remaining distance to where the warden waited for them before briskly asking, “Now what exactly is this man in prison for?”

Leaning casually against the steel bars that made up the cell, the warden grunted and relayed, “This I did not know, but when I heard you were coming, I asked him that myself.”

Kagome blinked. “And what did he say?”

At this, Mukotsu the warden adapted a rather exasperated look as he pointed a finger in the air.

“He said he was just looking for a good time.” He turned his hand in a careless gesture and the door to the cell banged open.

With wide eyes Kagome watched as two armed men roughly dragged the prisoner into the cell, slamming him against the cold steel of the bars separating them, and Kagome gasped. One of the guards punched him in the back and with a grunt the prisoner sank to his knees, teeth bared in a grimace, and though unkempt, shaggy silver hair fell messily into his face from the rough treatment, it did nothing to retract from the absolute brilliant gold of his eyes as they bore into her own.

Slightly shaken, Kagome asked a little breathlessly, “This is—this is the man you stole it from?”

Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but there, Miroku grinned a little awkwardly and revealed, “Yes, exactly, so why don’t we just go sniff out a spot of tiffin—”

“Who are you?” came a flippant male voice and the siblings both turned their attention toward the scruffy looking man behind the bars.

Appearing bored, Inuyasha slid his hands down the bars and flicked his golden gaze to Kagome, a sardonic twist to his mouth that might have been a smile.

“And who’s the broad?”

Aghast, Kagome echoed incredulously, “Broad?” Her brows snapped low over her eyes in indignation; however before she could give him a piece of her mind, her dear brother spoke up so she simply narrowed her eyes in affront.

“Well,” Miroku began, taking a step forward, “I—I’m just a local sort of missionary chap, spreading the good word and all that.” He offered what he hoped was a charming grin and reached back to tug Kagome forward. “But this is my sister, Kagome.”

“How do you do,” Kagome greeted softly, still a bit wary, but willing to overlook his initial rudeness. After all, he was behind bars; she supposed his temperament was justified.

The golden-eyed inmate frowned as he blatantly looked her up and down.

“Yeah, well,” he snorted, unimpressed. “Guess she’s not a total loss.”

While Miroku gaped at the man’s audacity, Kagome’s brows snapped low over her eyes and she stepped forward, glaring at the man as she said in aghast, “I beg your pardon?”

The prisoner looked completely unapologetic as he merely raised an eyebrow at her, but before anymore words – or insults – could be exchanged, the prison warden started shouting in an unfamiliar language before releasing a curse.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said distractedly and walked off, his face screwed into a displeased frown.

Seizing their chance, Miroku stepped in close to his sister and whispered, “Ask him about the box.”

The face she gave him suggested he should be the one doing the asking, but nevertheless she obliged and once more faced the man behind bars.

“Ah, we have found—” Kagome frowned again. “Hello. Excuse me.”

A white fear flicked before he slowly turned his head and golden eyes were trained on her once more, looking bored.

“We both found your…your puzzle box,” she continued, offering a small smile. “And we’ve come to ask you about it.”

Beside her Miroku silently nodded, attempting to look serious.

The man considered them both for a moment before saying bluntly, “No.”

The siblings both blinked.

“No,” Kagome echoed, smile gone.

“No,” Inuyasha repeated, shaking his head, and the look he leveled them with was deadpan. “You came to ask me about Hamunaptra.”

Alarmed, Miroku started shushing him and frantically looked around to see if they’d been overheard. The startled look on Kagome’s face gave way to dubious confusion, then cautious hope.

“How—how do you know that the box pertains to Hamunaptra?” she breathed, leaning in a bit closer for fear of eavesdroppers.

The silver-haired hanyou rolled his eyes. “Because that’s where I was when I found it,” he drawled, pegging them both with another look that loosely translated to duh. “I was there.”

Miroku narrowed his eyes in suspicion and knelt down to be eye-level with him, unwilling to let he or his sister be fooled by this prison rat. He had been drunk when he’d stolen the box, after all. There was no telling what sort of tales the man would weave to ensure his freedom.

“But how do we know that’s not a load of…of pig’s wallow?” he asked.

Amber eyes took him in and then narrowed as a frown knit his brown.

“You know,” Inuyasha rumbled, bringing up a clawed hand and pointing at him. “Do I know you?”

While Kagome inwardly snorted, Miroku chuckled nervously and said, “No, no, no, no. I’ve just got—you know, one of those faces—”

“Casbah!” the inmate growled, abruptly thrusting a fist through the bars and landing a solid punch to the English dandy’s face.

Miroku landed on the unforgiving grounded with a pained groan while the guards reprimanded the prisoner with a hard blow to his back and then again to his side. He grunted and hissed through his teeth but other than pegging them both with a harsh glare he didn’t retaliate.

Kagome barely spared her brother a glance as she carelessly stepped over his prone form and approached the man, thinking that they just might have found their ticket to the mythical city and the hope was obvious on her face.

“You were actually at Hamunaptra?” she asked, eyes wide as she stared into twin pools of melted honey, daring him to lie to her.

The grin that surfaced on his face was slow and devilish. “Yeah,” he rumbled. “I was there.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You swear?”

“Every damn day,” he said, smirking.

Kagome huffed. “No, I didn’t mean that—”

“I know what you meant,” he interrupted her, any amusement gone from his face now. “I was there. Seti’s place. City of the Dead.” He shook his hands in exaggeration, cocking a brow at her.

Trying to contain her excitement, Kagome bit her lip and then ventured, “C-could—could you tell me how to get there?” Dark eyes locked with burnished amber, pleading, hoping.

Inuyasha’s eyes widened and he blinked slowly at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, clearly stunned.

There was more shouting in that unfamiliar language, sounding a bit closer, and looking over her shoulder, Kagome bit her lip and brought her hat down to give them a bit of privacy as she leaned closer. The intensity in those golden eyes of his had butterflies erupting in her stomach but she paid them no mind.

“I mean…the exact location,” she murmured, holding her breath.

Those honeyed eyes went hooded as he drawled, “You wanna know?”

“Well—well, yes,” Kagome answered, nodding as she bent closer.

“Do you really wanna know?” he asked in an octave lower, and when she once more gave the affirmative, Inuyasha crooked her finger in a bid for her to come closer. She did, putting her face inches away from the bars, her eyes locked on his.

There was a pregnant pause as is gaze bore into her own, and then without warning Inuyasha grasped her chin through the bars, tugged her forward, and slammed his mouth onto hers. It was rough and careless, his lips dry against her own, and yet Kagome still felt his kiss all the way to the tip of her toes. She whimpered, her body frozen, unable to pull away.

But then it ended as quickly as it had begun and he tore his mouth away from hers.

“Then get me the hell outta here,” he growled right before the prison guards fell on him, delivering harsh blows and Kagome stumbled back with a gasp, watching in stunned silence as he attempted to fight back but to no avail.

“Do it, wench,” Inuyasha growled at her and then he was being dragged away but he wasn’t making it easy, struggling, kicking out his feet and twisting his upper body to jostle their grip on him. He endured their blows with gnashed teeth and pissed off growls, but he kept his gaze zeroed in on her until the door was slammed shut, separating them once more.

Kagome could do nothing but stare after him, mouth parted, eyes wide, and face flushed. But then evidently her senses came back to her and she gasped, gesturing to the door.

“Where are they taking him?” she demanded a little breathlessly, heart still racing in her chest.

“To be hanged,” Mukotsu answered, appearing beside her and giving her a rather dry look. “Apparently he had a very good time.”

#inuyasha mummy au #inuyasha #kagome #miroku #mukotsu #inukag #artistefish #oneshot #keizfanfiction #fanfiction #GOD THIS IS SO FUN LOL

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et-lesailes · 5 years

Text

foreign

pairing: ari levinson (chris evans in red sea diving resort, 2019) x reader

themes: light angst, fluff

word count: 2100

summary: you are visiting family in the capital of sudan, and while shopping in the marketplace for groceries, you are approached by a group of intimidating men and women around the same age as you. they are beginning to harass you more and more until thankfully, a handsome man comes to your rescue, even offering to stay with you while you finish up your shopping.

taglist: @viarogers, @evanstush, @chibi-crazy, @chalamet-evans, @world-of-losers, @songforhema

note: requested by anonymous // this was really cool to write in that it was nice to touch a little on more social issues! tbh i used my own experiences with my ethnicity and traveling for this fic, so that was pretty reflective for me to incorporate. hope you guys enjoy this!

** please send an ask if you would like to be added to my taglist of any chris evans related fics!

You looked around the semi crowded food market somewhat nervously, now regretting that you didn’t ask your brother to come with you. You hated feeling this way in your own native country, but as a half Sudanese, half Caucasian female, you stuck out in Khartoum, the capital of Sudan and where your father’s parents resided. Having been born and raised in the United States, it was easy for you to forget that the simple act of grocery shopping was, unfortunately, not so simple here. You felt everyone’s eyes on you, both men and women alike-- staring at your outfit that practically screamed you were American, either giving you judgmental glances or… creepy ones.

You tried to focus on the kinder citizens around you, relieved that at least some were giving you welcoming smiles; all you had to do was buy some fresh vegetables for dinner and walk back to your grandparents’ house-- it was practically right across the street. You’d be okay. Making your way to one of the stands, you smiled as you gazed upon the variety of produce before you, using the opportunity to actually take in the culture surrounding you. You genuinely appreciated your background and ethnicity, and you loved having the privilege of visiting the country your own father grew up in.

Unfortunately, you were soon brought out of your reverie, interrupted by a small group hovering a little too close to you. You tried to believe they were simply checking out the fruits and vegetables before you, but you soon started to realize it was you they were checking out. Barely turning your head to try and sneak a more proper glance at them, you were slightly shocked to see that there were also a couple of girls within the small horde of twenty something year old men staring you down. Why weren’t they saying anything? Their amused smirks sickened you; did they support this unnecessary ogling? Feeling unsettled, you moved to a different stand, silently praying they wouldn’t follow. When they did, you felt yourself internally panicking. You started focusing on the potatoes in front of you a little too intently, hoping that they’d decide you were far too boring and not worth their time. Instead, you felt a rough hand squeeze your waist in an attempt to get your attention, your eyes immediately widening. “Hey!” you exclaimed, turning around now met face to face with one of the men, trying not to look as nervous as you felt. “Don’t touch me…”

"What's wrong? You don't want to get your pretty clothes dirty by our filthy hands?" one of the girls jeered at you, and you looked at her shocked, slowly shaking your head incredulously. "No, I'd just rather not be grabbed by a stranger," you couldn't help but defend yourself; you were scared, but you would still stand up for yourself, and you at least felt a little better that you were in a public place. "Oh come on," the other girl scoffed, "we know your type. You think you're better than us. It's written all over your face."

"Now, now," the same man who grabbed you chuckled lowly before you could even reply, "be a little nicer to the little tourist, girls. She's cute, so I definitely have no issues with her." You frowned and stepped away from him, glaring at all of them trying to look as fearless as possible. "I'm really not interested, and my family lives right across the street, so please leave me alone." The girl laughed, only firing in return, "Oh, are you going to cry to Mommy and Daddy? Come on, a little foreigner like you doesn't know how to have some fun? So boring." You narrowed your eyes slightly, starting to get more heated until one of the other boys came up to you from behind, grabbing your waist and pulling you to his body. "That's okay, we can teach her." He spoke with a devious tone, and your anger slipped off your face, fading into an expression of more anxiety upon feeling his hands hold you so tightly. "Stop it! Let go of me!" you tried speaking loudly in order to catch the attention of other market goers, but your voice was drowned out by the music, your presence barely noticeable amongst the bustling crowds too focused on their shopping needs. You were about to have a full on panic attack as the man started pulling you along with him, but you suddenly felt him stumble backwards with a somewhat violent jerk, almost falling down along with him-- until a pair of arms caught you, helping you straighten back up.

"Hey! You heard her, leave her the fuck alone!" You looked up with slightly wide eyes, seeing an older man with somewhat shaggy brown hair accompanied with a rather scruffy beard. He was staring down the group of delinquents with stern eyes, somewhat reminding you of the demeanor of a disappointed and upset dad. "Get out of here, all of you. This is a marketplace for God's sake, there are children here-- have some class." You exhaled in relief as the group gave both of you one last scowl before turning around and walking away, grumbling under their breaths what you were sure were countless obscenities and curses aimed towards you. Returning your attention to your savior, you gave him a small smile, though somewhat cautious-- your brain was on alert mode now, making you slightly paranoid that he may have only saved you to have you for himself. However, a mere few more seconds of looking at him told your instinct otherwise, seeing the concern and even gentleness in his sharp eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked you, turning to face you properly, and you nodded your head only just now realizing your heart was racing. "Yeah, just a little shaken up," you admitted, taking a deep breath but giving him a more thankful smile. "Thank you. So much. I-- I'm not used to being here, if you couldn't tell." You could not help but be interested by him; he did not appear to be Sudanese, given his light colored skin, but considering you did not exactly look neither African nor Caucasian, you could not assume.

He chuckled lowly, running a hand through his hair. "No worries. It can be difficult the first time here." He looked at you for a few moments, almost as if thinking deeply, before holding his hand out. "I'm Ari. If you want me to accompany you while you're shopping here, I'd be more than happy to." You couldn't help but feel slightly touched at his kind offer, immediately nodding hopefully as you placed your hand in his and introduced yourself. "I would really like that, actually. Thank you..."

_____________________________

How this man named Ari Levinson had gone from saving you from borderline sexual harassment at a marketplace to sitting at the dining table of your grandparents' home, you had no idea, but you could not say you were displeased with this. He had showed you all types of foods you had never even heard of before, resulting in him helping you carry said foods you couldn't help but buy, resulting in your naturally hospitable grandparents immediately inviting him to stay for dinner. As you all ate dinner together, you learned he was in Sudan for work, though he was rather vague when it came to explaining what it was that he did. However, you did not miss the discreet look he gave you, somehow understanding that he was silently telling you he would explain later. Overall, he was fun to talk to, and he had several interesting stories about all the places he had traveled to-- you could tell your family was impressed, as well, and even your generally overprotective brother had to admit he liked the guy, especially because of what he had done at the market.

Dinner was soon over and you knew Ari would have to get back to his hotel; you were sad to see him go, but you supposed you couldn't have expected the two of you to be permanent friends after one encounter in a country thousands of miles away from your own. "I'll walk you out," you told him as you forced a smile, waiting until he and your family were done with their goodbyes before heading out the door with him. "Thanks again for everything," you spoke softly, looking up into his blue hues with a more genuine smile, barely nibbling on your lip. "This was a lot of fun tonight." He smiled down at you, and while you had taken into account hours ago that he was quite attractive, he looked even more handsome under the moonlit sky, the twinkle in his eyes even more illuminated than before. "Thank you for having me. Your family is so kind," he replied before sighing softly, looking around then bringing his attention back to you. "About earlier... I can't tell too many people-- hell, I actually wasn't even supposed to tell you my real name. But I couldn't help myself. You just seem trustworthy. I dunno, call it a gut instinct kinda thing." You looked at him in surprise, now wondering if you had somehow befriended a criminal on the run, a prison escapee-- your thoughts were getting ahead of you and this was apparently written all over your face as he let out a little scoff of amusement. "Easy there, I'm not dangerous. Well, not to you, anyways," he said with a playful wink, and you hated yourself for blushing. "Okay, then what is it? Should I even trust that Ari Levinson is your real name?" you teased, partly in an attempt to distract him from seeing the red on your cheeks. It didn't seem to work, however, as he suddenly reached down to caress your cheek, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "It is. I can't really bring myself to lie to you, for some damn reason, when lying is basically a part of my job." Lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued, "I'm an agent. I'm here in Sudan on a mission I unfortunately really can't go into detail on, and I came to Khartoum for a couple nights to get more supplies for said mission." Your face must have been amusing to him because he suddenly laughed, stroking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Do you think I'm making all of this up? I swear, I'm not... I can show you my ba-"

"No, no," you quickly cut him off; sure, showing you his badge would have only taken two seconds, but you felt a strange, overwhelming sense of trust for this man you had met only hours ago, and you wanted him to know that. "I believe you. I promise. I just..." you trailed off, somewhat shy to keep going, but upon seeing his expectant look, you did. "I'm going to miss you. I really liked spending time with you today. I-- I don't know, it's so weird but I just feel like I've known you for years." He was listening to you intently, a smile crossing his lips as he stepped closer to you. "You don't have to miss me," he murmured, cocking his head, "Do you have your phone on you? Mine died." You blinked and shook your head, frowning. "I left it inside, let me go--"

"No. I don't want you to leave." He cut you off, not even realizing the blush that had returned on your cheeks because of his words because he was too occupied looking around for something. Grinning, he suddenly picking up a stick and walking over to a nearby patch of dirt. Scratching a series of numbers into it, he looked to you with a charming smile, arching an eyebrow. "Better get your phone and save that fast, doll, before the wind or some animal messes it up. But first." He came back over to you, suddenly taking your waist in his large hands and pulling you to his body, pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. You kissed him back happily, smiling against his lips while wrapping your arms around his neck; you were more than ready to take it further, your mind too hazy to even realize you were standing outside your grandparents' home, for God's sake-- until he suddenly pulled back, the same mischievous grin on his face. "I'll come see you tomorrow before I leave, pretty girl. We can continue this then. Until then, you better dream of me tonight." He gave you another rough but brief kiss, then moved his lips to your forehead in a more tender peck before walking off, leaving you speechless, breathless, frustrated, yet ecstatic at the same time.

#ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson fanfic #chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans fic #angst #fluff #ari levinson imagine #ari levinson drabble #chris evans drabble #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you

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judehayward · 4 years

Text

lady gaga voice slowly fadin in: ju-Das juda-ah-ah… this depressed goblin bastard is honestly my fav male muse like i dnt typically stick w male muses tht long i struggle bt................. i’ve played him the longest of them all n always seem to return to him. jst cnt stay away. way 2 attached to this absurd little man. it’s nai btw!!!! (josefine on the main). launches right in to jude’s intro without further adieu..... (u can also find his playlist here) 🧙‍🎨

「douglas booth & cis-male」⇾ hayward , jude, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 23 years old. he is studying ART, living in moris and can be protective, laidback, nonsensical & apathetic. when i see him i am reminded of wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, saying “fuck off” to inanimate objects, lead marbles instead of eyes. ⇽「nai & 23 & gmt & she/her.」

he pinterest:

me in the voice of a card magician performing on the street: round up round up pick a pinterest any pinterest!

ta-da it’s aesthetics:

lead marbles instead of eyes, a stolen hearse careening down the wrong lane, wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, bags under the eyes that are so big they could pack enough clothes for a three week vacation, a cigarette wobbling from your bottom lip as you squint against the sunlight, passing out on a stranger’s rooftop, placing sunglasses over the eyes of a biology lab skeleton, gangling around the place like shaggy minus his scooby snacks, saying “fuck off” to inanimate objects

about tha Bitch:

born in sheffield in england, bt they went back and forth between there n san fran a lot

jude was an unhappy accident. his parents never rly used protection bc they were super Liberal n Au Naturel n believed in the pull out method bc… they were maniacs. bt then the ONE time they used a condom in an effort to b safety conscious it broke n hence…. jude was born

they just kind of ran w it bc they had such a passionate relationship tht they were like What The Hell…. may as well! itll be fine we’ll learn to be good parents n love him like normal ppl do

spoiler alert: tht didn’t work out

they were ok to him like they weren’t fully Bad bt they just found him to be a massive burden n hindrance to their plans. pretty absent n irresponsible. they literally….. had sex all day every day n acted like a pair of teenagers. it ws a super weird environment for a kid to grow up in bc he literally had no role models or… guidance or…. anything rly. occasionally they’d joke around w him or pretend they properly knew what grade he was going into but for the most part they just Didn’t Care the way parents shd. they lost his birth certificate n dnt remember what they put as his middle name so he’s jst kind of like hmmmm............. n gives himself a diff one every time ppl ask. past variations hv included: jude pauly hayward, jude maureen hayward, jude van winkle hayward. says all of these w a very straight face

despite this he does hv some nice memories w them. usually he definitely sees them fr holidays. frm being rly young their christmas tradition hs been to get a bunch of chinese food like a Banquet Feast n spend all day smoking n drinking into the early hours. perhaps not the healthiest or most responsible bt 😔 jude rly likes it it’s kind of the one time of yr he feels he has a proper family

they r both suuuuper into the arts. rly good sculptors bt they paint too n they actually own a successful gallery in sheffield n san fran

(trauma tw) as a result he grew up around a lot of creative n sometimes pretentious ppl. the friends of his parents were more present in his life than his ACTUAL parents bc they were always jetting off to diff countries to scout out new pieces fr their galleries n just have a gd time in beautiful places without…. the annoyance tht ws being responsible n looking after someone. tbh some of his parents friends were rly damaging too bt….i won’t go into that just yet. it doesn’t rly…need properly explaining bc jude never talks abt it anyway n it….is rather triggering so i’ll jst….leav it for now tbh. basically they just were Not Nice n jude had a lot of bad memories he keeps repressed bt he also??? has some gd ones..... it was a strange environment bt he’s a survivor

(death n grief tw) he hd to do community service bc he kind of… hd a bit of a breakdown before the funeral of his elderly neighbour who bsically raised him bc her kids rly didnt care abt her they jst wanted her inheritance?? so he… stole the hearse w her casket still in it n ws jst like… drivin around the place sort of… tryin nt to cry…..KJJFHSFKJGHKFG i mean. it isnt funny its actually sad bt :/ in a very bizarre n jude way. he gt caught n taken in fr questioning bt her son kind of realised hw… broken up abt her death jude ws n had a heart n didnt press charges. regardless he stil hd to do community service bc it ws like taken seriously even tho it ws his first proper offence. doin it rly exhausted n depressed him so when he wsnt doin tht he ws just hibernatin in his room……. this ws like 4 months ago nw............ just some fun lore fr u all

bc of how he ws raised he has a p cultured taste. he luvs classic lit n p much anything artsy. he can play piano 2 n sometimes gets rly high n thinks he’s mozart level gd at composing he’s jst going fking wild on the keys in a trance...... i mean he’s gd bt… chill

he’s rly sarcastic n so deadpan like he’ll say smthn completely ridiculous bt he’ll say it w his whole chest so sincere.... it’s rly hard to tell when he’s joking or serious honestly. has an overflowing secret sketchbook n if he cares abt someone he’ll probably secretly draw them. does NOT share these drawings w the person he hates being openly sentimental. at heart he is jst a very Sad Boy w lots of repressed issues like depression genuinely just does NAT giv him a single break bt he plasters over this w wise cracks n never discusses his emotions ever. he’s actually p decent or at least tries to b. he’s kind of like tht bit in superbad where michael cera gets rly drunk n makes a toast to women like tht energy...........

he has rly bad insomnia so he like never sleeps idk how he’s Alive straight up. please go to bed sir............. he always has rly sleepy eyes n rubs them tiredly mid conversation. he smokes a lot of weed to try n compensate fr this n make him tired bt he still struggles a lot

ANYWAY that aside he’s at radcliffe doing art, focusing on fine art like painting is............... the thing he luvs most...... his style is kind of.......... taking normal things n painting w surreal colours.... he likes A LOT of colour in his paintings which is kind of a stark contrast to his personality bc his world’s so.... washed out n grey............ lovs art n philosophy n literature n photography n music....

ummMMMMmm honestly idk i’m blankin on what else to say. ull find him smoking weed reading an american classic or gnawing at his thumbnail n getting charcoal smudges on all his clothes. wandering the streets in plaid pj bottoms n dr martens eating frm a cereal box without care in the world. he’s p broody n scruffy n he’s mostly here fr a laidback time....... doesn’t rly like when ppl take themselves too seriously........ likes strange ppl thinks the world is mde richer by them n likes when ppl can jst bounce back jokes at him without being like erm. u dont make sense mate. bc frankly he can come up w some strange stuff sometimes.............. talking to him cn b like navigating a dark n bendy road without a flashlight.......

(drugs tw) once did shrooms n woke up naked in the woods curled up in a pile of leaves. to this day he recounts this as his werewolf transformation. hs no idea hw he ended up there n when ppl r like are u not. concerned jude. tht is so strange? he jst shrugs like.............. dunno....................... suppose i’m jst a werewolf upon occasion. so casual abt it. jst truly does Not care abt most things at all..... almost to the point tht it’s concerning (sometimes way past the point tht it’s concerning too :/)

this is the desc on an aesthetic i mde of his style once n sums it up well!! ‘additionally: too many pairs of trousers, a hideous amount of white t-shirts all somewhat stained with charcoal, a jumper so thinly knit it almost looks sheer, chipped teale nail varnish, a cream corduroy jacket with a cigarette hole singed onto the cuff, vintage wiry reading glasses he almost never wears, a freshly rolled cigarette behind his ear, a thrifted t-shirt with a warped bart simpson wearing a stethoscope with the caption ‘bard knwos cardiology’ and two crops hacked that way with kitchen scissors that he sometimes wears to paint.‘

EXPERT at rolling spliffs like jst. mkes them so precise n neat....... it’s his super power. his fav thing to smoke frm is banana flavour papers.................... linking 2 this he’s like. bad w emotions bt he does try..... once his friend (maggie) ws sad so he brought her a spliff wrapped in grape flavoured paper bc it’s her fav fruit n jst like. wordlessly gave it to her. it’s the thought tht counts.....

PLOTS!!!!!

plays bass in a band which cld b a fun connection to get together??? i picture the music being like surf rock type like........... mac demarco...... bt he also luvs elliott smith n glass animals n the cure n metronomy n neutral milk hotel n talking heads n radiohead n mazzy star n wolf alice...................... idk jst like.... within tht ballpark i suppose i imagine it being................

mayb ppl he shares classes w?????? i’d like someone tht does a similar course n they hang out tgether when it comes to trips fr the module to museums or exhibits or wtever................ they both stand in front of paintings analysing it rly wrong n saying stuff like hmmmmmmmmm....... i do declare i see a, uh..... large phallus protruding from the centre of this image...... moves something in me.......... n some elderly person looking at it besides them is like Ergh. sickened n disgraced. leaves w a brow severely furrowed

someone he smokes w on the moris rooftop late at night when he cnt sleep??? mayb they’re up n cnt sleep either fr whtever reason n it’s become an unspoken kind of ritual where they always clamber out n find each other there n jst wordlessly keep them company

jude is kind of like. protective almost to a fault sometimes........... mayb some guy he’s punched......................... if they hurt someone he cares abt........... typically it wld hv been a girl he ws kind of like. affected by his first relationship bc she had a bad home situation n ever since jst wnts..... to Protect it’s kind of like an automatic instinct ingrained in him nw 😔 all sounds very noble n well bt sometimes it cn b a bit of an escalation i wnt lie

perhaps a few hook-ups??? jude doesn’t tend to sleep w ppl he rly knows bc he just..... likes it to b an impersonal thing doesn’t like getting attached fr various reasons so mayb they only kno each other via this OR mayb he bent his rules a bit..... cld either work seamlessly or hv added drama if one side hs mre feelings or whtever

currently living in moris w 2 roommates bt i’d love some neighbours perhaps..... mayb someone tht lives directly nxt door to his room n is like ://// bc he plays music loud n weeds always drifting frm his window n mking their room smell if theirs is open too................. or mayb they get on..... mayb there’s a rly mean seagull tht lands on a branch n poos on pedestrians n they both commentate on it frm their windows like david attenborough...... they’re like he’s at it again. they’ve named him n everything

HONESTLY anything if u have an idea hmu i’d love 2 hear it.......... rubs my hands tgether in excitement to plot up a storm w u all

#ruhqintro #depression tw #death tw #grief tw #neglect tw #trauma tw #drugs tw

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melyaliz · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3 The Frayed Ends of Sanity

Thief and the Outlaw Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel / X-men

Summary:

Pairing: Peter x OC

Notes: The mystery continues. I’m not very good at suspenseful stories

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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--------

Do not grieve, O King and Queen. Your daughter shall not die. I cannot undo what my elder sister has done; the princess shall indeed prick her finger with the spindle, but she shall not die. She shall fall into sleep that will last a hundred years. At the end of that time, a king’s son will find her and awaken her. - Sleeping Beauty

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Gemma had always loved fairytales as a kid. Not your classic Disney movies (although those were great too) but the weird stuff, the originals. Her mother had given her a book of old fables which the young girl had devoured. She adored how the heroes would fight for their fates while the villains would make some weird mistake, would slip up and meet their demise so that the heroes could win.

Gemma also loved how in those stories the ideas were so outlandish. A girl out in a glass cage because she was too beautiful her parents were worried someone would try and take her away.

A stepmother cutting off her daughter’s own toe just so it would fit in a shoe. Just to catch the eye of a prince.

Or a girl sleeping for a million years only to have a man come and kiss her. Wake her from the spell she had been put under.

Normally the princesses never asked for their lots in life, just becoming a tool for some vindictive evil to reach their revenge.

Although Gemma was jealous of one thing.

At least the princesses got some rest.

-----

It was cold.

That was Gemma’s first thought as she stirred from her slumber. The night air giving her goosebumps. Had she left a window open? Shivering she tried to reach for her blanket only to realize she wasn’t in her bed. Had she fallen again?

Slowly she opened her eyes her world coming into view.

Large trees looked back shading her from an early morning sky. The sun just slowly starting to turn the dark blue into shades of pink and gold. The ground crunching under her as she moved, something poked her in the rib.

This wasn’t her bedroom.

Sitting up she gasped looking around. Why was she outside? Where was she? What was going on?

Her head was pounding as if her heart had decided to reside there hammering against her skull. Her whole body ached as if she had spent the at a metal concert in the mosh pit.

Rubbing her arm trying to get the blood flowing to warm herself up she looked around trying to get her bearings. She was in a forest but there were a lot of forests around her home in New Jersey. Most not very expansive, but this cleaning of nature could be anywhere.

Letting out a sigh she tried to calm her brain. Tried to remember how she had gotten her. Had she been drugged?

The last thing she remembered was sitting on the bus with that weird boy listening to music.

The boy.

There was no way. She hadn’t eaten anything and they sat far enough apart she would have felt something.

Looking down she realized something else.

She wasn’t in her work clothes.

Instead, she was in a black long sleeve shirt and jeans. The jeans looked pretty beat up and the shirt was missing a sleeve.

“What the actual…”

“Gemma?”

At the sound of her name, she looked up.

And there he was.

The boy.

Ok man but…

“What are you… Where am I?”

“Are you ok? I called the police…”

“What… How?”

He knelt down next to her a few feet away. His large brown eyes looking her over as if looking over a wounded animal. His voice gentle, “You’ve been missing for a week.”

“I’ve WHAT!?!” her voice felt horse as if she had been screaming -maybe the concert idea wasn’t too far fetched-. A hand flew up to her chest. Was she going crazy? She had just lost a week and work up in totally different clothes feeling like she had been run over by a bus.

“Shhh shhh” he said scooting closer, “You’re going to be ok.”

She turned to him her blue eyes wide and accusingly. Why was he here? How had he found her? How did he know it had been a week?

“GEMMA!” This voice she instantly recognized. Her father. Her mother’s sobs could be heard as well as the barking of a dog. Looking past the silver-haired boy she saw her parents and a few policemen, one tugging on the leash of a german shepherd- coming toward her.

Her father reached her first rushing to her taking her in his arms hugging, “Where have you been?” he pulled away running his hands over her face studying her, “What happened?”

“I… I don’t know dad. I was going to work and then… I was here.”

“Did someone drug you? Is it that one guy from your work? Paul? Did he touch you?”

“No, dad… I… Honestly” she looked up at her mother who was sobbing, the relief they had found her daughter causing her to cry uncontrollably, “I don’t remember anything.”

“Maybe this had someone to do with...” Her mother started but Gemma’s father cut her off turning shaking his head. The man turned toward their audience. The two policemen and the scruffy haired bus rider.

Gemma met her finder’s eyes for a moment. He shifted slightly looking awkwardly between her and her parents as if he wasn’t sure if he should leave or not.

“Thank you for finding our daughter...” Gemma’s father stood holding out his hand.

“Peter”

“Thanks, kid” taking Peter’s hand he shook it before turning to the cops. “We’re going to take her home,”

The cops nodded one of them handing Gemma a blanket to wrap her body around. She didn’t realize she was shaking until her mother wrapped her arms around her kissing her forehead mumbling “my baby girl”

Gemma turned studying the boy, Peter. Hand’s shoved in his pockets he met her gaze through shaggy hair his expression unreadable. So different from the silly energetic weird boy on the bus. He seemed so serious now. Not in a scary way but almost like he was confused maybe?

Then again he had just found a girl who had been apparently missing a week and couldn’t remember any of it.

“How did you find me?” she finally asked looking up at her parents as she buckled herself into the back seat of the car. Her mother scooting up next to her as if not wanting to leave her side.

“We knew you were missing when your work called.” her mother let out a strangled sob at the memory. “You never showed up”

“Nancy…”

“I’m sorry I was just so scared. Sweetie, is it your powers? Are they evolving further? Maybe we should go back to that doctor?”

Her parents lapsed into silence waiting for her answer. Gemma looked out the window unsure how to respond. “I don’t think it’s my powers, I don’t know what it is,” she muttered looking down at her hands.

“That boy, I think he’s the one who called us. Saying he found our lost daughter and where to be. Do you know him?”

Gemma bit her lip, should she tell them? It would only worry them more. No, she needed to figure this out for herself first. She needed more facts before she dragged them into this.

“No. Guess he just found me in the forest.”

“How did he know to call us?”

The question sent a chill down her spine.

How did he?

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

Drew greeted her with a hug and a plate of pizza.

“I even ordered gross mushrooms just for you,” he mumbled shifting from foot to foot as if unsure what to do with himself. Something about it reminded Gemma of the boy in the forest.

Peter.

After dinner she told her parents she was going to bed, tired and sore she just wanted to sleep this whole experience away. A small part of her hoped maybe she would just wake up and it would all be a bad dream

Unfortunately sleep didn’t come as easy as she hoped. Instead, she just laid there looking up at her ceiling trying to piece together that had happened.

What was wrong with her?

Finally, the clock ticked 1am and she gave up. Sleep wasn’t coming.

Sitting up she shuffled across the room pulling a book off the shelf. Fairytales and folktales. Slowly she walked back to her bed and that was when she saw him.

Standing outside her window, leaning against the large oak in her backyard.

Their eyes locked, his brown ones growing wide and he turned about to bolt.

But he couldn’t.

A bright blue wall blocked his way.

“You STAY!” she hissed from her window before scrambling through the window climbing down from the second floor. Something she used to do all the time in her teen years. Sneaking out to meet friends on school nights.

Peter turned watching her as she stormed up to him. Hands glowing eyes bright, angry.

“Who are you and what do you want with me?” The girl stood there in her sweat pants and tank top eyes flashing with sparks of energy. Something he had only seen when she wasn’t Gemma. When she was that other girl.

“I’m just checking in” he shrugged looking down at her a soft smile playing on his lips. Now that she wasn’t trying to take him or his team down he realized how much smaller she was than him. Her head coming to about his chin, her frame looking even smaller in a tight tank top and baggy sweats.

“Oh really? Seems kind of creepy, you standing outside my window, showing up on my bus ride to work, the first to find me in the woods...” her arms crossed over her chest trying to look scary. He wasn’t sure why she didn’t scar him. She had kicked his butt more times than he could count at this point. Maybe it had something to do with the fluffy cloud pattered sweats she was wearing.

“I wasn’t the one who put you there if that’s what you’re asking”

“Then why are you always around?” Gemma asked studying the boy trying to find the answers.

“Why do you think? Do you really not remember?” his voice was low as if he was telling her a secret.

She took a step back sizing him up. Studying him as if he had the answers for her lost week. He waited for the realization. He really didn’t look all THAT different without the suit.

“Did we go to school together?”

“What!?! NO.” how could she not… “The power plant? You and your three friends… there was a bunch of wiz bang.” Peter made a few motions like explosions and lasers. This earned him nothing but a blank stare. There was no way. “Look come on, there is no way…” he reached out for her hand and that’s when it happened.

Their hands touched and it was like lighting. Cracking between them as their hands touched. Peter felt it pulled from him exploding into her. Bright blue and sparking with an energy that lit up the whole neighborhood for just an instant.

The force of it threw them both backward laying in the grassy lawn just blinking at each other.

“What just happened?” Gemma asked her eyes sparkling with the energy that flicked around her before slowly dying like sapphire embers.

Peter shrugged getting up feeling his body quickly regenerating itself, “What can I say? I have an explosive personality” darting over he stood above her. Showing his speed to her for the first time that night.

Gemma looked up at him from her seat, her mind racing hands still warm from the surge of energy. Peter held out his hand to help her up “let’s try this again?” he said a large smile on his face.

Warry she studied it for a moment before slowly slipping her fingers around his open hand. “You’re a mutant like me.”

Peter nodded, “I’m pretty fast yeah” he winked as her which earned him a small smile.

“I knew there were others I just never met one.” she told him her hand still clasping his “Hey what” her hand went up to her neck pulling away as he had leaned forward trying to get closer to her. His eyes went from her shoulder to her eyes face so close she could see the stubble on his cheeks and the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

“Huh.” and like that he was standing a much more normal distance from her.

“What?”

“You really don’t remember me at all? Honest.”

“Besides the bus and today, no. Why?” she wracked her brain trying to think of where she had seen this boy before. She couldn’t very well say her dreams. That was weird, creepy and also made no sense.

“Ok well, see you around then.” he gave her a mock salute before disappearing into the dark night leaving only a gust of wind in his wake. Gemma frowned biting her lip as she wrang her hands feeling even more confused than before.

As Peter raced toward the Xsavior Mansion his mind was racing as well. Everything clicking together. If they hadn’t touched. If her long blonde hair hadn’t flown forward while she had turned to see the ground before she hit it.

He wouldn’t have glimpsed it. At the base of her neck. Siting there snugly like a tick embedded in her skin.

And it all made sense now.

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Story Tag: @olive-tini

#peter maximoff x reader #Peter Maximoff fanfic #Peter Maximoff x oc #Peter maximoff #x men oc #thief and the outlaw #gemma #my story #my fic #my writing #x men fanfic

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yesloverboy · 5 years

Text

Is There Love on Mars? (Iwan Rheon!Mick Mars x Reader)

Requested: Anon!

“I have a request, could you please do reader drunkenly confessing to Mick and him taking care of her the rest of the night and them getting together after ❤️ I absolutely love Mick and I'd love to see your take on it if possible”

Note: The Mick request is finally here! Writing for Mick is honestly so much fun and I’m super thankful that you requested this. I hope this is what you had in mind!

word count: 3,399

By the time you were finally able to arrive to the show’s afterparty, it was already in full swing. As a bartender from the venue, it wasn’t often that you got invited to hang with the bands who played while you worked. Mötley Crüe, however, was an exception. The boys were back in town after a long tour, and they’d be damned if they weren’t going to invite their favorite bartender out.

When you first met, the boys had been regulars just like everyone else– a group of scruffy punks looking to start a band that would take over the world. The usual L.A. stuff. Really you hadn’t thought much of them, and appreciated the fact that they would come around every so often just to see you. The three boys flirted relentlessly, always claiming that they would remember you when they finally got a guitarist and became big rock stars.

Much to your amazement, they actually did. When the boys finally found a guitar player, the first thing they did was come to your bar to celebrate. Considering Tommy and Vince were still teenagers, and Nikki in his early twenties, you were surprised to see them dragging along a slightly older guy with shaggy black hair and a bored expression. Of all of the band guys and aspiring musicians you had met during your time behind the bar, you had never seen a guy quite like this one. Tommy introduced him to you as Mick Mars– a name that quickly rolls off the tongue. A name you wouldn’t mind saying over and over again.

As the night went on, Tommy, Vince, and Nikki eventually ended up getting jerked out of the venue for causing a brawl in the middle of the dancefloor. You figured that Mick would end up leaving with them, but instead he took a seat in front of you at the bar. That was the night the two of you started talking. He had been reluctant to hold a conversation at first, but after realizing you had no interest in the mainstream trends, he quickly warmed up to you. The two of you had talked about everything from your favorite music to your most embarrassing childhood memories. You eventually learned that Mick wasn’t as cold as he seemed around the other guys, he just cared about his craft so much that the rockstar lifestyle didn’t interest him in the same way.

Mick wasn’t like all the other wannabe rockstars that rolled in and out of the club every night, in fact, he was the opposite. He was all talent and no talk rather than the other way around. With Mick being the missing link, Mötley Crüe became a reality. Pretty soon the boys weren’t just visiting you at the bar, but playing the actual venue. Unlike everyone else, you weren’t shocked to find that Mötely Crüe was dramatically breaking the mold. The three younger members already had the drive to do something amazing, all they needed was a guy like Mick to balance them out.

With Mötley Crüe becoming increasingly more popular, you ended up seeing the boys less and less. Although you missed their chaotic visits and flirtatious banter, you found yourself missing their shy guitarist most of all. Unfortunately, you didn’t realize your feelings for Mick were becoming more than platonic until it was too late. When you caught the news from Nikki that Mötely Crüe was embarking on a six month tour, it felt like an icy stab to your gut.

That night, Mick had stayed with you long after all the leathered up punks had left, offering kindly to walk you home when you’d finished closing up shop. The walk home had been pleasant, and you did your best to pretend that this wasn’t going to be the last time you’d see him. Obviously he wouldn’t be gone forever, but it was difficult for you to believe that he’d actually remember you after seeing what the rest of the country had to offer someone with his level of talent.

When it had been finally time to go inside, you noticed a softness in Mick’s eyes that he only seemed to reserve for your late nights and long conversations. You wanted to invite him inside, but felt it was too risky. Not only were you unsure if he felt the same way, but you felt as though he deserved better than to have a bartender holding him back.

For the following six months, you deeply regretted not suggesting that Mick come inside. The longer he was away, the more you discovered that Mick was truly irreplaceable. When your boss had told you that the Crüe boys would be returning to L.A. to play a homecoming show after their tour, you were over the moon with excitement. You vowed that, no matter what happened, you would tell Mick about your feelings. The way you saw it, you pretty much had nothing to lose– he would reject you, go back on tour, and you could try to forget it ever happened. Simple as that.

Except that, now, as you step onto the law of the house where the afterparty is being held, it feels a lot more complicated than that. You wade through the small crowd of partygoers gathering on the lawn and step tenatatively through the front entrance. The place is teeming with band groupies and musicians, each pining hopelessly for the attention of the Mötley Crüe boys.

As you scan the living room’s smokey haze for a familiar face, a loud and enthusiastic voice calls to you from the kitchen.

“Hey Y/N! We thought you’d never show!” Tommy beams from behind the kitchen counter, holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s up to the ceiling triumphantly.

Nikki gives you a wry smile as you approach the terror twins, holding a glass of whiskey in your direction. “Straight up– just how you like it, boss,” he winks.

“You’re too much,” you chuckle, feeling grateful that things still felt normal between you and the guys despite their newfound fame. “Where’s Vince?”

“Oh you know, just getting to know some of the fans,” Nikki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

It was no secret that Vince had always been distracted by whatever was bright and shiny, especially if the glittering object of his obsession happened to be a pretty woman. Tommy and Nikki were no exception to going crazy over any girl with a pulse, but they liked to at least break in the evening a little more first.

“Aren’t you gonna ask about someone else?” Tommy shoves your shoulder with a large hand, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

Eyes wide, you nearly choke on a sip of neat whiskey. The alcohol burns almost as much as your face does at Tommy’s question. How the fuck does he know?

“Oh, you mean Mick?” you ask, trying your best to play it as dumb as humanly possible. Nikki and Tommy exchange an incredulous look– apparently your acting isn’t as good as you initially hoped.

“Yeah nice try, Y/N,” Nikki taunts, “we might be a bunch of morons, but we aren’t that stupid.”

“Speak for yourself, Nik,” Tommy snorts, apparently not feeling too keen on being called a moron. Although, you’d argue he probably deserves that title the most.

Nikki bulldozes over Tommy’s concern and continues to grill you about Mick. “Anyways, we’d noticed that Mick had been a particularly mean bastard all tour–”

“And we figured it’s because he misses you!” Tommy finishes, in true twin fashion.

“Oh yeah? And what makes you think I missed him, huh?” you challenge, refusing to believe that it looked like anything had been going on between you and Mick. You certainly want there to be, but there’s no way he actually feels the same way, right?

Tommy and Nikki instantly burst into a fit of laughter, holding each other like two schoolboys and gasping for air. You down the rest of the whiskey in your glass to keep from completely losing your fucking mind. If you don’t keep yourself occupied somehow, you just know you’ll end up punching on of them in the throat.

“You’ve–you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Nikki pants, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

Tommy refills your glass as a form of a peace offering. “Isn’t is obvious, Y/N? You two aliens are totally fucking in love. I know it when I see it.”

You consider your options, reminding yourself that you had, in fact, made an internal promise that you would tell Mick how you felt– no matter what the outcome may be. There’s a possibility that if you tell Nikki and Tommy the truth, maybe they could help you. The prospect of Mick actually reciprocating your feelings becomes far too enticing, and you find yourself relenting before you can even give the matter a second thought.

“Okay,” you begin, eyeing the boys carefully, “say I was, ya know, in love or whatever . . . how would I tell him?”

“Yes!” Tommy exclaims, jumping into the air with both fists raised victoriously, “I knew it, I fucking knew it!

Nikki high-fives Tommy and sticks his head around the corner and into the hallway. “Hey Vince! You owe us 100 bucks!”

Your mouth falls open in complete and utter astonishment. “Vince, too?!”

“Hell yeah, dude,” Tommy shrugs, “We’ve been betting on it since we brought Mick around to the bar. You’re both clearly Martians.”

“You motherfuckers,” you hiss, “does Mick know?”

“Oh of course not,” Tommy raises his hands defensively, not really knowing how to handle your frustration, “Mick may be a smart guy, but he wouldn’t know a pretty girl flirting with him if it smacked him in the face.”

“He ignores us, mostly,” Nikki adds.

“What the fuck am I going to do now?” you groan, truly believing that this may be one of the most humiliating nights of your adult life.

“You have to tell him!” Tommy insists, practically shaking your shoulders with urgency. “If you don’t we will.”

“You honestly can’t be sure he’s even interested in me! Like you said, he ignores you guys.”

Nikki looks at you, his eyes sparkling with a deviousness that you’re all to familiar with. “I have an idea . . . how about you party with us tonight, and if you can keep up, we won’t say a word. It’ll be your choice.”

Tommy opens his mouth to protest Nikki’s offer, but Nikki elbows him hard in the stomach. Keep up with Mötley Crüe? You’re a bartender, so it’s obvious that you can hold your liquor pretty well, but drinking with the boys felt like self-assured destruction. On the other hand, you wanted to be the one to tell Mick and you desperately didn’t want these loudmouths to jeopardize your chances even more.

“Deal,” you say, not allowing yourself another moment to second-guess your decision.

“Let’s get this party started,” Nikki proclaims, grinning wickedly.

Looking back, deciding to drink alongside the two wildest members of Mötely Crüe was a bad idea. They say hindsight is 20/20, and now that you’re six drinks and two shots in, you’re really starting to feel the consequence of your stupidity manifesting in your sluggish movements and watery vision. Regardless of Nikki’s obvious scheme to sabotage your ability to make good choices, the boys seem to be happy having you out from behind the bar for once. You had been so used to seeing them at work that you nearly forgot that the Crüe boys had become actual friends.

As a part of your penance for agreeing to drink with Nikki and Tommy, they had ended up dragging you out to backyard to build a makeshift bonfire with some other scrappy musicians from their tour. While the boys are occupied, you see it in your best interest to go inside and get some water. The night isn’t even close to being over, and if you are expected to hold your own against the terror twins you might as well try to increase your chances.

The walk to the kitchen is treacherous, to say the least. Walking around on the verge of being absolutely wasted is definitely an activity you found yourself being deeply out of practice in. As you eventually round the corner to step into the hallway, your body rams into another person accidentally.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry–” you start apologizing profusely, but are stopped dead by a familiar, glacial stare. Mick Mars is standing in front of you and, if you were being honest, he looked less than happy.

“Mick I–I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean to,” you stumble over your words frantically, wanting to touch his arm but finding yourself afraid he might burn you.

Suddenly, Mick’s eyes soften with recognition as he realizes who exactly almost knocked him over. “Y/N, what are you doing here? I thought you had to work.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and propped your unstable form up on the wall next to him, allowing all your weight to fall on your shoulder.

“My, uh, boss let me close out early and, uh–uh I made a deal with Nikki that I would drink with him and Tommy. . .” you trail off, noticing that your drunken brain has already given away far too much.

“A deal? A deal for what?” Mick raises an eyebrow inquisitively, clearly untrusting of his bandmates’ motives. “You know, you don’t have to do anything those idiots–”

“No!” you practically shout, unable to control the volume of your voice, “It’s nothing, er, nothing like that– actually, I should probably get going now.”

Against your better judgment, you turn to exit and end up spinning around far too quickly for your impaired motor skills to catch up with your brain. Stumbling forward, you fall to the carpet in a heap of regret and humiliation.

“That’s it,” Mick sighs, “you’re coming with me.”

Mick takes you by both of your wrists and hoists you up off the ground and onto your feet. You hiss under your breath as you notice the rugburns forming on the knobs of your knees, not remembering falling quite that hard. Mick pulls you to his side, throwing your right arm up over his shoulder so he can support you properly.

In all the time the Crüe boys had visited your bar, you had never gotten this close to Mick. You try to remain calm, but your heartbeat thuds violently in your ears. Eventually, you and Mick end up in the empty bedroom that he’d apparently been hiding out in for the night.

“Sit,” he says firmly, resting your unsteady body onto the bed. You comply, feeling far too embarrassed and nervous to attempt anything else in your current state of being. Mick mumbles something under his breath and ducks out of the room for a brief moment. Your head is swimming and your feels face is flushed from a night of heavy drinking and acting like a fool in front of, quite possibly, the loveliest man in the world.

God I am so fucking stupid, you chastise yourself, burying your face in your hands. Your pity party is soon interrupted by the sound of Mick coming back into the room, the music and commotion from the ongoing party leaking in for a brief moment before being shut out once again.

Mick holds out a glass of water and painkillers for you to take. “For you,” he says, attempting to give you a reassuring smile.

You accept, feeling more than grateful that Mick isn’t actually mad at you for completely disrupting his night. “M’ sorry,” you mutter, popping the pills into your mouth and gulping down some water.

“It’s okay,” Mick’s words are sincere and your heart nearly skips a beat as he plops down next to you on the edge of the bed. “But, you have to tell me why Nikki and Tommy were making you do this.”

You cringe at the hint of hostility that returns to Mick’s voice at the mention of Nikki and Tommy. Sighing, you set the glass of water down on the nightstand beside you and flop backward onto the bed. The springs bounce in protest under your dead weight, and for a moment you hope that they may launch your body through the ceiling and into outer space.

“If I tell you . . . you’re not gonna be happy.”

Mick lays down next to you, his movements gentle and calculated. “Try me,” he finally replies, turning his head in your direction.

“Well, they wanted to tell you something about me but I uh . . .” try as you may, you can’t quite make the words come out like you want them to.

At last, you turn and face Mick, becoming instantly mesmerized by the man before you. From where you are lying, it seems as though he holds the entire galaxy in his eyes; their depth and beauty equally unfathomable. It could be the alcohol racing anxiously through your bloodstream, but something about the tenderness in Mick’s face tells you that everything is fine. It’s always been fine.

“I–uh. . .” you try again, still feeling as if you heart might jump right out of your throat and run out the door. “I think I love you.”

Mick suddenly gives you a broad smile that you didn’t know he was even capable of, and you find yourself wishing you had the opportunity to put it there every day.

“I know,” Mick pokes your stomach playfully, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Oh come on!” you laugh, “Did everyone know but me?”

Mick just rolls his eyes affectionately and pulls you to his side. You snuggle into him and rest your head on his chest, taking in a deep breath. His scent is sweet and comforting, like a warm wind at the beginning of autumn.

“I know I love you,” Mick says, kissing the top of your head.

That morning, you awake to the feeling on Mick’s fingers combing gently through your hair. Letting out a hum of satisfaction, you bury your head into the crook of his shoulder, not ready to come back down to earth. You aren’t sure when exactly you’d fallen asleep last night, but felt thankful that Mick had stayed at your side regardless of your drunken behavior.

“Good morning, you,” Mick continues to pet your head subconsciously, holding you close.

You are just about to reply, when a sharp pain in your head pierces right through your thoughts and digs directly into your brain. “Jesus fucking Christ,” you hiss, using your free arm to grab at the side of your head protectively.

“Not quite, but your close,” Mick chuckles, unable to resist the opportunity to tease you after the stunt you pulled the night before.

You roll your body on top of Mick’s in protest, doing you best to crush him beneath your weight. “You’re so much hotter when you don’t talk,” you bite back, recalling all the times you and Mick would tease each other during your long nights at the bar.

Rolling atop of Mick put you only a few inches away from his face, making your heart stop as your eyes made contact with his. As you stare at Mick, you notice the way that his eyes begin to wander towards your lips as a subtle flush of pink colors his pale cheeks.

Realizing this is your moment, you gingerly lean in and allow your lips to meet his. Mick kisses you back, the movements of his mouth hesitant and shy as both your hearts pound audibly against one another. You can help but smile into the kiss, feeling delighted in the fact that you could make Mick just as nervous as he makes you.

When the both of you finally separate, Mick is gazing up at you as if you were the one responsible for the sunrise that morning.

“So, what happens now?” you ask, already having a pretty good idea of what the both of you want.

Mick smiles wistfully, “I guess we fly off to Mars.”

Grinning back, you pull Mick into another kiss, feeling the happiest you had ever been in your life. If you and Mick ever end up leaving this bedroom– you’d have to thank Nikki.

Masterlist

#i'm actually v happy with this #but pls let me know what you think!#it's my first time writing for mick so i hope it's okay #mick mars #mick mars x reader #iwan rheon mick mars #iwan rheon #motley crue #motley crue imagine #motley crue oneshot #mick mars imagine #vince neil #nikki sixx #tommy lee #writing #the dirt #the dirt requests

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seven-oomen · 4 years

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I’m sorry you’re still feeling exhausted. I hope work wasn’t too terrible today, and that the weekend lets you rest up a bit (if you get normal weekends. working in retail I try not to assume.) Also, this is likely to just be a short(-ish) collection of unconnected musings, but I felt like sharing them anyway, and really you should be used to that from me at this point. XD So, first off that tree painting is GORGEOUS. I mean, I tend to be kinda partial to that whole tree silhouette type aesthetic, so I’m probably slightly biased. But still. (And the background shading… <3 ) Also, ngl, the backlit keyboard keeps making me think of that video of Henry Cavill assembling his new computer that’s making the rounds. That is not meant as a complaint of any sort, mind you, merely an observation.

Speaking of hot scruffy dudes who are actually massive dorks, did you SEE Ian’s most recent Insta pic?! (the non-cowboy hat one) Omg, I don’t know why he keeps complaining about how it’s starting to look like TW Season One hair like it’s some sort of bad thing. (The longer the hair, the better the grip you can get. […uh…wait, what?… ’>.> ]) That pic just screams OUAT sequel to me. Out here looking all shaggy and windblown and peaceful and content. Proud Alpha Dad Peter spending quality time with his family/pack. How very dare he spring this on an unsuspecting public with no warning? I was not prepared. (Also, Sinqua and Holland commenting on it just ups the adorable factor that much more.)

Also, was looking at a few sites lately in consideration of ordering a few more masks for work, found this print on one of them and almost laughed myself absolutely stupid. I don’t know why it was just so funny to me, but I hope it cheers you as much as it did me. Btw, it’s available on an impressive variety of items, including two types of notebooks, t-shirts, mugs, blankets, pillows, beach towels, shower curtains, rugs, bath mats, several styles of bags, phone cases, and assorted types of wall art (sadly not on a mask, however. I was deeply disappointed.) I can see any number of items ending up in the Haleargentski household, bought by assorted non-wolf members for assorted wolf members, because they are a family of assholes. (I feel like the first gift was a travel mug to Peter from his darling husbands, then a t-shirt [on black ofc] from Peter to Derek, and then it just all snowballed from there.)

Today’s literally-just-appeared-out-of-nowhere-wtf-brain thought is (much like the French maid thing) definitely of the nsfw variety, so consider yourself duly warned if you have a shift today. Because I mean we talked about Chris and Noah using toys on each other, but why should Peter get left out of the fun? There are plenty of ways for him to enjoy them, too. Like, pretty much the initial spontaneous thought was “Peter getting pulled into someone’s lap and being pegged within an inch of his life until he comes screaming down the throat of whichever one is going down on him at the same time." And I was just like "not sure what this has to do with this video of how to make a ukelele out of colored pencils, but continue." But like, no really. Peter being knotted in one of them while the other uses beads or a (vibrating) plug on him? (Which one is the asshole who momentarily turns the vibration up high enough that they BOTH can feel it?) Or using those, or some kind of prostate massager, while he’s tied up and watching them with each other? Bonus points in that situation for anything remote controlled. See just how good his control really is. Equal opportunity toy usage is what I’m saying, basically.

Also had a thought inspired by a pregnant friend and her fiance raving about a local pizza place’s monthly special, which is a pickle pizza (no really). I may or may not have asked her if she had it with ice cream (I totally did, but apparently she’s past that point.) So I was wondering about any weird or specific cravings the boys have while pregnant. I remember Chris having a thing about chocolate pudding in the flashbacks. Was it only a certain type of pudding, or would any kind do? Were there any others he had? Did he have the same ones with Ben or different? What about Noah? What sort of cravings did he get, if any? And did they vary between sets of twins? Did anybody go the aforementioned pickles and ice cream route? Anybody dipping fries in Nutella? Onion straws in peanut butter? Doritos in cottage cheese? Anybody eat salsa straight out of the jar? Did anybody get any sudden absolute need for a specific fast food at two in the morning? Or suddenly want a type of snack food only carried at one truck stop halfway past the next town? Anybody spend several days eating nothing but veggie trays, including ones they normally can’t stand? Anybody develop a temporary aversion to certain things, like coffee (feels like it would be a terrible thing for either of them)? Did Peter cater to their every whim in any and all of these situations? (I already know that answer.) Did either one ever get demanding about it, or did they go the more passively-wistful-won’t-stop-mentioning-it route? Side note; did anyone (not family) ever catch the wrong end of hormones now backed by even more combat and/or magical ability? (Debbie at the bake sale best step off or she gonna regret a number of her life choices.)

Uh…I think that was the last of the random swirling questions/musings/headcanons for now… I hope you feel a bit better today, and that the time off (I think you mentioned some time off?) is helpful. Enjoy your time with your friend (that was this weekend, right?). If you’ve got ideas for writing stuff, but are having trouble getting them down, would making quick notes/reminders, or voice recordings, for later help? Like, so you don’t worry about losing them, but aren’t forcing yourself to do something you don’t feel up for at the time? Either way, congrats on keeping up with the journaling (and the pretty, pretty art), and I hope tracking everything proves helpful. And remember, other people’s bullshit issues and hang-ups are in no way your fault (no matter what they try to tell you), and you deserve all the good things. Take care! *Hugs to both of you!*

Yeah, honestly I think I hit that point in my life again where my battery is drained and I can’t restart it. Which is how I got my burn out at first and working towards another one. Heh but I also don’t want to give up now and just keep working for a little longer because my contract expires at the end of September and yeah..

Stress.

Aww gosh thank you, yeah I really like how that one turned out! It was better than expected.

Btw if you’re into Zombie apocalypse stories (I am) you should definitely check out The girl with all the gifts. It’s so brutal but also interesting, I definitely enjoyed that. (And it was research for my own book)

Lol I love this keyboard and this laptop, really, it was the most expensive thing I ever bought but it’s so worth it. Still runs super smooth after 2 years. I don’t think I’ve seen that video of Henry though.

And omg yes I did and it’s the best thing. he looks so SOFT omg. I def got OUAT S2 vibes from that. And OUAT vibes. Also that pic of him with Colton, omg. Those were the best!

THAT PRINT!!!! I nearly snorted coffee out of my nose this morning but managed to swallow it down just in time. My work computer would have suffered caffeine damage otherwise XD.

But yeah, that becomes a running gag for sure!

Because I mean we talked about Chris and Noah using toys on each other, but why should Peter get left out of the fun? There are plenty of ways for him to enjoy them, too. Like, pretty much the initial spontaneous thought was “Peter getting pulled into someone’s lap and being pegged within an inch of his life until he comes screaming down the throat of whichever one is going down on him at the same time."

*cheff’s kiss*

Yes.

Oh the images are so good. Remind me to write them out in detail tomorrow after the zoo trip.

Also parking the pregnancy cravings to answer tomorrow since it’s past midnight and I should catch some sleep before I need to be up again. But I will definitely type that HC out.

Side note; did anyone (not family) ever catch the wrong end of hormones now backed by even more combat and/or magical ability? (Debbie at the bake sale best step off or she gonna regret a number of her life choices.)

Ohhh Debbie’s toast. Because yes, Noah’s magic is that much stronger when it’s fueled by pregnancy hormones and Chris turns into a very protective hormonal fighting machine. Low center of gravity has advantages when you’re in a squabble with the Karens.

And yeah, I have four days off right now. Which means I don’t have to work until Thursday again. Which is awesome!

But yeah work wasn’t too bad, I had to do one bad news conversation which fucking sucked since there was nothing I could do and nobody I could get a hold off to fix the problem for that customer and it was just a waiting game. I hate those conversations. I honestly do.

Most of it was quiet though and I got to leave an hour earlier due to the quiet day. So that was good. And I watched a movie while being paid (The girl with all the gifts) so that was pretty fun too XD

I actually voice record a lot already. I find it really helps with clearing my mind and I write a lot of stuff down. But I appreciate the tip!

Lots of cuddles from me and Mo and I hope your day went by well. <3

#ben says stuff #once upon a time comments #my convos with anon #submission

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lovemesomerafael · 5 years

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EL AMOR TODO LO PUEDE Chapter 22: Proximity Alert

Chapters 1-20 Chapter 21

Traffic that night was just beginning to creep again after the gridlock of rush hour, made worse by the angle of the sun blinding westbound drivers in the soggy evening air. Barba liked hot weather, but only when he was dressed for it. Just the walk from his garage had Rafael’s once-crisp dress shirt sodden with perspiration. Just up the street, Rafael noticed the pretty, rounded backside of a woman in short running tights, leaning over to stretch very nice legs. Although he appreciated the picture, he couldn’t believe anyone would willingly run through the sweltering city right now. As he got closer, the woman stood up to change her stretch, giving him the opportunity to appreciate her upper half. She wore a ratty-looking grey T-shirt that hung loosely.

She was right in front of his building. He had to walk around her to get to the door. Being a lifelong New Yorker, he didn’t even think of catching her eye or saying hello, until she called his name in a surprised yelp.

“Mr. Barba!”

He turned. To his confusion, the woman was Detective Parker, hair pulled into a haphazard knot on top of her head and skin already showing a sheen of sweat, although she was just getting ready to run. Her T-shirt had a faded Northwestern University logo and was short enough to display a few inches of toned midsection above her black shorts. Her eyebrows pulled together and faint frown lines showed between them.

“What are you… Do you live in this building?”

“I do,” he answered, wearing a similar expression.

“Huh,” she said. “So do I.”

They didn’t speak for a few seconds, neither particularly wanting to spout one of the usual banal expressions of surprise going through their minds. All they could think of to say was their apartment numbers.

“10C,” Rafael said.

“8D,” she answered.

The strange moment was broken when a tall, athletic man with shaggy black hair and startlingly blue eyes jogged up to them and greeted Laura. Rafael thought he looked like he should be pretending to man a sailboat in an advertisement for expensive cologne.

She stiffly introduced the man as her friend Jeff, leaving out the fact that she and Jeff knew one another from A.A. She explained to Jeff that she and Rafael worked together and had just discovered they lived in the same building.

“Jeez,” Jeff said, “What are the chances of that? So, you ready?”

Laura sputtered a hasty goodbye to Barba, and she and Jeff headed down the street at a jog.

“So what’s his story?” Jeff asked as they ran, avoiding the passersby on the sidewalk.

“I barely know him. He’s the Assistant District Attorney assigned to our unit. Squad seems to like him, and he’s really good at what he does.”

“He’s pretty. What’s he like?”

“Snarky.”

“Ooh, you like snarky. Is he single?”

“No idea.”

“I guess you’ll find out, since you’re neighbors. That could be convenient…”

“It could also be a pain in the ass. I don’t think I like someone I work with living in the same building as me.”

“You don’t want him, I’ll take him.”

“Jeff, do I need to remind you you’re married?”

“Bradley would agree with me. He has good taste.”

Rafael scowled at nothing as he rode the elevator up to the tenth floor. He wasn’t happy about what had just happened. For one thing, he liked his privacy. He didn’t want someone he worked with keeping tabs on him. For another, it meant that, of the thousands of apartment buildings on this island, that damn Peter Stone had moved into his. And finally, he really wished he hadn’t seen Parker in that outfit. He didn’t need that in his head every time he saw her at work.

Laura let herself into the building after her run and started up the stairs. She thought again about living in the same building with Rafael Barba, and wondered whether they would ever run into one another there. Probably. There weren’t that many apartments in the building. She thought about what Jeff had said. Barba was definitely hot. That was one of the first things she’d noticed about him. Now, a few weeks later, she often found herself hoping he would give her one of those smirky, smouldery looks of his, and was guilty of more than a little surreptitious admiration of his physique in his gorgeous suits. But for some reason, it seemed odd to think of Barba as someone to date. Even with Olivia Benson, he had a certain barrier that discouraged people from getting overly familiar.

She wondered what that was about, because it was obvious in everything about him that he was a passionate man. That made her wonder what it would be like to be able to get around that barrier and truly know him. As she let herself into her apartment and started the shower, she let her thoughts drift to what he would be like as a lover. He might be so guarded because he was one of those deeply romantic men who, when they fell in love, fell hard. Maybe he was all ardent caresses and whispered endearments – in Spanish, of course – or maybe he got all rough and growly and devouring. Maybe both. Probably both. OK, so maybe it wasn’t so odd to think of him as someone to date. It was certainly easy to think of him as someone to fuck.

Under the steamy shower, turning to more realistic thoughts, Laura considered whether being neighbors meant that she and Barba might become something like friends. It wasn’t out of the question. After a stumble at the beginning, he did seem to be growing on her. Carisi had been right; Barba was an acquired taste. These days, Laura actually liked him. She always appreciated anyone that intelligent and articulate, and she had a definite affinity for snarky people.

After her shower, Laura pulled on a plain grey tank dress and went to her living room to pick up her computer, intending to Skype with her family in Chicago. She looked around her apartment. She hadn’t brought much with her. She’d sold her car and all her furniture in Chicago, so right now, her apartment was pretty sparsely furnished. The only things in her living room at the moment were her new couch, her keyboard and stool, and her guitar.

But she’d splurged on new clothes. It was important to her to look good for her new job. Voight’s unit had worn jeans and T-shirts pretty much exclusively, because that’s how Voight dressed. SUV had a stricter dress code. She’d decided to go with quality over quantity, and been careful what she bought. So now she had only two choices: new, carefully-chosen work clothes or old, scruffy, comfy sweats and hanging-out clothes. Nothing in between.

She plopped onto the couch and checked her email. There was a message from Avi ben Yaakov with frustrating news. Avi was Laura’s new krav maga instructor, a native Israeli in his fifties who had practiced the art since his teen years, and perfected it while doing his compulsory service in the Israeli army. He’d seen combat and was very serious about everything having to do with his training of his students. The timing of Laura’s move had been poor; she’d felt like she was close to being ready to test for her blue belt, but had to leave her gym in Chicago before she could do it. Now, she was starting at a new gym where she had yet to prove to her instructor that she was ready.

Laura grinned as she thought about the afternoon when she and her former instructor and lover, Eric Hernandez, had lain naked on the floor of his apartment researching gyms in Manhattan where Laura could continue her training. On their stomachs with Eric’s laptop before them, they’d found Avi ben Yaakov fairly quickly because of the amount of favorable information about him online. Avi had insisted on speaking to Eric about her skill and work ethic, and would not agree to consider taking her on as a student until he had met and tested her. Laura was entirely intimidated. She tried to get Eric to help her find a less demanding instructor, but Eric had asked her to trust him to know what kind of instructor she needed. She’d trusted Eric, but the jury was still out on Avi. Still, it seemed to speak well of Avi that Laura found herself working as hard as she could, every class and every lesson, hoping to get his approval. But for Avi, the jury was apparently still out on Laura, too.

A week later, Barba had his first opportunity to see what Liv’s new detective would be like as a witness. They met in the courtroom where the trial would be held, which he preferred when he could make it happen, so that he could assess how the witness would appear to the jury. The meeting was necessarily scheduled in the evening when court wasn’t in session. When they met in the hallway, he was surprised to see that Detective Parker had blots and smears of blood on the light linen jacket she wore, as well as on the silky tank top beneath. She had a bruise on one cheek surrounding a small cut.

“Bloodstains. Bold fashion statement. It’s a way to go, but it might be a little much for a jury.”

One corner of her lips turned up as they began to walk toward the courtroom. “Don’t worry, she was bleeding when we got there.”

“And this?” He indicated her cheek.

“The boyfriend. He doesn’t like cops.” Noting the look on his face, she added, “I didn’t make him bleed, either.”

“Are you aware that not every detective I work with has to begin conversations with ‘I can explain?’”

She chuckled. “Can I bill the city for dry cleaning?”

“No.” He opened the door for her and motioned her in.

Laura was curious to see how Barba would conduct his witness preparation. During her years in Chicago, she’d been prepped by a few attorneys, each of whom had his or her own style. This was also the first time she would be spending any time one-on-one with him, and she wondered about that, too.

He told her to sit in the witness box as he removed his coat and vest, loosening his tie even further than it had already been. She was mesmerized by his hands as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. As much as she appreciated his style, there really was something about seeing him remove some of that sartorial armor that made his handsome features even harder to ignore. Head in the game, Parker.

“Tell me about your experience testifying in court,” he asked, spreading some papers into small piles on the table before him.

“Does moot court count?”

He looked up, surprised. “Did you go to law school?”

“I had a boyfriend who did.”

Had?

“Well, it doesn’t count.”

She chuffed a short laugh. “OK. I probably testified at thirty trials in my uniform days, and six or seven when I was with Intelligence. The last time was, say, three months ago.”

“Tell me about the cases. I want to know what kinds of things you’ve testified about.”

Laura had observed Barba in court on a few occasions since she’d been with SVU, and was interested to see that he was all business now. Perhaps not in full Prosecutor mode, but definitely serious and on a mission.

She briefly sketched a summary of the trials at which she’d testified, beginning with traffic court, car accidents, and minor crimes, and working up to the Intelligence cases.

“Favorite trial?”

“The naked guy. It’s January in Chicago, below zero, and he’s wearing nothing but handcuffs. Not even shoes. He wouldn’t let me put a blanket over him because he said it interfered with the flow of The Force.”

No reaction. He was looking at her, clearly hearing her, but was deeply immersed in his own trial planning. It was impressive. That laser focus explained a lot of the success she’d heard about.

“Most difficult trial?”

She had to think about that for a minute. “A shootout at a factory.”

“Good. Answer only the question you’re asked. If I want more, I’ll ask for it. If Buchanan wants more, make him ask for it. Why was that your most difficult trial?”

“It was a huge building that was almost all one room, where they drop forge tools. So there were machines everywhere. It was dark, and everyone had flashlights, which made the light confusing, and there were a lot of people in there but you couldn’t see ‘em. There were seven of us and then a bunch of bad guys in –“

“Suspects. Or offenders. Not ‘bad guys’.”

“A bunch of suspects, who scattered as soon as we hit the door. There were a million places to hide, so we had no choice but to try to flush them out. There was a firefight, and I was using an M4, which I’d never used in the field before-”

“The jury doesn’t know what an M4 is.”

“Big-ass gun.”

There it was, the look of amused disapproval.

“I’m not planning to say ‘big-ass’ in court.”

“Good to know. You’re telling me why the situation was difficult. Tell me why testifying about it was difficult.”

“Because I didn’t really know what happened. I had a confused series of images in my head, and I knew what I’d been thinking, but… There was just too much happening too fast. CSU mapped every shot they could, and I knew how many I’d fired, but even then I couldn’t be sure which ones were mine.”

“Good. Admit when you don’t know something. Don’t guess. All right. Now let’s talk about your testimony in this trial.”

For the next hour, Barba asked questions and Parker answered them. He took her through his direct examination, correcting her errors and explaining where particular facts were especially important. Then he switched roles, and asked the questions she could expect from the defense attorney on cross.

He was much more critical and demanding here. It was exhausting and, at times, frustrating.

“Where was the gun?”

“On the floor under the bed.”

“No. It was sticking out from under the bed.”

“That’s what I said.”

“That’s not what you said. If it was under the bed, it wasn’t in plain sight, was it? Which means you couldn’t take it without a search warrant, which you didn’t have. Now, where was the gun?”

“Sticking out from under the bed. I could see the handle and part of the trigger guard.”

“Better.”

At last, he’d taken her through all the testimony he expected her to have to give. He began to gather up his papers and note pad, putting them back into his briefcase.

“Don’t be nervous,” he told her as she crossed from the witness stand to the gate into the seating area.

She didn’t know quite how to respond to that. “I wasn’t. Before. It’s not my first rodeo. But after this…”

“Look,” he said, picking up his jacket and vest and following her to the door. “Bottom line, just tell the truth and leave the rest to me.”

“You couldn’t have just said that an hour and a half ago? I could be home eating pizza.”

He didn’t respond for a few moments as she passed through the door he held open and stepped to her side to walk down the now dimly-lit hallway. “About that.”

She looked up at him to see he was not exactly frowning, but clearly a little uncomfortable. Suddenly, she was, too. She felt embarrassed, like she’d done something wrong or foolish. Words came tumbling out in a rush to smooth the situation.

“I know. I feel like I should apologize for moving into your building. I’d feel weird about it if I were you. I do feel weird about it. I guess I’m used to not knowing my neighbors. Makes me feel like I have to behave now.”

“Actually, all I was going to say is that I’m on my way there now, and offer you a ride.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m interested in what misbehavior is now off the table.”

She was too flummoxed to answer.

Somehow she managed to recover enough to accept a ride home once they were outside. They walked down the street, Laura feeling grateful for the orange-tinged light of the streetlamps, which hopefully hid her blush. Smooth. Real smooth.

“Did you go to Northwestern?” He asked suddenly.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“Your shirt. The other day.”

“Oh. Yeah. I have a Bachelor’s in Nursing.”

“Nursing?”

“Long story.”

“Were you a nurse?”

“Yeah. ER nurse in Chicago.”

“Nurse, and now a cop. You don’t go for the easy jobs.”

“I guess not. There’s just something about being a first responder. There’s nowhere else in the world with that kind of energy. And I like being one of the good guys.”

“As opposed to, say… lawyers.��

“Nope. You’re the good guys, too. Prosecutors. Guys like John Buchanan… not so much. I heard you’re Harvard Law.”

“Mmm-hmm. Why do you speak Spanish?”

She didn’t miss the abrupt change in topic, but thought better of mentioning it. She wondered what that was about.

“Are you saying I actually speak Spanish?”

His stomach gave a little flip. He really wished her teasing him didn’t do that to him. “I’m feeling generous.”

“Nice,” she laughed.

“So why?”

“Because I took Spanish class in junior high, and I fell in love with it. I couldn’t learn fast enough. I did a summer in Madrid in high school, and I just… The language is so beautiful. And I like being able to talk to people who are in trouble and don’t speak English.”

“Hmmm.”

As they reached the parking garage, Barba indicated a stairway and they turned into it, heading to the first level below the street. Barba’s car, a silver-blue Audi, was parked not far down the row.

“Wow. Celebrity parking,” Laura noted.

“I’m kind of a big deal.”

Laura noticed that, even though he unlocked the doors with a key fob, he still walked to the passenger door and opened it for her. Now it was her turn to experience a stomach flip. Why was that so bloody sexy? All he did was open a door. Because he’s a gentleman, and that’s sexy.

The car wasn’t very big. When they’d buckled in and Barba was backing the car out of the stall, a whiff of breeze through Barba’s open window blew a faint scent of something warm, and musky, and spicy toward Laura. Holy shit, he smells good.

“Can I ask you a question? And will you give me an honest answer?”

He stole a quick look at her. “No, your accent’s not really horrific. I shouldn’t have said that.”

She smiled. “How’d you know what I was going to ask?”

“Because it was a shitty thing I said, and you seem to like to call me out when I say shitty things.”

“Hmm. I feel kind of like a bitch now, but I also appreciate the fact that I’m keeping you on your toes. I’ll have to think about that.”

As he turned the car into the street, she saw the most adorable half-smile touch his lips. Oh, fuck. This is like the tenth time he’s made me wet and he’s not even trying. I am in serious trouble here.

He wanted to find a casual way to ask about her comment that she “had” a boyfriend in law school. That had to be Stone, right? Did she mean to use the past tense there? But then why would they have moved out from Chicago together? He wished he wasn’t even thinking about this. He needed her to be unavailable, and if she was, then what difference did it make if she was seeing a rabo[1] like Stone? He told himself he just wanted to know whether he would be running into Stone in his building.

“So, uh… what do you think of the building? Do you like it?”

“Of course I do. What’s not to like? I don’t have any furniture yet, or not much anyway, so it’s a little like camping for the moment. But I’ll get there. And I work crazy hours, like you, so… I’m happy.”

I. Not we. How obvious would it be if he asked-

“Do you live alone?”

“Yep. You?”

“Yes.”

Hmmm. Curiouser and curiouser.

“And the answer to your next question is, ‘I can’t.’”

“What’s my next question?”

“How can I afford to live there on a cop’s salary. I can’t. But my overprotective father can’t sleep unless I live in a secure building, so he bought the apartment and I rent it from him.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that.”

She smiled at him. “Sure you were. Maybe not out loud…”

She really needed to quit smiling at him. Especially now that she lived alone. Two floors below him.

[1] dick

#law & order svu #law & order: special victims unit #rafael barba #raul esparza #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago justice #peter stone #philip winchester

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bettercallsabs · 6 years

Text

The Groom to Be 3.

A/N: because I adore so many of you dearly, I’m sucking it up and posting. As usual, unedited bs. I have some fun things I’ve been working on as well, so stay tuned! But without further ado, I bring you part 3.

Series Masterlist//Thee Masterlist

Engaged!SteveRogers x WeddingPlanner!PlusSized!Reader

Warnings: swears, internal conflict, wineeee

Word count: shortish.

Steve rested against the chilled brick wall, in the hallway of y/n’s loft. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears as he tried to focus. He couldn’t think straight. Every thought that seemed to pass through his mind was... irrational. He had no idea what had come over him. When he was close to y/n, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, it made his head go fuzzy. In that moment, he wanted to pull her into his arms- just to feel the warmth of her body against his. the feel of her curves in his hands. The taste of her soft lips on his. How could he be so drawn to someone he’s known for so little? He never felt this way about Larissa- and Steve knew he cared for her, but his feelings for Larissa were nothing in comparison to Y/N. Every time she looked at him, his heart felt as though it skipped a beat. The flutters in his stomach only ceasing when he was far from her sight. He’d get the attraction from the moment he laid eyes on her- although Steve wouldn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic, he did believe in knowing love when you see it, what he thought to have had with Larissa until the day he met Y/N.

Steve rustled his hands through his grown out golden locks, down to his shaggy unkept beard. Why could he get her out of his head! Steve reaches into his pocket, pulling his phone out, Steve’s thumb hovered over the contact labeled Buck. Bucky was a ladies man, far more experience with women than Steve could ever dream of,But so was Sam. Although, Sam might encouraged him to do the wrong thing-he wasn’t a fan of Larissa, and he reminded Steve of that every chance he got. Steve, after a brief consideration hit the call button, the phone failing out Bucky. “Why are you calling at such an ungodly hour?” Bucky groaned dramatically, as he answered the phone. “Buck, what are you talking about? You’re a night owl. I’m sort of in a predicament. I did something stupid.” “Where are you? What’s going on?” Bucky’s voice was attentive and laced with worry. “I’m at y/n’s loft.” “Wait what? Why?” Bucky must have been lying in bed, the sound of him shuffling from beneath the sheets echoed into the phone.

“I don’t know. I knew I offended her earlier today, in her office. The way she looked at me, that look in her eyes-“ Steve shook his head, his heart feeling heavy as he thought back to that afternoon on the sofa of her office. The way she looked at him, her vulnerable eyes full of hurt, it reminded him of how he often felt before he became captain America, and he felt completely and utterly disgusted that he could have ever made anyone feel such a way. “I could see the pain she felt when she looked at me. It was awful. I could just leave things like that, my conscience couldn’t take that kind of guilt.” “Okay... so what is going on then?” “Well, when I got here, she was making dinner- and by god buck, it was amazing. I haven’t had a home cooked meal like that in over 50 years. She’s amazing…” The words slipped from Steve��s mouth- like water rushing from a burst dam- before he had a chance to stop them. “So you have feelings for her then?” Bucky’s tone was rigged as he sighed into the phone. Steve glowered, to to reluctant to speak. He was a committed man, one engaged to be married in just a few months. Steve felt a raging battle of internal conflict of his morals. He wasn’t a man that would stray- he had classic morals, he was a one kind of woman man… making him ponder if he was in fact with the right woman. They sat in silence for a minute, the air thick with tension of unsaid opinions- even though they weren’t even in the same room, neither of them knowing what to say, or how to say it. “Clearly you like her Steve…” Bucky sighed a deep sigh into the phone once again, as he continued to speak, his tone anything but amused. “You should just finish apologizing and get the hell out of the there. The quicker the better. And I’m only encouraging you to apologize, because I don’t want you to hate yourself later.” Steve ran his fingers through his scruffy beard, with an over exaggerated exhale of air, he heaved himself from the wall, Shaking out his nerves.

Be calm, be cool. You’re just going to apologize and go home. This isn’t rocket science. You’ve got this.

Steve gave himself a pep talk, feeling like a complete imbecile for feeling so anxious. It wasn’t like this was the first time he had ever spoken to y/n. He’d spent weeks alone with her, just talking. This was just like those times. Steve took one last deep breath, exhaling as he knocked on y/n’s door once again.

Reader POV You sat at the table in awe, racking your brain to try and come up with some sort of explanation to explain what had just happened. You were still trying to process the fact the Steve Rogers was in your home, sitting at your dinner table, sharing a home cooked meal with you, and now you were just adding onto the confusion… why did he run out like that? Was it something you had said? Because you honestly didn’t recall saying much. And what the hell was he apologizing for? For the whole touching ordeal? Oh god, was that why he was here… shit. You hoped he would have forgotten about that. You felt your body growing in warmth, as bubbles tickled at your tummy. As much as you wanted it to be because of the wine, you knew it was your nerves-although, you were sure the wine wasn’t helping one bit, only adding to your flustered state. But a part of you felt sort of.. flattered, that he came all this way for you-

OH FUCKING HELL! Enough Y/N! He is engaged!!! And he is your client, You’re the freaking wedding planner.

The irony of the situation seemed overly chaotic. But you couldn’t help who you have feelings for right? That’s out of your control, right? You couldn’t help that the past couple of weeks with Steve had felt so right. The two of you just melded well. His friends Throwing your hands up in defeat, you dramatically shook your balled fists in the air. You stood from your seat at the table, empty wine glass-just a drop of wine left that swooshed around the open glass as you walked. You set the glass onto the hard solid surface of your countertop, exhaling heavily as you poured another glass. You leaned your lower back against the counter, breathing in the crips but earthy scent tickling at your nose, as you took an exaggerated sip. You just wanted life to be normal again. You liked when it was just you and work. No feelings. Things were far less complicated that way. A soft knock at the door pulled you from the endless ramblings of your mind. Who could that be? Maybe your neighbor was in a drunken state and unable to unlock the door, yet again. But wishful thinking kicked in, sending your mind on the most ridiculous of thoughts, that it would be Steve, coming to whisk you off your feet like a corny Hallmark romance, that you loved so much. Ha. You scuffed to yourself as you shambled over to the door-the sound of the pad of your slippers scrapping over the wood floor- pushing the unrealistic fantasy to the deep dark depths of your brain. You didn’t even bother peering through the peep hole, as you swung the door open without hesitation. “Dammit Jackie, I thought we-“ you cut yourself off mid sentence, seeing that it wasn’t Jackie behind the door, no, it was tall, dark and handsome blue eyed dream, Steve. You took in a sharp breath, your body rippling in a sudden heat. Steve was still here? You were sure he had run off to god knows where. You couldn’t help but stare at him, noticing a dangerous glint in his eye, a look you’d never seen before. “Steve? What are you-“ before you could finish , his hands clasped at your cheeks pulling you into him, as his mouth came crashing down against yours. You were completely shocked, to say the least. the flesh of his lips felt silky smooth against, as he lips moved in time with yours. His kisses were ravenous yet delicate. As he kissed you, it felt as though all your worries had been vanquished. His strong hands fell from your cheeks- leaving a trail of cold in their wake-opting for your waist as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you deeper into the kiss. Your arms almost instinctively found their way around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer into him. The feel of his flexed shoulders shoulders, sending glorious shivers through your body. -You hadn’t been kissed like this in years...well ever.- Your hand trailed deviously up he length of Steve’s neck, finding the beginning of his hairline. His luxuriant locks, were soft to the touch and unbelievably silky. Your fingers found themselves intertwined in it. It was so silky, far more than you thought possible. Perfect, just like him.

When Steve’s lips broke from yours, the rush of air stung at the raw flush of your lips and chin. Steve’s wild beard had down a number on you.

The two of you stood in the hallway of your lofted apartment, panting loudly, like dogs in the hot los Vegas heat, your heart echoing loudly in your ear like the pounding of a drum.

Your eyes met his, ambivalently. You couldn’t conjure a single word, as you stared into those pools of blue.

You wanted scream or laugh, or smile. Something! But no, of course not. You just stood there like a lost puppy without its mom.

“Y/N…”

The sound of your voice on Steve’s lips was like a symphony, in the deep and husky tone, making your head go all fuzzy.

“Steve…”

Nothing more but an exchange of glances transpired, as Steve’s figure struck into the distance.

You bit at your lower lip, a giddy girlish smile stretching across your face as you closed the door behind you.

“Steve Rogers just kissed me. The words felt so right as the fell from your lips..

Your heart felt full of such emended joy, but the looming thoughts of guilt were not far behind…

You needed some wine. Scratch that, a lot of wine.

You grabbed your glass from the counter, smashing back what was left and grabbing the bottle as you marched your way to the sofa, a lifetime movie still playing. You settled into the sofa, draping a throw blanket over your feet.

You traced over your swollen lips with your finger, the lingering taste of his mouth still fresh. There was no way you were getting Steve out of your head tonight.

Well fuck.

This is why you made your work your life. It kept you busy, too busy to worry about frivolous things like dating and men. Feelings of this magnitude were too complex for your liking. And you hopelessly wished you could go back to before the feelings, when life was less… of a hassle.

Steve POV

The chill air of winter shown with each breath Steve took, as he burst through the door into the open street. His chest felt tight, his shirt wound up tight in his fist. What had he been thinking, kissing her like that? Steve thought to himself, unstable. But the kiss. That was the kiss of romance films, this kind of kiss that only happens in books. Steve has dreamed of kissing y/n for weeks, but he never imagined it be anything like that. Her full bodied lips were soft and warm against his. She tasted fruity, a mixture of her and the wine, and he loved it.

The way she kissed him back… it gave Steve shivers just just thinking about it. There was so much passion and lust in that kiss. He wanted more...

No. Steve aggressively ran his hands through his hair, thwarted in his own thoughts. He plucked his phone from his place tucked in his back pocket, sending a text to the group chat of Bucky and Sam.

Meet at my place. Need to talk.

Steve pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, tucking the phone back into its place, as he took off in a trout. He needed to clear his mind- at least try- and jogging always seemed to give him a little perspective.

Sam and Bucky, stood on either side of the entry, Bucky looking utterly unamused, Sam looking a tad too eager.

The three men walked into the apartment, falling into the usual seating arrangement.

“So, you went to her place?” Sam’s eyes nearly leapt from his head, his voice laced with anticipation.

Steve simply nodded, avoiding eye contact at all costs. “I had to try and clear the air..”

“More like you have the hots for her.”

“Shut it Sam.” Bucky chimed in, his arms crossed over his chest. “So what happened?”

“Well after I got off the phone with you Buck, I had every intention of talking with her but…” Steve trailed off, his head feeling fuzzy as he remembered that amazingly fiery kiss.

“Well What happened? Did you talk to her, or just run away?” Bucky asked, as him and Sam watched Steve with curious eyes.

“No, I kissed her.”

“That’s my boy.” Sam smiled as he patted Steve’s shoulder. Bucky shook his head at the both of them.

“I… after the kiss I… i don’t.” Steve rustled through his already askew hair. “This marriage, Larissa… I just don’t know anymore. I’ve never felt this unsure about anything before.”

Steve rubbed at his beard as he sank into the oversized chair, desperately wishing he could disappear.

“I know she’s a real catch Steve, I get that, she’s a doll, but what about the agreement? You know that I have your best interest at heart, and I, Sam, even Nat, will support you-“ Sam nodded in agreement as Bucky spoke. “But you know this marriage affects more than just you-“

“Fuck.”

Sam and Bucky starred at Steve in a state of awe. He rarely, if ever cursed.

Steve squeezed his eyes tight, wishing for better days.

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flashfictionforpittance · 5 years

Text

Cirque De La catastrophe Itinérante

(Requested by Anon, who contributed ideas for most of the main characters, plus some ideas for scenes, some of which sadly couldn’t make it into the finished story.)

Valeria blinked. The inside of the crate currently passing as her coffin stared back, with its yellow sticker that marked fragile contents cutting through the dim light. Previously, it'd sat on the outside, but they'd flipped the lid so she'd have something to look at. Lyca's suggestion. Not one of his better ideas, but they couldn't all be winners.

Val slid the lid off with her fingertips, and escaped in a fine mist into her room where she reformed like a shadow being restored after a flicker of light. She stretched up, her fingertips brushing against the shallow, tented ceiling, her joints cracking like glow-sticks.

Her room left a lot to be desired these days. As Val stepped carefully around it, reminding her limbs and digits how to move like the living's, she absorbed the ramshackle boudoir that her family had tried their hardest to make cosy in their daylight hours. The drapes were moth-eaten and the rug was full of what Jaya called "schmutz,"- hairs and crumbs and dirt and the like. She had a suspicion one of the lycanthropes had donated it. The cobwebs on the wooden panels that served as walls weren't a problem. The termites were. Val's good coffin, permanently sequestered in a secure storage unit in the city until the infestation was dealt with, seemed awfully far away during these long days in the crate, spent tossing and turning and trying to keep the splinters out of her skin.

But still. Val clicked her fingers and blue smoke broke out their tips like she'd used them to snuff out a match, billowing out first like a ribbon, then a cloud, then a river, winding around her curves, her bare shoulders with the textbook pin holes at the base of the neck, over the voluptuous hips, all the way to the ankles where it trailed off, then hardened into a purple gown that clung to her as she slid her feet into her heels, pressed her day-hat over her curls, and strode out of her bedroom door.

Beyond? Chaos. Hell. An utter travesty of a circus, new in town and fatally unprepared with half its acts still hungover from the bickering and fatigue so symptomatic of months on the road, and only two hours until their debut.

Val stepped into the hall, and was met immediately with a small ocean of knee-high clowns that was crowding the tented hallway. She towered over row upon row of the pint-sized performers, each one wearing the same baggy trousers, wide-collared shirts, harlequin makeup, and the exact same expression, that being of absolute dread.

"Gentlemen," said Val, her voice well exercised in careful diplomacy. "to what do I owe the pleasure on this fine morning?"

"Out," rumbled Iggy, their spokesman. Almost identical to his two scores of brothers, Iggy was notable for his open collar, which constantly displayed the deep scarring on his chest. This too was identical to the others, who kept theirs hidden. "Oleg's at it again."

"Oh my," Val pressed her fingertips to her forehead, pretending to nurse a migraine. "what's our lead harlequin done now?" She didn't have to guess. But who knew, maybe this time-

"Your senior clown has eaten another..." Iggy began and trailed off, the haughtiness that'd overcome his fear now subsiding as his brothers paled in unison. He beckoned Val to bend over. She bent, inhaling their collective smog of cologne and cigarette smoke. "another unattended."

Oh well. Maybe one day he'd surprise her. "Ugh," Val swept her hand back over her forehead, watching for the nods of approval from within the small crowd that'd amassed around her. "my stars. Don't worry, my faithful clowns. I'll see Oleg remanded for this," she straightened Iggy's bow tie for him, grazing a finger against the stark-white flesh beneath his collar, and those scars that so closely resembled letters. "I give you my word. Oleg has taken this too far. He'll be dealt with swiftly and without prejudice."

It wasn't that she'd be doing nothing. But that Iggy was more placatable than he let on. Which is why he didn't quite protest as she stepped over him, and headed down the hall. If she kept moving fast enough, by the time he caught up with her she might just have figured out how to keep him and his entourage around. She snapped her fingers again as she walked and pulled a thin purple thread out of nothing, which thickened into a long cigarette holder. She plucked a cigarette out from behind her ear and slotted it into the end, snapped again to light it, and took a long drag. She should already tell it would be a long day.

The physical body of the circus was that of an octopus; the Big Top where they entertained guests was at the very centre, with its tented tendrils curling all over the rented field it was occupying, each limb branching into rooms for sleeping, eating, feeding, casting, summoning, sinning, and generally sharpening one's skills. It was a nightmare to put the whole thing up, she was told.

Between Val's room and the Big Top there was just one other space- the mess hall, where all the acts came to share space, relax, and enjoy one another's company. In theory. If the mood of the circus could be emblemized in one location, it was here. And perhaps symbolically, it was empty and showed signs of recent chaos; the four long benches were overturned, bowls of stew spattered all over them, the ground, and the purple-pinstriped tenting that enclosed them. The table from which Kook, (the circus' former magician,) usually dished out whatever he could remember the recipe for, was split in two, the vat upturned and a waterfall of what resembled mutton making its slow, congealed journey to the floor. On the other side of the table, Kook was was trembling on the floor, hands raised above his head like he was deflecting projectiles. He'd disappeared into his own top hat a while back, was gone for a whole year, and didn't come out quite the same. He started at the sound of Val's voice, looking around like he didn't recognise where he was.

"What's gone on, Mr Kook?" she asked.

He blinked up at her, eyes bloodshot. "Oh, this? 'Tis strange, isn't it ma'am?" he looked furtively around, as if waking suddenly from a nightmare. "I can't rightly say I know. I-It's rather fuzzy, ma'am."

Val crouched beside him. "I see. Do you remember anything at all?" he hadn't been drinking- at least, Val couldn't smell it on him. Sadly. If he'd been the culprit this whole thing could've been over then and there.

The magician's forehead creased with effort, the dark circles under his eyes deepening as a sigh escaped his gritted teeth. "I, well. I was here, dishing up as you do. Those Cat Creatures were griping about the food, though that's nothing new. Probably on the prowl for a fight, cos' Jaya and Eucaria made an e-exit when they came in- or was it just Eucaria? Could've just been her, though I'm sure Jaya left too-"

"Kook," said Val in her least impatient voice. "Please, try to focus on what happened in here."

"S-sorry sir-Ma'am, I mean, Mrs Ma'am, Ms Ma'am Sir," he paused for a moment to collect himself. You could see the colour leave his face, draining out as if a valve had opened. "I think it all went funny when the Lycanthropes arrived. Yeah, I remember a lot of growling, lots of smashing. And gnashing. Then something hit my head, and t-then," he gestured loosely at the sky. "Fairies. But that's nothing new. They always show up after a disaster."

"Shit," hissed Val. "I thought all the shapeshifters had reached an understanding? Tonight's act has been months in the mati- making...I don't suppose you know what caused it?"

Kook shrugged. "Who knows with them. They're more beast than human on most days, aren't they? Giving me dirty looks, sharpenin' their claws on the furniture, leaving rabbit pelts all over the place. Filthy werewolves, were-cats, all of them," a frantic look overcame his eyes.

"Kook," snapped Val. "Enough. We don't speak of others in that way in my Circus. Do you know where they went?"

"Big Top," said Kook, suddenly sullen. "they're saying the act's off- all the couples have broken off too; Vinnie and Trisha, Ellie and Claire, even the two Johnny's. Saying they'll never perform together again."

Val stood up and adjusted her hat. "I'll be the one to make that assessment." She left Kook to his mumbling. The short walk between the mess hall and the Big Top was enough to send tonight's trajectory from bad to worse; long tears split the tent on both sides and above. Scraps of fur, some sleek, some shaggy, gathered in clumps among the grass underfoot, and as Val broke through the curtained doorway into the Big Top, a cacophony of yowls and howls pierced her eardrums. The wide circle of bleachers bordering the room served as the colosseum for the latest pandemonium, as two gangs of leather clad teenage heartthrobs, one half rough and ragged, the other sharp and deadly, stared each other down in the loudest way possible, jeering and spitting and hissing and growling and holding each other back. The groups were about fifteen people strong apiece, and at the forefront of each, foreheads practically glued together, were two boys. Well, men. But everyone was a child when you had a couple of centuries under your belt.

"You housecats aren't going anywhere till you tell me who went after Tycho," snarled the shorter of the two, the leader of the scruffy lot who more than fit the model himself. Dark haired and what the young people would call 'dreamy,' his face was contorted with rage as he shouted, "you pussies want to pick a fight? I'm right here! Why fight a kid when you can face the whole pack? All you gotta do it tell me who did it!"

The other leader, a broad lion of a man maned with immaculately combed hair, rumbled back, "I don't respond to violence, or threats. You should know that by now, Lyca. Yourself and these mongrels should get out of here while you've still got some dignity left."

"Then it's off," snapped Lyca. He pulled back and shook his head. "You can kiss the whole act goodbye. Nobody wants to see a bunch'a stuck up lions do ballet for an hour. You've got no skill, no perseverance, all you've got is your goddamn pride," he spat the word like it tasted foul, eyeing the rest of the Cat Creatures. He gestured at his grumbling posse " Come on, everyone. Lee the Lionheart can't even squeeze and apology out of his little harem. We've got better things to do than watch that travesty try to carry out a routine." Though he was less than half Lee's size, his effortless beauty and powerful voice made him quite the formidable leader. It was like watching a Jack Russell face off with a Great Dane.

"Typical werewolf," said a woman at Lee's side. "time wasters. No patience. Full of bravado. It's not like we even needed you anyway, Lee's the one with all the ideas, you people are just hired muscle. In fact," she chuckled. "I'm pretty sure breaking it off is the only original idea you've had yet," some of the other Cat Creatures heckled their agreement. Lee nodded.

"Fuck you," said Lyca. The rest of the pack echoed the sentiment.

"Ahem," Val's voice was like a shock wave. The tension snapped at once as they all turned on their heels to attention. Pack mentality. One of the rare pluses of employing shapeshifters. "Am I to understand that there's been a falling out?" Sometimes, Valeria wished she could just get to the point. But, that was unbecoming. 'Take your time when you speak,' her mother had once told her, 'too fast, and people will think you're trying to sell them something.'

"The Cat Creatures went too far this time, Ma'am," said Lyca, desperate to get the first word in. "they went after Tycho, they smashed his face in and robbed him. A kid, ma'am. They called him- what was it, Tycho?"he called over his shoulder.

A thin boy of about eighteen stepped forward. His crimson nose wore his double-black eyes as a pair of wings, a butterfly of bruises resting on his face. He stared at his feet as he spoke, not really addressing anyone. "A leg-humpin' bitch. A mongrel. They said they were gonna neuter me, said they'd bury my..." He was turning crimson. Val averted her eyes, feeling her stomach growl. "my nuts in the woods, feed 'em to Oleg."

That damn clown again. "I see. And what was this about stolen property?"

"We didn't steal-" began one of the Cat Creatures- one of the two Johnny's so recently divorced. She quieted him with a look. Her nerves were getting twitchier by the minute, her cigarette burning closer to her skin.

"A jacket, three CD's, and a bat," said Lyca. "Personal items that they have no reason to take except to screw with him. And look at Tycho's nose. If he were human they could've killed him!"

"Please, Lyca," said Val, raising a palm. "be patient. Tell me Lee, you refute these claims?"

The Lionheart spoke slow and patient, but didn't take his eyes off Lyca. "You can't prove it was my people. There were no witnesses. I've asked everyone. I have no other evidence than the boy's word- and we all know that he and Sheila ended things recently. He has every motivation for wanting to start a war,``he cracked his knuckles. Val knew him well enough to understand his temper, but still. Next to everyone else he was a behemoth, a wall of a man who'd knock your bones out before you knew you'd been hit. "I won't be condemning anyone based on his testimony."

"I'm not lying!" yelled Tycho, his voice breaking. "look at my face, who the hell would do this except you?"

"Please!" yelled Val, bringing them back in line. "These accusations are disturbing. And I want everyone here to understand that as of tomorrow, I'll be aiding these two in finding out precisely what has happened, and putting an end to this childishness" she panned her gaze across the two crowds, watching for anxious faces. More than a few on each side couldn't hold it. Lyca and Lee were both getting a little red as well. "You two. I'll be speaking to you separately. I hope you all understand the severity of attacking another member of this troupe, or indeed lying in order to instigate it. However, we have a show to run, and precious little time to be at each other's throats. So in the meantime, tell me, couldn't the Cats simply reimburse the Wolves for-" she felt a tugging at her dress. It was about time. She looked down.

"Ma'am," squeaked Iggy. The clowns in his congregation nodded politely.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I thought you'd be Eucaria. What is it that you need, sir?"

He frowned. "To be released from our contract. As we attempted to discuss this morning-" a loud clap broke the silence behind Val. Followed by a brief pause, bated breath, then a crescendo of thumping and yelling and hissing as the wolves and the cats started on each other. "Is now a good time?" asked Iggy, eyes widening at the discord behind her.

It was not. And where on earth was Eucaria? Val scanned the circular room; people were coming in and out, sitting in little pockets watching the drama unfold, or conferring, or practising, or watching from the bleachers. Her daughter and second in command rarely failed to gravitate towards trouble, and Val had the feeling her input would be needed. "Excuse me," she said, once again stepping over the clowns. She counted back the hours since she'd last seen her daughter, then lost count as she bumped into Jaya, the Siren slash high-dive expert. A slip of a woman, only five feet tall, and always a little flushed.

"Hiya Val," she smiled, before attempting to move on.

Val very nearly let her go, before closing a vice-grip around her wrist as she remembered what Kook had said. "you haven't seen Euci, have you?" Val paused, remembered herself, released Jaya's arm, and cleared her throat. "S-sorry. She's rather late to the action this morning. Kook said he saw you with her?"

"Hm. I saw her at dinner a few hours ago, I think," smiled Jaya. She was sometimes a little slow to recognise people's expressions. And too often she was too off in her own head to realise when a crisis was going on. "But then the Cat Creatures started getting pissy with each other and we left. They made us both pretty uncomfortable. I Haven't seen her since," her eyes widened as the proverbial penny dropped. "Is everything ok?"

"Oh it's fine, I'm sure she's around somewhere," lied Val. "But I don't suppose I could ask Jacques?" the siren's boyfriend. He was more observant than her, though less than half as social.

"Sure thing," Jaya opened her mouth, her lips stretching wider, her jaw clicking as it parted and opened into a hole as big as a dinner plate. Inside, her oesophagus was just as wide, smelling faintly of salt water, and far, far down inside, Val could see Jacques, curled up with a book in the pit of her empty stomach. He removed his glasses, looked up, and waved.

"Evening ma'am," he said. His voice met Val's ears in what could only be described as a wet echo. "what's up?"

"Good evening Jacques," Val called back down. "Have you seen or heard of Eucaria recently? She's absent."

"'Fraid not," he called back. "I haven't heard her, anyway. Is everything ok?"

"Yes, thank you. See you at tonight's performance," Val closed Jaya's mouth quickly, just in case he had more bad news for her. "T-thank you, Jaya," she said, before pulling away and rushing into one of the nearby hallways, this one arterial to the rooms. Inside, streams of fairy lights sputtered and blinked in crossroads between the rooms, winking off and on again as Val passed under them. She was getting dizzy. She braced herself against the wall for a moment, waiting for it to pass.

"You ok?"

Val jumped. She looked around. Then down. Muriel's broad hat lifted for her eyes to blink back, the dark circles under them giving the constant impression that she was tired of everyone's shenanigans.

"Not quite," said Val. Her hand reached down to pat Muriel on the head and landed on her own knee, a mite colder than before. Muriel didn't point out the obvious- people had been trying to pat that little noggin for decades. Ghosts were, as it turns out, surprisingly hesitant to remind you they were dead. "Have you seen Euci?" No sense in putting on a show. Muriel had more years behind that tiny face than even you'd expect, though she possessed size, features, and appropriate cuteness to a seven year old.

"She's probably with Ole-Spiderlegs," said Muriel. "She was having a meltdown this evening and wouldn't let anyone see her. If you're going in there, I suggest telling her she's pretty. And a treasure to the troupe. And young, don't forget young," she counted off the necessary interactions on her fingers and rolled her eyes. Eternal rest was clearly nothing of the sort.

"Thank you," said Val, feeling the strength return to her bones. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"Almost. I need to attune my wand and burn some sage to purify the ring, plus I need to summon a spirit. Not a strong one, just an assistant. . But you're not really listening. Dispense with the niceties and go find your daughter before you pass out, you sentimental bat."

"What did you just say?" Val blinked and Muriel was gone. "Darnit."

Eucaria didn't look up as Val entered the dressing room, ducking under a low-hanging stream of fairy lights that buzzed as she passed. The perpetual haze of smoke that encompassed her daughter's face simply muttered, "Tell her she's pretty." Nevertheless, Val still groped through the smog until her hands alighted on Euci's too-soft face. Just to make sure.

"Tiffany, my love, you're a vision," said Val, turning to look over her shoulder to speak to the older woman who was peering over the top of an ornamental screen. Behind it the gymnast's silhouette narrowed to a waspy waist, then expanded into a bulbous shadow from which eight legs protruded, each one busying itself with some unseen task below decks. "I should know. I've been performing for over a century and I haven't seen a treasure such as you. And no-one who didn't doubt themselves at one time or another, I might add." Val pulled a well-earned cigarette from thin air and pressed the tip against the end of Euci's cigar, then inhaled deeply.

The woman peering over the screen was indeed beautiful. In her day, she was even breathtaking. But after a few decades of better healthcare and more diverse breeding, today's beauties were beginning to surpass even hers, fluoride toothpaste and moisturiser landing them a few rungs higher on that ladder. And Ole' Spiderlegs, IE Tiffany, wasn't the sharpest when it came to books, but she knew beauty and lack thereof like the back of her hand.

"Don't say things just because," she quothed. In addition to her legs, she had a pair of normal human arms on her torso, one of which she used to tuck a scarlet lock of hair behind her ear while using the other to massage her forehead. "I'm not feeling it today. Not at all," behind the screen, a spidery leg passed a garment into one of her hands, and she lobbed it over the top and onto the pandemonium that covered the floor. Clothes, empty bottles of hairspray, distressed makeup brushes, and more than a few dead flies. It wasn't any wonder nobody else used this room. "why am I still doing this? Flaunting myself in front of lookie-loos while my youth drains out of me like a submarine losing oxygen?"

"Thinking of unfreezing that egg sack again?" asked Val. "You were quite set on it last week."

"And two months before that," added Euci, her cloud of smoke sparking as she took another drag on her cigar. "maybe you should do it now?"

Tiffany sighed. "A little magnum opus, yes. Scuttering all over the lace, little balls of life, then, suddenly, away on the wind on a little stream of silk, scattered all over the earth. But still, you know they're out there. Part of you. Like one big web encompassing the world."

"It sounds positively nightmarish, dear," said Val. "and by all means, tomorrow we can discuss the affair in detail. But we have a show to do. And without our gymnast, it wouldn't be much of one. We've," she cleared her throat. "We've already lost the shapeshifter act."

"Shit," cussed Eucaria. "I knew something was wrong this morning. The Cat Creatures were all on edge. They were all bunched together in the mess hall, being all rotten with everyone. I should've seen this coming. Have you heard, mother?"

"Heard what, my love?"

"Lee and Lyca broke up. It happened last night, not sure exactly when, but it wasn't pretty. Lyca was getting jealous again, I think."

"I thought that might be the case," sighed Val. "that recent wolf, Tycho, has already had his face caved in for his leader's sake. Doubtless the Cat Creatures went for him to get under Lyca's skin. You see, Tiffany?" She pointed her attention back at the gymnast, who'd stopped to listen to the gossip, and now busied herself behind the screen. "We're in chaos. Without you, there is no show left to perform."

"I'm too old," insisted Spiderlegs, popping her head up. Her silhouette shrugged. "what's the use? It's not like anyone here's ever going to make the big time. We're just eye candy- no, eye horseradish, there to test what normal people can stomach to look at. Why not settle down for a few months, maybe even a few years, and raise some little spiders?"

"You know," said Euci, removing her cigar for a moment so she could look at Tiffany properly. "You could do both. Like mother did," Eucaria was all her father's child. From rotting toe to decaying tip, from ruddy nose and round face, to the raggedy dress-shirt she always wore, she was Earnest. Her undead-ness was one of the few things she'd inherited from her mother. In a way. Albeit, hers was of a different, more zombie-like nature. "Aren't working mothers a thing now? It's not like you perform every day."

Tiffany bit her lip. Val smiled. "Why yes, Euci and I manage that lifestyle very well. Even before Euci's transformation, I nursed a human child in one arm and ran a successful circus with another. Surely you, with eight whole legs, could do the same?"

"Of course I could," said Tiffany. "But, I'm wary..."

"Of?"

"Nothing. It can wait. I'll discuss it with you after tonight's performance." She ducked down again and sat haughtily on her abdomen. Val felt a crease of anxiety smooth itself out in her head. One of these days, they'd call Tiffany's bluff, and she'd actually go for it. But this profession taught you to take things one day at a time. Val cupped her daughter's face in her hands. It wasn't, by appearance, that much older than Muriel's. But while the latter had many centuries behind it, this one had barely reached its first. The sallow skin, pierced by a pair of sharp blue eyes that could cut glass with their wit, so like her father's. If anything could make Val's dead heart move, it was her.

"How is everything? Did you meet with the Cuban?" She asked.

Euci nodded, cigar waggling between her teeth. "Yup. Threw in a box of cigars, too. Hell of a guy. Can only hope his dynamite doesn't taste this good." The girl's childish voice was tinted with the chain-smoker's growl, and in their travels had picked up odds and ends of idioms and turns of phrase that Val could only sometimes understand.

Val blew a smoke ring toward her daughter, which Euci broke apart with her own exhalation. "Good, good. Come, I need your help; the shapeshifters need sorting out, and Oleg's at it again- oh my," one of Eucaria's ears was sliding down the side of her head. Like a decaying snail exploring her face. It was already nearing her jawline. "your ear, darling."

"It's OK," Eucaria plucked it off, some hair-thin strings of what was still an unidentified goo pulling away with it. Beneath, the flesh was stark white and budded like cauliflower. "Darn thing keeps coming off. Hasn't been the same since Paris. I'm pretty sure there are still bits of me stuck to the Eiffel Tower."

"I don't know how many shows that's got left," mused Val. "Perhaps it's time to retire it?"

Euci sighed and kicked a brassier across the floor, where it dinged mutely against an ornamental vase, ornament ally filled with dead flowers as it had been for days. "Not like we have any spares lying around."

"Hold that thought."

Val wasn't proud of it. Oleg wasn't a colleague as much as he was a liability. She often wondered why she kept him in the act, but for some reason, that particular fire was one of the few that she never got around to putting out. Though it did, from time to time, consume an unaccompanied child.

"Sure are a lot of bones around here," said Euci, picking a bit of cartilage from between her toes. They surrounded the area like a ring of chalk; the furthest out were bleached white by the sun, while the closest were still bloody and clinging to viscera. They were a good mile away from the circus, on the border of the woods that framed the massive field they'd managed to claim. This was Oleg's agreed distance, maintained all day every day, except for showtime. He'd taken up residence in the hollow of an oak tree, a hole in its base marking the entrance to what in theory should have only been a closet-sized space. That said, Val had never been tempted to see inside. Even with the sun directly above it, those with the courage to come and stare had assured her that no light could penetrate the darkness.

"Indeed," she said, fiddling with a stray lock of hair that had escaped from her hat. "remember what I said, Euci. Don't look at him for too long."

"Mum," assured Eucaria, "we'll be fine. He wouldn't dare. Not like I'm fresh meat anyway. Plus, it'd be way more trouble than it's worth, plus he's probably still bloated from-" her head snapped to attention, pigtails whipping across her face, face frozen, alert, and trained on the yellow eyes that were cutting through the black pit of the hollow. Nothing else. Just two gold coins with a black slit down the middle. Watching.

"Oh don't frrrrrett, dear," seethed a voice that pulled the hairs on Val's neck to stand to attention, that made her skin squirm beneath her clothes as if in retreat. The dusk felt duller, dimmer, and smelled of sour meat. "p-plenty of live meat d-d-down here. Wanna seee?"

"We need an ear," said Val, stepping into the clown's line of sight. "Now. A fresh one."

"D-d-don't mama got better things ta' be doin? I h-hear the menagerie's havin' a domestic. L-little Lyca's L-l-little brother got roughed up by his abominable boyfriend, ay?"

"Mind your own business," piped up Eucaria, stepping around her mother and jutting out her chin. Her sallowness was that much paler, but her voice was even. "And quit eating unattended kids. This isn't the city. People don't just go missing without being noticed, and if they come for us, I'll make sure they come for you."

"We'll allow it this once, given it's convenient," agreed Val, "but once more and you're on your own. Remember America? One more missing child and you'll be back in that recycling plant where we found you. And stop scaring the other performers- it's hard enough to keep a show running without a cannibal on the premises."

"T-t-those clowns whining again?" the air around the hollow swam and the roots of the tree snapped and squealed, writhing beneath the ground in complaint. Oleg's voice rose. "pathetic little sorcerer. With his flesh puppets, not a friend in the world, so why not be your own? You know, that's why the others-"

"Ear," said Val, raising her voice over his, feeling the breeze billow around her in support. "Now." her hair whipped over her shoulder. The sparks from her cigarette drifted in the air between her face and Oleg's, neither of them breaking their stare.

"Aright mama V," groaned Oleg. "If only so's I can eat the little dead thing's old one. Howzabout it, cannonball corpse? Or did ya blow it off chewin' on a stick a dynamite?" he looked at Euci.

Val's spine drew up and her teeth set on edge. Euci flicked her old ear into the hollow. "You'll perform tonight," she said, lowering her tone. "You'll act nice, too. Or I'll let mother down there with you."

"Indeed," Val held the clown's gaze, grinding her teeth. "we'll see what position you're in to make jokes then."

Without another word, the clown's eyes faded into the darkness. A few moments passed, then with a wet thump a disk flopped out of the hollow and landed in front of Eucaria, who turned it over in her hand. "Mostly intact," she said. "prolly from someone a lil older than me. But it'll do fine if we can stitch it good enough, though I guess it's a little pink. Might make it hard to-"

Everything went quiet. Eucaria kept speaking- or, rather, her mouth kept moving. But everything, from the wind in the trees to the churn of traffic from the not distant enough highway, was muted. Then, slowly, from the depths of Val's eardrum, came a ringing. And the sun rose behind them, its light screaming across the grass and overwhelming Val like a shadow disappearing with the lighting of a candle.

"How?" she gasped voicelessly, dropping to her knees, stunned. Watching it, she saw a yellow ball of fire consume the sky above the Big Top, swirling like a whirlpool, streaks of light fanning out like tantruming arms. The great and horrifying sight that all vampires dreaded, the source of all life that turned against them when they turned undead, stared her down with its divine judgement.

Something was off. She wasn't dead, for one thing. She hadn't been reduced to lilac ash and scattered in the breeze. She didn't even feel warm, actually. And though it'd been longer than most lifetimes since she'd seen it, she didn't recall the sun smelling quite so much like burning sage.

The ringing in her ears had reached a kettle-like screech, only now subsiding as Euci helped her to her feet and held her limbs steady as the shock wore off. The ball of light dispersed into evening gloom, and from the Big Top a shock-wave blew out in all directions and hit them with a gale-force wind filled with screaming laughter. Then all was quiet. The highway's gentle purr rose and fell steadily and undisturbed. Looking back at the Big Top, a scorched hole in the roof glared at the sky as if to accuse it. And even from here, you could hear the shrieking of the people inside.

Val sighed. "Bugger."

Arriving back at the Big Top was like stepping into the eye of a hurricane. For the whole walk back, screams and moans and complaints had echoed over the field, and now, in the middle of their source, Val felt strangely calm. Everything was so spectacularly broken, that there was no sense of urgency. The worst had happened; the middle of the ring was blackened and twinkling like the night with all the glass that'd been shattered when Muriel summoned her spirit, with which she was currently arguing amongst the ruins of her alchemy set. Almost the entire troupe had filed in and around the edges of the ring, keeping a wide perimeter around the discord. The whole place stank of sulphur, and the air above them was dense with flickering lights of every colour that squeaked and nipped in your ears as you walked through them. Fairies. They loved drama. Jaya and Jacques were putting out the still smouldering tent walls, and more than a few of the other performers, while Lyca and Lee were balancing two separate head counts at the same time, trying to make sure nobody had gone missing and be cross with each other at the same time. Tiffany was doing her best to apply first aid to Iggy's swarm of clowns, but she only had so many legs to spare. The resident strongwoman, Bhumika, was lifting shattered furniture out of the way while Ba'al, the lizard-skinned fire eater quicky sucked up whatever stray embers remained.

"I'll get the ghost," said Euci. "you check the damages," she set off before Val could protest, elbowing her way through the forest of knees to the ring. Valeria looked about her for a wound to heal or fire to douse, but her attention pulled like a magnet back to her daughter as she walked over to Muriel, and the immense spirit above her. She felt that guttural pull, the maternal urge you get when a child falls over or cries out in pain, plucking at her nerves like a harp. But Euci was made of sterner stuff than other children. Which was good, because she certainly wasn't made of harder stuff.

The spirit above Muriel flourished like a peacock's tail, furl upon furl of ethereal light in all the colours of the spectrum blossoming in a circular fan shape, and floating in the centre was a human body doused in emulsion, such an emaciated figure that its blue-white skin seemed too big for it. It blinked at its audience with eyes as black as a pond at midnight, and smiled toothily. It swam in the air like a jellyfish, undulating its fan as it drifted down to meet Eucaria, and outstretched its hands, clawed with black nails filed to a fine point. Euci declined the embrace with a quick step back, and addressed Muriel.

"I told you this would happen. The spirits back in your tent are perfectly good, ya know."

"I know," the witch sounded exhausted. She reached out to lean against Euci, then stumbled as she fell through. "Dammit."

Eucaria sighed. "For someone who's already seen death you certainly like to dance with it a lot," she addressed the spirit. "name?"

The spirit tilted its bulbous head and twisted in ways that, while Valeria wasn't sure in her undead state, she was pretty certain most bone structures didn't allow. Its head turned back like an owl's, its elbows inverted. It hissed, baring its needly teeth. "SSSatisssfaction," it beckoned Euci with its nail. "Disssord."

Eucaria held up her hands. "No thanks. Enough of that on a regular day. Name?"

The spirit blinked. Then said in a death rattle, "Vivāda, the-"

"Vivāda, huh?" Euci interrupted. "Need a job?"

The spirit didn't answer. It tilted its head and pulled back, eyes fixed on her. Val felt a little tug. She couldn't stand the thing. If ever she'd felt compelled to crush something between her fingers until its life was eviscerated, this was it.

"It's just, since you're here," said Eucaria, to the crushing silence that'd fallen over the room. "We didn't mean to get you, see? We wanted...?" She gestured at Muriel.

The witch removed her hat and scratched the back of her head. "Samedi."

"Right, we wanted Samedi. Not you. But you're here and I don't think my friend," she gestured at Muriel. "has much left in her today. Would be a real shame to let you go to waste, though, so-" Euci didn't finish. The colours in the spirit's fan bled into red, and the edges quivered. The pale thing stretched a long fingernail out to Eucaria's face, close enough to shave the decaying skin from her forehead, while the other hand wafted through Muriel as if trying to clutch at something. Muriel looked mortified; the girl who'd seen death in all its forms, the girl with nothing left to fear, was doubting the validity of those statements for the very first time. Val's stomach was tying itself into a Devil's knot.

Vivāda's voice cut through the crowd the way a slamming door cuts through a child eavesdropping on their parents' argument. The way gunfire splits the calm of a silent night. The way bad news breaks through the routine of your day, extending it by hours and withering your plans as they fall by the wayside. "You didn't call for dissssscord? For Vivāda, the Defiler?"

Val ran at the ring. She'd been so stupid. Eucaria didn't know a vengeful spirit from her best friend. She'd never seen an angry monster before, only the ones she'd known forever, and those claws weren't real to her, not yet. They wouldn't be, not until they cut her to ribbons.

Like a child plucking a doll out of its house the spirit swept Euci into the air with its placid hand clasped around her throat, surging upwards and squealing like a kettle while its fan swirled and bubbled and smoked. Val couldn't see her daughter's expression, just her feet dangling limply as the thing pulled her face close to its own, and she felt her insides twist in fear.

Val collided with a burning wall. For a moment, it was like she'd walked into a beam of sunlight, but when it threw her onto her back in the dirt with the force of a stubborn bull, she guessed otherwise. Lee pulled her to her feet like she weighed nothing and pointed to the powdery line on the floor, then followed its path around the ring. Salt. A ring of protection to keep unholy things coming in or out. A rule that applied to about forty percent of the circus. Including herself.

She looked on helplessly as Vivāda spiked her daughter, threw her to the floor like a damsel smashing a vase. Euci's bones applauded as she made contact, a cacophony of cracks and grinds as she skidded along the dirt, leaving one arm in her wake as she finally ground to a halt. Muriel looked at her, aghast. Then up at the spirit. She began to wave her wand so fast it blurred into a grey shimmer in front of her. Sparks and spears and balls of light flew up and encircled the ghost as it languished like a poisoned snake above them, spitting curses upon them in a language that sounded like chewing nails, singing its skin against the invisible barrier around the ring. It twisted one way and a gale blew in through the hole in the roof, driving the spells back to the ground where they crashed and flashed and crescendo-ed around Euci. It twisted the other and a blade of wind flashed in front of Muriel, knocking her wand out of the ring.

Val couldn't hear her own voice. She only knew she'd said anything when Bhumika , bounded past her and punted the ground at the edge of the ring, salt flying up among clumps of dirt. Then she clasped her hands around her mouth, open and still crying for someone to do something, anything, and ran to Euci's side.

The thing about your first and only child being undead, is that you have absolutely no idea whether they're properly dead; you can't sense a pulse, or time their breathing, or check for blood loss. You just wait. Next to the mortified ghost of her best friend, who despite her many, many years of seniority on both you and your child, has never been terrific in a crisis.

"I...I, I thought she'd...be able to..." Muriel waved her hand in front of her face with closed eyes, trying to get her morse code of a sentence out. "you know, uh..." she shook her head. "I don't know. I don't know." She stood up and staggered away to stand beside Lee as he watched, who reached down to pat her head then thought better of it. He kneeled down to speak to her, offering low words of comfort.

Tiffany's many hands were hard at work over Eucaria; two held her upright, two were picking through the dust to find scraps of her right arm, which for the sake of hysteria was currently protected from view by the next two that were holding up a sheet between it and Val. The last two were tidying Euci's face. Pulling hair out of the way, checking her position, tidying her up. Tiffany had seen a lot in her time, they'd been told. Enough to know how to...adjust a person for whom the worst might be on its way. She was a firm believer that if death were to come for you, the last thing you'd want is to look like a mess.

Val slapped the leg currently fixing Euci's hair. "Stop it." Tiff didn't ask. She took her hands away and busied them in her useless first aid box. What could that do? Val scowled at it. "What can that thing do for her?" she felt like a cherry about to be crushed between a set of teeth. Set to burst.

"Be patient," said Ba'al, who'd come over to help in what little way he could. He was only about two feet tall, with spiralling red horns protruding from a crimson forehead. The rest of him, though red, was perfectly normal looking. He knelt beside Euci, pursed his lips, and gently blew a warm breeze over her face. He continued, "remember Mexico? The crazy stuff they let us do there? You gave her those cigars, the real thick ones that smelled of chocolate? We didn't think she'd ever wake up."

"The cigars didn't hurl her around like a doll,"

"No," mumbled Euci. "But you do, like, every week." While she didn't exactly spring up, the voice alone soothed every tense nerve in Val's body. Her daughter's eyes blinked open, and she moved her shoulders as if to push herself up, then stopped, and nodded up at Tiffany. "Cheers Tiff."

Spiderlegs stroked her cheek with her thumb. "No problem."

Val bent down and kissed her on the forehead, then rested her own against it. "One of these days you'll have to stop doing that to me."

"No deal. Did you cry?"

"Yes, my love."

"Was it ugly?"

"Yes."

"Great. Also, in other news, my right arm is...everywhere, right now? I feel like there are parts of me all over the place."

Muriel reappeared by Euci's side and fell to her knees. The brim of her hat hid most of the feelings shared, but her voice was mournful. "I'm so sorry, Euci. I should have just used one of my old spirits. I didn't even need Samedi. Now look at you, look what that thing's done-" she paused mid soliloquy. "Wait. Where...where is it?"

They all looked around. "I mean, don't ask me," said Euci. "I was taking a dirt nap."

Lee's shadow encompassed all four of them. "It escaped through that hole in the ceiling," he boomed. "as soon as the circle was broken."

"Did you see where it went?" asked Ba'al, suddenly alert.

Lee shook his head. "But I believe it's still here. Lyca's pack say they can hear its voice nearby, on the grounds. But they're struggling to pinpoint where, I'm afraid- excuse me," he parted from them as one of his posse drew him away by the arm, to where a flustered Lyca was still trying to figure out who was accounted for.

"I'll deal with it,"Val chucked Eucaria under the chin. "Are you alright darling?"

"As alright as you'd expect," reassured Euci.

"Then, forgive me, but I must see someone about an unwelcome guest. Do me a favour, Tiffany, and give her a...assist her in getting everyone patched up, will you?"

"Of course."

They all got to their feet. Needless to say, a small crowd had gathered. "Right!" yelled Euci at the top of her lungs. "I need all the injured over here, plus you, Ba'al. Everyone else, help clean up the glass. And you two!" she pointed at Lyca and Lee, who within moments had managed to distract one another with furious whispers. "Mother needs a word."

Val took a breath as they approached, already red faced and staring at their feet. She let it out in seeps at first, alleviating the pressure of her temper word by word. "I'll make this brief," she said, recalling Euci's plan of attack she'd outlined not ten minutes ago on their walk back from Oleg's. "You promised me an act. I expect you to deliver one."

"But ma'am, he-" began Lee.

"I don't care," she said. The Lionheart blinked. "Pardon my curtness, but I refuse to entertain this in-fighting any longer. Boys," she softened her tone. Counted to ten. "Love has its ins and outs. Fall apart if you must, but do you really want to take us with you? Your friends? The whole circus?" she gestured around. Ba'al chose that moment to leap back in surprise as a small fire erupted from a pile of charred furniture, quickly doused with a slough of water from Jaya that flooded the ground under the bleachers. "We're already in disarray. Don't make it a disaster."

"But Val," implored Lyca. "I can't let them get away with hurting Tycho. I just can't. He's just a kid."

"My love," Val cupped her hand around his cheek, resting her other on Lee's forearm, "tomorrow morning I'll do everything I can to find out what happened. But if we don't salvage something," she cleared her throat. "he'll be homeless. And you," she wagged a finger in front of Lee, warranting a smile that was quickly suppressed. "your pride won't mean much out on the streets, will it? Please boys. For me. Just pretend to love each other for the night, and tomorrow you can hate each other to your heart's content." She pulled away before they could protest, heading to through the entrance into the courtyard.

The evening was well upon them now. Night air breathed life into Val as she took in the carnage; the ticket stand sequestered by the entrance was demolished, flits of scarlet paper scattered all over the grass, with Boo trapped in the centre, plucking them up with her nails. Madame Zostra's weeping was providing a soft baseline to support the crickets singing in the nearby fields. The grass in the courtyard stank of smoke and incense, and the air above Val's head was positively swarming with fairies. Kook wasn't wrong. They loved a good disaster. Never spoke or helped or interacted with the world beneath them, but with every emotional crescendo or clash, they'd fill the air to feed on the tension, then disappear.

"Having fun, Val?" asked Boo, stepping out of the ticket ring to greet her. "don't suppose you've met the vengeful spirit with the funny name, have you?"

Val laughed, pressing her fingers against her forehead's crowing creases. "So, you've met our guest for the evening. Are you ok?" Within the context of the circus, Boo was quite unique. In that she had two arms, two legs, a head, and a torso with a bunch of wet things stuffed inside that were utterly and incurably human. She bruised easily, was the point.

"No less than usual," she replied, tying her hair back. It was freshly dyed, dripping violet water onto her collar. Lesser vampires found the living's appropriation of gothic or dusky elements into human fashion offensive. Val just found it pleasantly strange, like seeing a child dressed up as your profession for halloween. "Muriel making new friends in the ethereal plane?" Boo pointed her thumb up at the hole in the Big Top.

"More like the ninth circle of Dante," chimed in Madame Zostra. She gathered herself from the ground, heaving up her many layers of patchwork dress with great effort, and dried her eyes. Her tented booth, designed to draw in lookie-loos, was knocked onto its side, easily the least permanent issue of the night. "My setup is ruined, Val. My tarot was fully cleansed, ready for the night, now it's trampled into mud. Do you have any idea how much salt I'll need to re-purify..." the hinges on Zostra's jaw squeaked as she spoke, and one of her eyes was pointing in the wrong direction. She was quite literally falling apart and had been for some time. Val made a note to find a new vessel for the fortune teller's spirit- this mannequin was on its last legs. Really, it was; they only had so many spares.

Val raised a palm, smiling as kindly as she could. "Zoe. Too much. Too much has happened in one day, my darling, for me to do anything about this. Oleg has eaten someone, the clowns are striking thanks to him, the shapeshifters are at war, Kook is back on his bigotry, Tiff's having her fourth confidence crisis this month, we have a spirit of discord on the loose, and my daughter's just been used to score a touchdown. Plus, this," she gestured about her. "So please understand. I wouldn't ask this of you if it weren't imperative. Use the ball."

If Zostra's nose could have wrinkled. "I told you not to open the show today. I told you it wasn't in the cards. Now look where it's landed us," she shook her head at the sky. "and that ball? It's defective. It predicts the future, but not the right one. Tell me," she turned to Boo. "Have you an aunt Phyllis?"

Boo shook her head. "Nope. My parents were only children."

"Well, if you'd had one, today she'd have fallen down some stairs and injured her hip. You'd have gone to care for her, and become close enough for her to show you her antique plate collection. She'd have become a great confidant for you."

"Uh, cool? Thanks?" Boo looked desperately at Val. "So it shows you stuff that isn't true?"

"Oh, it's true," said Zoe, "It's reality. Just not this one. So it's useless."

"Zoe," Val snapped. "We don't have time for this. We need to find that creature before it-"

"It's with Eris," said Zoe, turning on her heel in a huff. "Seeing as how you care so much about everything but me. Flitted off to her like a moth to one of those neon lights they have outside brothels. I'd think you'd be glad it didn't kill me, but there you go."

"Zoe-" began Boo.

"No! Off you go, go and find your precious monster. I'll just be here, wilting in the ruins of my livelihood, my spirit's sole purpose on this mortal plain. Go and plug the holes in the leaking bucket that, I, Zostra, told you long before was structurally unsound!" She was rather surprised when she turned around and found that they'd done exactly that.

Jaya, Boo, Bhumika, and Val, observed the trailer from a distance. Well, it was really an abandoned camper van that'd been left in the field, unmentioned at the time it was rented. Ba'al had been the first to claim it, but the distance from the rest of the circus, while a small sigh of relief for everyone else, had weighed on the firedancer, so Eris had inherited it.

A circus is just organised chaos. A dance of the unknown that pushes reality's boundaries with soft lighting and a warm smile to put you at ease while you marvel at the hidden peculiarities of the world. As such, the goddess of chaos had found a home with Val's troupe. She was less of an act than a resource. She choreographed the presentation itself; She timetabled the acts in such a way as to amaze but not unnerve. She fixed the lights to strike the right balance between a comfortable dim, and pressing darkness. She picked the songs, the colours, she designed the outfits, she laid out the beautiful chaos of her mind onto a board on a wall inside that caravan, and at the end of each show, she and Val would share a bottle of wine and tear it down in preparation for the next one. The circus spun like an ornate merry-go-round with her manning the controls. She breathed life into it.

And she never left her trailer.

"Must be pretty cramped in there with that thing," said Boo. "Think it's really in there? Looks pretty normal."

"You know Eris," said Bhumika. "doesn't like to make a fuss. For all we know she's sketching the damn thing." She furrowed her perfectly plucked brow. "Maybe we should leave her to it?"

Without answering, Val strode across the mud and rapped on the door. The trailer had been spruced up, draped with rainbow flags and fairy lights and painted a galactic purple, but they could never shift the smell of damp, or the rust that clustered around the door handle, that now dusted the marblesque skin of Val's fist. There was no answer.

"Eris?" called Boo. "You ok?"

Still no answer.

Val knocked again. "My love, it's nearly showtime. I hope you haven't forgotten our tradition?" She paused, chewing on the sickly sweetness of her words, then kissed her teeth and allowed herself to speak frankly. "Eris. Come out. Please. We know the things in there, and by God if I don't win against something today I might ship myself back to Paris while I still have what's left of my pride."

Still nothing. What little was left of Val's deceased heart stung a touch.

Jaya pulled herself out of her perpetual daydream and frowned at the door. "How mean. How busy could she be not to answer that?"

Bhumika cracked her knuckles and patted Val's shoulder, almost tilting her over. "No worries, ma'am. I can break it open."

Val focused her eyes on the door, took a break, and flicked her wrist. "Please," she said as it swung open. "We may be monsters, but we're not police."

It was always dusk inside that trailer, even in the middle of the night. Amber light glowed from sealed jars that sat growing dust on every surface. Val climbed the steps and ducked inside, Jaya, Boo, and Bhumika squeezing in behind her.

"I'm handling it," said Eris hurriedly. She was reclining on her sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, tangled red hair unravelled all over the place, comfy. But tense enough that her glass was whining against the pressure of her grasp, threatening to shatter. She was sizing up an orb of furious red and black static that was suspended between herself and Val at head height, sweat beginning to drip from her forehead. Like she was undertaking some invisible but strenuous task.

The interior of the trailer was full of throws and incense, with cluttered shelves and those innumerable jars, each one containing a fairy. And right now it felt like it was a reflection in a pond during a storm; it rippled furiously, each ray of light fractured and refracted and split into three after images, as if the real world was struggling to hold itself together. Val's ears, ever sensitive to these sounds no other person could hear, were full of the euphoric cries of each fairy, as they fed gratefully on the mania.

"I always wondered," said Jaya, forever absent. "does she capture these things? Or control them?" the ball of static hissed, and one of the jars on the shelf beside Jaya's head winked out. "yikes. What the hell is that thing? Is that the spirit? Why does it look that way?"

Val nodded. "It's probably conserving energy until it gets its bearings. These things are weaker when they've just been summoned."

"It's an intruder, is what it is," said Eris. "little ball of hate that's screwed itself into an even littler ball of hate, thinking it can hide out here. The nerve," she sipped her wine.

"Are you alright, darling?" asked Val, steeling herself against the ball's oppressive arua, which threatened to crush her into the ground and bury her among the other fossils.

Eris nodded. Then said, "No. Actually, no. I was drinking to our success, when this unwelcome guest oozes through the window and throws a spanner in my chaos. Threatens to undermine my vision. Keeps demanding satisfaction," she gestured at the thing, a sour expression twisting her face. The ball hissed. "Yeah, yeah. Bite me."

"You can understand it?" asked Boo.

"Chaos is its own language, dear," said Eris, standing up gingerly. The ball sputtered at her as she reached its height, and she grimaced. "Though this one only speaks in slurs."

"Muriel's summon went south," said Boo. "This is the result. it's already destroyed half the circus."

Eris shrugged. "Material things. They can be replaced. What about the children?"

"All intact," said Bhumika. "a bit singed." Eris said 'children' the way some old women referred to themselves as 'auntie.' Blood had nothing to do with it. They were her children because she'd decided so.

"She must have come here for you," said Val, anxious of the time ticking down, and the rising sensation that she was standing on a sinking dinghy. "You're the most powerful chaotic force around here. If you can speak to it in this form, we might be able to coerce it back to where it came from,"

Eris shook her head. "It can't do much in this form other than float around and make garbled threats. It can barely even see, or hear. If we're going to try to talk to it we need to get it outside where it can unfold. And anyway, I'm curious as to what this rude thing really looks like."

"You ever see a pensioner who's been in the bath too long?" asked Boo. "Like, with a big-ass pinwheel behind it?"

"Focus," said Val. "Let me think. We can't keep it here, not for long anyway. It'll move on eventually and when it does it'll bring what's left of the circus down with it. I need it gone within the hour, or at least contained. That shouldn't be too difficult. But how to keep it in one place long enough without it..." She stamped a heel and kissed her teeth. "Well. Not an option I wanted to explore just yet, but we could-" the ball of static took this moment to slam against the ceiling. The sound alone made everyone's skin leap off, but the force of the collision pulled the trailer into the air a few inches, and everything else in the room flew into the air and smashed back down in a cacophony of fracturing glass and screaming fairies. The lights flickered on and off, Boo and Jaya fell on top of each other, and Eris' wine escaped over the couch.

The ball whined. Like a squealing mosquito.

"It's laughing at us,"

"I gathered," Val straightened her hat and pulled her cigarette holder out of thin air, lighting the end with a snap of her fingers. She took a long drag and exhaled over Vivāda's pissy spirit. "I have an idea."

"You don't sound terribly enthused," said Bhumika, lifting Jaya and Boo to their feet, one in each arm.

"I'm not."

Outside the trailer was pitch black. Alone with Vivāda and Eris, Val felt the weight of the night beginning to flatten her. It'd been doing its best all evening, but it was finally securing its victory over her mood. She couldn't tell what time it was outside. Too late, probably. All she was doing now was damage control.

"Ready?" asked Eris. She was towering at her full six feet beside Val, hair tied back loosely, her long dressing gown still spattered in wine.

Val shrugged, then rested her head against Eris' shoulder for a moment. "No."

Eris patted her head. "All over soon. Then we can just go to bed and forget the whole evening."

"Forget. Chance would be a fine thing," she pulled away and stood up straight. "Let's get this done with."

Eris addressed Vivāda, who was hovering at the floor among the wreckage it'd caused earlier. "We wish to parlay with you. Would you like to step outside with us for a moment?" she opened the trailer door. "Come." When the ball didn't move, Eris beckoned Val. "Come on. It'll follow."

"Did it say that?"

"No," she said before leaving. Val let her take the lead and followed. The night outside was still and starless. The circus was dim, the road was empty. Like a school after hours, with all the lights shut off and the windows turned black, it felt antithetical to its purpose, inverted, perverse. Val felt her hat pulled from her head and turned on a dime to see Eris placing it gently over her own scarlet hair, patting it down with affectation. She tugged playfully at Val's black curls that now tumbled over her shoulders like the unmanageable ropes they were, all the way to her hips. "chin up young lady," Eris teased, adjusting the hat by its rim. "night's still young."

"Bite me," muttered Val. "how can you be laissez fai-" she broke off. Vivāda's ball had floated out of the trailer and was beginning to run laps around them, whining as it did so. It sped up, whirring closer to Eris then shooting back, then doing the same to Val, circling her head and hurling itself into the air as if to show off, before soaring into the air and slamming against the ground a little way in front of them, where it burst with a flash of light and there was Vivāda, floating before them with its fan in full bloom.

"Dossssst thou wissssh to parlay?"

"That's what I said," Eris folded her arms and jutted out her chin. "though you hardly deserve such a courtesy after your display earlier. You were not wanted here. We only offer you parlay instead of demise out of respect. Do you understand?"

Vivāda ground the needles of its mouth together. They overlapped and crossed each other, but its voice remained a steady stage whisper. "Feh...you dare ssssspeak sssso freely, demon..." it spat at the ground, where a white glob of viscous began to smoke and bubble. "I do not take dissssresssspect lightly...." the smoke began to grow taller, thinner, harden into a long handle. The bubbles congregated at its head, burst and their residue solidified into a clear blade, a scythe of glass that glowed with inner light.

Val frowned. "Excuse me!" Vivāda turned with her hand inches away from her weapon. It looked at Val like it hadn't even noticed she was there. Eris had already dug her heels in. Always ready for a fight. She seemed to have forgotten what they were doing this for. "Forgive me, Vivāda. We meant to parlay, not fight. Please, let us talk civilly."

Vivāda didn't answer, but didn't move any closer to her scythe.

"We have inconvenienced you, have we not? Our witch intended to summon another, but in summoning you, one so powerful, such an asset, she didn't show much gratitude, did she? And," she bit the inside of her cheek. "my daughter's offer was perhaps too improper, yes?"

"Hm," Vivāda hummed throatily for a moment. "yesssss, the dead one, the decaying other...their insssolence could not be tolerateed...sssssuch talk frooom such lowly life..."

Val nodded, grinding her teeth down on her tongue. Swallowing, she said, "I can understand the frustration you must have felt, o great mother of discord," Eris shot her a look. "at being so crudely summoned, and so unfairly treated. Tell me, what service might we provide to our esteemed guests, so that we might part on amicable terms?"

"Kiss ass," uttered Eris.

"Hothead," Val sniped back.

Vivāda didn't respond for a moment. It listed in the air, hissing and humming like an engine with asthma as it drifted around. Eris cleared her throat, and Val delivered a quick slap to her arm, her fingers parting the chiffon to chastise the bare skin underneath. "No. We will wait to hear its response. It's just thinking, is all."

Eris was stunned. She rubbed the spot where her robe had torn, then stared at it. "Jesus Val."

Val turned back to Vivāda and nearly dropped to the floor. The spirit was right in front of her, just inches from her face, mouth agape and heaving damp breaths into it. "A decisssion hassss been made...." it drifted back and pointed a spidery finger at Val. "I want you."

"Excuse me?"

"I will feed on thissss lowly life form, sssso married to order....her ancient life will rejuvenate Vivāda, and leave a reminder off my power."

Val frowned. "You intend to...devour me?"

"In exchange for peace, and the sssafety of your kindred, yesss,"

"No," said Eris. "you're not eating Val. See what I mean? Why do you think someone like you deserves to take these kinds of-"

Vivāda fan turned black, its teeth bared, and it grabbed its scythe. "I WILL TEAR THISSSS WORLD TO SSSSSSHREDSSSSS IF I AM NOT SSSSATISSSFIED!"

Val clicked her fingers. Blue smoke broke out from the tips, and in a moment it solidified into a silver serpent, coiled in her hand with a black grip in the other, attached at the end. She dropped the coil. Like a chain it clanked to the ground, the snake hissing and seething at Vivāda. "When all is said and done, remember that we offered you the chance to leave peacefully."

Vivāda screeched and flew at her, scythe glowing blue as some power built up inside it. Val whipped her snake at the oncoming face, but missed, taking a chunk out of Vivāda's ethereal fan instead. The scythe tore down and missed her throat by a hair, instead cutting her shoulder and leaving a smoking gash in its wake, the lips of the wound already curling up as if with sepsis. Val rolled back, whipping again, this time finding purchase on Vivāda 's calve muscle, where the snake sank its teeth into the pallid skin and undulated. The spirit's leg began to blacken from the wound outwards, and Vivāda roared as it swung the scythe down at Val, this time a fierce yellow flame streaking off of it. She dodged left, but it turned at the last minute and slashed her cheek.

"OOOOAAAGGH!" Val clutched her face with her free hand, trying not to lose focus. It burned. It bubbled, it stang, it bled down Val's neck and into her collarbone with something sticky. She released Vivāda, leaping back to gather herself while her adversary did the same, holding its leg and howling in pain. They must have looked ridiculous, two old creatures banging their heads together in the middle of nowhere.

The dirt around Val's feet felt warm, and the stinging on her cheek subsided. Eris crouched beside her, pulling her face close to her own and scanning it like a book. "that's a sunlight burn," she placed two glowing fingertips against Val's forehead, sending her whole face into tingles. "I can't do much but stop it spreading."

"Thank you," said Val, standing up and bringing Eris with her. Vivāda was already recovering, growling as the scythe turned red. "I fear I'm out of practice these days."

"I noticed," said Eris not unkindly. "Either way, you know there's no chance of us killing this thing, right?"

"Naturally."

Aragoth flew in for a second assault. This time, it floated above them and aimed at Eris, scythe flashing through the air and sending down bolts of crimson lightning that cracked the ground where they landed, that being right where Eris had just been standing. She leapt left, once, twice, thrice, four times, and once more as the last bolt landed, then clapped her hands together. The ground around her bare feet rumbled, and from the fresh-made cracks leapt roots that changed midair into clasping hands, grasping for Vivāda's spindly limbs as the spirit flew this way and that, trying to dodge. Val whipped again, this time catching it on the wrist and grounding it. A root got it around the other, then another on the throat, another on the leg, but it wasn't down just yet. With the groan of a wounded bear Vivāda heaved, pulling the roots out of the ground and sending Eris back a leap, then flinging Val towards her where they landed in a heap.

Vivāda seethed, its scythe turning black. "THISSSSSS WORLD PERISH, IT WILL FESSSTER AND ROT UNDER THE UNFORGIVING SSSUN, AND ASSS IT DEVOURSSS ITSSEELF, I SHALL WATCH AND SSSUSSSTAIN MYSSSELF ON ITSSS DECAY!" It shot towards the circus, wielding its scythe above its head as if about to land the killing blow-

As Vivāda was about to pass over Val and Eris, it rebounded, tumbling back and coming to a halt above the caravan, bewildered and scrabbling desperately at its own face. Assured that it wasn't burning, it screeched and went left, then right, then backwards, each time refused exit and flailing back to where it'd been. It fixed her sights on Val, and roared, "YOU DARE TO DECEIVE ME? TO IMPRISSSON ME WITH YOUR FEEBLE MAGICSSSS?"

Val nodded. "Yup."

Vivāda flew at her. Val and Eris leapt apart. Val's whip flew, the snake baring its fangs and driving them full-force into Vivāda throat. Even this didn't stop it; tethered to Val, Vivāda's scythe slashed again and again into her stomach, chest, face, arms, legs. Each wound felt like a nail being driven into the bone, and the sensations seemed to grow, eating up more skin with each second they lived. The snake held fast. Val held onto it with both hands, her heels cutting grooves into the mud as the spirit pulled back, left, right tried to unroot her.

A flurry of lights spilled into the space between them, where the snake was taught and the two ancient women stared one another down, and suddenly there was no sight between them. Each one was trapped in a stormcloud of winking light, a pink-blue-yellow-white haze, and nothing else. No night, no Eris, no enemy. Val released the snake's grip and rolled backwards to where the air was clear. The fairies were swarming Vivāda's face, hundreds upon hundreds of them, and they were...Val couldn't quite describe the sound, but it was similar to when you cut through a thick piece of beef with a serrated knife. Tearing, she supposed. Lots of tiny tears.

Eris was incandescent. From the other side of the ring of salt, Val could see her; hair floating upwards, loose clothes billowing with some invisible breeze, eyes too wide to blink. She waved an arm and a torrent of white drops fell from the swarm, smouldering on the grass. She jerked her chin and it moved with her, sending another sheet of white in that direction. Then she snapped her fingers, and just as quickly as they'd appeared, the fairies flew back into the trailer like a swarm of bees returning to their hive. Vivāda was suspended above them, looking like a glowstick someone had pierced; fluorescent white trickled from bitemarks and drizzled onto the grass, and soon the ground was dense with fog. It clutched at itself and drifted away, towards the trailer, backing up with its eyes fixed on Eris, who cracked her knuckles. "Let me remind you. You aren't welcome here."

"I suppose that answers one question," said Val. "they do work for you."

"Chaos isn't an easy resource to come by. They help me do so. Hell, why do you think I work for you?"

Vivāda said nothing. It was backing steadily towards the caravan, panting like its lungs were filled with water, eyes darting between the two of them. Then, about halfway there, it made a break for it, whipping like a flicked handkerchief across the sky, hands scrabbling for the door.

It rebounded. I tried again. Again. It rebounded. The caravan rose in the air, and took two giant steps back. Then turned around. Bhumika, with her gargantuan arms beneath the thing, set it down and walked around the fray, eyeing up the spirit. "Is that far enough, Boss?" As if to answer her the moon broke from behind the clouds and touched the ring of salt, lighting it up like a ghostly bullseye with the caravan far outside its border. Again, only about forty percent of the circus could be considered "unholy." The rest could come in, out, even create one. Though in the middle of the night Val was sure it'd been no easy task.

Vivāda roared in anguish and raised its scythe, the blade flashing violet. It pointed it at Eris, and screamed with a voice like a throat full of those needles of hers. "IF I'M TO PERISH HERE THEN YOU SHALL PERISH WITH ME!"

"Lord, you were right," said Val. "No chance in hell are we killing her,"

Eris nodded, gripping Val's hand and staring down the flash of purple as it broke free from Vivāda scythe and flew at them. "Perhaps we should, as Eucaria says, bounce?"

"Certainly. Jaya!" the pair split and leapt back, the spell hitting the ground between them and erupting into violet gas that smelled like smoking tires, and on the other side of the ring of salt Jaya crossed the threshold, mouth agape. It was a desperate sprint, Val and Eris streaking down opposite sides of the ring to meet at the other end, and before they could reach her a streak of orange flew past and erupted into flames in the grass before Jaya, but she didn't move. Jacques stepped into the ring. At his full height he was only five ten, a bespectacled man with a five- o'clock shadow most times of the day. But when he spoke, with backwards words in a language nobody else understood, and the ground became slick with ankle-deep water, the earth seemed to shake with the weight of his speech. A second orange bolt came, and bounced off Jaya in a cloud of steam, leaving a rainbow in the air in front of her. She noticed it, and smiled-

Right as Eris was making the leap into her mouth. She got in-just, bringing a couple of incisors with her. Followed by Val, who tried her best to be gentle. The fall through the esophagus wasn't as damp as you'd expect, but it was certainly...ribbed. Unpleasantly so. Eris and Val were crushed against each other like they were going down a slide at the same time, and reached the pit of the stomach (overall spacious, with a small writing desk and a pile of books in the corner) almost as soon as they were hurled violently out again, and tumbled, as Boo sometimes said, "arse over tit" onto the grass.

They were on the other side of the ring of salt. Inside, Vivāda was staying quite still. It hovered a metre above the ground, the grass still smoking white at its ankles. It dropped the scythe and before it hit the dirt it'd dispersed into bubbles. Everyone was so quiet you could hear them popping.

Val was the first to say something. "You'll go back where you came from. You'll go quietly, and without resisting. You will stay where you came from and you won't think of us again until you're less than memory. Until the last remnant of your history has been crushed into the earth with the fossils and bones of people yet to come. Do you understand?"

Vivāda floated close to the ring's boundary and placed the two white spiders of its hands near the invisible wall with the tips just barely grazing it. They burst like matchsticks into smoke and sparks, but didn't move. "AND IF I REFUSSSE?" it tilted its head.

"You'll spend the rest of time right there," said Eris. "Under every charm, every hex, every spell there is and will be invented from now until the end of time, that can be used to keep you here, and hidden."

Vivāda laughed. "YOUR FAITH IN HUMAN RESSSTRAINT IS ALMOSSST ADMIRABLE...HUMANS WILL FREE ME...THEY ALWAYSSS DO...THEY ARE THE BREATH THAT FILLSSS THE LUNGSSS OF DISCORD..."

"Come off it," said a small but certain voice. The congregation turned, and there was Muriel, glowing in the light of the trapped spirit, wand in hand. Euci was beside her with her arm in a sling, looking peaky but intact. "I watched that clown of ours eat seventeen people in as many months in Paris and nobody as much as batted an eyelid. Euci's still got bits of her left on the Eiffel tower, but she made it through airport security all the same. People can ignore anything unless they benefit from not doing so," she approached the ring and pointed her want up at Vivāda. "tell me. Do you benefit anyone?"

"I AM THE GOD OF CHA-"

"Chaos is over there," Muriel jerked her finger at Eris. "you're discord. You're Chaos' less talented younger brother who thinks being shitty to his friends is a personality trait. They won't find you," she brought her face right up close to the boundary, so close that her nose began to smoke. "they don't want to find you."

She stepped back. Vivāda said nothing. Muriel waved her wand, hummed something backwards, chattered her teeth and threw a handful of sage into the air, before rearing back and stabbing the tip of her wand into the salt boundary's wall. It erupted with light, the ground vibrated enough to drive worms to the surface in an instant, the shriek of a boiling kettle filled everyone's ears, and a thin fog flooded the air. It took a minute to clear, in which there was some very desperate hand grabbing, some improper and accidental fondling, and more than a reasonable amount of shouting. Val barely had time to reach out before the familiar weight of Euci was clamped over her leg, and hardly a second to react before she felt Eris' lips on hers. The fog cleared and the ring was empty. Vivāda was gone. But Val didn't need to see that to know it was all, for now, ok.

Val patted her evening hat over her hair. It was an ornate affair; lush purple velvet with a wide brim, absolutely covered in presently unlit candles, the dried wax from which kept them all firmly in place. She snapped her fingers and they all burst into life, and she angled her cigarette up among them. Bringing it back down she took a drag, and slotted her feet into her boots, the last piece of her performance outfit, that being a pair of black leather trousers and your textbook red jacket with pointed coat-tails. Then she sat for a while at her desk, watching the mirror and her absent reflection, thinking about nothing at all.

It was ten at night. Two hours after the show was meant to open. At first she'd been filled with dread as she made her way back to the circus, and then with inescapable disappointment; nobody had even arrived. Though Euci had, typical to her impossible fortitude, pulled everyone together. Lyca and Lee were back in dress-rehearsals, the clowns were holding off their withdrawal for another day, Tiffany had received enough praise from her nursing to persuade her that she was, in fact, radiant. They were primed and ready, bloodied but unbound. But without an audience. Unsure of what to do with themselves, they'd spent the next hour or so patching up the Big Top, battening down the hatches, cleaning up the Mess Hall, and even cleared out the dressing room that Tiffany had made such a mess of. Nobody said much during this time, but they were all thinking the same thing; we've let ourselves down. It was all for nothing. We aren't fit to call ourselves performers. All they could do now was spend their energy on cleaning up their mess and trying again tomorrow. And what if tomorrow was just as bad? Or worse? The concept of waking up and doing this whole shtick again felt like an impossible obstacle.

Until half nine. They were congregating in the Big Top, and Val was trying her best to manage a pep-talk that was as un-convincing as her forged smile. Then Boo, who'd been outside having a cigarette, poked her head around the curtain and bellowed, "VISITOOOORS!"

"How many?" Val stage-whispered, jumping to her feet. Boo held up ten fingers then disappeared behind the curtain. You could have set it to music; the lights went on, everyone scattered, the furniture was lifted and thrown and settled into place, and every dressing room was in pandemonium. The Big Top was emptied, primed, prepared, and not five minutes later the guests trailed in. Val watched from a corner, eyeing them as they looked uncertainly around the empty room, and felt queasy. Guests were guests, but this was embarrassing. She clapped herself on the cheek, focused, and retreated to her dressing room to prepare. Ten people can become hundreds if you play your cards right.

Now she stood up, and listened to the drumroll from the Big Top as she snapped her fingers and broke into a fine mist. She flitted down the hallway, escaped through a partition in the curtain, and infiltrated the pitch-black Big Top, reforming in the middle of the ring.

The lights came on, the guests clapped politely, and the music (operated by one of Muriel's less troublesome spirits,) celebrated as she bowed. She gave a winning smile and welcomed them all, gesturing with grandeur at the barren circle around her. Another five had trailed in now. Even better. "Good evening, my esteemed guests, to a performance unlike any other. Tonight you will be privy to secrets known only to us, secrets that push the boundaries of your very cognition, and which beg you to question the reality you've come to understand," after a little more teasing, she snapped her fingers. The lights flashed, and she was gone, replaced by an assault course of rings and hoops and trapeze and seesaws. There were some gasps. Good. People never believed her shpiel at the beginning, some even laughed. But that little trick was usually enough to get them wondering. She wafted into the shadows at the perimeter of the ring, and watched.

The drums began. A pack of mountain lions appeared from under the bleachers, snarling and roaring and growling at the guests, each one adorned with a glit collar that twinkled in the spotlights that followed them around the ring as they leapt through the assault course in single file and in perfect synchronicity, till they blurred into a shining gold lemniscate. The string instruments broke in, rising over the drums then falling in time with them as a mob of shadows flooded in from the empty darkness around the ring, forming ranks and running in the opposite direction on the lions' course, leaping over and under them, and suddenly each wolf was illuminated as the luminescent bandana around its neck caught the light. They twisted around each other, lights melding together in the darkness to form shapes, patterns, even words and phrases like 'resist,' and 'ACAB.' Their personal flair.

The act went on for a while, complimented by the guests' hushed gasps and the palpable tension in the air, each spectator humbled and terrified by the collection of vicious beasts in front of them, close enough to hear their ragged breath beating out of their chests in growls and pants, yes mesmerised by the sheer style and synchronicity of their act. They climaxed with a handful of isolated spotlights on some smaller groups that did some artful flips and jumps with each other, and one particularly risky trapeze act that sent one of the larger cats hurtling towards the bleachers, only to be snatched out of the line of fire at the last minute by one of the narrower wolves, the two landing opposite ends of the seesaw and acting like it was all intended. Nobody dared clap when the lights dimmed. When they went back up, the clowns had materialised in their place with no sign of the assault course. Only then did they feel safe enough to applaud.

Clowns were a hard act to get right these days. Too many had turned out to be murderers, and the overall look was rather intimidating. And while none of them, not even Oleg, consented to having their perpetual makeup removed, they did allow for it to be painted over in more subdued, human tones, with just a handful of glitter in there for flair. They appeared in rows wearing tight blue tuxedos with hair swept sideways, each one clutching a briefcase in his pudgy little hand and chattering angrily to his neighbour. Oleg was behind them with his enormous feet resting on an oversized desk as he read a newspaper. Then, as the music hit his que, he whipped it down with great force and the smaller clowns leapt in surprise, all screaming at once. The audience laughed, and Oleg leapt over the desk to start his 'Angry Businessman, Featuring Idiots' routine. For a good twenty minutes he had the other clowns running all over the place; he stuffed them into their own briefcases, chucked them across the ring into hastily erected basketball nets, he picked up their proferred drinks and cakes and spilled each and every one across him, as precisely clumsy as a real accident yet primed for maximum spillage. All the while the audience's laughter was constant, a rumbling engine of people's voices falling over each other, a waterfall of joy.

They crescendoed in the classic, in which the smaller clowns squeezed themselves into an RC car, and with two outside manning (and fighting over) the controller. They drove it into Oleg's ankles, knocking him onto his own desk that collapsed under him. They flooded out of the car, the audience aghast at the feat of contortionism, and bound Oleg down Gulliver's Travels style, before the lights faded to black and the Big Top exploded in applause. The binding was more of a necessity for getting Oleg back to his abode, than anything else. But they always found a way to work it in.

Tiff was next. The trapeze, lined with fairy lights and bejewelled to the point where anyone else's hands would be scraped to shreds after one swing, descended from the ceiling. She wasted no time, swooping across the audience's eyeline and turning a full three-sixty in the sky before grabbing the falling handle with her extra legs, the momentum as the rest of her body pulling her by faster and faster, each time sending her higher, her turns more complicated, leaving it later and later before she saved herself from the unforgiving ground below. The audience was on tenderhooks, each drop yielding louder gasps, each turn sending them closer to the edge of their seats. A third trapeze fell from the ceiling, then a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, and suddenly Tiff was flinging between each one, changing direction midair with a careful turn, a skillful nudge from an unseen leg, and the tension was almost too much to bear; Val could feel it in her lungs each time she inhaled, the oxygen felt thick as though no-one else were breathing.

Then, Tiffany missed. The audience's gasps warped into screams, people stood up from their seats as she dropped dead through the air, a full foot away from the nearest trapeze that was falling further away by the second. Far below, the ground was illuminated with cat's eyes that rebounded the spotlight as it followed Tiff, showing just how far away from it she was, how treacherous the drop. What the audience then saw was the trapeze swinging quickly back towards her before she flipped and hooked her legs around it and flew across the air to do one last flip before landing, and the lights going out all at once. In reality, Tiff had just flung a bit of web out to nab it. Nevertheless, the darkness exploded with cheers.

Next was Ba'al. The perimeter of the ring burst into flames. People screamed, but quickly quieted as two balls of fire swung in a mesmerizing pattern in front of them, moving so fast they could draw lines in the afterglow- and they did. Ba'al wrote a story in the light, bounding around the ring to keep up with each action, each subtle movement of the heroine's hand, every twitch of the antagonist's eye, so fast you'd expect him to have more hands than just the two. The audience was entrenched. Val had a simple way of testing whether they were interested or just bored, and it was this; she scattered a handful of loose change at the foot of the bleachers where they rang and tinged against the metal. Nobody looked, or moved an inch. They were too focused on the crimson painting Ba'al was bringing to life, with the wordless story he was writing with the aid of Muriel's drums, (musicians weren't nearly so cheap as magic.) The story reached its peak, Ba'al's movements became more subtle, and the music rose. He let them put the story together using the pieces he'd already given them. Then, suddenly, darkness. One, two, three, four, five seconds, long enough for people in the audience to start panicking that they'd never see the end. Then, with the roaring of a waking volcano, he exhaled a massive ball of fire into the air. It splayed out in front of the audience like a scroll unfurling, a landscape painting for them all to see, that moved and danced and closed the story for a few minutes more, until the cinders slowly faded and died. Never had you heard such applause, such happy tears. Ba'al had always wanted to write.

The penultimate act was Jaya and Jacques. The former stood alone in the middle of the ring, in her evening down and little adornment. For a moment, the audience was confused. Then she opened her mouth. And they were in ecstasy.

Jaya's voice, like the siren's of legend, drove people into a frenzy. If you wanted to hear sorrow she'd sing you the nursery rhyme your dead grandmother used to hush you to sleep with. If you needed to feel empowered, she'd sing the soundtrack of the movie that changed your life. If you needed courage, she'd sound just like you. But better, happier. And it wasn't that her song changed between people, no. With her abstracted ears, Val could hear each one, each contrary note falling out of her mouth at once. She was like a jukebox to the soul. She rose, her notes grew higher, climbing the spectrum and pulling the audience to their feet, moving left and right and bringing them with her, mouth opening wider and wider. The audience was positively screaming.

She clung to a high note, and suddenly another spotlight appeared, way up in the air on a platform at the top of a twisting iron staircase. Jacques was standing there in a blue suit, dapper and tidy. Almost debonair. His head was practically grazing the tented ceiling as he nodded to the audience, who were agape, caught between his sudden appearance and Jaya's voice. A drumroll appeared out of nowhere, and they waited. One, two, three, four- there it was. One of the men in the audience fainted. As he slumped to his knees, the drums stopped, and Jacques dove over the platform into empty space, plummeting towards Jaya. Two more people fainted before they made contact. Jacques fell into Jaya's open mouth and disappeared inside her, bringing the note to its end and releasing the audience from its spell as the lights shut off. And they were silent. They looked at each other in the dim light as if waking up from a dream, and smiled. Silent smiled of indescribable joy, at a shared experience so intimate they may never feel it again.

Finally. Val snapped her fingers and wafted back into one of the shadows in the ring, her hat reigniting as she stepped into the light. The audience barely reacted to her appearance now, as to be expected. After all that, a woman who could disappear into the shadows was hardly a miracle. She pulled her cigarette holder out of the air and brought it up to her hat, then pulled it back down and took a drag. "My esteemed guests. It is time for us to say goodbye. But please remember the secrets you saw here tonight," on what appeared to be its own volition, a pudgy little cannon wheeled across the ring to sit beside Val. It was purple and red pin-striped, with 'Kannonball Kid' printed on the side. She flicked her wrist and a hatch in its rear opened up. "you must keep them to yourselves and between each other. These experiences, these marvels that the earth had given life to, are for your eyes only," Nothing screamed 'free publicity' like implied secrecy.

Eucaria appeared from behind the cannon, puffing on her cigar. She pointed her finger at the audience and made a clicking noise with her throat. Strange child. She pulled the cannon into position, and from the shadow that Val had used to reappear she produced a wheelbarrow absolutely loaded with bright-red sticks of dynamite, black orbs with long fuses sticking out, and crates labelled 'EXPLOSIVE.' It was hard to get people to recognise what they were otherwise. She loaded them into the back of the cannon as Val continued. 'We welcome you all to remember your night with us, and to keep the wonders of reality and nature in the forefront of your minds," Euci finished loading and closed the hatch. She swaggered to the front of the cannon and waved. Val clicked her fingers again, and grey smoke clouded Euci's head, forming an aviator's helmet and goggles, firmly fastened. "But for now, my friends," Val concluded as her daughter climbed in. "We bid you adieu, and say, 'until next time, stay strange.'" she bent down beside the cannon, touching the end of her cigarette to the fuse before stepping back. She waved, and the lights went up to reveal the rest of the acts behind her, taking their bow to the cacophony of cheers and claps and hoots. A drumroll began, and all eyes were on the cannon.

The fuse hit its limit, and in a blast that threatened to bowl the bleachers over Euci was launched through the air, through the hole in the ceiling into the night sky where she disappeared like a star winking out of existence. The audience watched her go, her wake snowing with glitter and streamers from the cannon, and were speechless. They looked back down to where Val and the other acts had been, and saw it empty. As was the whole ring. And the ground, no leftover glitter or paper, not even a scrape in the dirt. Gingerly they escaped the bleachers, looking quizzically at the Big Top, devoid of all the glitz, just a circle of dirt in the dusky light of a few humming light bulbs. As if all the acts had been just shadow puppets that were now extinguished in the glaring light.

Boo tucked her head around the curtain, smiling. "Finished up already, ay? Ya'll have a good night?"

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